Hip-Hop & I: An Essay of Discovery & Reflection

Ok, it's 1994, the "West End" of Dayton, Ohio. The year that Da Brat's Funkdafied and The Notorious B.I.G.'s Ready to Die were just two of many hip-hop records to dominate the airwaves.

The genre was in its powerful second decade and thoroughly mainstream by this time. Yet, all this nine-year old cared about was a Swedish pop foursome named Ace of Base, who were breaking America with a song called "The Sign."

That was a testament to my voluntary and involuntary isolationism from hip-hop, its music and subsequent culture. Yes, I was a black boy in what many considered (and still do) the "black side" of town. By default I was immersed, as anyone my age would have been, in the wake of the colonization of this musical art form. I was down with Naughty By Nature's "OPP," even though I only knew it as a chant-ready sing-along in the backseat of our Buick. I loved doing the dances with classmates. When 1995 came around, I loved singing along to Mariah Carey and Ol' Dirty Bastard on her "Fantasy" remix.

Though unlike my Dad, my younger brother, or any of my male peers, hip-hop didn't connect with me. Inside. It didn't stir my spirit or touch that place that I knew it should. Majority of the conflict dealt with what later was my emerging sexuality. Hip-hop spoke a similar sentiment that generally defined Black America's position on homosexuality: You are not of us, go away from us.

So I did.

At 16, my ear had started to create its own universe. In a place like Dayton where there is no scene, you have to make your own, and I made mine with music. My opinions toward hip-hop had slowly thawed, but not by much.

I allowed myself the luxuries of what some would call "old school." Those emcee's that were friendly enough to work with the female singers I admired also got a pass sometimes. However, nothing went further than that, my lack of interest reflected the struggle I was having with said sexuality.

The exaggerated image of masculinity in African-American society found its stage in hip-hop. Being attracted to what I (superficially) perceived as strength and sensuality was that form, and in turn that form's expression in hip-hop's institutions. Psychology aside, in 2002, the year I would come out, I nursed crushes on Joe Budden and Cam'Ron look-a-likes in my class. Infatuations with straight black boys who'd soon as spit on me than talk to me.

College arrived, and that "widening of life" atypical of the period began to take place. It was 2006, and my appetite for music was in rapid bloom. Any and everything was up for consumption: disco, alternative, neo-soul. My love affair with Quiet Storm and jazz was just a year away. Then on a random day, in a month in the previously mentioned year of 2006 I found him: Lupe Fiasco.

Instantly I was transplanted from being a slightly less awkward, more confident 21 year old, to the shy, foppish slip of a teen that lusted after my black high school crushes. All partially laced Air Force One's, sweat shorts that fell against them just perfectly, their duffel bag cluttering the basketball courts. Surely those bags contained their CD players and copies of assorted Jay-Z, OutKast, and Eminem albums.

Lupe's stoic stare captured me, as he floated in mid-air on his album cover. He was surrounded by Japanese boy culture objects, a sword, and Koran amongst the assorted melee and my curiosity heightened even more. I began to recall reading about a single he'd released called "Kick, Push."

Driven by music fueled curiosity, and hormones, I decided to check out what he offered. Little did I know that this decision would begin a romance with hip-hop that thrives to the moment of this sentence being typed.

I discovered my tastes were specific, and the jazzy beats of the Native Tongues Collective cliques such as A Tribe Called Quest and De La Soul appealed to me. The Native Tongues "queen," known as Latifah, won me over easily as well. I did enjoy some mainstream, and the creative presences of LL Cool J, Missy Elliott, Will Smith, and Salt 'N Pepa fulfilled those needs.

Legends like Eric B. & Rakim put me in trances with albums like Follow the Leader (1989) and Don't Sweat the Technique (1992). Substance and style driven gentleman like Common and Mos Def captivated me, even the swanky Southerners OutKast caught my attention (finally!). The list grew endless. I began to see and hear the poetry, the range of sound, the presence these individuals had to offer me. I saw why this genre galvanized and enthralled: it was alive!

Later, after I joined the ranks of the arts weekly The Dayton City Paper, I got to interview one of my favorite emcee's: Common. It was beyond what I ever imagined. Yet, inside me lurked that feeling of uncertainty, that this movement wasn't designed for me. I got the poetic stances, the varied musical patchworks that emphasized my mantra for music equality: quality over quantity.

