So

at least till sometime late this summer. Part of his latest handwritten

homage to everything you don’t know, but he is willing to share, is his

top 40 rappers of all time list. 

He actually drops the names of more than 40 rappers as some picks are groups, but that’s neither here nor there.  He

also makes it perfectly clear that the list is in no particular order

because, per him, there is no one who deserves that number one spot.

His declaration does not suggest that there is no one good enough to

take that slot.  His suggestion is that there are several. Hence, leaving that spot either vacant or stuffed to the gills.  With this, I completely agree.

Folks

take their lists seriously serious and it seems everyone has committed

to who they think are the most awesomest rappers in the history of the

planet.  It’s written in permanent ink on

permanent paper, stuffed into a hermetically sealed envelope and neatly

placed under their pillows; unless, of course, they have a safe.  However,

once that selection is presented to the world, understand that you will

be nothing but … wrong. That dreaded group-think IV is always dripping

and will ultimately overshadow any GOAT suggestion you present to the

mighty Hip Hop Nation that isn’t already etched in stone somewhere.

You know the Hip-Hop approved top five.  A couple subs meander in and out, but the usual suspects tend to stay about the same.  How does that work when art is relative and opinion moves the masses to ride their own perfect beat?  People say, “Ahhh, it’s because he’s good.”  Good to whom? Folks have been tastemade and aggregated into following whatever floats the expert boat.  And when someone stands up and says the GOAT has no clothes, it makes folks want to holla. Why?  I don’t believe it’s because they disagree.  I believe it’s because they aren’t packing big enough balls to concur that they too realized they liked something else.

P says some of the best rappers of all time are Missy, Naughty By Nature, Ma$e and Three Six Mafia.  Do I agree with these picks?  Hell naw.  The Blog Don also suggested some folks who wouldn’t be able to read his list, let alone be on it; like Rick Ross and Crooked I.  Can you see Crunchy Black taking Crooked in a lyrical head to head?  Ummm… No.  But again, this is Prodigy’s list, not mine.

I love the fact that he didn’t seem to concern himself with what everybody else would think. That’s what makes his list great.  He’s got Big and Pac on there as well, but didn’t qualify them in anyway as the top two.  Can you imagine if he actually said Missy was a better lyricist than Pac? He might be safer staying locked up.

The point is Hip-Hop is deeply effectual and the words an emcee spits are what draw you to him.  There are scary good rappers who simply don’t speak to me; therefore they do not speak for me.  And I wouldn’t for one second suggest that the ones who speak for me should speak for you too. Your story is not mine.  You taste is not mine and your opinion should be your own.

So

do I believe a lot of people have locked their real opinion in that

safe along with their most serious of all serious top five rapper list?  I would say yes, but that would mean they actually have their own to begin with.  I

don’t think many people do. Am I also saying if your list is nothing

but a simple regurgitation of what you have been taught to like as

opposed to what you have organically developed a taste for, your list

sucks ass?  That would be a most definitive hell yeah.  Word to Dead Prez.

On January 30th 2009, America once again had reason to celebrate. Former Maryland Lt. Governor, Michael Steele became the first African American appointed as National Chairman of the Republican Party. This came just over one week after the historic inauguration of Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States. The Obama campaign sparked a renewed interest and hope in politics, similar to that made by John and Robert Kennedy, but I can only wonder how much of an impact, if any, the appointment of Steele will really have.

My immediate interest in Steele came from a sound bite I caught on CNN: “I want hip-hop Republicans. I want Frank Sinatra Republicans. That’s how it is out there.” This was not the first time that Steele made this connection as in 2006 after becoming the Governor of Maryland, he described himself as, “…conservative, but I’m also moderate… As I like to tell people, I’m a little bit hip-hop and a little bit Frank Sinatra”.

Similar to that of the success of President Obama, Steele is attempting to appeal to both current G.O.P’s as well as the burgeoning youth vote. What he fails to realize is that Sinatra and hip-hop are one and the same; no distinction needs to be made. You don’t need to look any further than this years’ Grammy performance of Swagger Like Us by the “Rap Pack”. But for argument’s sake, I will.

In the 1960s, Sinatra and the boys personified cool. Along with Dean Martin, Sammy Davis and others, The Rat Pack was the quintessential crew. Their over-indulgence in luxury and wealth was their trademark. They were definitely not the most skilled musicians, but their voice and the way they were perceived gave them an undeniable appeal. Men wanted to be them, while women wanted to be with them. They wore the finest clothes and jewellery, smoked the finest cigars, had affiliations with high-ranking politicians, and were photographed partying with their large entourages and other celebs, all the while feeding the appetite of their own alter-egos (i.e. Ol’ Blue Eyes).

