This Is My Rifle: Where Is Chuck D?

Write about Rap.

Rap about writing.

The writer thinks it's a wrap.

Is it a wrap for the writer?

Fuck.

*Batman music plays while the screen spins*

Ok. Here we go. Time to get back on track. As per the request of Refined Hype's mysterious overlord, Nathan S., I have to find a balance and get back to Hip Hop. No, I'm not being forced into writing about any particular subject- in fact; I'm fortunate to be writing for Refined Hype. In the year since my column first debuted on this site not once has Nathan stepped in and made any edits or refused to post any of my articles no matter how unpopular or completely insane my opinions were. Actually there were a few instances in which I hit the send button on my email and expected a reply to the tune of, "Dude you're out of your fuckin mind. I'm not posting this. And fuck you for even trying it", but no, it never happened. If anything Nathan has always encouraged me to go as far off the deep end as I felt necessary and at times where I asked his opinion he'd respond with, "Say what you wanna say man. I'm not editing shit". Let me be the one to tell you, that type of creative freedom is hard to come by, especially when you're writing for a site as straight to the point and respected as Refined Hype. But, as any good quarterback would do when he sees a promising rookie receiver beginning to fall off, Nathan pulled me to the side and gave me a much needed pep talk. There were no threats or ultimatums, just a simple nudge to say, "You do know that you're writing for a music site, right?" and I agreed, it's time I move back towards what brought us all together in the first place: Hip Hop.

Here's the problem; I don't have anything to say. Well, it's more like I don't have anything positive to say. And whenever I write about the current state of Hip Hop music I feel like the old man sitting on his porch complaining about teenagers. The fact is, the culture has changed since I first fell in love with it and it's almost unrecognizable to me now. I search for that old feeling again, the rush I used to get when I would say a line that made everybody else in the cipher scream "oh shit!" or the excitement of listening to a classic album for the first time, but it just isn't there anymore. I know that as an artist I'm supposed to be all unimpressed and "pffff" about every other rapper I come across, but I'll always be a fan first and foremost and I have no problem giving credit were it's due. J.Cole? Dope. Big K.R.I.T.? Dope. Voli? The best kept secret. Drake? Very fuckin necessary and deserves all the success in the world. I might not relate to his music but that dude knows how to write hits. I still sing "Best I Ever Had" to my girlfriend when I'm drunk.

But aside from those 4 artists, I just don't connect with any of the new(er) artists out there. Last week, after Nathan's friendly reminder that I'm not Che Guevara, I downloaded approximately 25 mixtapes from relatively new rappers and went on the hunt for inspiration. I filled my iPod with a wide variety of artists covering the entire spectrum of possible subject matter. From politically conscious to painfully ignorant, mainstream to so far underground they barely have a pulse, I made sure I had enough to find something out there that gives me hope for the future of this art form. I put my headphones on and opened my mind, nobody's gonna make music exactly the way I wanna hear it and that's why I'm an artist. I accept that. All I'm looking for is something with a solid beat and some cool lines. Something that has potential. Somebody that I can appreciate. So I hit the play button and......

I couldn't even get 2 songs into any of the mixtapes without wincing in agony. A few of them even made me physically angry. The conscious rappers were so preachy that they made my column look like an advertisement for Goldman Sachs and the "bitches, money and weed" rappers (which accounted for 3/4 of the mixtapes I downloaded) were so awful that I actually found myself getting slightly offended that they were taking up .0000001% of the space on my iPhone. The only thing that got me through the first song was the hope that someday I might have the pleasure of meeting them in a dark alley and choking the shit out of them.

Then I thought about what Nathan said; there needs to be a balance. For every Master P there has to be a Mos Def (or should I say, Yasiin). That's what has made Hip Hop the force that it is; there are no rules or boundaries- just words spoken in rhythm. There is no formula to follow, whatever's in your heart to say, just say it. The drums are there to provide a pace and a pocket to fall into; everything else is up to you.

And that's what this new generation of Hip Hop is missing; heart. Everybody's rapping about something but nobody's doing it with conviction. Listening to these new guys you get the sense that they wanna say something but they're afraid to so they rely on image and bullshit gimmicks to draw the listeners in rather than focusing on the music itself. There is no discernible message; just a bunch of words strung together to sell a pre-conceived, highly contrived persona to the kids.

I remember the one and only time I saw Public Enemy in concert. Growing up I was a fan but it wasn't until I got older that I fully understood what they represented, and to this day "It Takes A Nation Of Millions...." still gets steady burn in my iPod. Having never seen them live before I wasn't sure what to expect. On record Chuck D and Flavor Flav are an odd combination so I was curious as to how it would translate live, and as the curtains rose it was apparent that we were in for 2 hours worth of Hip Hop at it's most captivating.



There were no strobe lights, no smoke machines, no guzzling bottles of liquor or lit blunts on stage. Flavor Flav played the role of entertainer, jumping around with his trademark clock medallion swinging around his neck and Viking helmet constantly falling down over his eyes, while Chuck D stood dead center in a baseball cap, sleeveless t-shirt and New York Knicks basketball shorts. For the entire set Chuck D, well into his 40's, stood in one spot holding the crowd's attention with every syllable that boomed through the speakers, only occasionally pacing back and forth to make sure everybody in the building was getting the fuckin message. He didn't preach or try to shove his beliefs down anybody's throat, he just held the mic and spoke with authority. When Bushwick Bill from the Geto Boys randomly jumped on stage and wanted to do a song, Chuck didn't get all pussified and complain to the promoter. Nope, he stood back while Flav jumped on the drums and Bill did his verse from "Mind Playin’ Tricks On Me" (yes, that really happened). Once Bill felt satisfied that he had properly brought the house down, Chuck got back to business and changed some lives.

I walked out of the building that night with a higher expectation for this Hip Hop thing; not just from other artists but myself as well. While Flavor Flav has arguably become (or some would say always had been) a gimmick unto himself, Chuck D is the beating heart that made Public Enemy the voice of a movement in the 90's. Flav could do a cooking show with Kim Kardashian and Justin Bieber and we'd all watch just to see Flav teach Kim and The Bieb how to cook some fucked up barbeque. None of us would think anything of it because the real Hip Hop heads know that Chuck D holds him down and he is the very definition of real, genuine artistry. At any moment Chuck could pull Flav back but he doesn't because he knows the power in both the king and the court jester.

Now that's what the fuck I call balance.

(Jason James is an artist, freelance columnist and writer for RefinedHype.com. You can listen/download his most recent album, "Marvelous World Of Color", here and you can contact him here and here.)