There's an adage in the publishing world that books have the shelf life of yogurt. The same could be said of rappers, if yogurt lasted for years at a time. Like chemically stabilized goat yogurt. Rappers have the shelf life of goat yogurt.
A better analogy is that they basically live in dog years. From the moment you get some visibility, you have eight to ten years to remain relevant. After that, you undergo one of nature's most beautiful transformations: from rapper to dad. Pretty much every rapper with a household name does very little, in terms of the content of their music, other than yell at the kids to get off the lawn.
But some older rappers, the chosen few, manage to resist the temptations of crankiness, domesticity and predictability. Dr. Dre. Bun B. DMX. And, maybe most important of all, Busta Rhymes.
He's like that kid in 28 Weeks Later whose body mysteriously resists infection by the Rage virus. There is something in Busta's genes that makes him immune to the slow creep of mediocrity. His delivery is still jaw dropping, his lyrics have always remained sophisticated without lapsing into pedantry and he is still having WAY MORE FUN THAN ANYONE. Maybe that's the secret. He actually loves making music, and pretty clearly isn't just using his talent as leverage on fame. Try to tell me that 50 Cent loves the process of writing and recording songs.
Maybe we should inject some of Busta's marrow into Eminem. It might be our only chance.
Hi Fi
I consider hip-hop to be the most egalitarian genre of popular music. Pretty much anyone with a mouth that can open stands a slim chance of ending up on MTV - while being in a punk band is a good way to get laid in high school, in the end, nobody's really paying attention. The ugliest truth of the rap world is that talent is an entirely secondary factor in a successful career.
Take Young Jeezy. He's famous because he sounds like he gargles with Drano, he wears leather and his production is colossal. But he raps like Shawty Lo if the hemispheres of Shawty Lo's brain were connected. And it doesn't matter.
When the stars are aligned, a rap video will improve exponentially as you throw money at it. Where a rock band would spend all their funds hiring cartoonists to draw girls with stupid haircuts riding magic reindeer who fart raindrops, a rapper will concentrate on what's important: looking cool. This is the central purpose of all music videos, and rap is the only genre that really fulfills it.
This isn't to say that less-groomed rappers are irrelevant, just that they're disadvantaged. And when you see them scaling the side of the YouTube mountain, it's exciting.
See, you don't have to have half a million dollars to make a compelling video. If you have a good concept and you don't spend half the song glancing nervously at the camera while trying to look hardcore in your back yard, it's almost better than the Jerry Bruckheimer shit. Almost. Watching these videos is like getting to see just a little bit more cleavage than you should. Maybe the boobs will look like crosseyed yams when they're seen in full light, but maybe you just danced with Scarlett Johansson before The Island haunted the daydreams of every teenage guy in the country.
Then, sometimes, your grandpa left you $99999999 and your manager is your high school choir teacher.
Take Young Jeezy. He's famous because he sounds like he gargles with Drano, he wears leather and his production is colossal. But he raps like Shawty Lo if the hemispheres of Shawty Lo's brain were connected. And it doesn't matter.
When the stars are aligned, a rap video will improve exponentially as you throw money at it. Where a rock band would spend all their funds hiring cartoonists to draw girls with stupid haircuts riding magic reindeer who fart raindrops, a rapper will concentrate on what's important: looking cool. This is the central purpose of all music videos, and rap is the only genre that really fulfills it.
This isn't to say that less-groomed rappers are irrelevant, just that they're disadvantaged. And when you see them scaling the side of the YouTube mountain, it's exciting.
See, you don't have to have half a million dollars to make a compelling video. If you have a good concept and you don't spend half the song glancing nervously at the camera while trying to look hardcore in your back yard, it's almost better than the Jerry Bruckheimer shit. Almost. Watching these videos is like getting to see just a little bit more cleavage than you should. Maybe the boobs will look like crosseyed yams when they're seen in full light, but maybe you just danced with Scarlett Johansson before The Island haunted the daydreams of every teenage guy in the country.
Then, sometimes, your grandpa left you $99999999 and your manager is your high school choir teacher.
Tropical Activities
I like Birdman. Mostly because he's gross and ugly and so legendarily lazy in his delivery.
But come on. This has to be his low point (go ahead and skip to around the two-minute mark):
The producer put a microphone up to the speakers on his Casio Keyjamstation1000, hit the "Hip-Hop 3" button and called it a day. And Birdman's verse, which is half shout-outs, actually weakens the song. You rap like you're mouthing last words to your grandchildren.
But come on. This has to be his low point (go ahead and skip to around the two-minute mark):
Glasses Malone Sun Come Up from THA BIZNESS on Vimeo.
The producer put a microphone up to the speakers on his Casio Keyjamstation1000, hit the "Hip-Hop 3" button and called it a day. And Birdman's verse, which is half shout-outs, actually weakens the song. You rap like you're mouthing last words to your grandchildren.
Kidz Bop
SOULJABOY, YOU ARE BEING UPSTAGED BY A TEN-YEAR-OLD IN AN IRONMAN SHIRT.