The question remained that as an art form, did this represent me as a young, gay African-American male? I don't know. It is an issue looming over Black America. Its infested roots of homophobia, intolerance, violence (emotional and physical) lie within the recesses of the Janus masked black church. Hip-hop merely gives back to us what it was given and partially birthed out of.

I have seen strides though, to embrace the black GLBT community, but much work still lingers on. Maybe it is just enough to appreciate from an aesthetic distance. Possibly sharing my six favorite hip-hop recordings will assist in being one of the smaller bridges to close the gap of hate? Maybe.

Despite the difference in our sexual orientations, we're all vibing to the same universal beat hip-hop offers to us all as people of color. It may not be soon, but I'm happy to offer healing and connection. It can begin here, with hip-hop and I.

#6. De La Soul: The Grind Date (2004)

After the muted delivery of their Art Official Intelligence recordings: Mosaic Thump (2000) and Bionix (2001), The Grind Date shook off some of the excesses that plagued that period. In its place was a focus that hadn't been heard since Buhloone Mindstate (1993), but was broad enough to make them matter in a contemporary setting without betraying their roots.

Opening on "The Future" and "Verbal Clap," De La Soul made this long player required listening. Further, the ghostly staccato of "Rock.Co.Kane Flow," the percussive "Shopping Bags," and the tricked out title track evidence that The Grind Date isn't short on additional memorable material.

#5. LL Cool J: 14 Shots to the Dome (1993)

When your debut Radio (1985) is considered one of the founding bricks in the hip-hop structure, where else can you go? James Todd Smith, known as LL Cool J, has spent three decades working that question, usually with success. This recording slipped under the radar when released. It remains a misunderstood wonder waiting for reappraisal. Within the climate of "gangsta rap" and the more expressive New York sketches drawn up by A Tribe Called Quest, 14 attempted to give LL his own voice in those changing times.

Specifically on "Pink Cookies in a Plastic Bag, Getting Crushed By Buildings," his sensuality was given a cerebral sheen. It rivaled Tribe's own "Electric Relaxation" in wordplay, composition, and tone as one of the best odes to sexual analysis in hip-hop music.

#4. Common: Electric Circus (2002)

Abstract and non-objective, Electric Circus forsook the safety he gained with Like Water for Chocolate (2000). Common turned to his wandering muse on his fifth recording. Randomly awesome instrumental segues bridge between the songs that reach wide in theme lyrically and musically.

Common himself seemed to be at home divulging more than just samples and beats this time around. "Between Me, You, and Liberation" stood as a highlight due to its empathetic, candid view on homophobia and the path toward abolishing it. No one can forget the super charged "Soul Power" that played at an almost alien frequency.

#3. A Tribe Called Quest: The Love Movement (1998)

Michael Rapaport's stellar 2011 documentary Beats, Rhymes, and Life: The Travels of A Tribe Called Quest did not tarnish nor reassess the latter two Tribe releases.

Though the name of the documentary came from one of those two records. Their fifth, and final, record The Love Movement was a future bound look into minimalism in hip-hop. Without disregard to the science-fiction romantic tilt in "Find a Way" it, (the album's lone single), only scratches the surface of what Movement contains.

#2. Digable Planets: Blowout Comb (1994)

Are you not able to let go of "Rebirth of the Slick (Cool Like Dat)?" Drop that jam and dig just a bit more into the recording that followed the Digable Planet's debut. Brilliant and taciturn, their second offering titled Blowout Comb is a rare record that can supersede the genre of its genesis.

"Black Ego" and the jaw dropping use of the '70's-'80's R&B group Tavares' cut "Bad Times" on "Dial 7 (Axioms of Creamy Spies)" are just two elements of a larger aural tapestry.

#1. Lupe Fiasco: Food & Liquor (2006)

A fluid, graceful journey through young adulthood into manhood, Lupe's Food & Liquor delves into the psyche of its emcee and gives the listener access to his pathos. Home to neo-classics such as "Kick, Push" and "Daydreamin'," the album packed more than just hit singles in its deck.

Managing to swing between sensitivity, swagger, story telling, real life tales, and almost everything in between, Fiasco's starting point is beautifully human.-QH

[Editor's Note: All recordings mentioned are readily in print, and available at various music retailer outlets.-QH]