Urban God Talk : Constructing a Hip Hop Spirituality 9780739168301, 9780739168295

Citation preview

Urban God Talk

Urban God Talk Constructing a Hip Hop Spirituality Edited by Andre E. Johnson

LEXINGTON BOOKS Lanham • Boulder • New York • Toronto • Plymouth, UK

Published by Lexington Books A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com 10 Thornbury Road, Plymouth PL6 7PP, United Kingdom Copyright © 2013 by Lexington Books All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Urban God talk : constructing a hip hop spirituality / edited by Andre E. Johnson. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7391-6829-5 (cloth) -- ISBN 978-0-7391-6830-1 (electronic) 1. African American churches. 2. African Americans--Religion. 3. Hip-hop. 4. Hip-hop--Religious aspects--Christianity. 5. Christianity and the arts. 6. Popular culture--Religious aspects--Christianity. I. Johnson, Andre E. BR563.N4U73 2013 277.3'08308996073--dc23 2013022650 TM The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Preface

vii

Introduction

ix

Theoretical and Methodological Approaches 1 Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word: Toward a Christian Ethical Evaluation of Hip Hop Polemic James W. Perkinson 2 The Message from the Wilderness Michael D. Royster 3 “To Set at Liberty Them that are Bruised:” Exposing Liberation Theology Within Hip Hop Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV 4 “Put Your Hands Together”: The Theological Meaning of CallResponse and Collective Participation in Rap Music Angela M. Nelson 5 "Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So:" Viewing Rap Music as a Form of African-American Spirituality Darrell James Wesley 6 From the Same Womb of the Same Struggle: Hip Hop Music with the Blues and the Gospels VaNatta S. Ford 7 Performing Spirituality: Lil Wayne’s Letters from a New York Jail Sharon Lauricella

xvii

Hip Hop and Religion

115 v

1 21

37

55

67

85 95

vi

Contents

8 Rap with Soul and Pray with Flow: Youth on Hip Hop Musicality and Catholic Spirituality Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza 9 Embracing the Nation: Hip-Hop, Louis Farrakhan, and Alternative Music Dawn-Marie Gibson 10 Oath Continuities: The Inner Structure, Meaning, and Spiritualism of “Mau Mau” Hip Hop Mickie Mwanzia Koster 11 My Soul Knows How to Flow: A Critical Analysis of the History of Urban Black Christian-Themed Rap Erika D. Gault 12 Morality, the Sacred, and God in Ghanaian Hip Hop Harry Nii Koney Odamtten 13 In the Church, In the Streets: A Spectrum of Religious Expression in Christian Hip Hop and Spoken Word Poetry Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum Index

117

135

151

171 189

207 225

Preface

When I taught the first known class (anywhere) on hip hop and theology at Memphis Theological Seminary back in 2005 as a doctoral student, my coteacher (Barbara Holmes) and I had a hard time finding material that focused on hip hop’s spirituality. We knew that there was a spiritual component and an embedded theology within hip hop, but outside of Anthony Pinn’s seminal volume, there was a dearth of material. To compensate, we studied hip hop on its own merits—examining the culture itself and found a rich reservoir of material strong in theological and spiritual content. It was at that time that I vowed (after I completed my doctoral studies in Communications at the University of Memphis) to offer a contribution to Hip Hop Studies that focused on Hip Hop’s Spirituality. Upon graduation and my subsequent appointment at Memphis Theological Seminary, I began to think about a hip hop spirituality volume. While the literature that focused on hip hop and religion and spirituality had increased, it still was relatively small. Other seminaries, bible schools, and religious institutions began “studying” hip hop, focusing their concern on how churches could “reach out,” “save,” or “co-opt” the “hip hop generation.” Many viewed hip hop in this context and all that it represented as bad, evil, and ungodly. While there were a few works that examined hip hop culture within its own context, much of it still focused on outreach efforts—and while not as accusatory as some, much of it centered around dealing with hip hop within a Christian worldview. I wondered was there anyone doing some of the work Barbara and I did when we taught that first class? However, as I started attending academic conferences around the country, I began to notice that other scholars (many outside of Religious Studies) were beginning to delve into hip hop and its religious manifestations. For example, at the National Communication Association (NCA) Conference, its vii

viii

Preface

Spiritual Communication and African-American Communication and Culture (AACCD) Divisions created panels that focused on the communicative aspects of hip hop and spirituality. The National Council of Black Studies Conference for the last three years had hip hop panels devoted to hip hop, religion, and spirituality. The Association for the Study of African-American Life and History (ASALH) had papers given that focused on hip hop and religion. Other national and regional conferences have conducted panels or allowed papers that examined the intersections of hip hop, religion, and spirituality. Even for Religious Studies scholars, whom I have maintained came late to Hip Hop Studies; the American Academy of Religion (AAR) now has a group dedicated to the study of hip hop called “Critical Approaches to Hip Hop and Religion.” Therefore, with all of this activity going on, I decided it was time to put together a volume of diverse disciplines examining hip hop, religion, and spirituality and this is that volume. I would like to first thank Lexington Books—especially Melissa Wilks for believing in this work, and her assistant, Alison Northridge for keeping me focused throughout this entire project and Eric Wrona and Meaghan White for bringing it on home. I second want to thank the contributors, for without them, there is no book. I am thankful to you for your patience and understanding throughout the process. I would like also to thank you for your encouraging words as we hammered through together. I also would like to thank the reviewers who helped along the way. I also would like to thank Memphis Theological Seminary and the fine staff of the library for all of their help and assistance. I would like to thank my mentor, Rev. Dr. Barbara Holmes, for giving me an opportunity to co-teach that first hip hop class and her continued support. I would like to thank my church Gifts of Life Ministries for allowing me time to complete this project while serving as their pastor. Finally, I want to thank my wife Lisa who, though a huge blues fan, still gets excited (or does a good job playing like she gets excited) when I talk about this or any other project. She is truly my “ride or die!”

Introduction

Since coming on the scene from the dilapidated and decaying streets of New York, hip hop has been a powerful phenomenon. Whether one is inclined to see hip hop as a positive or negative influence, the culture has captured the minds and hearts of millions around the world. While many thought hip hop to be a fad, many cultural critics caught hold of this phenomenon early on and began to chronicle the new sub-culture. In 1985, Nelson George produced Fresh, Hip Hop Don’t Stop, a book that contained nearly a hundred photographs that celebrated hip hop and its culture. Following George’s book, many magazines, newspapers and other popular media forums focused attention on hip hop, while the academy remained loath to the study of hip hop. However, in 1994 the academy’s official “dis” of hip hop would end with Tricia Rose’s seminal work, Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. After her work, some in the academy, no longer caught up in philosophical arguments and debates about whether the academy is the proper forum for the study of hip hop, began to produce innovative scholarship and began to start a new field of study which scholars eventually called “hip hop studies.” Led by scholars such as Rose, Russell Potter, Michael Eric Dyson and others, hip hop found its way into the halls of academia and after a tenuous start at best, it has now found a home in many of our academic journals and other publications. 1 While it would once have been surprising to find someone in any department teaching a hip hop course of any kind, one can now find many hip hop course offerings on many college and university campuses housed in several disciplines. 2 However, while some scholars have made peace with hip hop, one cannot say the same about scholars who focus their analyses and critiques in the area of religion. Religion as an area of study is enjoying a resurgence in many disciplines. For example, scholars in Political Science, History, Communications, Anthropolix

x

Introduction

ogy, and other disciplines are producing useful and insightful scholarship that examines a particular phenomenon, within their own disciplines, through the lens of religion. While religion has found new homes within many fields, scholars who aim their research within the phenomenon of religion are still hesitant about engaging hip hop. While there are many reasons for this apprehension, one of the main reasons is how many currently construct hip hop. As framed and constructed by the media and even some practitioners, hip hop is considered a hyper-violent, misogynistic, materialistic and a so-called heathenistic culture devoid of anything holy, sacred and good. Indeed, many spiritual leaders of all faiths indict the entire culture of hip hop and promote it as the work of the devil (or Evil One). 3 Therefore, there is no reason to engage hip hop because the culture is devoid of anything good. It is this belief that limits scholars from studying hip hop's spiritual and religious sensibilities. The narrative—that hip hop offers nothing in the way of religion and is thus unworthy of study from scholars whose focus is religion—permeates throughout many disciplines today. However, this could not be further from the truth. From its beginning, hip hop has had a profound spirituality and advocates religious views—and while not orthodox or systemic in anyway, nevertheless, many in traditional orthodox religions would find the theological and spiritual underpinnings in hip hop comforting, empowering and liberating. While there has been a plethora of workshops, and seminars and retreats that have focused on elements of hip hop, spirituality, and religion, the published scholarship is still relatively small. To date, there has been one edited volume that has become a seminal work in the study of hip hop and spirituality—Anthony Pinn’s Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music. Published in 2003, this volume, while focusing on rap music, nevertheless opened the door to hip hop’s spiritual side. 4 The essays collected in this volume, from well-noted African-American religious studies scholars such as Garth Baker-Fletcher, Juan Floyd-Thomas, and Ralph Watkins, demonstrated that hip hop has much more in common with the AfricanAmerican religious tradition than many previously thought. In addition, by not focusing just on Christianity, with this volume, Pinn also demonstrated the connections hip hop and the African-American religious tradition have in common with other religions. The African-American religious tradition has always been much bigger than Christianity and by using hip hop as the vehicle, Pinn helps us to see this reality. The next book published was Five Percenter Rap, by Felecia Miyawaka in 2005. Her insightful work focused on the religious themes developed and found in the work of the five percenter nation. Though not written by a religious scholar, Miyawaka offers a deft account of the spirituality and theology of the Five Percent Nation from interviews and offers an analysis of

Introduction

xi

their texts. Her work demonstrates that while rapping and performing within a secular context, groups such as Poor Righteous Teachers, Rakim, Wu-Tang Clan and Erika Baydu spoke from a well of spiritual insight and knowledge. The next book, published in 2005, was James Perkinson’s Shamanism, Racism and Hip Hop Culture. While the first two books focused entirely on the element of rap music, Perkinson is the first within religious studies to center his analysis on hip hop culture. In this collection of essays, Perkinson became one of the first to theorize hip hop culture’s spirituality. By way of personal narrative and testimony, Perkinson argued that the spiritual flavor of hip hop can position itself as a response to racism and begin to strengthen communities. Lately, Daniel White Hodge’s The Soul of Hip Hop: Rims, Tims, and a Cultural Theology, published in 2010, offered a practical theological approached to hip hop, rooted in a theology of liberation. 5 Despite the dearth of published scholarship focusing on hip hop, religion, and spirituality, this does not mean that scholars are not producing work. One would only have to attend to the many academic conferences, workshops, symposiums, blogs, and lectures to see and hear the exciting work that many scholars in different disciplines are doing in this area. Again, scholars in disciplines ranging from Anthropology to Religious Studies are critically examining and drawing from hip hop, or using hip hop as a lens to provide critical insight on a myriad of phenomena. In hearing and reading all of this work, I decided that it was time to bring some of this work out of hiding (in plain sight) and place it in one volume. This volume is different from the aforementioned Pinn volume in one distinctive way. While Pinn’s volume consisted primarily of scholars representing African-American Religious Studies, our authors represent several different disciplines. In this volume, we have scholars not only representing (African-American) Religious Studies, but scholars in Sociology, American Studies, Communication, Psychology, Anthropology, and Africana Studies. Again, by having essays from scholars representing different disciplines, we want to demonstrate the interdisciplinary nature of this new but growing subfield within hip hop studies. Moreover, we feel that by having different disciplines represented, we are expanding the conversation about hip hop and its spirituality. We feel that a new narrative should accompany hip hop and while hip hop is not above critique, we do feel that its spirituality and, to use Pinn’s term, “religious sensibilities” should be highlighted as well. Before discussing what the book is, allow me to share what the book is not. This volume is not a catch-all and end-all of hip hop, religion, and spirituality. We argue that hip hop and spirituality (religion) is a sub-field in Hip Hop Studies. We also argue that scholars have not adequately treated this area. We enter not at the end or the middle but at the beginning. The scholar who has done critical work in this field may find some of the essays in this volume “wanting” or “lacking” in certain areas. However, what we intend to

xii

Introduction

do in this volume is to offer an introduction of sorts to readers, especially ones not familiar with the study of “spirituality,” “hip hop,” or a combination of the two. We also intend to demonstrate how scholars in different disciplines approach the study of hip hop, religion, and spirituality. Whether it is a close reading of a hip hop text, ethnography, a critical studies approach or even a mixed method approach, we see this volume as a pedagogical tool for students and scholars in these various disciplines to use and appropriate for their own research and understanding. Finally, what we hope to do in this volume is to inspire not only scholars to do more work, but also publishers to publish more in this field. Again, we feel that this is an underrepresented area within Hip Hop Studies and we also feel that there is currently enough work in this area for numerous monographs, edited works, and journal publications. I divide the volume into two parts. The first part consists of essays focused on developing theoretical and methodological concepts of hip hop, religion, and spirituality. The first essay, by James Perkinson, argues that the study of hip hop’s spirituality is important because despite its commercialization between “bling bling and booty call,” its potency is still in its musicality. Moving from just an analysis of hip hop discourse, Perkinson wrestles with the throbbing question of how does one evaluate a phenomenon that is one of the most compelling powers of the age in terms of its capacity to form people spiritually, when that very power is primarily subliminal rather than verbal? In answering this question, Perkinson, a religious ethicist, draws from the lens of hip hop culture and examines the contemporary encounter between an inquiring Christian morality and a battle-rhyming hip-hop braggadocio. What he discovers is that hip hop culture offers what he calls an “ethics of the groan,” a challenge to the Western paradigm of ethical theorizing beholden to Enlightenment academic traditions—which he argues can produce an inchoate and pounding prophecy that will offer a challenge to Christian traditions. Sociologist Michael Royster examines hip hop from the “wilderness perspective.” He argues that the wilderness is a theme found in both the prophetic biblical world and hip hop culture. From the wilderness perspective, Royster then uncovers four values of hip hop culture—the embracement of authenticity and rejecting the fraudulent, outward expression from the depths beyond the oppressive constraints of socially constructed etiquette, sobriety and hyper-sensitivity, and celebratory elements concerning life’s reality rather than its remote ideals. Drawing from these four values, Royster then seeks to contrast conventional portrayals of sanitized, serene, conflict-free, and protected as suitable environments of spiritual formation. In the next essay, Africana Studies scholar Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV draws from liberation theological perspectives to argue for an understanding of hip hop’s spirituality. By examining the conditions that gave birth to

Introduction

xiii

hip hop and the “acceptance levels” of hip hop, Williams calls for adherents to hip hop and rap music to reconnect with its more liberatory past. Cultural Studies professor Angela Nelson examines the theological aesthetic of the “call-response” as an element of hip hop discourse by examining rap lyrics from 1979-1992. In this early examination of rap music and hip hop culture, Nelson argues that hip hop culture engages in the spiritual practice of call-response—a practice that offers its adherents spiritual harmony, a sense of group solidarity, and validates aesthetic and cultural values. Further, these call-response patterns can lead to transcendence and help oppressed communities reach transcendent levels of spirituality that can help these communities overcome their unique obstacles. In the next essay, ethicist Darrell J. Wesley argues for a deeper understanding of spirituality. Drawing on Paul Tillich’s notion of spiritual discourse, and using Psalms 107 as a foundational text, Wesley, who also serves as a local church pastor, suggests a spiritual kinship between the Negro Spirituals and some elements of rap music. Further, by drawing upon the revolutionary Christianity and prophetic pragmatism of Cornel West, Wesley argues that rap music performs in three major ways—it provides humanistic responses to racism; it is part of a counter-hegemonic movement in that it uses a cultural expression to empower members within hip hop culture; and finally, as a spiritual expression, it is a form of radical democracy, whereby the most vulnerable have agency in their own liberation. The last two chapters of part 1 feature essays from communication scholars. In the first one, VaNatta Ford demonstrates the spiritual connection between rap music, the blues, and the gospels by offering a content analysis that examines the rap music’s emergence, form, content and function in relation to its more secular musical cousins. In the second one, Sharon Lauricella examines the prison blog of rap megastar Lil’ Wayne. Lauricella argues that the blog entries, along with comments from fans, create a performance of spirituality—in that they express gratitude, positivity, encouragement, and religiousness. Lauricella further suggests that Wayne’s writing is a spiritual based rap performance. She also considers the simultaneous expressions of spirituality and popular culture in the context of Black music history, noting that the sacred (or religious) and the profane (popular or irreverent) have often coexisted in Black music and culture. Part two of the book starts with an essay from communication scholars Timothy Huffman and Sarah “Amira” De la Garza. They examine hip hop spirituality by engaging in a study of Catholic youth from Los Angeles, California. Through interviews with youth, the authors discover ways rappers incorporate spiritual messages into their art. Historian Dawn Marie Gipson investigates hip hop’s relationship with Islam and more specifically the Nation of Islam (NOI). Noting how this

xiv

Introduction

relationship has gone unnoticed by scholars, Gipson seeks to understand hip hop’s role in reestablishing Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali as cultural icons throughout the 1980s and 1990s. Further, she examines Louis Farrakhan’s role with several hip hop artists and how they promulgate NOI dogma. Finally, Gipson sheds light on the NOI’s creation of its own Ministry of Arts and Culture and the work of its musicians to cultivate alternative hip hop music. In the next essay, historian Mickie Koster offers an interpretation of Mau Mau hip hop spirituality by arguing that it connects to a larger historical, cultural, social, and political phenomenon—oathing. Drawing from multiple methodologies, Koster aims to explore the revolutionary oathing spiritual elements of hip hop as it relates to justice, freedom and liberation over time. In addition, by analyzing the spirituality of Mau Mau hip hop, Koster argues that this transformed ritual experience provides at least one explanation of the power and appeal of hip hop. American Studies scholar Erica Gault offers a historical look at Christian Rap Music in the next essay. Noting the lack of hip hop’s “religious history” in present works, Gault not only reclaims this history, but she also argues for its placement within Hip Hop Studies. Africana Studies scholar Harry Nii Koney Odamtten examines and explains the religious underpinnings of Ghanaian hip hop that Ghanaians call hip-life. Drawing from audio recordings of various artists, Odamtten demonstrates how hip-life artists blend different religious expressions that offer a view of the Divine as Black and what this means within the context of suffering. We end part 2 of the book with an essay by Women’s Studies scholar Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum. In her essay, Brooks-Tatum explores the religious and political messages of contemporary Christian hip hop in Atlanta, Georgia, and Detroit, Michigan, and examines Christian hip hop as an evangelical, faith expressive, multi-genre cultural form. In the essay, she argues that Christian hip hop provides an important case study for understanding a critical shift in black performance and politics; the changing roles of “The Black Church” in the modern-day civil rights movement; and in critiques of institutionalized racism as it persists in a so-called “post-racial” America. However, despite its increased media exposure and currency among Christian youth of color, especially Black youth, she further laments that Christian or holy hip hop still resides on a precarious middle ground. NOTES 1. See Russell Potter’s Spectacular Venaculars: Hip Hop and the Politics of Postmodernism (1995), and Michael Eric Dyson’s Between God and Gangsta Rap: Bearing Witness to Black Culture (1997) and Holla if You Hear Me: Searching for Tupac Shakur (2001). 2. Go to http://www.hiphoparchive.org/university/courses for a list of courses offered at universities and colleges.

