by Adam Bradley
3. Rappers Say New Things in Old Ways and Old Things in New Ways
It isn’t enough for rappers simply to use a simile or a metaphor; to stand out they must provide some spark of ingenuity. One measure of an MC’s skill is in his or her ability to breathe new life into old forms by finding original things to say or at least new ways of talking about old things. For those rappers who continue to rehash old themes—the “money, cash, hos” Jay-Z once rapped about—the challenge is to find distinctive ways of addressing them, be it through an original metaphor or some other lyrical innovation.
4. Rap Values Clarity
This, in part, is why rap’s relation to literary poetry is closer than that of many other forms of popular lyric. Rap wants to be understood. Mick Jagger intentionally slurs his way through “Rough Justice,” while Eminem clearly enunciates every word on “Stan.” Clarity might just be the reason rap is so often targeted for censorship. It doesn’t hide behind the music; it almost always comes through loud and clear.
5. Verbal Dexterity Is the Best Measure of a Rapper’s Virtuosity
Wordplay, the creative application of rap figures and forms, is only the most obvious test of a rapper’s skill. The best measure of virtuosity, however, might be sublinguistic, the manipulation of syllables and sounds. “I like being read,” Rakim explains. “The way you do that is by having a lot of words, a lot of syllables, different types of words.” This requires ingenious poetry, but it also requires mastery of physical qualities like breath control and articulation.
6. Voice Matters in Rap
The voice is a rapper’s instrument. Not all instruments, however, are created equal. Rap has its share of great voices: Chuck D, Tupac, Biggie, Q-Tip, Lauryn Hill. It also has its share of strange, limited, or undistinguished ones. Regardless of the tonal quality, though, voice matters. As KRS-One explains, “Rappers should always remember that their own voices are the true essence of Rap music, and it is that essence that gives the Rapper life.” More often than not, those rappers consistently listed among the greatest of all time are also gifted with tremendous vocal instruments. A great voice does not guarantee success, nor does a grating one damn one to obscurity.
7. Thematic Development Is Essential in Shaping Rap’s Lyrical Content
A rapper who spits a series of disconnected couplets is generally considered less skillful than one who can develop multiple facets of a particular theme or idea. In its most evolved form, this takes the shape of narrative—rap storytelling. It could also mean sixteen bars on your lyrical skill or your opponent’s weakness. It could mean an abstract idea refracted through a series of images and figurative constructions. Regardless of the specifics, rap audiences expect a sense of cohesion and wholeness from a rhyme.
8. Rap Is No Joke, But It Can Definitely Be Funny
Rap’s image in the popular imagination is dominated by aggression: young black men talking about guns, drugs, and violence. Comedy would seem to have little place. Mobb Deep’s Prodigy best expressed this attitude of straight-faced menace when he rapped on “Eye for an Eye,” “I might crack a smile, but ain’t a damn thing funny.” That said, much rap has an irrepressible sense of humor. Its wit is often displayed in conjunction with its aggression—sometimes to undercut it even to the point of parody; other times to render it more sinister still, as in the chillingly lighthearted way that the Notorious B.I.G. sometimes rapped about death. Without a doubt, rap has its share of comedians, from clown princes like Flavor Flav and Ol’ Dirty Bastard to slow-flowing, sardonic wits like Too Short and Snoop Dogg. Hip hop’s humor shares in the spirit of the tragicomic, an essential force behind black American cultural expression, from the blues to the dozens.
9. Rap Can Be High Concept or Low Concept, But It’s Never No Concept
For some hip-hop purists the astounding popularity of D4L’s 2006 chart-topping single “Laffy Taffy” spelled the end of hip hop as we know it. How could such a simplistic and, well, dumb song ever become so popular? What happened to lyrics with meaning? The fact is that rap has always catered to a broad range of tastes. For every song like “The Message” there was a “Fat Boys.” “Laffy Taffy” was recorded for the clubs—night clubs, dance clubs, strip clubs. Yes, it was low concept, but it had a concept, and within those shockingly limited constraints, it was a tremendous success.
