Lil’ Wayne, “Whip It Like A Slave,” and the Crisis

of Coonery

 

“Music is said

to soothe the savage beast, but it may also powerfully excite it. … At an

emotional level, there is something ‘deeper’ about hearing than seeing; and

sometimes about hearing other people which fosters human relationships even

more than seeing them.”

—Storr, Anthony.

Music and

the Mind. New York: Free Press, 1992, p. 26.

That Lil’ Wayne is an embarrassment to

the rich legacies of musical excellence which paved the road for his rise to prominence

is not a breakthrough. It’s a given. An irrefutable fact. But that he would

stoop so low to the level of making a song titled, “Whip It Like A Slave,”

boggles the mind of even this writer.

For too long, unskilled rappers, like

Lil’ Wayne, have landed featherweight punch-lines on the ear-drums of trained

listeners, reminding us that the art of lyrical swordsmanship should be left to

those best capable of wielding it. But this song, bad pun or not, crosses the

line. This time, somebody must be held accountable for the drivel and acerbic

vitriol Lil’ Wayne lashed out at his ancestors, who suffered far too much to be

disrespected by an intellectually crippled caricature.

The lyrics of the song, which also features

super-lyrical southern crew Dem Franchize Boyz, goes:

I wake up in the morning, take a sh**, shower, shave/

Stand over the stove and whip it like a slave/ I whip it like a slave, I whip

it like a slave/ Stand over the stove and whip it like a slave/

This hook is maintained for a good 40

seconds (that way, it’s sufficiently ingrained in the minds of young listeners),

before Mr. Carter comes in—in signature superciliousness. And just so no one

misses the point of the song, he raps: “New day new yay/ Bet I whip it like Kunta

Kinte/ Talking sugar, talking dough like a ben-YAY/ I take a brick, karate chop

it like a sensei/.” 

Of course, it’s always comical to hear

Lil’ Wayne discuss the dangerous

terrain of drug-dealing. Why, the multi-millionaire who had it made at 11 knows

more than anyone else the perils of the dope game.. But even with this

awareness, many younger fans are still desperate enough to be lied to blatantly

about an experience they know he never partook in, and one which they are

foreign to. On this ground, commonality is found. Most of them, you see, are

White and rich.  

White suburban girls can’t get enough of

“Weezy,” and for good reason—he, essentially, validates the centuries-old lies

told about Blackness as a racial demerit. Lil’ Wayne is the epitome of a 21st

century Minstrel. Stepin’ Fetchit in the flesh. He bucks, coons, and shines,

for the shillings tossed his way by far wealthier white executives at the helm

of this recording industry.

“Your career is

a typo/

Mine was written

like a Haiku/”

And before we go any further, a couple

of points must be addressed:

1). Lil’ Wayne

is no gangster, no dope dealer, no Blood. He’s, in truth, merely a child star

who cashed in, quite handsomely I might add, on the untimely retirement of

Jay-Z in 2004. Many of us who, today, shake our heads consistently at the very

thought of Lil’ Wayne being regarded the “Best Rapper Alive,” remember the

laughs we shared when he first, in early 2005, declared himself that. Most saw

his ambitiousness as an unwise publicity stunt, but lately, circumstances have

changed considerably. What we now realize, and are forced to admit, is the enormous

control of those “old White men” Mos Def sang about in “The Rape Over” (The New Danger, 2004).. Lil’ Wayne’s

success, it can be safely assumed, is a product not of talent or merit but of an

agenda long-drafted before he came onto the scene. At best, he’s the dummy

whose strings were picked to be pulled by powerful ventriloquists in big

skyscraper offices.

2). Lil’ Wayne

is powerless. Just that. For one who sold an impressive 1,000,000+ copies with

his latest album, Tha Carter III

(2008), and has been mentioned

no less than twice

by the most powerful man in the world, he might be getting less respect, from

his bosses, than security guards and janitors.