Introduction

xv

3. For an example of this reading of hip hop, see G. Craige Lewis, The Truth Behind Hip Hop (2009). 4. Some would argue that Michael Eric Dyson’s Between God and Gangsta Rap: Bearing Witness to Black Culture (1997) and Holla if You Hear Me: Searching for Tupac Shakur (2001) began the study of hip hop and spirituality. However, while we should credit Dyson for sensing the religious sensibilities of rap music through iconic figures such as Tupac and others, Dyson’s work here focuses primarily on examining black culture as a whole and hip hop played a part in his analysis. 5. See also Ebony A. Utley’s Rap and Religion: Understanding the Gangsta’s God, Monica Miller’s Religion and Hip Hop, and Ralph Watkins Hip-Hop Redemption.

Theoretical and Methodological Approaches

xvii

Chapter One

Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word: Toward a Christian Ethical Evaluation of Hip Hop Polemic James W. Perkinson

At a conference on hip-hop activism in Detroit, Michigan, in 1999, a twentysomething white kid, wearing the brand, punctuating his game with the requisite slang and hand-slams, stands up in antiphonal response to the AfricanAmerican poet leading the event and says, “Hip-hop—I would die for this shit!” The focus of this chapter is precisely the power of hip-hop animation to provoke such a confession from a young white male, wearing the fashion, loving the lyrics, rocking to the beats without a clue to the heat that produced them, who nonetheless knows that the intensity of the flow he fetishizes touches close to the secret of life. “This shit” is simply the street name for the game that kid both desires and fears. And of course it had all begun even before he was born, in the South Bronx, broken under the press of white, supremacist policy success in clearing the block like a clocked core of renewal, sending bricks to the gutter, financial tricks to the bank, and poor bodies of color to the ozone of disappearance. Youth had taken the bull by the horns in response and Bambataaed the zone with Zulu-tones of wild style dread, ramping up local light-posts with pirated bombast, channeled through Kool Herc amps, stamping the hood with a flood of up-side-down feet stomping the air with the beats of DJ-ed street-heat, spinning samples of warped vinyl through leg-chopped echoes of Flash-fingered 1 turn-tables and Grand Wizard 2 ripples of scratch-bombs, sending out sonic warning to the unwary that the turf was occupied, the code italicized and militant, the party a pleasure convened over the top of a grave, 1

2

James W. Perkinson

the flavor like a razor to the brain or a train-ride on the hot-rail minus the cars! In the mix, rap and the lyric had come late to the date, mere ear-candy for the crowd, keeping minds hip to the grind, while the bass-beat assault tore up the asphalt, leveraged the pain into local fame, did the deep work of converting loss into boss meaning and gang-war into scores settled on cardboard. Rock Steady crews battled whole zoos of characters awakening the spirit of Malcolm, out of the death of Martin, in the grammar of a Funkadelic relic of Black Power gone harmonic, until Rapper’s Delight giggled over the top of the fight and The Message rammed a new head hole, mugging the game with a tongue flaming like a tire on the street, and the sizzle went global in a lowdown razzle of globalization’s high-stakes bedazzlement. The ferocity so encoded represents, I will argue, a “throw down” of tenacity inside a high-velocity lifestyle that the Christian spirituality dares ignore only in peril of losing new generations of young people globally. In addition, it throws up an intensity of vitality that Christian ethics, in particular, dares “deplore” only to the degree it fails to face its own historic captivity to the gravity of Enlightenment complicity with modern militancy. Here under the guise of poverty in the postindustrial ghetto, low-tech levity and street sagacity has given rise to such a compelling “rhythmic reprise” of the conundrum of color and marginality in our celebrated 500-year-old experiment of re-engineering the planet in the image of Europe that the planet itself now rocks to its beat. But let me step aside, for a moment now, from such academic “rhymespitting,” to be more concise and clear. I want to explore our continuing dilemma of racialization in the new millennium through the lens of a hip hop culture that is currently emerging as a kind of transnational youth-cult Esperanto. In particular, the globalizing influence of hip hop poses a question to a globalized Christianity that conjures, for the discipline of ethics, much more than merely a fleeting fascination with the role of “pop culture” in evangelization or discipleship. Much as Tex Sample has argued with respect to country music (in White Soul) or Timothy Rommen has offered (in Mek Some Noise: Gospel Music and the Ethics of Style in Trinidad), more is at stake I will contend, than simply ecclesiological tactic—the appropriation of a dramatic style to render the gospel relevant or attractive to a new generation. In the terminology of a recent mission orientation that has emerged in various postcolonial contexts, hip hop is not simply a matter of “indigenizing” the faith among young people—Kirk Franklin and other Christian rappers to the good. Neither is it to be romanticized—or dismissed—as incipient “liberation.” It is undoubtedly a theological “sign of the times” and without question an ethical juggernaut—in the classical sense of something that compels unthinking sacrifice or blind devotion. I am concerned to articulate its

Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word

3

edginess, in church and seminary alike, in terms of both formal texture and substantial challenge. In my opening salvo in this writing, I have already signaled the heart of the issue: hip hop cannot be simply reduced to either lyrical virtuosity or puerile posturing. Rather, it remains a historic gesture of an oppressed community—part of a long labor of African heritage people in the Diaspora to transform desperation into beauty and struggle into survival by way of rhythmic codes of signification. Hip hop is, in reality, many things to many people. Undoubtedly, its commercialization since the mid-1980s has resulted in a taming of the tirade: bling-bling and booty-call have too often replaced innovation and depth. However, unquestionably, for both those who gravitate to its power as well as those who flee its threat, the potency is in the musicality. It is the beat rather than the boast which hooks attention and compels response, for better and worse. For Christian ethics—attentive to an entire generation of young people of all colors and ethnic backgrounds that at least dance to its drum rolls if not dive into its lifestyle, and sensitive to a marketplace that animates advertising in every quarter today, for youth and adult alike, with its throbbing bassline—hip hop poses a complex challenge. It is not enough, nor even the primary concern, to focus on lyrical propensity. The power registers rather in the viscera—and in places “lower down.” “Doing ethics” in relationship to such requires then more than analysis of discourse. For a Christianity that since Constantine has understood its central figure primarily in terms of the Word—Jesus as Logos incarnate—the task is tricky. How evaluate a phenomenon that is one of the most compelling powers of the age in terms of its capacity to form people “spiritually,” when that very power is primarily subliminal rather than verbal? So formulated, the ethical agenda here is part of a larger project for me of learning to think ethically from marginalized experiences around the globe. That is to say, as someone for ten years now engaged in teaching ethics in a Christian seminary, what has emerged for me as a vocational focus arises not primarily from within my own discipline, but rather from a particular place of pathos in the world. I am a white male, middle-class-by-background, heterosexual-in-orientation, lover of the life-of-the-mind, who has been irrevocably “altered” over the course of more than twenty years of living and working in a Detroit “ghetto.” That alteration is such that my intellectual fervor is now inextricably intertwined with my existential anguish over the conditions of life I experienced in that “underclassed” environment and the communal ecstasy I discovered in neighborhood efforts to overcome the devastation. That two-fold experience—of both pain and pleasure—is the wellspring of my theorizing. However, a large part of the learning experience for me in this context has been a matter of unlearning the impulse to control by way of explanation, and slowly incubating a new trust of my own body and its languages of innuendo. Neither pain nor pleasure gives way readily to

4

James W. Perkinson

discourse: a scream or moan is truer to the rich opacity of emotion-underconstraint; a body in dance-step or sharply punctuated gesture, more useful in expressing excess. Marginalization is by definition a social condition of a body that is, one way or another, “put out of place.” The resulting tension is indeed a physical experience and usually demands an animated articulation. Doing ethics in relationship to such an experience requires attention not only to the content of moral issues that come into focus, but also to what I would call the “undulations of passion” and the forms of expression adequate to communicate or mobilize such. Given such an introit, the task of this essay is then four-fold. I want first to foreground my own pilgrimage into the concern I investigate here. For me, as will become clear in what follows, an honest ethics is always first of all personal. Naming one’s own history and social position is a way of owning one’s orientation and disowning any pretension to a simple objectivity or neutrality. It is also a way of guarding against the subtle workings of what might be called, in nod to Bonhoeffer’s famous phrase, “cheap authority.” Secondly, I want to invoke my influences, both academic and experiential— the voices whose words have been most compelling in my own thinking and the bodies whose moves (and tears) have most moved my own. An exposé of hip hop culture will constitute the third moment—a display of what might theologically be called a “power” or “principality,” at work in our contemporary society that, I will argue, cannot be simply questioned and evaluated from a Christian ethical point of view without simultaneously recognizing its own “boomerang effect,” back upon the “Christian” examiner, with a question-in-kind. That question might be provisionally formulated in the ethical terminology of hip hop itself: “Will the real ‘keeping it real’ please stand up?” And finally, I want to tease out of this latter encounter between an inquiring Christian morality and a battle-rhyming hip hop braggadocio, what I would tentatively call an “ethics of the groan,” a challenge to the Western paradigm of ethical theorizing beholden to Enlightenment academic traditions that does not entirely acquiesce to the primacy of literacy or the authority of professionalism. This latter lyrical lambaste, I will argue, represents the “unconscious” of the world system of globalization, a “return of the repressed” arising from beyond the modern grave of slavery and exploitation, that embodies—like Ezekiel’s army of skeletons in the Dry Valley—a “bonetruth” about contemporary business-as-usual. Youth today may well harbor not only the digital orientation of the coming cyber-future, but an inchoate and pounding prophecy from past injustice that should be Christianity’s own.

Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word

5

BAPTISM IN BLACK My own grounding in the groan of our racial history goes back behind the born-again experience and Pentecostal explorations of my early collegeyears that would eventually lead me from hometown Cincinnati to inner city Detroit. As a white boy marked by the pain of being the lone Protestant kid in an all-Catholic neighborhood, I had experienced a new dimension of rejection when that religiously-based taste of ostracism, and the physical hazing that frequently punctuated it, was reinforced in the 6th grade with raciallymotivated violence. This time I was beaten up yet again for daring to bring a black public school friend onto the neighborhood basketball court. The neighborhood at large had begun going black in the late 1950s, but that community-wide color-change affected local parochial school experience only decades after it had become normal in nearby public schools. The neighborhood Roman Catholic cohort was still defending its turf as “white space” when I unknowingly broke protocol with my black friend. By late high school, I had also been socked on the head for daring to “talk up” a sistah on the playground of my former elementary school, when a group of young males with “fros” and a Black Power mindset took offense at a “pretty boy” showing interest in one of their own. Never mind that the girl and I had been good friends for more than four years. The small-scale violence of those two incidents of race (compounded by innumerable experiences of the ongoing missteps in communication so typical of most racial encounters in our public life) took years to find words, but immediately and permanently seared into my consciousness recognition of the spiritual war organized by skin color on our planet. It was a war that came clear for my mis-educated mind only through years of work to overcome mis-information and deep immersion in the joy and pain of an “other” community. What gradually took shape as the primal aggressor in the socalled “culture wars” was an incorrigible and ever-morphing white supremacy, often enough understanding itself as merely innocuous middle class “propriety,” that pushed its agenda relentlessly through multiple institutional surrogates and many euphemistic discourses, voraciously and continuously accumulating resources at the expense of dark-hued peoples the world over. Undoubtedly, the passion of my vocation finds its root in the pain of that “double tattoo” by the fist of race, even as the sharpness of my tongue about such pathos finds its genesis primarily among those who have been unable to avoid the violence or control the discourse about the difference their skincolor has been made to bear. But Detroit served as my real schoolhouse on the realities of race—and on myself as a white man not innocent of its effects. From the age of twentythree onward, “home” became a hard-core near eastside neighborhood, hosting, since the early 1970s, an experimental ecumenical community of Chris-

6

James W. Perkinson

tians, black and white, married and single, living in as many as ten extendedfamily households within a five-block radius of the Episcopal church where they worshiped. This group structured its collective life in a form of residential community, pooling income and assets on a poverty-level budget on a per-capita basis, making major life decisions consensually, organizing charismatic energy and born-again naiveté into an umbrella of ministry initiatives including running a neighborhood elementary school, a daycare center, a clothing exchange shop, a food pantry and delivery service for shut-in elderly, and a not-for-profit housing development corporation, organizing lowincome tenants into “take-overs” of their apartment buildings in a cooperative format as a strategy for empowerment. I moved to Detroit to join the group in 1973 and helped lead its initiatives for more than fifteen years— nine while working in health-care labor relations and another six as a graduate student at a nearby seminary and adjunct professor at area colleges. Those years gradually took me apart in my more naïve evangelical impulses and certainly disabused me of my blindness to my own white privilege—often through a “double hit” of black anger and black humor, aimed my way in both direct challenge and indirect wit, striking home as unwanted rebuke and undeserved “grace.” The edifice of innocence crumbled slowly. But all was not just exorcism in those years. There was also an abundance of initiation into an alternative vision of “America” and embrace in deep currents of raw street innovation. A love for both musical funk and well-lathered dance was one result. A spiritual sensibility expanded to prefer movement and drama over propriety and regiment was another. It was the University of Chicago, however, that finally supplied depth comprehension for my existential reformulation. What my psyche had absorbed as “medicine” and my body entertained as “possession”—what I would now describe as the real ethical/spiritual implication of radical intercultural encounter—was an “understanding” aroused precisely by “standing under” another culture’s power and allowing its forms of expression to work on one’s own sense of identification and vulnerability. In addition, here my confession edges towards the topic of the talk. Far from overriding street expression with academic pontification, my Chicago studies enabled me to take what had been engendered within me in Detroit far more seriously than I had up to that point. Examination of not only Black Theology and Womanist spirituality, but blues artistry, African traditional ethics, Santeria ritual, voudou conjuration, and candomblé divination began to open me up to an entire world of alternative communication. The issue for me was not just intellectual—a matter of new information and fascinated investigation—but primal and “salvific.” My own wholeness was at stake in what I was studying. It became both frighteningly necessary and excitingly gratifying to begin exploring the rhythmic urgencies I had absorbed in Detroit. They had been awakened in the ghetto, but found form

Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word

7

and confirmation in Chicago. Experiment with ways of speaking and being alternative to my upbringing became a key to grasping the subtlety with which white norms of behavior and expression dominate public spaces in our country—and key as well to wrestling with the ways white power and presumption have psychically wounded and spiritually warped those of us shaped by those norms. The issue for me was not only a changed mind, but an expanded sense of expressive freedom and greater sensitivity and responsiveness to intercultural exchange and values. By the end of my time in Chicago, participation in spoken word poetry venues had become as critical for my ethical response to white supremacy as the theory that granted perspective and insight. Return to my old neighborhood in Detroit to begin teaching in an inner city college and seminary found a similar balance and nurturance in regular participation at an alternative Saturday night jazz service hosted by the downtown Methodist church where a number of us offered poetic riffs on the weekly scripture selections. Over subsequent years, jazz inspiration gradually gave way to hip hop experimentation and a growing love for its peculiar pleasures and staccato challenges. THINKING THROUGH PASSION When I turn from the experience that motivates my concern to the body of theory that informs my ethical vision, I immediately recall a comment of black theologian James Cone—offered in an interview for a series called Faces of Faith—to the effect that any theory not beginning with the theorist’s own experience of suffering was, for him, suspect. Clearly Cone’s own project has stayed true to his conviction that thinking is for the sake of analyzing agony and mending brokenness and that addressing such is a passionate and personal, not disinterested and merely cerebral, endeavor. Just as clearly, my own pantheon of chosen influences reflects a similar orientation. One who comes immediately to mind is feminist ethicist Karen Lebacqz, who differentiates her project from the approach of classical philosophy in asserting that, for her, the genesis of ethical thought is not so much the formal principle of “giving to each what is due,” but rather recognition of the concrete realities of injustice experienced by the oppressed generated through the stories they themselves tell (Lebacqz 254). Of course, of immediate concern in such a formulation, is the question of access to such stories and the communities that craft them. And that issue is itself worthy of—and indeed has given rise to, on the part of many—book-length treatments. Suffice it here to say that my own approach to this latter question makes use of a form of “virtue ethics,” run through the concerns of “liberation.” Work like that of Alasdair MacIntyre and Stanley Hauerwas in elaborating a criticism of Enlightenment presumptions that root moral agency in an indi-

8

James W. Perkinson

vidualized subjectivity and focus largely on discrete acts of “goodness” or “rightness,” has been persuasive for me (MacIntyre 33; Hauerwas 133, 142–143). Their insistence that the prior question is the community one inhabits and the story one shares and “lives out” with those who make up that community rings true to experience and offers, in my estimation, a far more robust account of human character-development. But it is finally the challenge of the likes of liberation and minority and Third World theoreticians that I find even more critical. And that is the challenge to become clear on the social location—in a now globalized world of interdependence in which the few live off of the many—of the community one inhabits and the story one tells and responds to with accountability. And here it is work like that of Argentinean refugee-scholar Enrique Dussel, mobilizing Emmanuel Levinas’ “metaphysics of the other” for his own prodigious and penetrating critique of modernity itself, as a worldsystem, that commands even greater respect on my part (Dussel 1995, 74, 137). Dussel’s focus on the global periphery of modernity—in its ongoing history of wholesale sacrifice of indigenous Americans and enslaved Africans and multiple non-Western others for the sake of European and American “prosperity”—not only gives concrete specificity to Levinas’ ideas, but, for me, maps the terrain that now must anchor ethical analysis of whatever kind (Dussel 1998, 9, 18). The task is as daunting as the reality is unrelenting. There is no avoiding the nearly totalitarian grip and ubiquitous influence of the forces of globalization today, except at the cost of selfdelusion and denial. Increasingly it is the case that no one is innocent of anyone else’s experience or life-chances anywhere on the planet. But as Fredrick Jameson, among others, has constantly lamented, our theory has yet to catch up to that reality (Jameson 34, 39, 53). Within that global perspective on ethics, however, my own theorizing has been most immediately provoked by contributions from critical cultural studies and performance theory. Where Lebacqz has moved from philosophical concept to stories of the marginalized, I have moved from story to performance and ritual—things like gesture and posture, dance step and dress choice, hair style and musical pattern, syncopated verbiage, where the meaning is carried as much by the percussive manner of speaking as by what is said, and rhythmic improvisation, in subtleties as sly as the cadence of one’s comeback to a question or the contradictory levels of meaning orchestrated through a choice for ironic innuendo rather than direct disclosure. And here I am referencing a whole set of communication practices somewhat unique to post-slave communities who have had to survive continuous surveillance and unrelenting racial stereotyping and have done so, in part, by elaborating traditional African modalities of multiplying meaning through metaphor and rhythm (Gates 45, 49, 54, 75–80; Lattany 165–66, 172; Kochman 18, 51, 11). A mere focus on narrative in such a polyphonic context may miss much of

Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word

9

the communication. My years in the inner city gradually—slowly—“hipped” me to some of the thick depths of black “signifying,” and the ethics I now articulate seeks to speak both “to” and “from” such complex codifications of human experience. Postcolonial work like that of British culture critic Paul Gilroy supplies some of the rationale for that choice. In his work on the subtext of terror underwriting Enlightenment notions of rationality, Gilroy has focused attention on what he calls the “slave sublime”—the innovations of people living under the grave duress of the “peculiar institution” and its aftermath of racism, who have generally refused the modern compartmentalization that separates ethics from aesthetics and politics from spirituality, and who, instead, have made everyday artistry carry much of the weight of both spiritual vitality and moral probity (Gilroy 1993, 37, 39). Gilroy goes so far as to argue that racial codes, and musical styles playing with and contesting those codes, are now at the core of numerous social movements, organizing their resistance to oppression in expressive cultures beholden especially to black performance protocols, but in no way exclusively populated by Afro-heritage peoples (Gilroy 1987, 153–222; 1993, 198, 203). One has only to look at any of the anti-globalization demonstrations of recent years to be struck by the carnivalesque theatrics and percussive musicality animating such—both of which owe much to the history of Afro-diasporic creativity and political organizing. In any case, without question, my own vocation in Christian ethics finds much of its inspiration in this particular challenge from the margins. My deepest moral struggles and most transformative ethical epiphanies have been provoked by the “full body” communication and confrontation I encountered in the inner city. Much of my scholarly activity since has amounted to a drive to give theoretical precision and broad relevance to that encounter. Said programmatically, among my many areas of theoretical interest, the one that functions as a paradigm for the others is my experience of race. Whatever else I do, I will regularly be probing the cultural mores of whiteness by way of meta-ethical questions of meaning-making and normative ethical questions of doing justice, as those are informed by Afro-diasporic modalities of communication and performance. As such, it is also possible to understand my approach as an ethical riff on the work of biblical exegetes like Walter Brueggemann and William Herzog (Herzog 192). Brueggemann’s Prophetic Imagination, for instance, situates the prophetic vocation as an articulation of alternative consciousness inside and against the reigning royal consciousness—a vision, rooted in a moan of slaves, ramified in a body prone to acting against the grain of affluence and oppression (Brueggemann 22–25, 45). Ethics thus influenced, I would argue, begins in a groan and ends in a song. It is first exercised by the inchoate pain of those who are chained, works through a pattern of mending brokenness, freeing energy by restoring relationality, aiming at ecstasy and dance as the

10

James W. Perkinson

ultimate disposition of those who anticipate resurrection as destiny. In such a compass, neither narrative coherence nor conceptual clarity is thus the final test of ethical seriousness. Its first moment is the cry of injustice and its last is the freedom of a body released into the intoxication of Jubilee rhapsody. Along the way, clarity and coherence are extremely important, but their vocation is finally service of a vitality exceeding either. HIP HOPPING THE QUESTION One way of describing the effect of the inner city on my spirituality is to say it forced me to shift from being “contemplative” to becoming what I might call “contra-templative”—finding “sacred awe” in contradiction and counterpoint, not just harmony and quietude. As someone for years fascinated by monastic explorations of silence, I had often tried to make the city yield an experience of beauty like a monk’s cell might—by sitting motionless in front of an icon in my room and meditating on my breath. Frequently, however, the quiet would be rumbled by muffled traffic noise, beatbox thumps from next door, loud laughter, or occasionally at night, gunfire. The exercise was impossible and regular retreat to open rural space the only remedy for such a “pacific” taste. Only after beginning to experiment with spoken word poetry, and entering a community of urban poets, articulating rhyme to the sharpedged rhythms of jazz and rap, did I stumble on an alternative orientation. In my contemplative quest, I was seeking alternative consciousness and rapture; Detroit offered it all around me, but only in an idiom that “synched up” with its jagged visual aspect, noisy aural-ity, and raw human experience. Rather than quiet pacification, I discovered what would put my body in concert with the urban rhythm around me was percussive intensification. Remarkably, inside that staccato animation was a zone of deep equipoise and slow-motion stillness. This was “quietude” in the key of motion and call/response syncopation. I had been trying to make my environment give back a typical “white” version of “communion.” It was indeed offering me unity, but in a complex mode of off-beat percussion (Thompson xiii). Once I allowed my body to be taken over by that alternative idiom—“Detroit” opened like a trap-door. Bass frequencies and drum attacks no longer assaulted my inner world, but siphoned identity into a river of sonic massage, full of history and tears, full of ancestry, throbbing with values breaking words into moans and moving flesh. And the question then—for someone such as me, but also for a Christian church living in a world increasingly rocking to that sonic menagerie: How do ethics fit in relationship to such an underworld bombastic? The answer: Go to school in the street . . . and in the history the street codifies. Hip hop is not only a late capitalist novelty. It is a “dangerous memory” re-worked into relevance for a new situation. Arising in South Bronx in the

Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word

11

1970s, it issued a siren call to young people, which has not ceased to sound across a third of a century and now surrounds the globe like a heartbeat. It is a mother tongue, a folkway, a “little tradition” (in the anthropological sense), in process of being “eaten” by big corporations since the mid-1980s. For the church of the new millennium, in a world of global mediation, hip hop is a kind of equivalent of the peasant village tradition Jesus “sampled” in his vocation. Over-against the Great Tradition of Temple and synagogue, Jesus articulated a prophetic message rooted in peasant proverb and the weedwisdom and seed-savvy of the small farmers of his day. 3 He did not so much thump the bible as repeat the rural cliché, but with a consciousness-provoking twist. Hip hop, in many respects, is a postindustrial equivalent, still awaiting its prophet. However, the Temple of our day is transnational—the synagogue, the local mall. Moreover, the struggle over meanings and mores—a riddle “rapped” inside an enigma, full of irony and “bite.” None of us is outside the compromise rap so vigorously rips. That is the first ethical assertion of this section of the argument. Critique of hip hop is necessary—but too often, easy and cheap. Hip hop culture is actually a mirror of America (George xiii). It embodies and displays the contradictoriness we all inhabit (Judy 107, 114; Dyson 2001, 125, 157, 209–11, 255). The misogyny and prurient interest it frequently exhibits is not peculiar to the culture alone, but writ large in the country; its gangsta fascination, an unapologetic version of the recourse to violence the nation is, in fact, built upon (George 49; Spencer 1991, 7; 1995, 146–49). Not only does hip hop represent a “dominated aesthetic of the lower class” (as a creative riff on Bourdieu's treatment of upper-class “taste” might offer), but something much broader. When we decry the latest revelation of gun-play in the video or bumping rumps in the club, it is “us” we encounter, in a midnight fantasy of middle America unveiled, or Iraq footage brought home (Dyson 2001, 128, 228, 233). “Pimping” (using sex to make profit) in mainstream culture is simply called “advertising,” and cooking up a little Columbian White, as the Monitoring the Future survey on drug use recently revealed, of crisis proportions now, not for black and Latino youth, but among educated, middle-class Baby Boomers (Spencer 1991, 5). The “enemy,” as Pogo long ago remarked, is us. But why we so love to hate “black ventriloquizing” of our national preoccupations remains part of the larger question this writing can only hint at. Tracking and evaluating all the meanderings of racial stereotyping and discriminatory policy-making in a country that has never yet ceased to embody white privilege and power in its deepest activities is beyond this, telling. That is my lifetime task, addressed in books 4 and articles, published and not yet conceived. Here the focus is crossover. Eminem is its icon. The sound coming out of the suburban bedroom or SUV on its way to the local high school—its signal presence. Hip hop has not stayed put inside the ghetto. It compels fashion

12

James W. Perkinson

and fantasy, imitation and adulation, across the racial divide. From a Christian ethical perspective it demands accounting as a phenomenon simultaneously outside and inside the Church. Its diverse elements of break-dancing, MCing, DJing, and graffiti writing find common cultural articulation in the peculiar qualities of flow, layering, and rupture, according to culture critic Author Jafa, as quoted and expanded by Tricia Rose (in her seminal work Black Noise, 38–39). This conceptual affiliation of the various art forms will anchor the analysis that follows. Both hip hop heads themselves, as well as critic-sympathizers observing from without, would agree that the phenomenon is not merely a fad, no longer simply a culture, but for the immediate future, a lifestyle, among its devotees. It is arguably the closest thing we have to a ritual theater that reflects Martin Luther King’s vision of the Beloved Community. Around the country and across the globe, hip hop gatherings today host a multi-ethnic menagerie of aficionados that puts most churches, in the Sunday morning hour of segregation, to shame. To a degree, the culture admits of a double orientation. For some, hip hop’s “getting paid” rhetoric is more than a mere “word up.” It is a way out. Minority youth trapped in poverty no longer have only hoop dreams or drugs to hang their hopes on; rap revelry can become, for a tiny, tiny minority of the minority, real mobility. But underneath the commercialized success and siren song appeal of the big name acts, an underground scene continues the intensity, whether the finances flow or not. As with the early days, so in local venues around the country today—the love is the cultural energy itself, and the creativity it animates. Hip hop not only can kill—as it did with Tupac and Biggie. It indeed can and does “save” and motivate (Dyson 2001, 170–71). The white boy opening this essay articulated a sentiment not all that different from early Christian martyrdom—a sentiment frequently echoed, though not often tested. It is this confession: that here something is at work that “is to die for”—immature and short lived as it may be in the mind of youth—that compels attention for me. Because I have not been impervious to its echo inside my own experience! Giving voice to exactly what it is that summons with such inchoate insistence is the burden of the ethical focus here, though the project is actually far beyond the capacity of a mere essay to valorize. The clue, for me, is in the outline offered by Rose, mentioned above. Flow, layering, and rupture 5 I would argue, function as ethical values in a postindustrial social context of hyper-enghettoization. And that context is key to those values. Hyper-enghettoization references the rapidity and ruthlessness with which financial capital today can eviscerate a given space in a modern city, pulling resources and people from a formerly stable neighborhood into a vortex of mobility, creating what Robert Bellah once called a new class of hi-tech vandals, leaving behind a deteriorating infrastructure, rotting housing stock, fractured kinship relations, systems of local knowledge inadequate to the (now globalized) forces changing their context, and a class

Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word

13

of abandoned and/or newly immigrant people unable to marshal the skills requisite for a new economy (Bellah xviii; Rose 1–20). Such was South Bronx in the 1970s; such are increasing numbers of areas around the globe today. Moreover, not surprisingly, such areas are often subject to vicious racial stereotyping and often enough, brutal policing. Hip hop emerged as a cultural codification of life engaged creatively in trying to survive such devastation. It did so by letting the urban ecology inscribe its character in the psyches and the bodies of the individuals and communities “imprisoned” there. From the point of view of virtue ethics— such a character-formation is quintessentially postmodern. Its narrative is fractured, not simply coherent; ironic, not direct; digitalized, not written; chunked down into sound bite packaging and stored, in the words of Rose, as “critical fragments in fast-paced electrified rhythms” (Rose 3). Its community is historically minority, now globally “rainbow,” and culturally structured in a shared affinity for the capacity of percussion—in visual reflection, in danced improvisation, in vocalized enunciation, in rapid-fire manipulation of vinyl recordings—to make decimation yield meaning. Hip hop is a kind of “urban shamanism,” in the words of Michael Eric Dyson, cross-cut by street existentialism (Dyson 1991, 22; cf. also Royster 60–67). Not mere essence, but existence itself has to be pulled out of the raging nihilism. Not blank paper, but the human body is the site for decoding and transforming the information taken in from the environment. The privileged code is “rhythm.” The energies unlocked are what Michel Foucault would call “subjugated knowledges” (Foucault 82–83)—and what I would call “too much awareness compressed into too small a space exploding in rhythmized metaphor and body puns” (a form of corporeal exploration that Spencer unpacks as also “subjugated sexualities”; Spencer 1991, 4; 1995, 170–71). The “virtues” wrought—in the process of releasing and amplifying the energy—are the “stylistic virtuosities” that Rose identifies as “flow,” “layering,” and “rupture.” At least, so I am arguing. Obviously, these latter do not immediately strike the average Christian mind as “ethical.” But as with any ethic, the meaning is contextual. Certainly feminist work (such as that of Alison Jaggar on “outlaw emotions”) has forced the issue for the field: for example, the classic “Christian” virtues of humility and gentleness, if one is oppressed, may actually be vices rather than virtuous (Jaggar 148–49). Womanist scholars similarly have transvalued the meanings of stealing in a context of enslavement: where one’s own body is itself “stolen property,” stealing corn from the master’s stockpile for one’s hungry child may be a demand of justice. Here, in the postindustrial ghetto, however, the context is cybernetic: the language is metric; community identity emerges as polyrhythmic; character shows up as a capacity to innovate and respond to code; and that code itself is continuously elaborated as a quality articulated in call/response antiphony. Rose details the way the ideas

14

James W. Perkinson

of flow, layering, and rupture operate inside each of the four elements of hip hop; space does not permit repeating her descriptions here. But it is important to recognize that these values represent a certain kind of work that reveals the constructed nature of time, space, and the body. Backward leaning, brightly bubbled italic letters, for instance—in graffiti writing that may otherwise be virtually unintelligible in its “wild style” complexity—give static surfaces a quality of flowing motion that enlivens dead space with living memory. Flow, that is, gives rhythmic precision to the movement of narrative emphasized in virtue ethics. Scratched vinyl, in DJ turntable battles, “breaks” the time signature established by whatever music is being sampled into a simultaneously sounding alternative layering of beats—making time itself the bearer of diversity Layering, we might thus say, is the achievement of pluralism in a sonic ecology. And electric boogie dance moves remake the human body into a facsimile of machinery, a kind of “corporeal factory” in which “work” is now in fact, pleasure, schooling body and psyche alike in a tactics of internalizing “rupture” to recast its broken edge as skill and weapon. In each case—what is highlighted are unforeseen possibilities of agency—yes, at micro-levels of intervention, but the opening up of spaces of freedom, nonetheless, inside even the most constrained of objective realities. None of the “values” thus explored lends itself readily to individual aggrandizement; they are not useful for accumulating something (like “capital”) outside of communal interaction in the way that say, the value of industriousness has been, in an Enlightenment vision of ethics. They are only virtuous within the community that grasps their significance and honors their infrastructure as a basic grammar. But in context, they pull “goodness” out of the maw of non-being in a manner that “does justice to” a communal choreography of mending dereliction. In a word, they do judo on injustice and pain, creating a jagged beauty out of dilapidated agony, tattooing ruins with “resurrection.” They give communal flesh to a character whose characteristic is that of making death yield life in spite of itself! AN ETHICS OF THE GROAN Thus far, “virtue” ethics read as the pursuit of a recognizable form of “character” innovated inside the stylistic calligraphies of hip hop animation and ramified in a communal process of adjudication. But what of liberation!? I indicated above that the latter is the real touchstone of my own ethical orientation. It is here that the deepest conundrum of this presentation emerges. Liberation always needs illuminating by identifying its subject. What is the focus of any human effort towards emancipation—an individual human being? A given community? Humanity itself? Organic life? The planet? Obvi-

Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word

15

ously, the scope of the question far exceeds the measure of a small essay. Here I can only hope to suggest. I would submit that the average suburb does not generally “produce” individual character that is commensurate with the dignity of our common humanity. And I speak here from some personal experience. Missing, in the experience of most of our dwellers in the “gated bliss” of the edge city, is deep concourse with life’s chances, or reciprocal exchange with history’s most marginalized sufferers. Suburban life grew out of a post-World War II effort of returning (white) GIs to exit neighborhoods that had darkened, during the early 1940s, with the migration of African Americans north to contribute to the war effort and flee Jim Crow. Suburban life has evolved since then into an imagined incarnation of the American Dream—antiseptic, safe, carefully sculpted in appearance of lawns and homes, carefully regulated in terms of behavior and visual presentation. It is a lifestyle embodying— as much as it can—our scientific ethic of prediction and control. Which is not to say that serendipity and suffering do not occur there!—only that they are “disciplined,” controlled, and usually masked. Indeed, at core, death itself has increasingly been banished from middle-class consciousness and experience (to the degree such is possible), and elaboration of a social ordering given over to avoiding the signs and realities of aging and mortality has increasingly become the norm. Cyborgs are emerging as the new image of fantasized prowess: Schwarzenegger the Terminator, for instance, as the feared/desired Liberator; Keanu “Neo” Reeves as the new ghost-of-the-machine, the Messiah-of-the-Matrix, himself a force of software gone material. The fantasy is one of not having to die—of finally crafting for our species a “glorified body,” a virtual resurrection, in the mode of digits and heavy metal. And yet . . . yet! This same lifestyle will create for itself increasingly “extreme” forms of recreation, whether jumping from bridges at the end of a stretchy cord or snowboarding off of precipitous cliffs, kayaking impossible canyons or skateboarding the local public library railing. The edge sought in such “sports” is close encounter with the ultimate mystery of danger and demise, “manufactured” and controlled as that encounter may be. The impulse speaks as deeply as hip hop throbs (indeed, many snowboarders will say their best rides are animated by iPod transmissions of Jay-Z or Prodigy beats). There is a side of human life that requires truth about ends as well as means. Eyeballing the fact of limitation pushes the life force to create “in spite of,” to make meaning out of the fragility and fleetingness of being, as the task that defines all of us and gives us all commonality. Death is a pedagogue in this sense. Human vocation cannot find its way inside a mere fiction about where it is all headed. Spirit and spiritedness emerge precisely at the crossroads where ultimate decay is squarely faced.

16

James W. Perkinson

The final mystery is not only fascinating, as Rudolph Otto once intoned, but terrible and overwhelming (Otto 13). God is a loving “Ferocity” who may indeed save us, but not from the fact of physical death and dismemberment. Hip hop arises, precisely here, as a sonic codification of youthful encounter with this fact of demise in social form, a kind of return of the repressed skeleton from the underworld of modern rationalizations of life. In the South Bronx in the 1970s, mortality was apparent on all sides. Indeed, some young people were already planning and paying for the their own funerals, as a rite of gang entrance, in a social order that, like as not, would have them six feet under before the age of thirty. Hip hop works up this terrible encounter into a vitalized frankness: the real “keepin’ it real” underneath all the subsequent hype and glitter. We might even say, it realizes an anonymous rhythmic articulation of Christian eucharistic celebration—the lifting up of a body at once dead and full of life. In hip hop, the body is full of life precisely in facing the reality of death. And at the heart of that embodied contradiction is the notion of “rupture.” Tricia Rose, as quoted above, noted rupture as part of the hip hop trinity of values. She goes further. These rhythmic modalities are themselves rehearsal for life, a means for both managing and contesting dislocation—“a blueprint,” she says, “for social resistance and affirmation” (Rose 38). “Create sustaining narratives,” she advises, accumulate them, layer, embellish, and transform them. However, be also prepared for rupture, find pleasure in it, in fact, plan on social rupture. When these ruptures occur, use them in creative ways that will prepare you for a future in which survival will demand a sudden shift in ground tactics. (Rose 38)

Strangely, it is precisely this focus on rupture that I want to lift up as throwing down to Christian ethics, inside a Church captive for much of its history to imperial power and elite control, a challenge about ultimate reality. Hip hop—underneath, and most often anymore, in spite of its commercial compromises—liberates a truth about eros and death. It incarnates ferocity. Its rhythm gives bodily witness to the contradiction that human vitality is a compound quality of pain and pleasure, joy and anguish, life-locked-in-mortal-combat-with-death. It does not try to separate out the one from the other. Yes, it is puerile in much of its posturing. Yes, it is not wise in its too frequent adulation of the lion’s mane of danger it has grabbed hold of. But its rhythmic code clearly speaks across boundaries the church has largely been bound by. There is a question here expressed as a sonic cry. Young people hear its song and desire its soul. A depth-sounding of the entirety of modernity vibrates inchoately in their bellies and limbs, when they respond. For the most part, they have no clue why.

Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word

17

Nevertheless, the paradox sounded out resounds with the captive energies of the unsolved riddle of America—an experiment of freedom built on a reality of enslavement and genocide. That riddle now takes the form of a planetary contradiction: in the circuits of global capital in the new millennium, hip hop emerges as the central cultural export of the country, skimmed from the deep currents of the country’s most marginalized community. In its dollar signs, blackness is simultaneously core and criminal, a touchstone exactly to the degree it remains out-of-bounds, molasses-thick while beyond the pale. Hip hop is a multi-cultural crucible channeling a black cultural ethos. In its gestures and style, a globe begins to embrace its African genetic ancestry and faces an unhealed history. However, do not be deceived by the mesmerized eye. Break dancing, break-beats, broken words stuttering out the truths of broken lives, broken letters on broken buildings—there is indeed a remarkable transvaluation of herniation going on here. But the packaging is seductive. The fracturing is easily romanticized by young people who are sensitive to the rhythmic power, but safe-guarded from the trauma that supplies the energy. As ethnomusicologist Adam Krims has cribbed: the ghetto has now become “sublime” for the suburbs—a living source of battle-rhyme and beats-to-dance-and-romance-by, served up in an imagery of alluring urban savagery and sexuality, even as that MTV spectacle hides the real reasons for devastation wrought on those who can’t escape the social forces and economic priorities “wasting” their neighborhoods and lives (Krims 2002, 71; 2000, 73). CONCLUSION For Christian ethics, the polemic is prophetic. Its send-up is a throw-down— how to evaluate an energy whose mode is subliminal and whose meaning, a code of digits and gestures? The methodological challenge is fundamentally an ecclesiological question. Can the Church writ large relocate its resources among the rejected, its feet among the downtrodden, and open its own idiom to expression of a wound that is not closed? How give expression to a millennial scream of anger, while honoring an irrepressible erotics that is everywhere extant in the commercial and bedroom, even while it is denied in the pew and gated enclave, and at the same time critique a too facile embrace of both by youth without roots or grasp of the consequences? The task of ethics is to give guidance to the excess, while recognizing and embracing the ferocity that looks back from the rhyme-spitting frenzy as itself a face of Goodness and Godly challenge. The broken lives and ecologies memorialized and mobilized in the break-beats of the street can not be summed up in a coherent discourse of the Church. The demand is rather for entry into the zone of the break itself, there to discover once again that baptism in a river of

18

James W. Perkinson

darkness is exactly the way into the light. The groan discovered there goes back to Abel (Gen 4:10), gives rise to the debacle of Pharaoh and the freedom of Israel (Exod 2:23–24; 3:7), speaks in the Gospel (Mk 1:3; 15:33–39), ricochets throughout the entire fable of Creation according to the Epistle of Paul (Rom 8:22–26), enables the slave mother to continue to gnaw the bone of hard labor without giving up hope of release and vindication, grinds the ghetto hip with the midnight delight of James Brown’s lip in the soul-soundtrip of the heyday of Motown, resounds in the MC battle-cry over fly DJ beats frying the phat off the seat of imperial pretension to run a globe for the benefit of all. Some ethical truths cannot be merely said. They must be groaned in a grimace and rocked in a beat. NOTES 1. Refers to Joseph Saddler, aka DJ Grandmaster Flash, in hip hop's primal era in New York City. Flash quickly gained a rep as virtually untouchable vinyl-spinner and crowd entertainer, initiating some of the moves with the “wheels of steel” that would become legendary. 2. Refers to Grand Wizard Theodore, who according to some accounts, accidentally discovered “scratching” while removing a record from his turntable in his room as a teenager. 3. Cf. the way Asian liberation theologian Aloysius Pieris characterizes the gospel's representation of Jesus' baptismal option—a clear choice Jesus takes to go under the Jordan waters under tutelage to John the Baptist, immersing himself in peasant life-ways and codes, plumbing the depths of their operative soteriology, their folk idioms and intuitions of wholeness, which will then shape his own communication and vision (Pieris 62–63). The equivalent today, in an urban context could well be said to require immersion in hip hop idiom and beats—not reproducing its capitulation to corporatization, but teasing out its own hidden transcripts of resistance, vitality, and community. 4. Cf. Shamanism, Racism, and Hip-Hop Culture: Essays on White Supremacy and Black Subversion and White Theology: Outing Supremacy in Modernity. 5. These are the central three tropes by which Rose unpacks the commonality of style and morphology shared across hip hop's four genres (Rose 38–39).

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bellah, Robert. Habits of the Heart. Berkeley: University of California, 1996. Brueggemann, Walter. The Prophetic Imagination. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978. Dussel, Enrique. “Beyond Eurocentrism: The World System and the Limits of Modernity.” In The Cultures of Globalization, edited by F. Jameson and M. Miyoshi, 3–31. Durham: Duke University Press, 1998. ——— . The Invention of the Americas: Eclipse of “the Other” and the Myth of Modernity. New York: Continuum, 1995. Dyson, Michael Eric. Holler if You Hear Me: Searching for Tupac Shakur. New York: Basic Civitas Books, 2001. ——— . “Performance, Protest, and Prophecy in the Culture of Hip-Hop.” In “The Emergency of Black and the Emergence of Rap,” edited by Jon Michael Spencer. Special issue, Black Sacred Music: A Journal of Theomusicology 5.1 (1991): 12–24. Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972–1977, edited by C. Gordon. Translated by C. Gordon, et al. Brighton, Sussex: Harvester Press, 1980.

Somewhere Underneath the MC’s Wit and the Evangelical Word

19

Gates, Henry Louis, Jr. The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of Afro-American Literary Criticism. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988. George, Nelson. Hip Hop America, Revised Edition. New York: Penguin Group, 2005. Gilroy, Paul. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993. ——— . There Ain’t No Black in the Union Jack: The Cultural Politics of Race and Nation. London: Hutchinson, 1987. Reprint, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. Hauerwas, Stanley. “On Keeping Theological Ethics Theological.” In From Christ to the World: Introductory Readings in Christian Ethics, edited by W. G. Boulton, T. D. Kennedy, and A. Verhey, 254–60. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1998. Herzog, William R., III. Parables as Subversive Speech: Jesus as Pedagogue of the Oppressed. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994. Jagger, Alison M. “Love and Knowledge: Emotion in Feminist Epistemology.” In Readings from the Roots of Wisdom, 137–156. 3rd ed. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth/Thomson Learning, 2002. Jameson, Fredric. Postmodernism: Or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism. Durham: Duke University Press, 1991. Judy, R.A.T. “On the Question of N***A Authenticity.” In That’s the Joint! The Hip-Hop Studies Reader, edited by M. Forman and M. A. Neal, 105–17. New York: Routledge, 2004. Kochman, Thomas. Black and White Styles in Conflict. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981. Krims, Adam. “The Hip-Hop Sublime as a Form of Commodification.” In Music and Marx: Ideas, Practice, Politics, edited by Regula Burckhardt Qureshi, 63–78. New York: Routledge, 2002. ——— . Rap Music and the Poetics of Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Lattany, Kristin Hunter. “‘Off-timing’: Stepping to the Different Drummer.” In Lure and Loathing: Essays on Race, Identity, and the Ambivalence of Assimilation, edited by Gerald Early, 163–174. New York: Penguin Books, 1994. Lebacqz, Karen. “Implications for a Theory of Justice.” In From Christ to the World: Introductory Readings in Christian Ethics, edited by W. G. Boulton, T. D. Kennedy, and A. Verhey, 130–44. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1994. MacIntyre, Alasdair. After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory, 3rd Edition. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007. Otto, Rudolph. The Idea of the Holy. Translated by John W. Harvey. London: Oxford University Press, 1950. Perkinson, James W. Shamanism, Racism, and Hip-Hop Culture: Essays on White Supremacy and Black Subversion. New York: Palgrave Macmillan Press, 2005. ——— . White Theology: Outing Supremacy in Modernity. New York: Palgrave Macmillan Press, 2004. Pieris, Aloysius. An Asian Theology of Liberation. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1987. Rose, Tricia. Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press: Published by University Press of New England, 1994. Royster, Philip M. “The Rapper as Shaman for a Band of Dancers of the Spirit: ‘U Can't Touch This.’” In “The Emergency of Black and the Emergence of Rap,” edited by Jon Michael Spencer. Special issue, Black Sacred Music: A Journal of Theomusicology 5, no. 1 (1991): 60–67. Spencer, Jon Michael. “Introduction.” In “The Emergency of Black and the Emergence of Rap,” edited by Jon Michael Spencer. Special issue, Black Sacred Music: A Journal of Theomusicology 5, no. 1 (1991): 1–11. ——— . The Rhythms of Black Folk: Race, Religion and Pan-Africanism. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, Inc., 1995. Thompson, Robert Farris. “Introduction: The Rise of the Black Atlantic Visual Tradition.” In Flash of the Spirit: African and Afro-American Art and Philosophy, xiii–xvii. New York: Vintage Books, 1983.

Chapter Two

The Message from the Wilderness Michael D. Royster

W. E. B. DuBois’ concept of “double-consciousness” applies to a “Hip-Hop spirituality” from the “wilderness.” Not only do socially constructed subordinate groups in America face proneness to “looking at one’s self thru the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused content and pity” 1 but such a phenomenon impacts individual and collective spiritual formation. Western Spirituality has undergone mainstreaming, and standardization, such that peripheral perspectives become delegitimized, regarded as abrasive agitation, and viewed with contempt. Jesus’ ministry occurred in opposition to the “ecclesiastical establishment.” In fact, the basis of his “death-row” sentence traces its roots to having a message and ministry in direct contrast with acceptable mainstream religious expression. In light of U.S. Constitutional religious freedom guaranteed in the First Amendment, there still remains an ongoing struggle for a multitude of diverse forms of religious expression. Hip-Hop culture has provided the ongoing theological dialogue with new and emerging perspectives while reference classical theological and statements and hermeneutics. The historical Jesus of Nazareth of the Judeo-Christian tradition had endured an extensive period of time in the wilderness where temptations to become a “spiritual sell-out” had its way. The devil tempted Jesus with allure of wealth, power, status, to a “surrendering of identity.” 2 Among the more significant values of Hip-Hop culture are “staying true” to self, self-determination, and persistence in light of resistance. Beyond Hip-Hop culture as a subset of postmodernism, many urban dwellers live in an environment that requires a degree of “toughness” and endurance in response to the environmental reality. Such prolonged experiences form a foundational framework for understanding abstract theological concepts such as doctrines of God, a Christology, the nature of the human creature, the problems of evil, and 21

22

Michael D. Royster

especially eschatological thought. The described environment equates to a type of “wilderness” that produces its own perspectives, theology, and message as a testament to the collective encounter with nature, fellow humanity, and God. The message from the “wilderness” refers to the allegiance and commitment to the Gospel, as originally intended. Such loyalty equates to “good news to the poor,” 3 such that “the undeserved poor” must not face the blame for their ascribed status of poverty and its by-products, on the liberal end of the spectrum. However, the conservative side of the message acknowledges and encourages taking responsibility for inherited individual and communal life conditions. In lay terms, “do-for-self” implies that despite social atrocities, through the power of individual and collective effort, there lay accessible remedies. The message from the “wilderness” proclaims “release to the captives.” 4 It declares physical and mental emancipation. Although Western mainstream Christian culture tends to over-spiritualize the concept of captivity as enslavement to sin, yet mainstream Christian culture tends to overlook enslavement to the effects of a sinful world order, which produces excruciating concrete consequences. Captivity in a host of inner-city settings entails surrendering to the eminent threat of violent criminal activity, subjection to localized semi-fascism and police brutality, and being encased by subtle invisible barriers that prevent social, economic, and political empowerment. The message from the “wilderness” includes a means of giving “recovery of sight to the blind.” 5 Exposing the manifestations of injustice, “blowing the cover” of “blood suckers” 6 of society’s most vulnerable, making the underlying root sources of oppression plain to the victims, requires an inevitable response. Rap nationalists critique a sector of black Christian clergy as immersed and driven by greed or self-interest, with a message laced with a brand of “Christianity as a belief system that diverts attention from concrete reality and, therefore, inhibits the expression of social discontent.” 7 The “blind” includes those who have faced seasons of misguidance, as well as those on the verge of being duped. Two intertwined values in hip-hop culture include “being hip to the game,” or fluency in the “code of the streets,” and self-identification as “being hip” rather than a “sucker,” or “blind, deaf, and dumb.” 8 Additionally, Jesus of Nazareth as the anointed messenger from “the wilderness” declared that his mission included “freedom for the oppressed.” 9 In explicit terms, Jesus’s first words after coming out of “the wilderness” consist of declaring that his mission was to serve society’s most vulnerable, while declaring his opposition to the perpetuation of a system that placed people in economic despair, detesting the status quo attitude of allowing any resemblance of apartheid-like states or internal colonialism resulting in the dehumanization of people, and denouncing the powerful who misuse their

The Message from the Wilderness

23

power by misguiding. The conclusion indicted that haughty self-righteous oppressors and the human exploiters of the day are ordered to cease such activity and restore the oppressed back to a state of humanity. There lies great diversity in expressions from the “wilderness perspective.” Yet, the common source of religious convictions from “the wilderness” derives from having an extensive, frontline experience with life’s harshest realities such that passive acceptance becomes intolerable, and expression and action become provoked. THE WILDERNESS PERSPECTIVE The “wilderness perspective” derives from direct contact with the environment; however, its articulation entails a degree of filtering through the cognitive process. Without acquiring such a perspective through experience, the message would fail to capture the full essence of the wailing, laments, and jeremiads shared with the larger moral community from the depths of their souls. One leading characteristic of the “wilderness perspectives” equates to the accumulation of acquired wisdom from deprivation in the midst of affluence. Awareness of a widespread culture of systemic social-Darwinism covered with idealistic egalitarianism exposes the nature of humanity, which ultimately impacts an individual’s and the collective concept of God. As a result of prolonged or intergenerational marginalization, subjects are more likely to cultivate the necessary knowledge and skills for survival in a difficult environment, analogous to navigating through life’s shark-infested waters. Despite the traditional association of the “wilderness” with literal deserts, widespread inner-city “deserts” exist as evident through deindustrialization, economic abandonment, infrastructural neglect, and urban decay. The “wilderness perspective” in an urban environment further parallels the desert by the way the environment shapes perceptions of reality. Urban wilderness residents are likely to become accustomed to relying on their creativity and imagination to compensate for their lack of tangible and concrete vision. Imagination and creativity function as the greatest means for maintaining a fierce and competitive advantage for essential but scarce resources. Additionally, imagination and creativity allow the individual and the community to “hope through no hope,” 10 in contrast to surrendering to demoralization, apathy, and fatalism. However, hope has its limits such that individuals and communities reach a spiritual “breaking point.” Father Michael Pfleger, parish priest of Saint Sabina in Chicago, described the “breaking point” as deeply embedded in the character of every human creature. Pfleger compared the human creature to palm trees, which have the ability to bend extremely far; however, after a certain point, the tree breaks. Like palm

24

Michael D. Royster

trees, the human creature can perceive “warning signs,” yet not know when they will break until it has already occurred. 11 In reference to the hip-hop classic “The Message” (1983) by Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, Melle Mel expresses the breaking point as “the edge,” in the phrase in the chorus. Therefore, the “wilderness perspective” unifies prolonged edge proximity with being “over the edge.” Such perspective results from the unnatural and altered state of existence that derives from an ongoing disruption of socio-economic and psycho-emotive equilibrium. In North America, the late twentieth and early twenty-first century has celebrated the prevalence of capitalism as a core value that has been meshed with American civil religion. Significant criticism of capitalism equates to civil religion blasphemy. Like various social organizations, capitalism has both beneficiaries and victims. “Capitalism” refers to believing that yielding the maximum production, from as few producers as possible, for as little as possible is ideal. Therefore, such a system disregards the welfare and livelihood of excluded individuals and groups. Capitalism’s subjected victims include those who lack the power to solve the own problems that accompany their exclusion; therefore, they remain dependent on more powerful groups that lack a vested interest in helping fringe members of society to attain a more favorable and humane status. When injustices sanctioned by conventional wisdom exist, then contrary voices are regarded as civic blasphemy and are inverted as utterances of righteousness through the lenses of the wilderness. At the surface, “wilderness” inhabitants appear disadvantaged. However, they have a great advantage over the rest of society in having a degree of sobriety such that they see life on its own terms, rather than a warped sheltered version. John the Baptist came from the wilderness; and, his great proclamations of “baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” 12 and “the one who is more powerful than I is coming after me” 13 utilizes the “wilderness perspective.” John the Baptist’s simple message was extremely radical at the time. Jesus’s parables reflect the “wilderness perspective” as he endured a prolonged period in the wilderness prior to beginning his ministry. After defying centuries of traditional religious practices, Jesus not only proclaimed a new way of dealing with the single greatest human need for the “forgiveness of sins” but he also embodied the forgiveness of sins and changing sin’s aftereffects. Centuries later, rapper and public intellectual Lawrence K. Parker with alias KRS One synthesized a concept which suggests that Hip-Hop has been regarded as merely an art form, but functions as a way of life. Although, speaking rhetorically of Hip-Hop has its place, there exists a next level, which entails embodying that which we speak. In his 1954 “Rediscovering Lost Values” sermon, Martin Luther King Jr., emphasized the problem of the

The Message from the Wilderness

25

widened gap between rhetorical proclaiming a religion of God, and in praxis living as if God does not exist. King referred to that common praxis as “practical atheism,” which has a greater danger than “theoretical atheism,” the outright denial of God’s existence. 14 BETWEEN THE PROPHETIC BIBLICAL WORLD AND HIP-HOP CULTURE In reaction to the trending reputation of preachers and the church as becoming increasingly irrelevant and evasive in terms of addressing the concrete concerns that matter to an increasingly skeptical generation, the “wilderness perspective” contributes to bridging the gulf between the ancient prophetic biblical world and Hip-Hop culture. Conventional “church culture” etiquette implicitly discourages addressing the host of difficult theological ambiguities such as the meaning and purpose of life before death. If salvation and the avoidance of eternal damnation are the only things in life that matter, then that can have a dangerous unintentional consequence of entire subcultures immersed in religious sanctioned demoralization and nihilism. “What people need even more than pie in the sky is pie on the ground, food for the journey, and an understanding that this life matters.” 15 When rappers with the “wilderness perspective” reference God lyrically, the theme frequently centers on equipping the listener with real rather than ideal means for navigating through life’s faith journey in light of an acute sense of the dangerous oppositions that lie ahead. Because John the Baptist lived as a wilderness dweller, he had a clear sense of his mission, and he knew his “proper place” in relation to the “one greater.” Ultimately, Jesus’ ministry occurred in the postwilderness context, such that beyond superhuman wisdom, he knew life’s conflicts, contradictions, and confusion from prolonged first-hand experiences. EMBRACING AUTHENTICITY Hip-Hop artists’ effectiveness in conveying their various messages can be attributed to the recycling of the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle’s threefold formula of persuasion consisting of ethos, logos, and pathos. In its purest sense, Hip-Hop functions as more than an art form with entertainment as its end, but its intent through the works of various performing and visual artists, scholars, and laity is to educate, inspire, equip, and celebrate. The ethos has its basis in the persona, and overall character of the messenger. A strong majority of rappers display a preoccupation with managing their reputations, because their reputations establish the parameters for their content. Similarly, most twentieth and twenty-first century Christian preach-