High-concept raps—not to be confused necessarily with high-quality raps—are those that aspire to grand expressive range and purpose. That purpose may be to express socio-political messages (like so-called conscious rappers), or it may be to experiment with new lyrical forms (such as Immortal Technique’s nine-and-half-minute lyrical horror story, “Dance with the Devil”) or to set a lyrical challenge for oneself (like Long Beach’s Crooked I did when he came up with The Dream Tapes, a series of a cappella freestyles he spit onto a bedside tape recorder just after waking up in the morning). Rap is at its weakest when it does away with a clear concept, an articulate vision of order and purpose. For rap to thrive, an audience has to be able to hear in the lyrics the reason that the rapper picked up the microphone.
10. Rap Relies on Originality and Recycling, All at Once
Kool G Rap once warned that “biters are wanted like animals hunted.” Biting another MC’s style is the greatest crime a lyricist can commit, and yet rap could not exist had it not borrowed heavily from other art forms. That both of these things can be true is rap’s fundamental paradox. From the musical sampling that often comprises hip-hop tracks to the lyrical “biting” that makes direct use of other people’s words, rap is filled with things that originally belonged to others. So what separates creative adaptation from outright theft? The answer lies in rap’s originality.
As an art form, rap relies on repetition—but repetition with a difference. Its creative process consists of MCs taking ready-made things that are close at hand and transforming them to fit the pattern of their unique artistic vision. While biters might simply copy someone’s flow, or even try to pass off someone else’s lyrics as their own, true MCs have the ability to make what they take from others into something all their own.
You may disagree with some of these claims. If you do, that’s fine with me because it’s only in heated discussions among rappers, writers, and hip-hop fans that we’ll finally appreciate hip hop’s poetry. None of the commandments that I’ve laid down is fixed; they are open to addition, revision, or rejection. They belong to every MC, but most of all they belong to the rest of us. As active listeners, we can affect rap’s values by what we choose to hear. Even more important, we can shape these values—and with them, the future of rap itself—by becoming better listeners, sophisticated enough to comprehend rap’s finest examples of lyrical invention and, in turn, to inspire the best MCs to continued heights of lyrical greatness. Will rap stand the test of time? The answer is in the book of rhymes.
Acknowledgments
THIS BOOK IS the product of many hours spent listening to hip hop, reading poetry, and talking about both—sometimes separately and sometimes together. The idea for Book of Rhymes was born during late-night listening sessions with my friend Andrew DuBois. Many of the insights in this book are also his. We both had the privilege of studying poetry with Helen Vendler, a magnificent teacher; her influence is apparent throughout. I also wish to thank Henry Louis Gates, Jr., Cornel West, Werner Sollors, Larry Buell, and John Callahan, all great mentors who have shaped my thinking about literature and culture.
Robert Guinsler, my agent, worked tirelessly to find the best home for this book. We found it at BasicCivitas. I wish to thank all the folks there—in particular, Chris Greenberg, the editor who originally took on the project, and Brandon Proia, the editor who saw the book through to publication, pushing for my best.
Claremont McKenna College offered me tremendous support while I was writing this book, through summer grants and a year-long research leave. Thanks to my Literature Department colleagues, past and present, for their encouragement: Audrey Bilger, Robert Faggen, Jo
hn Farrell, Tobias Gregory, Seth Lobis, Ann Meyer, Jim Morrison, and Nick Warner. Thanks also to my colleagues in Black Studies, in particular: Dipa Basu, Hal Fairchild, Eric Hurley, Val Thomas, and Sheila Walker.
My friend and former student Max Lipset dedicated himself to this book like it was his own, offering the kinds of indispensable insights and suggestions that only a true hip-hop head could provide. I’m deeply indebted to him.
A number of other students also informed and inspired this work, from the members of my Twentieth-Century Black Poetics seminars to the students with whom I’ve talked about hip hop over the years, both inside and outside of the classroom. I thank all of them, but particularly: Erika Andraca, Ryan Avanzado, Brentt Baltimore, Severine Beaulieu, Teo Bennett, J. R. Bonhomme-Isaiah, Monique Cadle, Jordan Crumley, Lisette Farve, Antoine Grant, Griffin Halpern, Moose Halpern, Kazumi Igus, Steven Kim, Ryan Larsen, Salim Lemelle, Brendan Loper, Candice McCray, Ryan Gaines McDonald, Courtney Moffett-Bateau, Kiki Namikas, Winston Owens, Aleksis Psychas, Ritika Puri, Glen Rice, Ava Robinson, Kevin Shih, Simon Shogry, Paul Snell, Jin Tan, Ramón Torres, Koko Umoren, Candace Valenzuela, Sean Abu Wilson, and Terrell Whitfield.
