The New H.N.I.C.: The Death of Civil Rights and the Reign of Hip Hop

Who We Be: Introducin’ the New H.N.I.C.

Introduction Who We Be: Introducin’ the New H.N.I.C. We invite you to somethin’ epic. Where we hustle out of a sense of hopelessness , sort of a desperation. Through that desperation, we ’come addicted , sorta like them fiends we accustomed to servin’. Where we feel we have nothin’ to lose. So we offer you, well, we offer our lives. What do you bring to the table? —Jay-Z, Introduction to “Can I Live?” Be all the nigga that you are. —Benjamin Bratt as Miguel Pinero, Pinero (2001) Back in the Day Some may remember a popular Coke commercial from the mid 1990s that featured an interesting parallel between two distinct generations of Black people. As the commercial began, an older Black man, sitting back in his chair, listening to Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell sing their Motown classic “You’re All I Need to Get By.” This tune was written by the noted husband-and-wife team of Nick Ashford and Valerie Simpson, and it highlights for many, the quintessential Motown sound of the 1960s. The older Black man in the commercial was, of course, enjoying a Coke while listening to this music that seemed to transport him back to fond memories of another time. 1 The commercial went on to reveal a younger gentleman, the older man’s son, in another part of the house, listening to his own choice of music. The thump of the bass from the son’s room overpowered the melodic sounds of Marvin and Tammi. The scene went on to reveal that the loud overpowering music being listened to was that of Wu Tang solider Method Man with Mary J. Blige, the proclaimed “queen of hip hop soul” doing their own hip hop version of the same song made famous by Marvin and Tammi many years before. Of course, the point of connection was Coke, the soft drink that was suggested to link the generations, in spite of the obvious age and musical differences. The fact that the hook of the song said, “[Y]ou’re all I need to get by” clearly implied that Coke functioned as some sort of lifeline that sustained both generations in time of need, and here nurtures them in times of relaxation. My interest here is obviously not in Coke as a product or sign. No. Though the clever commercial directed by that now larger-than-ever “White nigga” Brett Ratner, who has gone on to accumulate unparalleled riches as the director of the Chris Tucker/Jackie Chan franchise Rush Hour, did stand out as a compelling endorsement for Coke, the real substance here lies in the way in which two distinct generations of Black people were juxtaposed against each other by virtue of their musical choices. To me, “’60s Motown,” as I like to call it, is very different from “’70s Motown.” My Detroit homie and my father’s contemporary, Berry Gordy, was quite successful in the 1960s at using the auto industry’s assembly-line approach to create what, in essence, became the first “crossover” music, performed by Blacks but primarily consumed by White audiences. This is not to say that ’60s Motown had no Black listeners, for it most certainly did, but it is to say that ’60s Motown was less about applying to an overtly Black aesthetic or sensibility, and more about creating a somewhat nonthreatening and ultimately diluted product for the primary purpose of attracting White listeners. INTRODUCTION 2 One need not search too far for clues of the success of this project, for the Motown that seems most remembered in our society now comes from this particular period. The overwhelming cultural resonance of a film like The Big Chill (1984) or the formerly popular CBS television program Murphy Brown, among other things, demonstrate the saturation of 60s Motown into the corridors of Whiteness, without question. As the assembly-line approach began to show signs of strain in the late ’60s, Motown in the ’70s would become known for the music that I think truly typifies its significance in terms of the culture that it produced. It is during this period that the individual brilliance of both Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder stand out as exemplary of what the label had cultivated. Berry Gordy was initially apprehensive about releasing Gaye’s now-classic What’s Going On album because he suspected it was too controversial for listeners who had...