By shelz.

The debate over integrity in Hip-Hop lyrics has raged since the dawn of rap.  As musical documentarians, emcees have always walked a thin line between fact and fiction, wearing past indiscretions as red badges of courage while working PR teams around the clock to explain any grand embellishments away.  Artistic license, hyperbole, and irony, even when well managed, simply have not been a hard ass rapper’s best friend when the masses call shenanigans on the lack of truth in advertising. No rapper has ever been caught in the reality trap worse than Boss and her seminal girl gangsta release, Born Gangstaz.       

The album was a shot in the dark for Def Jam, as no femcee had a proven track record in gangsta rap.  Boss was tough, her lyrics were harsh, and she delivered them with a masterfully bone-chilling conviction that surpassed even some of her male peers. Her aesthetic was decidedly non sex kitten, allowing her to claim a G status devoid of the crew whore connotation. She drank like a fish, smoked like a chimney, shot at the cops, cursed enough to make a sailor blush and committed capital murder for sport. It was all so horrifying, so depraved.  The fan masses went crazy.

From the mellow, straight-from-the-psychiatrist’s-couch lead single “Deeper” that tackled all the apprehension and anxiety engendered by the street life to the crazy, out of control indifference in “I Don’t Give a Fuck,” Boss presented the urban wasteland with a matter-of-factness that dripped with sincerity.  It wasn’t  jewels and Jaguars nonsense.  She covered the whys, the hows, the regret, and the resilience with an authority that hasn’t been seen from a female emcee since.  Then the hammer dropped.

There was no investigative bombshell.  No exchange of pictures for money in a dark alley.  We didn’t get the story from a spurned lover or disgruntled former business associate.  It came from Boss herself.  The album was book-ended with voice messages ripped off her answering machine from mom and dad.  The ‘rents spoke of Catholic School, college and how her music wasn’t befitting her upbringing. Boss piggy-backed on those messages when she was interviewed by the Wall Street Journal, confirming her upper-middle-class childhood and all the accoutrements that came with that lifestyle.  The masses were not pleased.

She was branded a fake, accused of leading well-healed children astray and urban-washing her life experience for a buck.  Her sophomore project was scrapped and she was unceremoniously dropped from Def Jam.  In the years since her 15 minutes expired, she has been a satellite around the industry she once inhabited.  There was a brief stint as a DJ and an unfruitful attempt at a comeback in ’04.  Funny enough, since her meteoric rise and even faster fall from grace, many of her contemporaries have been outed for not keeping it real, but that uncomfortable acceptance that your favorite hard core rapper is selling fantasy was a day late and a dollar short for Boss. However, that does not diminish the fact that back in ’93 she produced what may actually be the best hardcore album from a female emcee Hip-Hop has ever known. Factual or not.

Deeper

[pro-player width=’425′ height=’344′ type=’video’]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cV_fwswKX-Y[/pro-player]

Progress Of Elimination

[pro-player width=’425′ height=’344′ type=’video’]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VvGj2QCRAgI[/pro-player]

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