By Malice Intended
The late, great George Carlin once observed that Americans have a deep seeded fear of aging and death. That fear is readily apparent in Hip-Hop. Younger rappers revel in their youth while older rappers remain stuck in the past and refuse to grow up. Rap fans in their 30’s are now collectively at a cross roads. Growing up requires leaving childish things behind, and much of Hip-Hop revolves around seemingly childish pursuits. Is it possible for those of us in our mid-thirties to continue to enjoy mainstream rap music the same as we did in our teens?
Hip-Hop has always placed an emphasis on remaining hip and current. Artists and fans are expected to keep up. The current champ is always in danger of losing his spot to a hungry new upstart. His resistance to being ousted or replaced reflects that of his fans. However, change is inevitable. If the crowd demands a new king, so be it. If the upstart has a groundswell of support backing his coup, all naysayers will eventually be drowned out by the cheers of the crowd.
However, at some point, keeping up is no longer honest or realistic. With every passing year, one’s ability to adapt diminishes a bit. In an effort not to become like our parents, many of us struggle to appear in touch with the times. Many thirty-somethings profess love for Lil Wayne, Drake, and other members of the Young Money collective. A good deal of that love may be authentic, but some of it is surely forced. This leads me to my current dilemma.
I have come to a veritable fork in the road with Drakes sophomore album Take Care. It has impressed critics and fans alike. After a blockbuster first week atop the Billboard charts, it continues its steady crawl to the platinum finish line and beyond. I wish I could join in with the celebration, but upon first listen, the album left me lukewarm. I only truly enjoyed a relative handful of songs. I have made numerous attempts to listen to the album in its entirety, only to have my impatience win out every time. I inevitably end up hitting the skip button on my ipod repeatedly.
What was it about the album that has me so reluctant to embrace it? Synthesized production has never been my cup of tea, and the beats that Drake chose to rock over feel especially murky and dreary. Then again, I’ve never really had a problem with moody rap. I like Kid Cudi just fine. Admittedly, Drakes vocals have never impressed me, as I find his voice to be only slightly less grating than Wayne’s. Still, that wasn’t really the problem. His “soft” image doesn’t bother me, as I’d be the first to admit that mainstream Hip-Hop needs to broaden its emotional range. My issue with the album was something a bit less tangible and more visceral.
Then, suddenly, it hit me. I’m getting old. Perhaps Drake is speaking to a mindset and worldview that I can no longer fully understand or relate to. I’d love to believe there is something sorely lacking in the execution. To certain extent I actually think there is, yet I can’t shake the feeling that I am somehow not being fair to this particular artist. After all, I remember some of my older relatives thinking that Rakim was overrated when I was a kid. Am I now doing the same thing to Hip-Hop’s new champion?
Take Care is but the most prominent and current example. Recently, I have felt a similar detachment to many of Hip-Hop’s current champions. Their music feels like a broadcast from an alien world, albeit one that is vaguely familiar. Though I am technically a part of the same tribe, I feel no real kinship to them. Any attempt on my part to understand and/or advocate them feels disingenuous. My gut tells me to dismiss these cats outright, yet my brain urges me to think twice. Alas, being a grown up often requires one to use their head instead of their heart. I do so through clenched teeth. Then again, no one ever said growing up would be easy.
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