Many people have inspired, challenged, and sustained me in my love of hip hop and poetry over the years. In particular, I wish to thank: Jabari Asim, Emily Bernard, Jonathan Brent, the Bredie family (Jos, Carmen, Nick, and Chris), HV Claytor, Sam Davis III (hipolitics.com in ’09!), Derek Foster, Justin Francis (big thanks for the author photo), Chris Free-berg, David Gallagher, Cruz Gamboa, Wil Haygood, R. Scott Heath, Jim von der Heydt, John L. Jackson, Jr., Shani Jamila, Ayinde Jean-Baptiste, Romulus Johnson, Mike Lipset, Ayanna Lonian, Megan McDaniel, James Miller, Kevin Merida, Martha Nadell, Lonnae O’Neal Parker, Renée Ann Richardson, Rossi Russell, Jonathan Tambiah, Ulrica Wilson, and David Yaffe. A special thanks to those who read and commented on all or part of the manuscript, including: Malik Ali, Glenda Carpio, Maggie Fromm, Michaeljulius Idani, Dimitry Elias Léger, Jim Morrison, Lance Rutledge, Sarah Spain Shelton, and Jason Shelton.
It is a pleasure and a responsibility to write about hip hop at a time when so many gifted writers and scholars are already doing it so well. I wish to acknowledge a few of them here: H. Samy Alim, James Bernard, Jon Caramanica, Jeff Chang, William Jelani Cobb, Brian Coleman, Kyle Dargan, Michael Gonzales, Bakari Kitwana, Adam Krims, Ferentz Lafargue, Adam Mansbach, Joan Morgan, Mark Anthony Neal, Imani Perry, Gwendolyn Pough, Marcus Reeves, Kelefa Sanneh, James G. Spady, Oliver Wang, and S. Craig Watkins. And, of course, none of us would have anything to write about without the many MCs—underground, aboveground, and in between—who are keeping hip hop very much alive. There are far too many artists to name, so I’ll just say, “Thanks to hip hop.”
Finally, I thank my family for their love and support: my mother, Jane Bradley, and her partner, Kenny Wine; my late grandparents Iver and Jane Bradley, who taught me at home until high school; my brother, Jack Meyer, and his wife, Sarah Coleman-Meyer; my beautiful aunts LaVerne Tucker, Kathy Terry, and Catherine Terry; my late father, Jim Terry, and my stepmother, Beth Terry; Chuck Meyer and Sunny Meyer; my brother- and sister-in-law, Jason Shelton and Sarah Spain Shelton; and my in-laws, Bill and Mary Spain. Most of all, I wish to thank Anna, my remarkable wife, closest friend, and best critic. Her love sustains me.
Credits
“Baby Don’t Go.” Words and music by Jermaine Dupri, John David Jackson, and Vincent Bell. Copyright © 2007 EMI April Music Inc., Shaniah Cymone Music, J Brasco, Universal Music Corp., Universal Music-Z Songs, and Nappypub Music. All rights for Shaniah Cymone Music and J Brasco controlled and administered by EMI April Music Inc. All rights for Nappypub Music controlled and administered by Universal Music-Z Songs. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by permission.
“Childz Play.” Words and music by Christopher Bridges, Thomas Callaway, Patrick Brown, Raymon Murray, and Rico Wade. Copyright © 2004 EMI April Music Inc., Ludacris Music Publishing Inc., Chrysalis Music Ltd., and Organized Noize Music. All rights for Ludacris Music Publishing Inc. controlled and administered by EMI April Music Inc. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by permission.
“Dr. Carter.” Words and music by David A. Axelrod, Dwayne Carter, and Kasseem Dean. Copyright © 2008 Morley Music Co., Young Money Publishing, and Swizz Beatz. All rights reserved.
“Drug Ballad.” Words and music by Marshall Mathers, Jeff Bass, and Mark Bass. Copyright © 2000 Ensign Music LLC and Eight Mile Style Music. International copyright secured. All rights reserved.