According to the

Irv Gotti golden rule of business in the Hip-Hop industry, to get whatever they

want, artists must “get hot.” Well, no other artists, with the exception of

Drake, is hotter than Lil’ Wayne at

this point, and still, label executives and A&Rs could care less about hurt

feelings, as they rip asunder his many aspirations.

In a December 2007

interview with RollingOut Television, Rap mogul Irv Gotti discussed the

tricks of the Rap trade: “The key to negotiations and the key to success

[is]—just get hot and stay hot, and when you go in that office and have that

meeting, check your hotness..” Gotti explained how to ascertain the hotness of

an artist: “Say some stupid sh**. If they kick you out [of] the office, Ni**a,

you’re not that hot. If you say some outlandish sh** and they sit there and

talk with you, you’re pretty hot. If you say some outlandish sh** and they

thinking about doing it, Ni**a, you’re off the hook!”

So, let’s put

Lil’ Wayne’s career to that test.

In 2008, at peak

time, following the huge success of his now-triple platinum album, Mr. Big Shot

decided he wanted to release a Rock-themed

album, Rebirth. Many laughed and,

apparently, some of those were executives at Universal Records—his parent

company. After the release of his first single, “Prom Queen,” his manager,

Cortez Bryant, was advised that the shot-callers weren’t really feeling the

concept, and if Weezy “doesn’t brighten up, they have to turn into Mr. Evil

Record Company and just tell him it’s never going to be released.” The album

was originally scheduled for an April 2009 release date. It’s been pushed back

several times now, but is tentatively set for November 2009. Something tells me—this

time next year Rebirth would have

been shelved. The reason: Lil’ Wayne, to borrow Gotti’s term, is not hot.

The many impediments

put before his collaboration album (three years in the making) with Harlem

rapper Juelz Santana, I Can’t Feel My

Face, provides further validation.

For this reason, I stand convinced that

the concept for Lil’ Wayne’s “Whip It Like A Slave” diatribe was probably suggested

by some sleazy executive whose name we might never know. This contention,

however, should not be read as an excuse for the vitriolic investments these Black

rappers made in the song. But I can see a scenario play out where

Lil’ Wayne’s original line was “Whip It Like A Soda,” or a variant of sorts, but

a snot-nosed executive heard the hook, thought a while about it, and compelled him to introduce that one word

which gives it a completely different context. In fact, I’m not sure you call

that compulsion. Forced might be the

more accurate adjective.       

“Put a barrel in

a capo mouth, ‘til his scalp come out/

You a kid, you

don’t live what you rap about/”

In spite of this, I’m not sure of many

White rappers or MCs who would get away with similar statements. I can see

Hip-Hop message boards overflowing past maximum capacity if a, say, Eminem or

Asher Roth released such song. I can see the NAACP trotting out its best and

brightest to condemn the disrespect hurled at the legacy of more than 80

million people washed away by the rivers of inhumanity and brutality. I can see

esteemed Hip-Hop artists, fueled with great pugnacity, penning diss songs to

make known their rage at hearing a White rapper flaunt invectives at the

history that produced this great culture of ours—which they, today, benefit

bountifully from. I can see Hip-Hop sites invoking the works of John Henrik

Clarke, John Hope Franklin, Frances Cress Welsing, Carter G. Woodson, Frederick

Douglass, C.R. Gibbs, Hubert Harrison, Herbert Aptheker, and Ida B. Wells to

damn the acidity of hatred contained in the song. But these weren’t White

rappers. As far as I can tell, Lil’ Wayne darkness isn’t debatable. These

characters are Black. Yes, Coons and Samboes, but they’re Black nonetheless. So

why, then, am I left victim to the voicelessness of Hip-Hop’s countless culture

warriors.  

Is the pain any less bearable because a

Black rapper is the utterer?