Pretty soon, when he gets a pube, he's going to realize that he is 1,000,000,000 more likable than you and you will be CRUSHED. I HOPE YOU ARE READY TO REAP THE SCOOTER SMIFF WHIRLWIND.
Who's the Big Winner? (It Isn't Nelly)
Ignore the annoying-ass organ sample. Ignore the fact that anything post-Fear-and-Loathing that's Vegas themed is automatically for dads. Ignore Nelly. In fact, ignore everything except the first minute of this video. Look at that little guy! Look at his bow tie and his glasses and his baldness! If you went on a cruise and met the girl of your dreams but she was with her shitheel boyfriend, he'd be the bartender who'd mix you some amazing secret drink, be all like, "Do you have any idea how much pussy I get? You know why? Because I don't give a fuck," then teach you to tap dance, just because. You wouldn't even have to worry about the girl anymore, because you just met the coolest friend you've ever had.
I want Jermaine Dupri to hang out in my fort.
Stay in Your Seats
Finally, the Michael Jordan of Rapping sits down for a serious conversation with the Michael Jordan of Wearing Stupid Hats and the Michael Jordan of Being a Third Wheel and Laughing Obnoxiously. If you ever use the term "awesmazing," angels will sear it into your backflesh before casting you into the abyss to suffer forever.
Learning to Love Again
I've been subjecting you to a nonstop assault of embarrassment and pain. Considering that I should probably be tried by a UN tribunal just for showing you the last video, and also considering that I won't be able to go to sleep for another two hours while rage fights shame for control of my face, I did overtime research to find you something nourishing. This came out in 2008, but was accidentally posted in the "new videos" section of one of my source sites. We're all feeling very lost and confused so, in the name of public health, I'll make an exception to my usual exclusion of old releases.
Do you see what happens when serious rappers co-opt elements of rock into their music? This video is so well conceived it makes me want to cry even more than I already do.
Do you see what happens when serious rappers co-opt elements of rock into their music? This video is so well conceived it makes me want to cry even more than I already do.
The Human Stain
I think it's a great thing that hip hop rules the Earth now. Every fourteen-year-old in every country whose media has advanced past the "remaindered Michael Jackson tape" stage (and whose governments won't cut their heads off for looking at black people) lives their life to a soundtrack of American rap.
The bad thing is that contemporary rock music, having confronted the empirical and undeniable superiority of rap, is attempting to dip its nail-polished fingers in the pie. First Lil' Wayne decided to announce the end of his career with a cacophony of screeching Avril Lavigne guitars, then this:
brokeNCYDE - Booty Call Feat. E-40
Luckily, the Criss Angel VH1 emocore cokefiend eagle-tattoo-on-chest guyliner invertebrates have only succeeded in capturing E-40, a fourth-tier artist who hasn't gotten a record on the radio since back when people thought taking ecstasy and jumping out of moving cars was cool. But HOLY SHIT. What is your deal? You know who listens to you? Guys who watch TV shows where every time anyone walks anywhere (usually to go into a store that sells internet browsers for motorcycle dashboards) it's in fast motion.
"Oh baby girl I see your photos on myspace
You look so beautiful
So what I gotta do to take you to my place
So you can be my booty girl."
Asher Roth, I'm sorry I called you a date rapist. Not because you aren't, but just because I had forgotten that there are bigger enemies at work in the world. You know what I think about when I imagine girls I have crushes on being hit on by guys who aren't me? These people. It's like whatever soulless label executive cooked up this band magically recorded my nightmares and set them to "music."
BrokeNCYDE, you are not date rapists. You are rapists. Old fashioned. I think I caught syphilis just from watching that, you fucking mongoloids.
The bad thing is that contemporary rock music, having confronted the empirical and undeniable superiority of rap, is attempting to dip its nail-polished fingers in the pie. First Lil' Wayne decided to announce the end of his career with a cacophony of screeching Avril Lavigne guitars, then this:
brokeNCYDE - Booty Call Feat. E-40
Luckily, the Criss Angel VH1 emocore cokefiend eagle-tattoo-on-chest guyliner invertebrates have only succeeded in capturing E-40, a fourth-tier artist who hasn't gotten a record on the radio since back when people thought taking ecstasy and jumping out of moving cars was cool. But HOLY SHIT. What is your deal? You know who listens to you? Guys who watch TV shows where every time anyone walks anywhere (usually to go into a store that sells internet browsers for motorcycle dashboards) it's in fast motion.
You look so beautiful
So what I gotta do to take you to my place
So you can be my booty girl."
Asher Roth, I'm sorry I called you a date rapist. Not because you aren't, but just because I had forgotten that there are bigger enemies at work in the world. You know what I think about when I imagine girls I have crushes on being hit on by guys who aren't me? These people. It's like whatever soulless label executive cooked up this band magically recorded my nightmares and set them to "music."
BrokeNCYDE, you are not date rapists. You are rapists. Old fashioned. I think I caught syphilis just from watching that, you fucking mongoloids.
Das a Nischt-Nischt
He picked the most vocally anti-gay celebrity in the country to aerially 69. I can't tell if this is funny or just predictable.
