To everyone out there, who's a little different

It’s no longer hip to be square. Hip-Hoppers have become so obsessed with crime tales and street lore that being an everyman is a Scarlet Letter of wackness. Of course, things have been that way for some time now, so you’re probably saying, “Welcome to 2002, Kam.” The hellstorm of self-promotion and menacing mystique that propelled 50 Cent to stardom already put 8 million nails in the coffin. Jeezy proudly declaring that he’s “not a rapper” added some dirt and firmly established that back-story is almost as important as beats.

But for some reason, putting that back-story into your music has become passé. As I thumbed threw the latest Scratch magazine, I came across a review that described Brother Ali’s upcoming The Undisputed Truth as “tragically-emo at times.” The reviewer commended Ali’s intelligence and cool, but the aforementioned statement made it seem as if displaying emotion is counter-cool. Even if that was unintentional, the reviewer expressed something that a lot of record label execs, artists and consumers believe: revealing your innermost thoughts or vulnerabilities is un-hip[hop].

There’s a large (probably dominant) segment of hip-hop listeners who don’t want to hear an MC rap about his life. They’ll happily make exceptions if that life consists of pushing weight, but don’t dare think of describing your day-to-day struggle if you walk past Nino Brown on your way to work at the mall. They’ll clamor about hip-hop being lifeless and un-relatable, but they’ll also discredit music that is exceptionally poignant and relevant. Kanye and an occasional MC might get a pass for making a catchy single, but for the most part, Alpine decks are allergic to self-expression.

Everybody wants to hear about a hustler who has enough money to make it rain in the club, but not about the janitor who cleans up that club in order to build a future for his son. Listening to a player who has a bevy of freaks on call is alluring; listening to the man who’s trying save his marriage isn’t. Let’s face it, folks – the music business is in the business of story-telling, and most consumers want their stories extravagant, sexy and unattainable. Real emotions or desires that go beyond C.R.E.A.M. ethos or dead homey memorials are out of style.

After reading Scratch, I gave The Undisputed Truth my first uninterrupted listen since the album leaked. As the bluesy-guitar sounds of “Faheem” pumped through my speaker, I couldn’t believe that anyone could describe this revealing letter to Ali’s son as tragically-emo. I’d hate to see what people would think of the more expressive and commendable “Picket Fence” that anchored Ali’s previous album, Shadows on the Sun. Throughout most of Truth, I sat enthused by Ali’s wordplay and mic control sounding so great over Ant’s always-fitting backdrops. But I soon felt a slight sense of disappointment that most hip-hop fans would never enjoy the album. Ali’s mastered the microphone and the pen, but not the games that listeners want rappers to play. If only he killed a couple of people, got shot a few times or at least participated in a few hand-to-hand transactions. Maybe then he’d get the respect he deserves.

It’s strange that emotion is linked to weakness because most MC’s on everyone’s Greatest of All-Time list have always been willing to share their sentiments with others. Had they subscribed to hip-hop’s current school of thought, 2Pac would have thrown much of his catalogue back into the Death Row vaults and Nas would have let his best work languish in the decrepit halls of Queensbridge. Biggie would have washed away the dust and grime of Ready to Die in favor of only showing the glitz of “Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems.” Many of hip-hop’s greatest artists, songs and works never would have become so ingrained in our collective consciousness. How tragic that would have been.