26

Michael D. Royster

ers portray a degree of transparency out of necessity; however, they exercise caution by being selective in determining which “skeletons” to expose and disclose. Rappers and preachers share the common experience of “walking the tightrope” between “keep it real” and scandal. Scandal has been proven to kill a preacher’s testimony; likewise, it can nullify a rappers message. Since Hip-Hop intends to provide a source of information, then there lies great importance for “the messenger” to use appropriate language and a suitable vocabulary level for the targeted audience. In cases where “the messenger” references God through means of sermon, exhortation, literature, or rhyme, the convincing messenger must be well informed with a degree of proficiency that by far surpasses the “jackleg” level. Although, “jackleg” preaching has its place in its historical context, for the Hip-Hop generation and beyond, such practices are passé. Preachers and rappers alike dedicate significant energy to the logos form of rhetoric through their clever and sometimes eccentric use of language, metaphors, play on words, in order to appeal to the listener’s cognitive reasoning faculties. When speaking about God or on God’s behalf, preachers and rappers face the challenge of taking abstract concepts and presenting them in concrete language appropriated for the audience or congregation. Beyond a mere appeal to reasoning, each setting has a unique context with its distinct set of regional and sub-cultural nuances that play a critical role in intellectually resonating with the listeners. Part of developing the ethos includes showing proper respect for the audience or congregation, and being perceived as sincere. In the case of preachers with pastoral duties, regardless of having exceptional gifts in sermonic delivery, if the congregation perceives that “the messenger” is a self-absorbed figurehead who does not care about them, then his or her proclaimed words will mean nothing. In the urban setting, the pathos rhetoric form perhaps functions as the most important challenge because human creatures are emotional beings. Pastor Frank Thomas of Mississippi Boulevard Christian Church in Memphis, Tennessee, frequently emphasized that delivering and receiving “the message” which he refers to as “the Gospel” is simply inadequate unless “the message” is celebrated. The “moment of celebration” does not occur at random, but must be created. 16 Presenting doctrines of God, the life and teachings of the historical Jesus of Nazareth, with emotional neutrality gives the false impression that they are boring and irrelevant. Beyond the Hip-Hop Generation, post-moderns typically “tune out” if “the message” lacks relevance. Rappers with street credibility have been relegated the status of the “street poet” in a jeremiad tradition. “They are new thinkers and theologians who give hope and earth-based answers to those facing the absurdity of postindustrial America.” 17 Just as the ancient biblical world had its prophets, many who faced rejection from the civic elite, and the religious establish-

The Message from the Wilderness

27

ment as a consequence of speaking from the depths of their soul, modern-day “authentic” rappers, especially those dedicated to disseminating the fierce message warnings, lamentations, crying out, or “good news” to the excluded and neglected, are criticized by the church community for not conforming to the narrow parameters of their constructed religious expression. Liberation Theology and its variants, which emerged in the latter twentieth century, mark the beginning of seriously addressing the theological dilemma of the nature of God and the prevalence of inhumanity. A “Hip-Hop theology” which embraces the essential elements of the “wilderness perspective” elevates the role of experiencing prolonged oppression in the light of a just and powerful God. All social institutions including the mass media, organized religion, education, and the economy have a significant political element because power struggles serve as the underlying driving force behind each. “There is no political system void of a human hand.” 18 J. Alfred Smith Sr., of Allen Temple Baptist Church in Oakland, California, argued that preachers who present God as remotely in heaven, as if all is well in the world, have essentially repelled large sectors of young postindustrial urbanites from the church. 19 In response, “rappers are challenging the religious hegemony of the Black Church because they perceive this institution as having failed to respond to the pain, despair, and struggles of the inner-city working poor.” 20 A Hip-Hop spirituality and other subsets of post-modernism and the ultraprogressive wings of liberation movements oppose the excessive spiritualized, pseudo-scriptural and evasive clichés such as “trust in the Lord and everything will be alright.” Frankly, a theological void exists when such rhetoric fails to address the how pain and misery prevails among those who trust. In his sermon entitled “Contrary Winds” Pastor Charles Adams of Hartford Memorial Baptist Church pointed out that obedience to God not only fails to safeguard individuals and groups from experiencing “contrary winds” or life’s troubles, but oftentimes experiencing “contrary winds” results from obedience and faithfulness. 21 FROM THE DEPTHS Hip-Hop culture contains theological implications in its collective deep seated, outward emotional expression beyond the expressive constraints of socially constructed etiquette. When communication occurs from the depths, a piercing and fierce confrontation emerges with those levels of truths that lie at the periphery of socially acceptable speech when expressed verbally. For example, Psalm 137:1, “By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down and there we wept when we remember Zion,” functions as a communal lament due to the experience of displacement in a place as ascribed foreign-

28

Michael D. Royster

ers, under the domination by a militaristically powerful group, while reflecting on the destruction of Jerusalem, the old neighborhood, the cultural center of traditions, roots, and culture. However, the Psalter concludes with rhetorical vengeance as it expresses outrage from the depths of the captives’ souls as it states: Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites the day of Jerusalem’s fall, how they said, “Tear it down! Tear it down! Down to its foundations!” O daughter Babylon, you devastator! Happy shall they be who pay you back what you have done to us! Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock! 22

The “expression from the depths” exposes that which lies in the heart; Chief Aina Olomo refers to the depths as the “core belief system.” Although the language on the latter part of Psalm 137 has a harsh and inhumane tone, Psalters serve the purpose of demonstrating how to pray, and how to present and express affirmation, confession, lamentation, and intercession to God. “Our existing Core Belief System (CBS) is revealed in the language we use during spontaneous reactions to emergencies. It is revealed in passion, and in joy.” 23 Instead of superficial conventional expressions, the Psalter presents God as approachable with openness and honesty. Unlike masquerading behind socially acceptable rhetoric, God desires intimate communication deriving from the true inner self. Silencing expressions of outrage from marginalized groups or on behalf of such groups has existed as the norm. Such expressions typically face negative sanctions ranging from mild censorship, to arrest, to violence and death. The late Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.’s, denouncement of Jim Crow Laws in the Southern United States, and criticizing the U.S. social structure as perpetuating extreme economic inequities violated social norms. In the famous seventeen minute 1963 “I Have a Dream” speech, Martin Luther King Jr., embraces the ideals of the U.S. Constitution, as a means of denouncing the status quo of the federal, state, and municipal governments and framing the whole nation as having collective guilt for its gross negligence of enforcing that part of the U.S. Constitution that states “all men are created equal.” During the post-King era, tributes to King typically feature the final three minutes of the “I Have a Dream” speech, while truncating the first fourteen minutes. The first fourteen minutes of the speech functioned as “the message from the wilderness.” King uses American civil religion to rebuke the nation for the resulting disparities it produced, and declaring that any further delayed response was unacceptable. Post-King revisionism has succeeded at assuring that the public received minimal exposure to the actual message of the speech itself. The last three minutes include the famous refrain of spontaneity functioned as “the gravy” or “bringing it home,” part

The Message from the Wilderness

29

of the African-American preaching tradition, where the message reaches a climax in a moment of celebration. Although King predates Hip-Hop culture, and the mainstream culture typically disassociates King and Hip-Hop, a common ground lies in King’s solid commitment to the principle of “saying what needs to be said” at all costs. As rapper 50 Cent receives accolades for catching nine bullets (badges of honor) as a sign of hyper-masculinity, toughness, and having an authentic story to tell, King endured three house bombings, two stabbings, was incarcerated seventeen times, and faced a decade worth of death threats, and an assassination as a consequence for rhetorically “keeping it real.” Deprived environments in the midst of affluence cultivate the “wilderness perspective”; however, such a perspective extends beyond the confines of sub-middle class urban sectors. Middle-class members can have an economic advantage, yet a sub-middle class identity. Critics of the middle class members who embrace a sub-middle class identity falsely assume that such inversions reflect a “culture of poverty.” Frustrations about the imminent threat of poverty, the proximity of raw anger and violence, and fear of coming of age in an era where opportunities appear fewer than in previous generations collectively indicate that despite varying levels of acuteness across social class lines there is a significant degree of overlap between aspects of their vantage points, which results in the “wilderness perspective” being within the reach of groups beyond the inner-city. At the time, Jesus’s parables and acts of ministry were considered contrary to basic social etiquette, disruptive, and inflammatory. Immediately preceding the experience in the wilderness, Jesus faced swift rejection is his hometown Nazareth, was accused of speaking blasphemy, 24 and faced scrutiny for eating and drinking with tax collectors and persons with bad reputations. 25 To this day, the “love for enemies” message faces further challenges when publically articulated and practiced within the context of a highly xenophobic and polarized society. By the 1960s, King faced broad criticism for preaching and living a message of love regardless of its possible lack of reciprocation. KRS-One makes a profound statement as he describes that the depth of individual character finds its basis in how an individual responds to evil. 26 A common message between Jesus of Nazareth, Mahatma Gandhi, Archbishop Oscar Romero, Martin Luther King Jr., KRS-One, and the ideals of all prophetic voices from the wilderness entails a commitment to “fight injustice without becoming unjust.” 27 SOBRIETY, HYPER-SENSITIVITY, AND CELEBRATION Some theological implications of the Hip-Hop cultural use of sobriety, hyper-sensitivity, and celebration portray reality rather than succumbing to re-

30

Michael D. Royster

mote ideals. The act of verbally downplaying the hurt and despair experienced by the masses further compounds their suffering. Having a voice and platform accompanies the humane responsibility for individuals to speak on behalf of the voiceless. What often on the surface appears as glorifying violence, extreme desperation, and hustling, sometimes serve as a means of crying out. Graphic language has its place in terms of the communal laments that are addressed to three groups. The first group consisting of those whose status exempts them from the depicted experiences receives the message “welcome to our world.” In Richard Shusterman’s essay entitled “Rap as Art and Philosophy,” he implies that beyond aesthetic appeal, “message rap” best represents the original and ultimately most important sub-genre in Hip-Hop. Ever since Grandmaster Flash’s early hits “The Message” and “Message II (Survival),” knowledge rappers have been insisting that their role as artists and poets is inseparable from their philosophical function as inquirers of reality and teachers of truth, particularly those aspects of reality and truth which get neglected or distorted by establishment history books, institutional religion, and contemporary news coverage. 28

Rather than choosing tranquil means of conveying “the message,” Shusterman acknowledges that an angry and aggressive tone functions as a means for the recipients to capture and channel the cumulative rage in order to “maintain self-control,” 29 as an attempt to prevent them from “losing their head.” 30 In some preaching traditions, the use of an aggressive tone serves as a homiletic strategy to assist the tension-building part of the delivery that leads to the celebratory resolution. SPIRITUAL FORMATION ENVIRONMENT Hip-Hop spirituality from a “wilderness perspective” challenges the ideology of the conventional portrayals of sanitized, serene, conflict-free, and protected environment as the sole suitable environment for spiritual formation. “Many people find it impossible to live a truly spiritual life while under the constant threat of oppression because the meaning of inner city spiritual life is peace of mind through personal satisfaction.” 31 Former rapper Tupac makes an ecclesiastical statement regarding worshipping God the way God wants to be worshipped in “Black Jesuz” (1995). “Black Jesuz is not one to be worshipped in a building, but rather worshiped through everyday, ‘hood experiences.’” 32 The “hood experience,” including its accompanying perils, tests worship authenticity. Worship in the safer havens of the sanctuary does not guarantee that it can withstand the awaiting challenges of an abrasive environment, such as “the streets.”

The Message from the Wilderness

31

Tupac’s “Black Jesuz” expands black theology for a Gospel that bring “good news for the hood, sight for the disenfranchised, temporary relief if permanent relief is unavailable, and a deep breath after prolonged unjust suffocation.” 33 The hood contains issues that classical theology has left ambiguous because such issues did not pertain to such theologians or their surroundings. However, “Tupac’s Black Jesuz is not the Jesuz of history but a Jesus for the hood, a Jesuz who understood the issues 34 confronting the people of the hood and accepting those with such issues.” Typically retreat centers which function as a haven for “spiritual renewal” tend to have locations far removed from urban centers, and are inaccessible to sub-middle class inner city dwellers due to their pricey rental fees, and because they are unattainable by public transportation. Structurally, the working poor tend to lack the ability to voluntarily cease activity, labor, and responsibility for a few days and return with everything intact. Although such centers have a purpose, the danger lies in the unintended implication that spiritual cultivation can only occur through escaping the often times inescapable reality. “Urban God Talk” serves as evidence that Greg Garrett’s argument has some flaws when he states “contemporary life is the enemy of personal reflection and without attention to our souls, we cannot have an authentic relationship with God.” 35 The statement mistakenly assumes that urban-dwellers lack theological reflection in their daily lives. In many urban settings, especially densely populated areas or households with relative domestic overcrowding, the experience of silence and stillness for many becomes inaccessible. “Urbanites live in cities where meanness is more dominant than mercy and where politicians punish victims for their plight.” 36 The ecclesiastical cultural implication of God’s presence as more favorable to a quiet and remote setting compounds the social undermining of inner-city life. “The streets of the hood, which have been demonized by the media, the police, and others, are transformed into a space of profound value and worth.” 37 When the church supports the belief of “going far away” to encounter and become closer to God by way of going further out, which also parallels “White-flight” ideology, by default, implies that God sanctions the demonization of the inner-city and its inhabitants. The birth, growth, and development of Hip-Hop culture prior to its expansion to vast social sectors occurred in areas where long-term silence and moments of reflective solitude were relatively infrequent. Yet, the advantage of “spiritual formation” in busy and congested inner-cities lies in the ability to see God in the midst of skyscrapers, urban playgrounds, subway stations, sidewalk street vendors, and all of the unique features of the heart of metropolis. There lies a practical theological case for people with disciplined prayer lives, whose “quiet prayer times” are seldom quiet. Western Christian convention condemns practicing spiritual disciplines while on-the-go. However, faith cultivation and spiritual formation from a

32

Michael D. Royster

U.S. urban “wilderness perspective” entails experiencing God’s presence in the midst of a hurried lifestyle. Conventional “church culture” disregards the role that environment plays in setting parameters around devotional time. Relative deprivation in the midst of affluence encourages a “hustle-to-survive,” “dog-eat-dog,” and “kill or get killed” ambiance. Spiritual formation from the “wilderness perspective” equates to relating to God while in survival mode, where street-level weakness becomes non-optional because it will result in being devoured. Ja Rule asked a probing question: What if God were one of us? If God traded places with those who are struggling to make a life in the inner city, would God be involved in the same activities? The answer is yes. Ja Rule rejects the God presented by Christianity, while justifying the behavior of those in the hood by saying if God were one of us God’s ethics would be hood ethics. 38 The historical Jesus of the Gospels displayed the equivalent of street credibility as he sided with the most marginalized members of society, while having his authenticity steadily tested by religious and secular dignitaries without compromising his mission or surrendering his identity. 39 Raymond Bakke raises the issue that “most Christians still read the Bible through rural lenses.” 40 The result can create difficulty in appropriating the biblical message or any ancient sacred text to an urban and post-industrial context. A Hip-Hop spirituality thus fills the void as it makes a significant contribution to the discipline of theology by arguing that God’s self-disclosure extends far beyond the human constructed confines of spacious and serene settings. The twenty-first century church in the West has prolonged symptoms of internal cultural polarization, beyond racial segregation during Sunday morning. “The schism in church that has pitted social and personal ministries against each other in the city, a tragic legacy of the fundamentalist-modernist controversy early in the twentieth, still marginalizes the church’s ministry in the rapidly urbanizing developing world.” 41 Raymond Bakke presents an expansive dilemma that accompanies urban unemployment. “Clearly urban unemployment is more than an economic issue; it’s identity crises.” 42 Unemployment status further stigmatizes the individual. This hierarchy has created the great divorce and resulted in a canon within the canon of Scriptures, that is, while they believe the whole Bible is the Word of God, they treat certain parts as more valuable or useful than others do. As a result, many Christians justify throwing away neighborhoods like Styrofoam cups when they cease to function for our own benefit. They deny that the salvation or destruction of community is a spiritual issue. 43

The Message from the Wilderness

33

CONCLUSION At the surface, the “wilderness perspective” appears monolithic, yet in reality it encompasses the universal concerns of humanity that tend to remain unanswered. The more progressive branches of the Christian theological discourse including some of the twentieth century liberation movements should be acknowledged for establishing a significant portion of the foundation for the emergence of a “Hip-Hop theology.” The theological discourse of “hiphop spirituality” uses a “wilderness perspective” as its implicit religious doctrines view God through the lenses of religious syncretism, biblical hermeneutical suspicion, unconventional reasoning, and experience as fringed members of society. Hip-Hop theology faces the challenge of reconciling the “wilderness perspective” as a legitimate theology with its unique articulation of the doctrines of God from a deprived urban perspective and “Hip-Hop’s central values of materialism, anti-intellectualism, aggression, and spirit of rebellion” which appear sacrilegious. 44 “More troubling contradictions haunt Hip-Hop. Most striking are its equivocal take on violence and its concern for liberation yet its frequent use of a viciously sexist ‘pimpin’ style.’” 45 Like all theological discourses, Hip-Hop spirituality from a “wilderness perspective” falls short of dogmatic perfection. NOTES 1. W. E. B. DuBois, The Souls of Black Folk (New York: Barnes and Noble Classics, 1903, 2003), 9. 2. Prathia Hall, “Between the Wilderness and the Cliff,” sermon published in the The African-American Pulpit (Fall 2005), 44–48. 3. Luke 4:18, New Revised Standard Version. 4. Luke 4:18, New Revised Standard Version. 5. Luke 4:18, New Revised Standard Version. 6. Five Percenter doctrine that in metaphorical terms 10 percent of the population are solely responsible for mentally oppressing the vast majority of the population. 7. Charise L. Cheney, Brothers Gonna Work it Out: Sexual Politics in the Golden Age of Rap Nationalism (New York & London: New York University Press, 2005), 126. 8. Five Percenter doctrine that metaphorically speaking 85 percent, which is the vast majority of the population, has been deliberatively misguided and thus dwells in mass ignorance. 9. Luke 4:18, New Revised Standard Version. 10. Courtney Aikens, “Hope through No Hope,” unpublished sermon preached in Dallas County Jail, 2004. 11. Michael Pfleger, “The End of the Rope!” sermon preached at Saint Sabina in Chicago, IL, on June 10, 2007. The palm tree metaphor represents the tremendous strain that human beings endure, yet there lies a threshold or point beyond toleration which results in a break. 12. Luke 1:4, New Revised Standard Version. 13. Luke 1:7, New Revised Standard Version. 14. Martin Luther King Jr., “Rediscovering Lost Values,” sermon preached February 28, 1954 at Second Baptist Church in Detroit, MI.

