Recently, some friends and I were sitting around shooting the s### about Slaughterhouse. Since
no one I hang with is part of the online Hip Hop community, it was
actually me shooting the s### all by my lonely as they looked on with
faces crumpled up like used napkins. Then they channeled Woodsy.
“Who?”
One dude did recall Jump Off. Another, who is in Atlanta by way of Oakland, knew Crooked I. Well, he knew the name. When I asked what he thought about Crooked as an emcee, this is what he gave me.
“I’m
from the West and couldn’t tell you the name of one song this dude made
in his career. Was he nice on the mic? Yes. Did he ever make any hits?
No.”
Now
you know a good portion of us don’t give one rat’s ass about a hit. As
a matter of fact, it’s almost considered lame to limit your self to
those who sell or to follow mainstream at all in some sectors of the
rap internet. So your I-pod is constantly a topic of discussion among
your friends because you aren’t rocking 12 gigs-o-Flo Rida.
“You ain’t got that ‘Right Round’ on here? You must not be a real Hip-Hop fan. That’s damn near the only rap song out these days, ain’t it?”
I just smile and change the subject.
Then another friend of mine, who is also a writer, attempted a Hip-Hop piece for the powers that be where his words call home. He’s
not especially “up” on the happenings of the genre, so he turned
to yours truly to look it over. I told him he needed an all
encompassing “PAUSE!” as his wording was a bit suspect. It
was a joke; but since he had no idea what I was talking about, he
looked it up. Of course, he emailed me immediately after his Google
search.
“Some
guy who wears clip on earrings and pink fur came up with no h###? Does
he say that s**t every time he gets dressed? And that dumb s### is
supposed to dictate my style. Get the f**k outta here.”
I’m not sure if I appreciated the tone of his text. I was just trying to help dude out. But I did understand his disdain. I mean, I’m a grown ass woman. How do I explain “PAUSE!” to another grown ass person without sounding ridiculous?
I really can’t.
Considering
all of this made me realize how secret society-ish our ecommunity is
and how odd we appear to the outside world. The musical taste is off
the beaten path. The semantics leave everyone
else scratching their heads and the dedication to all things digital
gives folks the impression that we are anti-social. Well, some of you
really are maladjusted per normal ecollective rule and regulation, but
that’s not Hip-Hop’s fault. But I digress.
Do I feel silly sometimes? Yes, I must admit I do. Do
I ever release some “only acceptable in the e-crevices of the Hip-Hop
Nation” comments during a business lunch and wish I could reach out and
retrieve those words? Yes, more than I should. Do
I get a little peeved when folks suggest, in jest, I must go home, slide
into some oversized clothes, get high and walk the streets aimlessly
hitting licks and smacking the rears of random unknown b######? Most
definitely, especially since I’m a girl. But am I going to turn in my
membership card to the Hip Hop union as to alleviate myself of the
above listed issues?
No.
This thing of ours, this Hip-Hop Cosa Nostra is ingrained. We
are a microcosm of the larger musical picture with all the
segments needed to create a complete society; if we haven’t already. With
expression and artistic capabilities limited only by imagination and
technology, the Hip-Hop Nation has transcended recorded music. It’s
our culture. While no one dwells inside the rap realm only (the average Hip-Hopper’s style swap game is hella fierce) it should give you pride
to know that you can live in their world, but they wouldn’t stand a
chance in yours.
So
as I dust off that membership card and allow my homie to write what
will without a doubt be the most pauseriffic article ever known in the
annals of Hip-Hop journalism, I smile. And when
the barrage of questions about why my head does not bob when something
a bit too commercial for my taste flows out of the speakers mounts, I
will again change the subject.