Fast forward to 2009, to the leaders of the rap game (in no particular order): Jay-Z, Lil’ Wayne, T.I., Kanye West, Young Jeezy, Diddy, Nas, 50 Cent, Ludacris, the list can go on and on. While there are many factors that can be used to distinguish each of these artists, they all share common attributes that are highly influenced by Sinatra.

In 1961, Sinatra left Capitol Records and started up his own recording home, Reprise Records. By starting his own label, he was able to take better control of his career, as well as provide an outlet for his friends. Artists like Sammy Davis Jr., Dean Martin, Rosemary Clooney, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald all benefited from Sinatra’s vision. Similarly, in the 90s artists like Jay-Z, Puff Daddy, the Hot Boys all struggled to break through the traditional mould. Rap was anything but mainstream. As a result, they started their own labels, built their own studios, hired their own producers and the likes of Roca-Fella Records, Bad Boy Entertainment and Cash Money Records were born.

The entrepreneurial concept of building your own empire, doing it your way is the foundation of the modern hip hop movement, one which was greatly borrowed from Ol’ Blue Eyes himself. This is no more explicitly stated than in the Jay-Z rendition of I Did It My Way, off the Blueprint II (2002), which samples the original version written by Paul Anka: “Black entrepreneur, nobody did us no favors/The Rap Pack, I’m Sinatra, Dame’s Sam Davis/ Big’s the smart one, on the low like Dean Martin/We came in this game, not beggin n***as pardon/ Demanding ya’ll respect, hand over a cheque.”

Like hip hop artists today, Frank Sinatra was not immune to controversy. Throughout his career he was linked to the mob. Rather than shy away from this, he embraced it, even encouraged it. It was a part of his persona; a gangster and a gentleman. Heck, there are even stories of incidents between rival crews… if you don’t believe me then google “Las Vegas Hotel, John Wayne and Frank Sinatra”. This same bravado is used by most rappers today. While the media scrutinizes over their past involvement in crime, the fact of the matter is most rappers aren’t criminals; they’re just associate with them. Speculation over Sinatra’s ties to the mob, most notably Lucky Luciano were sensationalized, taking on a life of its own. Similarly, Lil’ Wayne’s connection to the Bloods is strategically glorified in nature. Like any good character from The Sopranos, or classic scene from any Al Pacino flick, rappers use gangster imagery to entertain the masses and sell not only records, but themselves as a brand.

In the 90s and early part of the new millennium, the image of a rap artist was quite standard: lots of bling, baggy jeans and every throw-back jersey imaginable. Their excessiveness was flaunted to the highest degree; sickening to most. Whether it was the ice in their teeth, or rockin’ one of those tacky-coloured watches from Jacob the Jeweller, there was an apparent disconnect between the commercialized image of rap and the conservative audience that was consuming it. Gradually, this commercial façade began to wear thin.

While still much more excessive than the average Joe, rappers have embraced the notion of quality over quantity, and have shifted dramatically from flashy to classy; from the bells and whistles of MTV Awards to the red carpet glamour of the Oscars. Bucket hats and Timbs have been replaced with stylish scarves, finely cut blue-diamond incrusted jewels and designer suits. No longer drowning in a pool of Cristal with half naked women, the new Diddy advocates celebrating life responsibly in a black-and-white ad for Ciroc Ultra Premium Vodka — shot in Sinatra’s actual home, no less, featuring his classic Fly Me To The Moon.

The days of doing a show with a hype man, a Dj and 30 other crew members on stage are long gone and have been replaced by full piece bands with percussion, brass and horns sections. Rappers, like the recording deals they are signing have truly become 360 in nature. Their influence spans far beyond the inner city and urban music, into the global realm: philanthropic causes, campaign endorsements, ownership in clothing lines, sports franchises, night clubs, real-estate development, etc. And that’s just Jay-Z. The legacies of Frank, Dean and Sammy have been forever cemented in pop culture, as the Rat Pack has reincarnated itself in the evolution of the hip-hop genre. Case in point: the iconic scene in the video for Roc Boys featuring Jay-Z, Nas and Diddy smoking cigars in front of a pool table at the 40/40 Club, in their 3-piece suits sharing a laugh.

The comparisons between hip-hop and Frank Sinatra are endless. The struggle is identical: the pursuit of the American Dream. That is what makes Sinatra and Jay-Z so relatable to most if not all Americans. That is their allure. “I want hip hop Republicans. I want Frank Sinatra Republicans.” It’s clear that Mr. Steele wants to be inclusive, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But he must realize that being inclusive isn’t about appealing to the hip-hop vote, or appealing to the Sinatra vote. And it’s certainly not about creating a dichotomy where none exists.