34

Michael D. Royster

15. Greg Garrett, The Other Jesus: Rejecting a Religion of Fear for the God of Love (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 104. 16. Frank A. Thomas, They Like to Never Quit Praisin’ God: The Role of Celebration in Preaching (Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press, 1997), 63–80. 17. Ralph Watkins in Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music, ed. Anthony B. Pinn (New York: New York University Press, 2003), 185. 18. Lawrence K. Parker, Ruminations (New York: Welcome Rain Publishers, 2003), 41. 19. J. Alfred Smith, “Preaching in Urban America,” in Preaching on the Brink: The Future of Homiletics, ed. Martha J. Simmons (Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1996), 106. 20. Watkins in Noise and Spirit, 186. 21. Charles G. Adams, “Contrary Winds,” sermon preached at Hartford Memorial Baptist Church in Detroit, MI, on November 2, 2003. 22. Psalm 137:7–9, New Revised Standard Version. 23. Aina Olomo, The Core of Fire: A Path to Yoruba Spiritual Activism (Brooklyn, NY: Athelia Henrietta Press, 2002), 23. 24. Luke 5:21, New Revised Standard Version. 25. Luke 5:30, New Revised Standard Version. 26. Parker, Ruminations, 79. 27. Parker, Ruminations, 69. 28. Richard Shusterman, “Rap as Art and Philosophy,” in A Companion to AfricanAmerican Philosophy, ed. Tommy L. Lott and John P. Pittman (Malden, MA, and Oxford, UK: Blackwell Publishing, 2003), 422. 29. Shusterman, “Rap as Art and Philosophy,” 424. 30. Rapper Melle Mell of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five describes the experience of prolonged urban wilderness dwelling as an extreme unbearable mental stressor. 31. Parker, Ruminations, 40. 32. Watkins in Noise and Spirit, 191. 33. Last Poets, “Opposites,” on This is Madness (Celluloid Records, 1971), reference to their metaphors deep breath and suffocation. 34. Daniel White Hodge, The Soul of Hip-Hop: Rims, Timbs, and a Cultural Theology (Downers Grove, IL: Intervarsity Press, 2010), 128. 35. Garrett, The Other Jesus, 57. 36. Smith, “Preaching in Urban America,” 106. 37. Watkins in Noise and Spirit, 191. 38. Watkins, in Noise and Spirit, 189. 39. Hall, “Between the Wilderness and the Cliff,” 44–48. 40. Raymond Bakke, A Theology as Big as the City (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. 1997), 14. 41. Bakke, 14. 42. Bakke, 19. 43. Bakke, 35. 44. Bill Lawson, Derrick Darby, and Tommie Shelby, eds., Hip-hop and Philosophy: Rhyme 2 Reason (Peru, IL: Open Court, 2005), 182. 45. Shusterman, “Rap as Art and Philosophy,” 427.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Adams, Charles G. “Contrary Winds,” Sermon, Hartford Memorial Baptist Church, Detroit, MI. November 2, 2003. Aikens, Courtney. “Hope through No Hope,” Sermon, Dallas County Jail, Dallas, TX, 2004. Bakke, Raymond. A Theology as Big as the City, 14–35. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1997. Cheney, Charise L. “Representin’ God: Masculinity and the Use of the Bible in Rap Nationalism,” in Brothers Gonna Work it Out: Sexual Politics in the Golden Age of Rap Nationalism, 126. New York: London: New York University Press, 2005.

The Message from the Wilderness

35

DuBois, W. E. B. “Of the Dawn of Freedom,” in The Souls of Black Folk, 9. New York: Barnes and Noble Classics, 1903/2003. Garrett, Greg. The Other Jesus: Rejecting a Religion of Fear for the God Love, 57–104. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 201. Hall, Prathia. “Between the Wilderness and the Cliff,” Sermon, The African-American Pulpit, 44–48, Fall 2005. Hodge, Daniel White. The Soul of Hip-Hop: Rims, Timbs, and a Cultural Theology, 128. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2010. King Jr., Martin. “Rediscovering Lost Values.” Sermon, Second Baptist Church, Detroit, MI, February 28, 1954. Last Poets. “Opposites,” on This is Madness. Celluloid Records, 1971. Lawson, Bill, Derrick Darby, and Tommie Shelby, eds., Hip-Hop and Philosophy: Rhyme 2 Reason, 182. Peru, IL: Open Court, 2005. Olomo, Aina. The Core of Fire: A Path to Yoruba Spiritual Activism, 23. Brooklyn, NY: Athelia Henrietta Press, 2002. Parker, Lawrence K. Ruminations, 40–79. New York: Welcome Rain Publishers, 2003. Pfleger, Michael. “The End of the Rope!” Sermon, Saint Sabina, Chicago, IL, June 10, 2007. Shusterman, Richard. “Rap as Art and Philosophy,” in A Companion to African-American Philosophy, ed. Tommy L. Lott and John P. Pittman, 422–427. Malden, MA and Oxford UK: Blackwell Publishing, 2003. Smith, J. Alfred. “Preaching in Urban America,” in Preaching on the Brink: The Future of Homiletics, ed. Martha J. Simmons, 106. Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1996. Thomas, Frank A. “Designing for Celebration,” in They Like to Never Quit Praisin’ God: The Role of Celebration in Preaching, 63–80. Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press, 1997. Watkins, Ralph. “The Emergence of a Religious Discourse in Rap Music,” in Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music, ed. Anthony B. Pinn, 185–191. New York: New York University Press, 2003.

Chapter Three

“To Set at Liberty Them that are Bruised:” Exposing Liberation Theology Within Hip Hop Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV

THE CREATING AND BIRTHING OF HIP HOP Hip hop is probably the most purely “American” musical art form to come from the African-American community since jazz. Hip hop as a musical form came from the African-American community as a response and reaction to things that were specific to their experience in America. Hip hop began as an instrument for young, traditionally silent, African and Latino/a Americans to have their voices heard. Up until this time, the voices of these young men and women were squelched or not heard at all and hip hop became their microphone (pun intended). As to the question “Is there spirituality in hip hop,” the answer is emphatically “Yes!” However, to locate that spirituality one must go beyond what is presented at the surface and what is obtainable to them on a mainstream level. In order to find hip hop’s essence, one must be willing to get to its core, and examine its birth and relevance. With this search comes an acknowledgment that everything that there is to hip hop may not necessarily be in alignment with what everyone sees. For inner-city African-American youth, life was a continuous struggle. With the emergence of rap as a musical art form in the late 1970s and early 1980s, youth in New York City were confronted with several issues. The 70s and 80s exposed the failures of integration in the north. The very existence of ghettos with the strategic placement of African-Americans and LatinoAmericans in isolated communities answered the question of whether there was segregation in the North. The amount of city project buildings and the 37

38

Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV

multitude of African-Americans and Latino-Americans that resided within them was yet another testament to the failed attempt of integration in the North. The deteriorating and sub-par condition of the buildings provided visual commentary on the plight of the residents. During this time, the inequality of public schools was also being exposed. Public schools that were located in the poorest neighborhoods lacked the necessary resources, such as up-to-date textbooks, class space, and technology to adequately educate the students to compete in society. As a result, the school buildings became breeding grounds for violence, drugs, and other anti-social behaviors. The voices and concerns of the students were inadequately addressed and they were unable to see their relevance in the social order of mainstream society. The 1970s and 1980s also saw an influx of drugs and gang activity into the African-American community. While crack-cocaine devastated families and communities within the inner-city, many saw it as a way out. Drug users utilized it to escape the hardships that came with inner-city life, drug dealers saw selling it as a means to provide for the basic needs for their family, and although smallest in number, there were a group of dealers who saw the exploitive practice as a means to obtain enough wealth and move out of the community. The musical form that was seen as the new innovative sound of the 70s was disco; however, its impact on inner-city youth was all too familiar. Disco developed into a movement that became a place for the elites of society, more specifically the New York City elites. Disco successfully suppressed the voices of the inner-city youth, accomplishing what several other institutions already had, and effectively kept them from being a part of its movement. Disco kept the economically deprived out of its social circle and as a result, the youth of NYC that were economically sub-par had to either find another way to become inclusive or create other circles. Many youth chose the latter as they felt they could not relate to the themes and messages within Disco that spoke to the “good life” and having a good time. These and countless other factors helped contribute to the birthing of hip hop, not only as a musical art form but also as a culture. Terrible social conditions helped keep the voices of the African-American and LatinoAmerican youth on the periphery of society. The youth had a commentary on the conditions that they were being exposed to on a daily basis however; it was being suppressed by all of the mainstream institutions. Their voices were ignored in the educational, religious, political, economic, and social arenas. These undervalued perspectives were going to have to create their own space and their own lane if they were going to be heard. This is what hip hop, in its musical art form, did for the voice of the inner-city youth. The historical roots of hip hop begin in the south Bronx on Cedar and Sedgwick Avenues. DJ Kool Herc would host parties in local community

"To Set at Liberty Them that are Bruised"

39

centers using Rhythm and Blues samples, playing the records on the “break beats.” This new innovative technique that DJ Kool Herc introduced led to the formation of the Break-Boys (aka B-Boys, aka Break Dancers). The BBoys would create specific moves that coincided with the break beat highlighting their value as well as that of the DJ to hip hop. Hip hop opened up time and space for the inner-city youth to express their creative voices. Hip hop became the place where they could freely convey every emotion and not worry about being shunned and castigated. Spiritually, there is something to be said about this creation and its importance to the inner-city youth. In its infancy stages, hip hop provided a spirit of acknowledgment, and inner-city youth in NYC and around the country were given a platform that could not be found in other institutions. Hip hop became a voice for those young men and women who were traditionally kept voiceless, showing them that they were relevant. The spirituality of this event can be found within the value of liberation. The essence of God is found within a theology of Liberation. For a group of people who have been traditionally silenced or ignored and reduced to an inferior status, the opportunity to be heard, seen, and validated is a very liberating and spiritually uplifting process. A theological approach to Liberation holds to the belief that God never stands for the unjust oppression to a people or the unjust suppression of a people. In essence, God is on the side of those unjustly oppressed and suppressed socially, economically, or politically and in order to be in one accord with God one must be willing to completely identify oneself with those individuals who are the victims of oppression. This concept has been discussed and developed in detail by theologians such as Gustavo Gutiérrez, James Cone, and Dwight Hopkins, just to name a few. By opening itself up to those who had been excluded from society, hip hop started and was kept on the margins and expelled from mainstream. From its birth up to its contemporary existence, hip hop has always fought for a space to be seen, heard and legitimated. In its fight to do so, one can find a certain spiritual quality that speaks to the essence of hip hop, but like many social fights, the challenges are numerous and at times shortcuts, and what appear to be easy solutions are very tempting and often times do not fulfill the mission of the fight. This is the state mainstream hip hop finds itself in at this present moment. THE FIGHT TO BE ACCEPTED Hip hop still found itself trying to break into the mainstream discussion. It had survived the overt racism of the 1970s and the influx of crack cocaine in the 1980s, and yet hip hop was still not legitimated by mainstream society. Hip hop up to this point was seen as the antithesis of American culture and

40

Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV

values. Songs such as “The Message” by Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five sought to make the listener familiar with the living conditions of the inner-city. The song addressed some of the daily obstacles that existed for the inner-city community, describing their daily struggles. Using the method of identification, “The Message” attempted to have the listener identify with the struggle, speaking of the broken glass, urination in the halls, rats within the project apartments, and the lack of economic resources which led to the inability to escape the present condition. Dealing with the conditions of the inner-city on a regular basis could make one feel like they are a few steps from losing their minds, or as the song reiterates, “close to the edge.” This was everyday life for people who lived on the margins of society. Their life was one of struggle and uneasiness, which did not correlate with the mainstream message that everyone has a right to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” Other songs tried to utilize the method of escapism in order to deal with the harsh realities of life. The first recognized “rap song” was “Rapper’s Delight” by Sugarhill Gang. This song focused on the art of dancing and how one felt as a result. The song expressed a sentiment that did not want to deal with the harsh realities of inner-city life. What could be done in an effort to keep one’s mind off those harsh realities? This tactic was used as a means to give temporary comfort to those who must constantly deal with the uncomfortable aspects of life. These were the primary themes that were fused with the lyrical voice of hip hop (aka rap) music. As hip hop moved into the 1990s we began to see a slight shift in its values. From the beginning, hip hop had struggled to be recognized and legitimated. The art form that had given a voice to those who had been kept voiceless, and created space for those who had been placed on the periphery, found itself in the same position as its target audience. Hip hop was placed on the margins of the music world. It was viewed as an illegitimate art form. It was said that hip hop lacked the necessary discipline and musical norms such as melodies and harmonies within its vocal artists. Improvisation was another characteristic of hip hop that did not fit neatly into the “musical art form” box. This notion, along with the assumptions made about the early participants of hip hop, helped promote the view that hip hop was not a “real” or “true” musical art form. This was undoubtedly related to the fact that the individuals who promoted and accepted hip hop were also perceived as individuals who were not “real” and/or “true” to the accepted norms and values of mainstream society. The harsh realities that the inner-city residents had to face on a daily basis were not the same realities of those who regularly advocated for the status quo. In society, a myriad of social ills, such as unemployment, drugs, and lack of education was seen as a critique of their self-worth. It was a measure of humanity. If one’s humanity did not measure up, then that individual

.

"To Set at Liberty Them that are Bruised"

41

deserved to be pushed to the borders of society and thus viewed with disdain and illegitimacy. There is a natural tendency to want to be included and feel like a part of something and to be accepted. The same is true for hip hop. During the 1990s, hip hop was at a point where it sought to be incorporated into mainstream society. One of the first things someone does when they seek to be a part of something is attempt to assimilate. One evaluates the culture, including the values, ethics, morals, and standards of that of which they seek to assimilate. Hop hop initially sought to have mainstream society take notice of a group of individuals who they have systematically ignored. Hip hop wanted mainstream society to pay attention to a way of life that did not necessarily fit neatly into the concept of the “American Dream” and acknowledge the other side of what the nation could produce. There was a dichotomist relationship that existed in the United States: one side projected life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness while the other side displayed death, destruction, oppression, and the result of decades of exploitation. Along with this message, hip hop also wanted it known that these conditions were not caused by the people, but were strategically and systematically placed on the inner-city community. The residents were not the type of people who wallowed in miserable conditions, but they were a people who sought to alleviate the problems as best they could. It was this work ethic and creativity that came from the minds of individuals who had a drive and a motivation to rise above the conditions that surrounded them that led to the birth of hip hop. They had to be creative enough to think outside of the box when it came to the elements that made up hip hop (the DJ, the MC, B-Boys, graffiti), and the drive to stay committed to the form even when it received criticism. However, hip hop up to this point still stayed on the margins of musical art forms in this society. How could hip hop find its way into the mainstream? What would put hip hop in the forefront? In the early 1990s it was becoming more evident that hip hop was expanding its influence and affecting more than just inner-city youth on the east coast, but it was becoming the musical art form for inner-city youth all across America. Inner-city youth on the west coast (more specifically California) also faced hardships that did not fit into the ideal way of life and used hip hop as a means to convey their reality. Just like their counterparts on the east coast, these African-American and Latino youth were socially, politically, and economically deprived. Illegal narcotics also flooded their communities as it did on the east coast and once again hip hop was used as a means to escape the harsh realities that they frequently had to experience. One of these harsh realities that were frequently discussed within hip hop on the west coast was the reality of gang life. Gang activity was prevalent on the west coast and many in the inner-city were susceptible to that lifestyle. For many, the gang represented the family and the love that was lacking in their lives.

42

Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV

Hip hop on the west coast discussed this reality in its music. West coast hip hop shared the mentality of the gangster with its audience. It was a mentality that was fearless and did not back down from authority. It did not seek to be a part of the establishment and, if necessary, would battle against it. Although other hip hop artists such as Schoolly D and Ice-T made records that reflected violence and gang lifestyle, it was not until the early 1990s that this particular form of hip hop was popularized. It was this portrayal of hip hop that caught the attention of music executives. Seemingly, executives within the industry that previously held to the belief that hip hop was not authentic felt that hip hop from this perspective needed to be heard. Why this particular viewpoint of hip hop gained the interests of executives still needs to be examined. When hip hop was trying to call America’s attention to some of the harsh realities of inner-city living, mainstream society refused to listen to the cry. When hip hop offered graphic depictions of tough inner-city lifestyles accompanied with social critique, mainstream America and music executives did not think of hip hop as an authentic art form. However, when the perspective of hip hop displayed the mentality of the hard core “gangster,” hyperviolent and ultra-aggressive individual, suddenly music executives became interested. THE SEPARATION OF HIP HOP FROM ITS CULTURAL ROOTS There is much speculation as to why hip hop suddenly got the attention of the music executives. Although it is all speculation, the potential to profit from the art form may be closest to the truth. What was it about hip hop that the music executives believed they could make profitable? Approximately 40 years after its birth, hip hop has become the most popular and accepted musical art form in the United States and eventually worldwide. What caused such a drastic shift in mainstream society’s acceptance of the genre? One of the necessary actions that had to take place in order for mainstream society to accept hip hop was to separate the culture from the music. What must be understood about hip hop is that it is more than just music. Those who are a part of the hip hop generation have pretty much come to the consensus that hip hop is a culture. Members of a particular culture identify with a specific cosmology, aesthetic, value system, ethic, and language which all influence the creative expressions of that culture. Art, entertainment, music, and most other creative ideas are heavily influenced by the cultural indicators. As mentioned earlier hip hop was birthed from AfricanAmerican and Latino youth, out of conditions that produced oppression and exploitation. Hip hop was the one place that gave youth a platform. When hip hop artists voiced their displeasure with the callous conditions they had to

"To Set at Liberty Them that are Bruised"

43

endure on a regular basis, it also gave the listener insight to the cultural values of the art form. When the hip hop artists such as Public Enemy and Boogie Down Productions critiqued their state of oppression, it also let the listener know that the artist came from a place where justice was expected. When hip hop pioneers focused on themes that centered on partying and having a good time as a method of escapism from frequent inequality, this could also be understood as a hip hop’s cultural expectation of equality. Inner-city youth knew that they were not inferior to those who enjoyed a more lavish lifestyle and they did not deserve to be treated any differently. Hip hop was the vehicle they used to get the sentiment across. In its early stages hip hop attempted to expose those who had to deal with the flip side of the “American Dream” coin. Their position on social inequality also serves as a means to interpret hip hop’s cosmology. At the root of hip hop culture the cosmology suggests that the God of Creation created all of humankind and created them equally; therefore all of God’s children had the right to express their humanity to the fullest. The themes that permeated the early stages of hip hop are the most authentic statements on the cultural values at the root of hip hop. The early artists, who took the role from the DJ as the most visible and perceivably the most important element of hip hop, became the authorities on the cultural values and norms. It is safe to say that the themes that permeated early hip hop are not the same themes heard on a regular basis on commercial radio stations and mainstream media today. With this being said, one could ask the question, is the music that permeates the commercial airwaves truly hip hop? The earlier themes in rap music that called attention to America’s injustice were not themes that record executives or other media powers wanted to have played on commercial media. The musical component of hip hop culture was quickly gaining popularity. Both record labels and executives sought to find a way to get involved with the music while maintaining a separation from the culture. The music executives were now faced with a dilemma; how would they continue to meet the growing popularity of rap music and simultaneously remove the social criticism that it entailed? In order for commercial media to play rap music on its radio and television stations, it had to align the themes with the value system of the dominant culture in society. If rap music was to obtain regular rotation on the radio, it could no longer unmask the injustices and oppression that its originators initially brought to light. Themes such as social justice, equality, and communalism were replaced with ones that promoted individualism, competition, and materialism and were more in line with the status quo. This shift in values within rap music created a schism in the art form. There were artists who recognized it and some refused to alter the messages in their lyrics just to be part of the mainstream. The schism created two

