Critical Noir: Prophets of the Hood
By Mark Anthony Neal, AOL BlackVoices columnist
Greg Tate's recent lament about the state of hip-hop (Hip-hop Turns 30: Whatcha Celebratin' For?) was just the latest salvo in an ongoing conversation about whether or not hip-hop has lost its soul. Tate is of a generation of commentators who have vivid memories of Daisy-Age nationalism and the heady Black Atlantic romanticism that marked virtually every aspect of black popular culture in the late 1980s and early 1990s. The point was never that it all resonated with diaspora-shifting urgency, but that perhaps hip-hop stood for more than the paper chase -- and yeah, we all where chasin' paper in those days. As a member of the hip-hop generation, Rutgers University law professor Imani Perry has witnessed hip-hop's transition over the last decade. In Perry's new book 'Prophets of the Hood: Politics and Poetics in Hip Hop' (Duke University Press), she offers her own assessment of the spirits and demons that possess hip-hop.
Much of Perry's book pivots on the double-entendre embedded in the book's title -- are we talking about the prophets of the hood or the profits of the hood? Throughout the book Perry thankfully shows that it's never been that simple to read through the productive and destructive aspects of hip-hop culture. Indeed, such a dichotomy belies the complexity of the lives, history and genius of those who produce hip-hop. Perry writes, "Many people who are supportive of rap, with good intentions, make the mistake, in response to attacks on the music, of arguing that there is good and bad rap, thereby categorizing quality according to politics, such that the positive political message becomes construed as 'good' music." In contrast to those who seek to champion "up-lift" rap over everything else, Perry instead describes hip-hop politics as a "radical commitment to otherness, which confounds those of us whose political standing comes of either a Civil Rights or Black Power tradition." A compelling argument, though one that sways me little when the conversation comes to Lil John.
Perry's argument is even more compelling when used to describe the centrality of criminal narratives in so much hip-hop, particularly those borrowed from cinematic Mafioso fantasies. Describing some of these narratives as "thug mimicry," Perry argues that hip-hop "does not simply provide a mimicking space; it carries a subversive message with it ... an alternative power in the face of white supremacy and the panoptic surveillance of black bodies in ghettos." She adds that the stereotype of black criminality that circulates so prominently in hip-hop gives "voice to the stereotypical figure." For example, despite all efforts to market 50 Cent as the psychopathic thug next door, when he chimes "In the Bible it says, what goes around, comes around/Almost shot me, three weeks later he got shot down/Now it's clear that I'm here, for a real reason/'Cause he got hit like I got hit, but he ain't [expletive] breathing," he gives voice and indeed spiritual substance to the stereotype that helped him sell 10 million units. It seems we all want to deny hip-hop artists the complexity that we comfortably assign to Richard Wright's Bigger Thomas, Avery Brook's portrayal of Hawk or Idris Elba's brilliant take on Stringer Bell.
A figure like 50 Cent is as old as the "bad nigga" of African-American folklore - as Perry says, "Heroic for flouting authority but was also considered a dangerous figure, both for and within the community." Perry even identifies "badwoman" traditions in hip-hop, notably in the case of Boss, whose 'Born Gangstaz' (1992) helped gender the gangsta rap phenomenon. One suspects that given the historical presence of "bad nigga" narratives and their comic counterpart black-face minstrelsy, what ultimately raises the ire of many about hip-hop is not the circulation of those images, but rather hip-hop's unfettered materialism. And this is where Perry is perhaps most provocative. "Consumerism and conspicuous consumption have become fundamental elements in hip-hop," Perry admits, but "rather than simply critique them as crass materialism, I want to consider the pleasures of shopping and dressing and using consumer goods." According to Perry, "hip-hop consumerism is in part about the use of luxury to express black style" and "style is a sign of black humanity and pride, as well as a development within black cultural practice."
'Prophets of the Hood' is among many prominent books on hip-hop culture that are being published just in time for Black History Month, including Bakari Kitwana's 'Why White Kids Love Hip-Hop,' Jeff Chang's 'Can't Stop, Won't Stop' and Eithne Quinn's 'Nuthin' But a "G" Thang.' Clearly interest in Hip-Hop Studies is only growing and Imani Perry's 'Prophets of the Hood' is yet another example of how far the field has come as a legitimate site of scholarly production.
Feb. 2, 2005