A note to hip hop

A note to hip hop

because i was born in the age ofmiracles, earth, wind, fire, war,temptations, and wonderdoesn’t mean i don’t know hip hopgrandmaster flash and the furious fiveplayed on my radio after james browntook me to the bridgei was alive when the j5 diedand michael was bornwhen a prince bridged the funkadelic gapwith a new kind of freakyand hip hop morphed frombreakdancing to krumplyrics to rhymessampling to beatsbombing trains to wallscassettes to discsyouth wear to rocawearfad to culturefringe to suburbsedgy to mainstream

run-d.m.c. played “it’s like that”and as hip hop was namedand grew and went thruthe t-phase of ice, the ice ageof cubes, back to the t-stageof pain, i continued to channelmtv, bet, vh1, and tv1

i’ve watched grand slam, ego trip,scratch, xxl, the source, and vibe magsride high times, die, thrive, re-invent onlinewords like shawty define a girlswagg a style and dope mean goodas language and symbols became entwinedwriters like dondi and rammellzeetagged trains and graffiti became the namewhite commentators on mainline newsspoke words like dissedwhite boys became niggazblack boys like n.w.a., dr. dre,snoop dogg, the notorious b.i.g., 50 centbegan to justify the use ofhateful language, claiming they were changingdefinitions, making them respectful

yes, my ears were tweakedscratching albums grated my nervesthe thought occurred, “what a waste of good albums” i was at the birth of fubu, phat pharm,sean john, g-unit, vocal, and eckoi watched puff daddy change to diddy and puffy to pludacris sell 50,000 cds from the trunk of his carand jay z become part owner of the new jersey netsfinding and following the entrepreneurial footprintsforged by russell simmonsas he plotted a map and laid tracksfor a subway system destined to thrive

i watched fame and time take its tollon biggie and tupac and idol worshipbecome a way to declare the least of usworthy and the best of us questionablei watched east coast west coast becomemore than a state of mindand watched brothers hate brothersbecause history’s lessons of divide and ruleweren’t learned and radio stationswouldn’t play the truth

i’ve watched michael franti get less airtimethan lil wayne, just like scott-herongot less airtime than superflyi’ve watched rappers callqueens of their families by their genitaliamothers, sisters, daughters, and niecescalled bitches and hoes, untilthey had daughters of their own

i’ve watched so-called poets spit lame gameon the back of wordsmiths like scott-heronand the last poets without giving propsuntil more politically and socially consciousrappers and singers, sisters and brothers likerakim, erykah badu, krs-1, nas, mos def,de la soul, india arie, and arrested developmentrealized history and self-esteem weren’t beingrecognized, and game without history ain’t gameit’s a mis-read, a nuclear bombtargeting those most deceived

i’ve kept up with definitions as theyevolved and got to know emceeslike melle mel, kurtis blow, 2pac,jay z, big daddy kane, eminem, common,lyte, latifah, and lauryn hill

there were timesi tuned out lyrics ’cause they weredisrespectful of the rights we fought and died forcontemptuous of our queen and queen mothersdisavowing the love we learned to give ourselvesas we went from negroes, to black toafrican-hyphenated, hyphenatedback to black, and then part this, part thatbut never tuning out the developmentof the culture, ’cause i didn’t diewhen i turned fifty-five

i am hip hop, as i am the blues, jazz,gospel, r&b, country, music, and lifei wasn’t born when bechet blew summertimeand monk didn’t visit me when I was a childthey didn’t...