44

Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV

classifications within rap music: “Mainstream” and “Underground” rap music. “Mainstream” rap music is the music that one can hear commonly over the commercial radio and television stations. To find “underground” rap music, one would have to go to beyond the traditional stations. “Underground” rap music houses two types of artists—one whose musical message is in-line with the mainstream music industry and is hoping to eventually be discovered by them and one whose lyrical message and/or image is not accepted by those who control mainstream/commercial success. As the name implies, certain themes that are prevalent within the “underground” are strategically kept below the surface so that they are not heard (and/or accepted) by the masses of people who easily tune in to the rap music of the mainstream. It is precisely for this reason that many within the hip hop community, believe that the rap music of the “underground” is closer to the cultural roots of hip hop than the mainstream. One can hear various themes of social justice and protest presented within “underground” hip hop that are lacking within its commercial counterpart. One would be hard pressed to hear the music of artists such as Dead Prez and Immortal Technique, whose lyrics are frequently centered around social justice and protest, on commercial radio stations. There is seemingly a formula that one must subscribe to in order to achieve commercial success, and the dilemma lies in the fact that this formula was not created nor maintained by those who created the art form. In essence, old white men (the record executives) dominate the commercial success of an art form created and defined by African-American and Latino youth. This, as you can imagine, can cause some discrepancies within the art form. There are countless testimonies of artists walking into boardroom meetings to discuss their music, image, and overall relevance, only to have the crucial decisions made by people who have never had a relationship with the culture of hip hop. M. K. Asante Jr., states in his book It’s Bigger Than Hip-Hop: The Rise of the Post Hip-Hop Generation that it is “. . . clear that the hip-hop community and the hip-hop industry were two totally different entities.” 1 As displayed over the decades, the hip hop community and industry are not synonymous. One can flourish while the other deteriorates. One can become extremely powerful while the other becomes weak. One can achieve great success while the other fails. LIBERATION THEOLOGY OF HIP HOP In hip hop music’s short history it has transitioned from being viewed as unacceptable to becoming universally accepted. We have seen how elements of the hip hop culture have been infused into commercials, movies, and even

"To Set at Liberty Them that are Bruised"

45

political campaigns. However, we have also seen how the commercial success of rap music has created schisms and divisions among its participants. With all the controversy surrounding rap music and hip hop culture, where can one find spirituality? Where is God revealed? I argue that God can be found in the fight to rescue hip hop from selfish and sinful messages that permeate from its commercial form, “mainstream” rap music. Misogyny, hyper-sexuality, greed, and violence are some of the negative themes that can be heard regularly on radio stations. Commercial rap music continues to promote these themes and let them permeate the airwaves, all while maintaining a grip on the benefit of its commercialism. It has a monopoly on the exposure and the financial benefits of the art form and strategically keeps “underground” rap music away from the masses. In the mid-1990s, there were various black political and community leaders that felt there was a need to challenge and combat the messages that were being promoted within mainstream rap (specifically “gangsta” rap). C. Deloris Tucker was one of the more vocal individuals on the side of the opposition. She, along with the National Political Caucus of Black Women, the NAACP, and the National Baptist Convention led a protest in December of 1995 of Tower Records in Baltimore, MD. This alliance also sought to draw up a “. . . shame list of record companies involved in the marketing of gangsta rap.” 2 On Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day in 1996, Tucker led a demonstration in Philadelphia on the well-known South Street, in front of Tower Records. For Tucker, “gangsta” rap was “poison and the source of ills in the African-American community.” 3 This alliance also sought to urge the attorney general of the Federal Communications Committee (FCC) to ban music with themes that glorified violence and misogyny. Although sincere in their beliefs that the current mainstream of rap music had a detrimental effect on the African-American community and had to be confronted, the fight was interpreted in a way that pitted the artist against the established African-American leadership. This allowed the record industry to remain relatively silent and out of the visibility of the conflict. Although there is a certain level of self-accountability on the artist, this conflict failed to emphasize the role of the record executives in the maintenance of troubling rap subject matter. Through the power of persuasion (which oftentimes is through the power of the dollar) mainstream rap artists are encouraged to portray a certain image and convey a certain message. All too often these images and messages are ones that do not promote social progression, economic independence, or community uplift and as a result the messages that are absorbed by the listener do not fulfill that needs of the community. The effort to eradicate the offensive messages in rap music and throughout society must be seen as an effort that is led by the spirit. Today, spirituality in hip hop can be found inside the ones who are seeking to maintain its original cultural values and roots and rescue the art form from being overtak-

46

Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV

en by the negative values that come with commercialism Initially, hip hop was used by pioneers of the art form in response to unacceptable social conditions. Whenever a person or a group of persons makes the decision to speak out against conditions that they believe oppress and suppress them, that decision is led by a spirit, a spirit of freedom and justice and it also indicates that there is a theology of liberation taking place. The spirituality in hip hop is more than simply rap lyrics that incorporate the use of the word “God” or the new genre called “Gospel Rap,” but the spirituality in hip hop is the liberative process that is taking place among those who seek to maintain the values that this art form had at its birth. They were the values of justice and values that spoke out against oppressive and exploitative conditions. Speaking out against the unjust conditions in a particular society brings forth a desire to transform society and produce a more just and egalitarian one into fruition. As mentioned earlier, it is easy to see the cosmology of hip hop. It is easy to see that the belief within the originators of hip hop is that when God created the universe and created humankind, he created humans equally. God was not a God of oppression, suppression, or exploitation but rather a God of justice and fairness. Anything that was against justice and fairness was against God and anything that is against God is a sin. Oppression and exploitation is against God and therefore brought about as a result of sin. “Sin . . . is according to the Bible the ultimate cause of poverty, injustice, and the oppression in which a person lives.” 4 If poverty, injustice, and oppression are brought about as a result of sin, then promotion of things that lead to poverty, injustice and oppression must also be seen as sin. It should be assumed that misogynistic, hypersexual, hyper-violent, and extreme individualistic themes are themes that ultimately promote levels of poverty, injustice, and oppression. Spirituality within hip hop can be found in the effort to rescue it from the perverted messages that dominate the mainstream media. Where can one find messages within hip hop that go against the status quo? These messages can be found within the “underground.” The underground, as explained earlier, houses rap artists that refuse to follow the prescribed formula that may lead to commercial success. These particular rap artists would rather stay true to themselves and the original cultural values. If one is to save hip hop, there must be a concerted effort to pull the messages and themes from the “underground” up to the surface and give them exposure. By refusing to give it the exposure it deserves, the masses perceive the “underground” as a place for rap “amateurs.” All the “professional” rappers that make a financial profit off of their craft are perceived to be to among the mainstream. The suppression of the underground is necessary for the commercial success of mainstream hip hop. Those who will fight to give the underground a louder voice adhere to a specific message of God. A message that is central to the Christian faith,

"To Set at Liberty Them that are Bruised"

47

which assumes God’s message is one of liberation, justice, and equality. When that message leads to the desire to have the offensive and exploitative messages of commercial rap eliminated (or played with less frequency) and is accompanied by action, a theology of liberation takes effect. This is described by Gustavo Gutiérrez in his book A Theology of Liberation as a “. . . theological reflection born of the experience of shared efforts to abolish the current unjust situation and to build a different society, freer and more human.” 5 Initially, Gutiérrez introduced this concept to the Catholic Church in Latin America as a means to empower the working class and served as a call to radically change the society and give a voice to those working class men and women whose voices had been kept quiet. In the late 1960s and early 1970s this concept of Liberation theology was brought to the United States at a time of social unrest and racial tension. James Cone borrows from Gutiérrez’s A Theology of Liberation and expands it to accommodate the political climate of the United States at that time, and brings forth A Black Theology of Liberation as a means to combat the systematic racism that had oppressed black people in the United States. According to James Cone the task of Black Theology of Liberation is “. . . to analyze the nature of the gospel of Jesus Christ in the light of oppressed blacks so they will see the gospel as inseparable from their humiliated condition, and bestow on them the necessary power to break the chains of oppression.” 6 When examining the fight within hip hop one can see that there is a faction within that is also looking for the necessary power to free itself from the chains of oppression that has caused the art form to be stereotyped and defined only by what is played in the mainstream. James Cone’s A Black Theology of Liberation may be more apropos to the fight within hip hop than Gutiérrez’s A Theology of Liberation. Cone’s liberation theology theory also examines the fundamental role that race has played in the United States. It would be foolish to assume that the role of race did not play a role in the creation and marginalization of hip hop. Hip hop as a musical art form is a continuum of a long tradition of African musical art forms. A Black Theology of Liberation seeks God’s revelation in the struggle for racial, economic, and cultural equality. However the term Black in Cone’s liberation theology, although it requires that one pay close attention (some would even say primary attention) to the significance of race and racism in this society, does not just limit itself to the racial construction of a group of people classified as such in this society. “Black” in Cone’s liberation theology also takes on an ontological position in which the term “black” has been defined in this society as something negative and deserving of its suffering. Therefore it can be applied to others who may not fall within the racial construct of “Black” but fall in the oppressive and exploitive conditions that the term “Black” has come to be defined by. The term itself also seeks to be liberated and redefined. Hip hop as an art form has always had to fight for equality on these

48

Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV

levels as well. It is within this fight that the power of God is located in hip hop. In order for Cone’s theory of a Black Theology of Liberation to be applied to hip hop, we must see if it meets all the specific sources and norms that Cone states must be evaluated in order for a Black Theology of Liberation to take place. Cone, in his book A Black Theology of Liberation, states that the first source of his liberation theology is knowledge of the Black Experience. Cone believes that it is paramount that in fighting for the Black equality, one must have knowledge of the Black Experience and James Cone states that the Black experience in America is “. . . a life of humiliation and suffering.” 7 This humiliation and suffering was very instrumental in the creation of hip hop. It was the humiliation and suffering that many African-American and Latino-American youth experienced on a regular basis that led to the implementation of this art form. Cone states: The black experience (in America) is existence in a system of white racism. The black person knows that a ghetto is the white way of saying that blacks are subhuman . . . the black experience is police departments adding more recruits and buying more guns to provide ‘law and order,’ which means making a city safe for its white population. . . . The black experience is college administrators defining ‘quality’ education in light of white values. 8

Although in a post-Jim Crow, and post-Civil Rights era, institutional and systemic racism was still alive and well. These forces kept people of color locked in specific places and kept them in specific types of employment that would barely provide for themselves much less their family. The pioneers of this art form called hip hop could recognize these facets, and they also articulated it in their own way. While mainstream hip hop seeks to hide this phenomenon, there are those located at the “underground” level of hip hop that seek to continue to inform others about these social ills. These artists see this as a part of their responsibility. They must use their art as a tool of empowerment, not a tool to lull others asleep. This is a God-given responsibility, to consider those other than oneself. A Black Theology of Liberation considers the Black experience because it is important to be able to recognize where God has been revealed specifically within the Black experience. Where has God showed up, specifically in the Black experience, before? This examination of the experience will also help us to recognize God’s presence in the contemporary struggle for equality within Black and oppressed communities. The second source for A Black Theology of Liberation is knowledge of Black History. African-Americans have a history that is unique to any other racial group of people here in the United States and that uniqueness has been the cause of many of the struggles that African-Americans have taken up in the fight for justice and equality. That uniqueness in African-American histo-

"To Set at Liberty Them that are Bruised"

49

ry is the institution of slavery. Cone states that what made slavery unique is the “. . . white attempt to define blacks as nonpersons.” 9 The young men and women involved with the beginning ages of hip hop also experienced what it felt like to be seen as nonpersons. Cone’s belief that Black History is a source that becomes A Black Theology of Liberation comes out of community that must examine its unique past in order to determine its future. There has been a long tradition in this country where people of color have been stereotyped as nonpersons by the dominant culture (white culture) in America. The early pioneers of hip hop, who were predominately ethnic minorities, also had to deal with this painful tradition and they would have to struggle in order to have their voices heard and legitimated. A long tradition of racism contributed to the exclusion of young voices among the minority youth. But just like the youth of the Black Power era had to create a space to be heard with their cries for Black Power, the youth of the post-integration era had to create their own space for their own voice and that space was hip hop. Today, as hip hop grows in global popularity, there are those who claim to be a part of the hip hop culture who exploit the art for selfish gain and profit. As a result, there are other artists whose voices are being suppressed, and now there is a struggle within hip hop itself. Today commercial hip hop contributes to the shameful and disrespectful tradition of promoting African-Americans and Latino-Americans as simply caricatures and nonpersons. Many feel that one has to become a nonperson and give up personal values in order to succeed on the mainstream level. It can be said that many artists within the mainstream serve not as humans but as puppets of their record labels and cannot personally contribute to the art that is being assigned to them by the record label unless it is in concert with the formula that has already been prescribed by the label. The underground artist that chooses to remain in the underground believes in being true to him/herself. They not only desire, but require, that their artistic work is a work that truly represents who they are at the core. If there is an attempt to do anything different, the underground artist does not hesitate to remove himself or herself from the work. And this brings us into the third norm of A Black Theology of Liberation according to Cone, which is a knowledge and understanding of Black Culture. For Cone, Black culture is the “. . . creative forms of expression as one reflects on history, and endures pain, and experiences joy.” 10 Because of a unique Black experience, primarily due to our unique Black history, we have a unique Black culture. In America, the Black experience is full of conflict and struggle. That conflict and struggle has and continues to be translated and interpreted by an expressive Black culture. African-Americans have shared their experiences with others through their poetry, art, music, preaching, dancing, and various other ways. A Black Theology of Liberation must consider Black Culture because it is through culture that messages are conveyed and transported. Which cultural traits are most receptive to the com-

50

Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV

munity? Which cultural trait can transmit the relevancy of social critique most potently? Once again because of the distinctiveness of the Black experience these questions are ones that A Black Theology of Liberation must take into account. God speaks to the Black Community through the culture of the Black Community. God will also use the most potent and relevant cultural traits to communicate with the community. Hip hop is racially, culturally, and ontologically a Black art form. It moved similarly in the tradition of other Black musical art forms insomuch as it translated for others the experience of oppressed and exploited. In the case of hip hop it transmitted the experiences of the youth of the cultural minorities. It translated vividly and unapologetically feelings that they had toward the institutional racism of which they were victims. Now that hip hop has been exploited by outside interests, there is another fight within hip hop itself and on one side it seeks to hide and repress these social concerns and on the other side it seeks to expose it. Exposing these ills is remaining true to its cultural roots. This is also an act in alliance with God. God does not want his children to simply become complacent and adjust to living in an unjust society, but our duty is to transform it to a more just one. The fourth source of A Black Theology of Liberation according to Cone is Revelation. Where is God revealed within the Black experience, Black history, and Black culture? Cone states that God is revealed in where “. . . blacks are doing something about their liberation.” 11 We must see the “underground” as a component of hip hop that has been strategically kept hidden and acknowledge that strategy as a form of oppression. A Black Theology of Liberation seeks to liberate the oppressed, and views that action as aligned with the message of Jesus the Christ. “God’s revelation means liberation, an emancipation from death-dealing political, economic, and social structures of society. This is the essence of biblical revelation.” 12 Revelation of God occurs when those who are oppressed begin the process of obtaining their liberation. Cone also states: There is no revelation of God without a condition of oppression which develops into a situation of liberation . . . God only comes to those who have been enslaved and abused and declares total identification with their situation, disclosing to them rightness of their emancipation on their own terms. 13

God is revealed in the liberation of the enslaved, the exploited, and the oppressed. Currently within the art form of hip hop God is revealed in the fight to liberate itself from all that oppresses it. My position is that hip hop in its truest form is being oppressed by hip hop in its un-truest form, mainstream/commercial rap music. It is those within this commercial and mainstream component of hip hop that seek to maintain negative, exploitative, and detrimental messages in rap music. After re-examining what birthed hip

"To Set at Liberty Them that are Bruised"

51

hop (oppressive conditions in the inner-cities) and who birthed hip hop (African-American and Latino youth), it may not be a stretch to say that when we consider who now runs and controls popular hip hop (primarily rich white men), what we hear on mainstream radio and television is not hip hop at all. Commercial rap music is no longer primarily influenced by the innercity youths that created it but rather by executives and corporations that seek profit. These profits could not be obtained by bucking the social status quo, as the art form had originally done; it could only make profit by promoting the values of a society that it sought success from. CONCLUSION Hip hop is currently in a fight to have the original cultural values of the art form brought to the forefront. Hip hop, which at one time was the most vilified and marginalized musical art form, has in the span of less than thirty years become the most popular and globally practiced musical art form. In order for this significant change in perception to occur so fast, compromises had to take place. Hip hop was initially marginalized as an art form because it gave a voice to individuals who were marginalized by society. These initial voices were brought about by less than desirable conditions of the inner-city and the struggle to maintain from day to day. As the voice of hip hop got louder and louder, it was infiltrated by those whose interests did not lie with its originators. The message in hip hop had transformed and it no longer sought to expose the unjust conditions that its pioneers dealt with on a daily basis. The new message fed into the stereotypes that society held toward black and Latino youth (men in particular). These new messages emphasized violence, crime, misogyny, and materialism. This dramatic shift in the messages of the art form was not by chance, but rather a carefully planned strategy. If successful, the strategy would use the new messages promoted by the art form as a means to influence the listeners, and the old messages that spoke to specific social conditions would eventually be ignored. The fight within hip hop is the fight to save itself from the problematic themes accepted and promoted by commercial media, and to replace them with socially responsible themes. The current themes that now permeate mainstream media are ones that have proven to be detrimental to hip hop culture, its pioneers, and its community. We must liberate these elements from the injurious messages that commercial rap music continues to promote. In the fight for this cause one can locate God and spirituality within the art form of hip hop. According to A Theology of Liberation, in the effort to bring equality where there is inequality, justice where there is injustice, and freedom where there is oppression, God is actively present. In Luke chapter 4, Jesus, while quoting the prophet Isaiah, proclaims, “The Spirit of the Lord

52

Weldon Merrial McWilliams IV

is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the broken hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised.” This quote was not just speaking to a spiritual condition but this quote makes it clear that in order for Jesus to accomplish his mission, it was and is necessary to have a relationship with the oppressed and exploited of society. One must fight on behalf those who are oppressed and suffering in order to be in line with the Will of God. There is a fight to rescue the authenticity of hip hop and it is most evident in the relationship between “mainstream” and “underground” hip hop. While mainstream rap music refuses to deviate from a prescribed formula established by music executives and corporations for the sake of financial success, within the underground one will find an array of themes and messages that are frequently addressed, including those messages that seek to empower and enlighten the masses of people through the art form. The oppressive conditions that brought forth hip hop are still in existence today and you can still find artists that are willing to speak to these conditions. These artists are more than likely found in the “underground” element of hip hop, where although the financial profit is less appealing, it is very evident that money is not the motivation behind their actions. For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul? Hip hop did not come into existence as a means to bring material wealth to its artists but rather to become an instrument in which the voices of a marginalized group of youth could be articulated and heard. As long as commercialism influences the culture of hip hop in a negative fashion, then there will always be a need to fight for the reclamation and liberation of hip hop, and as long as there is a need to fight for the liberation of hip hop culture that is where the spirit of God dwells. NOTES 1. Molefi Kete Asante Jr., It’s Bigger than Hip-Hop: The Rise of the Post-Hip-Hop Generation (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2008), 104. 2. J. D. Considine, “Shame, Blame is Critics’ Game Crusaders: Another Round of Protest Against Gangsta Rap is being Taken to the Doors of Record Companies,” Baltimore Sun, December 15, 1995. 3. Myung Oak Kim, “Tucker Leads Protest Against Gangsta Rap,” Daily News, January 16, 1996. 4. Gustavo Gutiérrez, A Theology of Liberation, 15th anniversary ed. (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2007), 24. 5. Gutiérrez, xiii 6. James Cone, A Black Theology of Liberation, 20th anniversary ed. (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2004), 5. 7. Cone, 23. 8. Cone, 24. 9. Cone, 25. 10. Cone, 27.