“I Know You Got Soul.” Words and music by Eric Barrier, Charles Bobbit, James Brown, Bobby Byrd, and William Griffin. Copyright © 1987 Universal-Song of Polygram International Inc., Robert Hill Music, and Unichappell Music Inc. All rights for Robert Hill Music controlled and administered by Universal-Songs of Polygram International Inc. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
“The Bizness.” Words and music by Lonnie Lynn, Kelvin Mercer, David Jolicoeur, and Vincent Mason. Copyright © 1996 Songs of Universal Inc., Senseless Music Inc., Daisy Age Music, Tee Girl Music, and Vincent Mason. All rights for Senseless Music Inc. controlled and administered by Songs of Universal Inc. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
“Wrath of Kane.” Words and music by Antonio Hardy (Big Daddy Kane) and Marlon Williams (Marly Marl). Published by CAK Music Publishing, Inc.
Notes
RAP POETRY 101
xiv “An enormous amount of creative energy”: Jeff Chang, Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2005), 82-83.
xiv “Rap was the final conclusion”: KRS-One, Ruminations (New York: Welcome Rain Publishers, 2003), 217.
xvii “aspires towards the condition of music”: Walter Pater, “The School of Giorgione” (1877), reprinted in Selected Writings of Walter Pater, ed. Harold Bloom (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974), 55.
xvii “The lyric poem always walks the line”: Edward Hirsch, How to Read a Poem and Fall in Love with Poetry (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1999), 10.
ONE Rhythm
4 “I can go to Japan”: David Ma, “Bear Witness: Dilated Peoples’ Evidence Testifies to Hip-Hop’s Longevity,” Wax Poetics, No. 26, December-January 2008, 55.
5 “Poetic forms are like that”: Paul Fussell, Poetic Meter and Poetic Form (New York: McGraw-Hill, Inc., 1979), 126.
5 from a groan to a sonnet is a straight line: Cleanth Brooks and Robert Penn Warren, Conversations on the Craft of Poetry (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1961).
5 “an elaboration of the rhythms of common speech”: William Butler Yeats, “Modern Poetry” (1936), reprinted in Essays and Introductions (London: Macmillan, 1961), 499-500.
5 “Music only needs a pulse”: The RZA, The Wu-Tang Manual: Enter the 36 Chambers, Vol. 1 (New York: Riverhead, 2005), 204.
6 “The beat of the heart seems to be basic”: Robert Frost, “Conversations on the Craft of Poetry,” reprinted in Robert Frost on Writing (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1973), 155-156.
6 “inspire that feeling in an MC”: The RZA, 208.
7 “Well, initially, [I would] probably just [write] my rhymes”: Andrew Mason and Dale Coachman, “The Metamorphosis: Ever-Evolving Q-Tip Emerges with New Sounds,” Wax Poetics, No. 28, April 2008, 93.
8 “what results when the natural rhythmical movements”: Fussell, 4.
10 “Today one almost hesitates to say”: Timothy Steele, Missing Measures: Modern Poetry and the Revolt Against Meter (Fayetteville: University of Arkansas Press, 1990), 281.
12 “rap pretty much is subservient to the beat”: H. Samy Alim, Roc the Mic Right: The Language of Hip Hop Culture (New York: Routledge, 2006), 96.
13 “Just to hear the bass was like everything”: Jim Fricke and Charlie Ahearn, Yes Yes Y’all: The Experience Music Project Oral History of Hip-Hop’s First Decade (New York: Da Capo Press, 2002), 43.
14 “The Kool Herc style at the time”: Fri
cke and Ahearn, 74.
15 “MCs were elevating the art of rhyme”: Marcus Reeves, Somebody Scream! Rap Music’s Rise to Prominence in the Aftershock of Black Power (New York: Faber and Faber, Inc., 2008).
15 “Every subsequent generation of MCs”: William Jelani Cobb, To the Break of Dawn: A Freestyle on the Hip Hop Aesthetic (New York: New York University Press, 2007), 47.
17 “I was 12, the same age my oldest daughter”: Lonnae O’Neal Parker, “Why I Gave Up on Hip-Hop,” Washington Post, October 15, 2006, B1.
19 “Blacks alone didn’t invent poetics”: Robert B. Stepto and Michael S. Harper, “Study and Experience: An Interview with Ralph Ellison,” 1976, reprinted in Conversations with Ralph Ellison, ed. Maryemma Graham and Amritjit Singh (Oxford: University of Mississippi Press, 1995), 330.