“Rappers only

talk about Kis., it’s all poison/

… Think about

the kids you mislead with the poison/”

The impact this song masters on the

minds of Lil’ Wayne’s many adoring young Black fans is certainly no less caustic.

The message that slavery, its aftermath, and the insurmountable cost of the

African Holocaust, are trivial still plays itself out perfectly in the minds of

impressionable listeners. Many of these listeners, already accustomed—due to

criminally negligent education in public schools—to a fabricated interpretation

of slavery, would find great relief, courtesy of Lil’ Wayne (and the masks

behind him), that the Trans-Atlantic slave trade isn’t at all the gory and

b###### experience it’s been established as.   

Some would argue that even young

listeners can separate fraud from fact, but I beg to differ. I understand that

everyone is innately capable of deciphering the truth, but I also understand

that the world in which we live is filled with so much inequity and iniquity

that any condition can be adapted to. Any condition. Good or bad. Ignorance,

hatred, folly, fame. I understand that even the most repulsive imagery,

conjured by half-baked Rap artists, after a while adopts a normalized nature in

the psyche of the listener.  

Late English author Anthony Storr

described this process in his 1994 book, Music

and the Mind:

Noise can be threatening to normal people. If

someone is hypersensitive to noise, and unable to filter out what is irrelevant

from all the different noises which constantly impinge upon him, he may be

specifically inclined to deal with it by trying to impose a new order on it,

make sense out of it, and thus turn what was threatening into something manageable.

[p.

102]

We’ve witnessed this “sense” play itself

out in Hip-Hop recently. Lil’ Wayne is hardly the only one to spit terror and

torture on the history that gave birth to him. Gone are the days when such

audacity invited Timberland boots and golf clubs to the bodies of uninformed

Rappers. On the monstrously misogynistic second single of Cleveland Rapper Kid

Cudi’s upcoming album, “Make Her Say (Poke Her Face),”—also featuring the ever-conscious

Common—Kanye West invokes Civil Rights icon Rosa Parks to demonstrate his

financial prowess: “And That’s My

Commandment, You Ain’t Gotta Ask Moses/ More Champagne, More Toastest /More

Damn Planes, More Coastest/ And F### A Bus, The Benz Is Parked Like Rosa/.”

Of course, West’s comments appear mild in the face of Atlanta Rapper Young

Jeezy who had previously compared himself to MLK, Malcolm X and Jesus. And not

to forget Lil’ Wayne demanding, two years ago, that a XXL interviewer “[t]alk

to me like you talk to Martin Luther King or Malcolm X. You’re not going to ask

him about what he thinks about what somebody said about him. You ask him about

his greatness and his greatness only.” Pretty damn accurate if you ask me.

Well, since Lil’ Wayne sees fit to

anoint himself the modern-day MLK and Malcolm X, I’ll appreciate any fans who

can relay to him, when next he stops by, just how proud we are to have Martin Luther King or Malcolm X “wake up

in the morning, take a sh**, shower, shave/ Stand over the stove and whip it

like a slave.”

 

 Tolu Olorunda is a cultural critic and a Columnist for BlackCommentator.com. He can be reached at To***********@***il.com.

(Editor’s Note: This was supposed to be the start of a regular column from hexmurda, a staple of the Detroit Hip-Hop scene. However, the death of Baatin of Slum Village preempted the column and hex has written a column about his fallen comrade. It was originally titled “F**K THIS RAP S**T, I’LL LISTEN TO CLASSICAL.”)

We’re born dying.

That’s a fact.

When we say “Hello” to the world the seconds are ticking to when we say “Goodbye.” Everybody’s got a secret expiration date. More often than not, it seems that date comes a little sooner than it should for a lot of people.

We can’t live forever…or can we?

This s**t was supposed to be my intro into the wonderful world of internet s**t-talking. I was going to say a whole lot of f**ked up s**t & be the best thing since Bol, the worst thing since Pitchfork. Unfortunately, this aint that. This is baptism by fire.

