Grand Puba: “Black Family Day” and The Politics Of Cool
When picking apart rap songs, I have often found it easy to consider the social commentary or culture critique located in lyrics as poetic/musical devices and little more. That is to say, rather than analyze such commentaries as attempts to engage listeners in discussions about issues or conditions that shape their lives for better or worse, I have preferred to frame them as musings designed to assist the artist in the process of making sense of the world while simultaneously sounding cool. I have assumed, wrongly, that these two processes are mutually exclusive, or not at least not likely to occur simultaneously. Part of the reason I often defer to this stance is because I find other critical approaches distasteful or fallacious.
I have never been too keen on the idea that all art worth consuming has to function as propaganda, or be judged solely on how it operates as such. I have long been suspicious of the “socially conscious” label that gets slapped on certain acts. As far as I can tell “social consciousness” has more to do with a preference for jazz samples, a collegiate fanbase, an affinity for bohemian chic, a cursory knowledge of conspiracy theories than the espousal of progressive ideologies. And even if rappers are genuinely interested in engendering social or political change for the benefit of the collective, who cares, right? Rappers are supposed to flow well over dope beats, and any extra Easter eggs they leave for discerning listeners are just additional reasons to enjoy the music for its own sake, I reasoned.
The problem with this line of thinking should be obvious to anyone who has listened to more than three rap songs in their lifetime: rappers talks so much on record that almost all of them eventually offer social, cultural, and political commentary. Put almost any rapper under the critical microscope, scrutinize every available recording in his/her/their discography, close-read every single lyric and ad-lib and in 99.9% of cases or more, you will find at least one coherent statement of protest against U.S. governmental policy and/or dominant social, political, cultural, and educational institutions. Sometimes these sentiments are partly masked behind braggadocio or framed in a seemingly insular discussion of rap music and its reception or tucked away in personal reflections on poverty and struggle, but they are there, loud and clear.
It is a mistake to presume that such expressions have no import in the world outside of song and dance. For many years I have justified my fallacious stance as a way to steer clear of the slippery slope of conservatism that traps so many critics and longtime fans whose impatience with violent, sexist, or homonegative1 attitudes interferes with their ability to objectively assess music. I interpreted attempts to take artists to task for their commentaries as attacks on youth and youth culture, an unfair form of pillorying motivated by an underestimation of the critical faculties and decision making skills of poor urban black and Latino youth. To this day, I am often reluctant to even consider the possibility that rap lyrics can shape behaviors or concede that rap lyrics are not exempt from the scrutiny of the communities that consume them.