Detroit lost another one, man. Baatin. From Slum Village. Titus Glover.

Gone.

As of the time I’m writing this,n***as don’t know what happened.

Details are sketchy, preliminary findings…all that bulls**t. But at the end,it all equals one thing. GONE.

A lot of you cats reading this might not even know or give a f**k who Baatin is. Well guess what? This is MY muthaf**kin’ column and I DO give a f**k.

You don’t like it,you can stop reading right now and stick f**king knitting needles in your eyes, or go back to updating your profile on gay.com for all I care. I’ll get to Drake’s ACL, some f**king idiot judge deciding Kelis’ milkshake is worth over 40k a month, and Stephon Marbury wilding the f**k out another time. This one’s for the HomeTeam, n***a.

Baatin was a special dude. Yeah,I know.

When a n***a dies,everybody says how “special” they were, and how they were “one of a kind” and all that other condescending s**t. Well,in this case, it’s true. Baatin WAS a different type of cat. Brilliant guy, maybe even too smart for his own good. Talked different, dressed different,THOUGHT different.

How different?

When Slum Village got a track from Scott Storch for their “TRINITY” LP, this n***a Baatin decided to spit his verse in HEBREW. Name of the joint is “GET LIVE,” the track is insane. I don’t speak a word of Hebrew unless “Shalom” counts, and trust me, Baatin was going IN. I don’t know what the f**k he was saying, he could have been saying, “Hex you f**king a**hole I’m gonna kill your whole family”, or whatever, but the s**t was ILL.

DIFFERENT.

SPECIAL.

When this n***a was rhyming, he didn’t HAVE to rhyme. And for some f**king reason it worked. He said s**t the way he felt it needed to be said, with none of the constraints other MC’s impose on themselves.

When I decided to write this s**t, I thought to myself, “f**k, do I have to give a damn history of Slum Village? Do I have to school these n***as about FANTASTIC:VOL.II? Hip cats to the Hip-Hop Shop and The Rhythm Kitchen? Do I have to re-open this f**king Dilla scab again? Pour Lawry’s into this Proof wound? Do I have to re-live this s**t AGAIN?”

F**k that.

I’m living in the moment.

Besides, if you don’t know who the f**k SlumVillage or J.Dilla is then you don’t need to be reading some s**t called “AllHipHop” anyway. You should be at an intersection holding a sign that says “I A DUMM MUFUKA, PLEEZ CILL ME.”

n***as who know about SV know that Baatin hasn’t been in the group since the “TRINITY” album. He was sick. He needed help. Serious help. Listen to eLZhi’s verse on “REUNION” off of SV’s DETROIT DELI for details. I’m not going to rehash that s**t here. We would see Baatin around Detroit at various HipHop functions/events, and some times he was in better shape than others. No matter his condition, he was always kind, always aware of who and where he was, even if he wasn’t always THERE, if you get my drift. I’ve got three instances to show you what kind of person Baatin was.

1. I was on the road with Slum Village, I think it was ’06.

We were doin’ the Montreux Jazz Festival in Switzerland. Dilla tribute gig. T3,eLZhi, DJ Dez, Phat Kat, Me,Tim Maynor (Slum’s mgr), PeteRock, Kino, Bilal, O-Love(Baatin’s mgr) and Baatin.

Montreux Jazz Festival. That’s some prestigious s**t right there. At The MDH. MILES DAVIS HALL. You see the name,ya’ll know what time it is.

Any-f**king-way, show starts,PhatKat rocks his set, (I’ll never forget him saying, “IT’S DILLA ALL NIGHT! DILLA ALL NIGHT!”),Baatin does his solo thing with O-Love on the wheels, and brings Slum out. The n***as hadn’t done shows together in years,Baatin didn’t know the set,but they pulled the s**t off. Baatin wasn’t supposed to be drinking because of his medication, but that n***a got a bottle of wine from some-g######-where and mashed it after the set. Pete Rock was the headliner, spinning that REAL Hip-Hop s**t, me and Baatin standing on the side of the stage,listening to Pete KILL IT.Suddenly,this n***a Baatin just runs out on stage and starts Earl-Flynning (if you don’t know what the Earl Flynn is, that’s too f**king bad. But trust me, it’s GANGSTA.) in front of the crowd. I go get the n***a, lead him off stage. Pete’s lookin’ at us kinda crazy, but whuteva. I turn my back, this muthaf**a Baatin throws the f**k up everywhere, then runs BACK out on stage. I retrieved that n***a again, and asked him what the f**k was wrong with him. He just grinned at meand said, “IT’S THE MUSIC.”

It’s the music.

The f**king music.

Word up.

2. I was in Seattle for Red Bull BigTune with Black Milk and Elzhi,headed to the bank with my n***as Jake One & J.Moore when my phone rang. Normally I don’t answer calls I don’t know,especially not 313 area codes,because it’s usually a n***a who wants something for free. f**k that.

Anyway, I answer and it’s Baatin. n***a starts talking to me about Universal records & the universe itself & a bunch of other nonsensical (to me) s**t,but it’s my mans, so I’m listening. Me and J.Moore go into the bank, I tell Baatin I’ll hit him back. J.Moore’s looking at me crazy because he could tell by my responses I was having a weird convo. When I get back to the car, I tell Black Milk,”Yo,Teezy’s crazy ass just called me talking about Universal records or some s**t.” Black goes, “N***a called me too.”

Persistent.

3. The last time I saw Baatin was at a clusterf**k in L.A. called “The Breaks.” Some real amateur bulls**t. He was with Slum Village, I was with Black Milk and Guilty Simpson. Bunch of acts, n***as not gettin’ paid, security about to body the promoter, Psycho Realm fans about to riot, the promoter slithering out the back, sheriff’s in riot gear, that type of s**t. When we realized we weren’t going to get paid, n***as prepared to go back to the hotel, (which is another story in itself) and to Bishop Lamont’s gig and H.O.B. Any n***a that knows me or Tim Maynor knows we ain’t gonna have our clients do s**t for free. We were all like “f**k it.” We got the deposit, free money let’s bounce.

Not Baatin.

Baatin said, “Man,we’re here. We got fans here. Let’s just do it, give them a show.” We all looked at him like he had a toaster for a head, and he returned our looks like we were wearing lampshades.

That n***a still wanted to do the show.

For the fans.

Word up.

I’m not gonna keep going,because I’m not in the best f**king mood and there’s a bowl of Ramen noodles in the kitchen with my f**king name on it (like a dog’s bowl-“FIDO”-style). N***as who knew Baatin know that he had demons, just like we all have demons. I think Baatin just had a few more than us because he was touched by angels, and the demons didn’t like that s**t. In the coming days, I’m sure a bunch of s**t will be revealed & a bunch of s**t written that may not paint the most flattering portrait of Baatin. Everybody’s got a dark side,it’s part of what makes us human.

When your time has come and you look back on your life and all the good deeds and evil deeds you’ve done,most people can only hope that it evens out, and that people remember that you were even here. Musicians and actors have an advantage,their music and films can stand the test of time. I can hear Baatin’s voice any f**king time I feel like it and that thought almost made me smile.

That brings me back to a question I posed early in this run on sentence I call a column.

Can we live forever?

Pop in FANTASTIC:VOL II and you tell me.

We’ll miss you,my n***a.

Tell Dilla & Proof we said “Whutupdoe.”

Detroit weeps again.

Titus”BAATIN” GloverMarch 8, 1974 – August 1, 2009

 

Slum Village – “Tainted”

Slum Village – “Fall In Love”

Slum Village – “Get Live”

Slum Village – “Reunion”

R.I.P. BAATIN