"To Set at Liberty Them that are Bruised"

53

11. Cone, 30. 12. Cone, 44. 13. Cone, 45.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Asante, Molefi, Jr. It’s Bigger Than Hip Hop: The Rise of the Post Hip Hop Generation. New York. St Martin’s Press, 2008. Cone, James. A Black Theology of Liberation, 20th anniversary ed. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2004. Considine, J. D. “Shame, Blame is Critics’ Game Crusaders: Another Round of Protest Against Gangsta Rap is being Taken to the Doors of Record Companies,” Baltimore Sun, December 15, 1995. Gutierrez, Gustavo. A Theology of Liberation, 15th anniversary ed. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2007. Hopkins, Dwight. Introduction to Black Liberation Theology. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1999. Kim, Myung Oak. “Tucker Leads Protest Against Gangsta Rap,” Daily News, January 16, 1996.

Chapter Four

“Put Your Hands Together”: The Theological Meaning of Call-Response and Collective Participation in Rap Music Angela M. Nelson

A framework for studying rap music is related to the social and artistic textures of African-American popular culture. The social textures of black popular culture include the bedrock beliefs and values of people of Africana descent. The artistic textures of black popular culture are best understood through the concept of repertoire 1 and relate to the aesthetic beliefs and values of Africana people. Rap music is a product of popular culture that is drawn from an African-American cultural repertoire. The black repertoire is the specific devices, techniques, ideologies, expressive art forms, or products of people of Africana descent that form part of their culture (whether as context, texture, or text), that are often derived from the folk tradition 2 and dominant culture, that form a foundation of a black aesthetic, and that are used to create black popular cultural products. Religion, theology, and spirituality as it relates to beliefs and values lie within the social textures of rap music. Rhythm, percussiveness, and call-response lie within the artistic textures, or cultural repertoire, of rap music. In African-American popular culture, eleven components of the black repertoire appear in it: religion and spirituality; middle-class ideology; orature and auriture; music including rhythm, percussiveness, and call-response; dance and gesture; city; church and nightclub; food and cuisine; heroes and stereotypes; worship service and party; and the black body. While not all eleven components of the repertoire appear in all African-American popular art forms, the inclusion of at least three or four components in one black 55

56

Angela M. Nelson

popular cultural product simultaneously forms a holistic construct imbued with cultural meaning, symbolism, and significance. In rap music, rhythm, percussiveness, and call-response form a holistic construct imbued with cultural, religious, and theological meaning. In this essay, I will examine the texture of rap in a search of theological traits in this aspect of the music. Rhythm, percussiveness, and call-andresponse comprise some of the elements of the theological aesthetic of black music. Anthony Pinn’s edited volume Noise and Spirit and Daniel White Hodge’s The Soul of Hip Hop both convincingly engage rap music with concepts of religion, theology, and spirituality. Mark Lewis Taylor’s essay “Bringing Noise, Conjuring Spirit: Rap as Spiritual Practice” in Noise and Spirit is closest to my goal of analyzing the theological traits in the aesthetic dimension of rap music when he discusses the complex polyrhythms used in rap music. In addition, several studies have been published about rhythm in black culture, 3 but very few examine the other two elements: percussiveness and call-response. Therefore, to enlarge the scholarship in these areas, I will proceed to describe and explain the psychological and theological purposes and functions of call-response and collective participation in rap music with particular attention to lyrics from 1979 to 1991. This period is of particular interest because it is when rap music began to be distributed to national peripheral audiences marking the beginning of its meteoric rise and transformation to hip hop and its acculturation in almost every nation and ethnic group in the world. Theologian Paul Tillich asserted in 1959 that religion is “home everywhere,” an “ultimate concern,” and is “manifest in all creative functions of the human spirit.” 4 This chapter will examine how religion and spirituality is manifested in rap music—a form of culture thought to be bereft of religious or theological significance—through the concept of the repertoire component call-response. This is an important exercise to conduct because hip hop music and culture has become a global phenomenon that successfully speaks to and is received by people from very different backgrounds, contexts, beliefs, values, norms, and experiences. Although birthed as a postindustrial, urban American form of music in the early 1970s, rap music can be found in warm, densely populated islands such as Hawai’i and in cold, vast countrysides such as Russia. 5 The element that shows the most promise of connecting these disparate global cultures is one that transcends language, politics, geography, and intimate human relationships. The only aspect of culture that can do this is outside of the visible, audible, and performative: it is the invisible, yet tangible, religious and spiritual realm. Several studies by scholars suggest that elements such as rhythm, percussiveness, and call-response are always present when religious transcendence, or what anthropologist Victor Turner calls “communitas,” occurs. According to Turner, “communitas” is a heightened form of community that suppresses

"Put Your Hands Together"

57

hierarchical differences of rank, class, status, and so forth. 6 For AfricanAmericans, “communitas” is attained when the gathered cultus achieves communion with the divine Spirit. There is no question that rhythm, percussiveness, and call-response patterns have a functional effect since these elements must be present in African-American popular and folk musics in order for transcendence or “communitas” to occur. W. E. B. DuBois noted this when he said the preacher, the music, and the frenzy characterized slave religion. 7 The “preacher” represents the calling forth of words followed by continual responses from a congregation, the “music” represents rhythm and percussiveness, and the “frenzy” (or the state of spirit possession) is that level of communitas or transcendence that blacks in any performance context seek to reach. 8 The “frenzy,” or “the shout,” is the functional effect of the use of rhythm, percussiveness, and call-response patterns. Jon Michael Spencer, in his essay titled “Rhythm in Black Religion of the African Diaspora,” says rhythm combined with drums (percussion) or black preaching (percussiveness) and the call-response (collective participation) of the worshipers moved them to “shout.” 9 In the African-American musical heritage, rhythm and rhyme are used as one vehicle to the transcendence of “communitas.” Call-response patterns, evoked by the kind of delivery in the rap lyrics by such early rappers as Kurtis Blow and the Sugar Hill Gang, 10 validate African-American cultural and aesthetic values like rhythm and the dominance of percussiveness do. Although call-response patterns are prevalent in all parts of AfricanAmerican culture as a mode of discourse—black preaching, speech-making, and so forth—they also provide a fundamental psychological function in rap and illustrate a transformed African worldview. Linguist Geneva Smitherman, in her discussion of the discourse modes of Black English, says the communication process of call-response—the spontaneous verbal and nonverbal interactions between speakers and audiences—is a fundamental organizing principle of African-American culture because it enables black people to achieve the unified state of balance or individual and collective spiritual harmony that is basic to the traditional African worldview. 11 The traditional African worldview, of which she speaks, is a psychological and spiritual impetus among African peoples that seeks to order the community after the rhythms of the universe. This includes the assumption that there is a unity between the spiritual (said to be “sacred”) and material (“secular”) aspects of existence. 12 There is no concept of the sacred and secular in African culture because all of life, the animate and inanimate, are sacred. Everything is sacred because all things are created by and contain the spirit of the divine Creator. The introduction of the concepts of sacred and secular to Africans, through their contact with people of European origin in America, jolted the traditional African worldview, causing it to become somewhat altered. Overall, African-Americans, whether they are in the

58

Angela M. Nelson

church (sacred) context or party (secular) context, use identical musical techniques, have identical repertoire components of rhythm and responsorial dialogue, and seek identical soothing. Again, to illustrate how the African worldview and call-response patterns are interrelated, Molefi Asante says this about Afrocentric rhetoric: “Rhetoric, in an Afrocentric sense, is the productive thrust of language into the unknown in an attempt to create harmony and balance in the midst of disharmony and indecision.” 13 That is, black speakers use language (common codes and symbols) to create an individual and collective spiritual harmony among black people. Harmony is a collective equilibrium among the various factors impinging upon communication, such factors as distrust, indecision, passivity, and quietism. 14 Speakers are “testing their performance” or testing what they have to say, Smitherman suggests. 15 By encouraging call-response black speakers are testing themselves on how well they can express harmonious thoughts and ideas that will resonate with and thus strengthen the group gathering. When an audience gives a collective response to a proposition, whether it be in the context of a sermon or a rap, group harmony is achieved, and that illustrates one psychological function of call-response modes: the creation and sustaining of an individual and collective spiritual harmony. Another psychological function of call-response patterns is the creation of a sense of community. Call-response discourse modes require active participation by all individuals present. This participation-oriented discourse does not, as sociologists Ralph Turner and Lewis Killian suggest, provide a “substitute” or “fantasy status” for African-Americans; 16 rather it is a way of validating aesthetic and cultural values. When black speakers, singers, and rappers encourage audience participation, the traditional African worldview is being experienced. Smitherman says that calling and responding (acting and reacting or stating and restating) unifies speakers and listeners and reaffirms their adapted traditional African worldview. 17 I stated a moment ago that the purposes and functions of call-response discourse modes are to establish and maintain spiritual harmony, to maintain a sense of group solidarity, and to validate aesthetic and cultural values. However, the actual configurations of call-response patterns in AfricanAmerican culture and the typical affirmations and confirmations utilized by African-Americans to encourage and ensure active participation need to be examined; for there are three primary ways call-response organizational techniques are experienced by them. One traditional technique occurs between the speaker, singer, or rapper and the audience of listeners. Entire phrases or verses are sung or spoken by the leader and subsequently repeated verbatim or altered somewhat by the audience or chorus. An example of this “leader and chorus” structure is illustrated in a black spiritual titled “Follow the Drinking Gourd.” As with many black spirituals, a leader sings an entire verse, and then the others join with the leader to sing the chorus:

"Put Your Hands Together"

Leader:

59

When de sun come back, When the firs’ quail call, Den de time is come Foller the drinkin’ gou’d.

Chorus: Foller de drinkin’ gou’d, Foller de drinkin’ gou’d, For de ol’ man say, Foller de drinkin’ gou’d. 18 In rap, call-response also plays an important role. For instance, in Naughty by Nature's rap, "O. P. P.," there is a similar call-and-response mode between the rapper and his listeners. 19 Treach wants to know which of his listeners agrees with his definition and explanation of “Other People’s Property.” The men respond enthusiastically “all the homies!” and the women exclaim “all the ladies!” In black religious services, worshipers engage in more than simply acknowledging the sermon with an "amen" or like responses, they actually preach back. 20 In addition, the preacher makes statements that are frequently responded to before he completes his statement or thought. In this situation, as in other black speech or music events, the speaker may not have an opportunity to “call” an entire phrase or verse before a response is made; this “overlapping” is related to African scholar John Chernoff's description of the African “conversational mode” in music performance. He says that the “main beat” in African music coincides with the entrance of the chorus and not with the entrance of the soloist. This means the main beat (emphasis or accent) of a musical composition (or speech) is actually at the end of a dynamic phrase or verse and not at the beginning. 21 This concept is antithetical to the Western classical music tradition where the leader, singer, or instrumentalist starts on the main beat. 22 Adding to this theory, Asante says speaker and audience roles often shift with the audience doing most of the calling and the speaker doing most of the responding. 23 In African music, as in African-American music says Chernoff, all of the musicians are playing “forward toward the beat” and “pushing the beat” to make it more dynamic. 24 This is what occurs in African-American religious services where the preacher adapts and employs every verbal response from the audience in a direct search for spiritual harmony. The vitality and rhythm of life is in the unified and collective response of the audience to the speaker or rapper. The two other call-response techniques occur when black musicians use call-response with instruments and when they “talk-back” to themselves. Male country blues performers—the first black solo musicians—illustrate the musician-instrument call-and-response technique in many of their blues re-

60

Angela M. Nelson

cordings of the 1920s and 1930s. The blues singer, accompanied by a guitar, performed antiphonally with himself. In addition to “supporting” the blues singer, the guitar “responded” and imitated the blues singer with seemingly a voice of its own. Blues singers also would respond to their own statements with non-articulations. Black scholar Daphne Duval Harrison, in her book on the famous blues “queens” of the 1920s, points out those female classic blues singers did this when they improvised on standard melodic lines and when they gave vocal dramatics using shouts, groans, moans, and wails. 25 In rap of the 1980s and 1990s, this structure is found in the traditional performance style of the deejay and the MC (rapper) who perform in cooperation with one another. The deejay acts in many respects as the musical instrument for the rapper. As the MC raps, the deejay responds by “sounding” or not “sounding.” Although the deejay usually composes a “beat” that undergirds the entire rap composition, the rapper-instrument responsorial dialectic is illustrated when the deejay “scratches” (“sounding”) or gives complete silence (not “sounding”) in response to the rapper's “call.” Asante suggests that one manner in which black rhetors “sound good” is when they know when not to sound. 26 This highly valued skill in African-American culture and music—“sound periodicity”—is indeed evident in the antiphonal responsorial patterns of rappers and deejays. The rap group Naughty by Nature illustrates this responsorial relationship between rappers and deejays in many of their raps. At the start of their rap titled "Everything's Gonna Be Alright," Treach, the principal MC of the group, asks Dave, the deejay, to smooth the background music out. 27 Also, in one section of this same rap, Treach points out the poor choices for job opportunities in the ghetto. As he does this, the deejay keeps a steady bass beat under the verse but cuts out all of the additional dense percussive sounds to allow greater attention to what Treach is saying. There is a similar active cooperation between the MC and deejay in the rap titled “O. P. P.” where Treach tells Dave to back him up with a good beat and to drop a rhythmic percussive line on the audience. 28 Also, in the rap titled “Rhyme'll Shine On,” Treach instructs Dave to put his fingers to the keyboards. 29 Other MCs and deejays ritualize the call-response tradition just as faithfully. Rapper MC Lyte tells her deejay to let the beat roll, 30 while Queen Latifah tells her deejay, King, to cue the beat. 31 In all these cases, the deejay responds accordingly to the MC's commands. Rappers and other black speakers use several forms of call-response techniques to create and maintain spiritual harmony and to affirm aesthetic and cultural values. One of their main goals, as I have said, is to encourage and ensure a sense of group solidarity. This is done by making requests of their audiences in the form of questions and by stating affirmations and confirmations about their purposes for attending the rhetorical or musical event.

"Put Your Hands Together"

61

Asante explores this point when he describes how African-Americans search for spiritual harmony: When black entertainers introduced the phrase “Put your hands together,” it was not for the purpose of applause, as in the European hand clapping that is derived from the Germanic rattling of swords and spears in approval of a chief’s speech. Rather, what they meant to do was to call an audience to a collective generative experience. Since the traditional performers and audiences in Africa were one, it was not farfetched for the entertainers, especially singers, to call their audiences to these touching moments. Inherent in this rhythmic quality of touching hands together, of audiences caught up in collective expression, was the fundamental search for harmony. 32

Asante’s discussion of the phrase “put your hands together” illustrates an important element in many black religious services when worshipers are encouraged to give God a “clap offering” or “hand praise.” This percussive gesture brings the congregation into what Asante terms a “collective generative experience.” Rappers also search for spiritual harmony by establishing and maintaining a relationship with the audience. 33 Even though call-response is a structural pattern that is frequently used, Slovenz agrees with African art historian Robert F. Thompson that call-response patterns are “levels of perfected social interaction.” 34 Call-response patterns are social interactions in rap music that lead to its highest aesthetic achievement: to “rock the house,” meaning to engage the active support of those on the dance floor through physical and verbal participation. 35 Therefore, requests like “put your hands together”— also the title of one of Eric B. and Rakim’s raps 36—are utilized by rappers to engage the active support of their listeners. Kurtis Blow is searching for this active participation when he tells his listeners to clap their hands. 37 Similarly, Naughty by Nature asks the people to clap their hands in the evening and say it’s alright before they leave the party. 38 In the rap titled “O. P. P.,” Treach says that those people who are in agreement with “O. P. P.” should throw their hands in the air, 39 while the Sugar Hill Gang tells everybody to clap their hands. 40 Rappers also make other requests that are skillfully structured in such a way that their listeners must respond. For example, when Chuck D tells the partygoers to say, “Fight the power,” he makes a direct request. 41 In the Sugar Hill Gang’s rap “8th Wonder,” they call out to the people to scream, to shout, and to turn the party out, a very popular phrase used within black popular rituals such as parties. They also command their listeners to say, “I am somebody,” 42 reminiscent of black Baptist-trained preacher Jesse Jackson. In a direct question, that seeks active participation, the Fat Boys ask in the title of their rap, “Can You Feel It?” 43 Female rapper Ice Cream Tee encourages her audience to work. 44 L.L. Cool J. makes positive affirmations to his listeners in his title song when he says, “Let’s Get Ill.” 45 So do rappers

62

Angela M. Nelson

7A3 encourage active participation when they tell everybody to get loose, 46 and Too Nice when they ask everybody to get in time with the rhythm. 47 Two of Queen Latifah’s raps on her 1989 album, All Hail the Queen, show compassion and concern for the emotional and physical welfare of her listeners, and seek spiritual harmony and encourage a sense of group solidarity. In “Come into My House,” she welcomes the people into her queendom and tells them she has prepared a place on her dance floor because she thought it would be a good opportunity for them to move (or to dance)." In language reminiscent of the biblical “many mansions”—God’s kingdom— Queen Latifah wants her dancers to feel a sense of spiritual harmony and to be soothed by the music and to get with its flow. 48 In “Dance for Me,” she asks the people to dance for her because, she says, she has her heart into her music (spiritual involvement). 49 This is significant because Queen Latifah is acknowledging one primary way to “rock the house”: the urgency to reach spiritual harmony as conveyed via the MC. In many of Public Enemy’s raps from the album Fear of a Black Planet, harmony and a sense of group solidarity are clearly promoted. Chuck D, one of the group's two rappers, tells the people to get up, get into it, and get involved in the issues within their communities. 50 In “Welcome to the Terrordome,” Public Enemy challenge their listeners to hear the drummer get wicked. 51 Flavor Flav, the other rapper in Public Enemy, makes a call to black people about 911 emergency services in predominantly black innercity communities. He tells them to get involved because 9-1-1 is a joke in their town. 52 Flavor Flav wants them to unite on this issue, so he raps about common experiences that evoke verbal responses. I have attempted to demonstrate in this chapter that a theology of rap music is implicit and explicit in the repertoire component of call-response: reaching transcendent communitas. In African-American music, call-response encourages and maintains spiritual harmony, a sense of group solidarity, and validates aesthetic and cultural values. Call-response itself serves as an “important cultural restorative” 53 that has the ability to impart new life or promote recuperation to Africana peoples. That is, the uses of call-response in black popular cultural productions embody the solutions to the problems of Africana people around the world. In other words, the application of the black repertoire in general and call-response in particular by AfricanAmerican popular creators has a ritualistic quality that “restores,” “reconciles,” “regenerates,” and “recuperates” the humanity of black people. In the case of rap, African-American rappers use several call-response techniques to accomplish these outcomes in addition to asking questions, making requests, and stating affirmations related to these outcomes. African-American popular and folk music, in general, utilizes rhythms, a dominance of percussiveness, and call-response patterns to encourage the attainment of "soothing" transcendence. Since transcendence is an “ultimate” goal, these ele-

"Put Your Hands Together"

63

ments are repertoire components that facilitate reaching that spiritual end. The texture of African-American popular and folk musics that make up the fundamental aesthetic of these musics—rhythmic complexity, percussiveness, and call-response—progress to the heart of what African-Americans recognize as essential and important in their culture: reaching transcendent "communitas," thus enabling them to overcome their unique obstacles in America. NOTES 1. Stuart Hall, “What is This Black in Black Popular Culture?,” in Popular Culture: A Reader, eds. Raiford Guins and Omayra Zaragoza Cruz (London: Sage, 2005), 289. 2. Stephen F. Soitos, The Blues Detective: A Study of African-American Detective Fiction (Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 1996), 37. 3. See Jon Michael Spencer, "Rhythm in Black Religion of the African Diaspora," Journal of Religious Thought 44, no. 2 (Winter-Spring 1987): 67-82; John Miller Chernoff, African Rhythm and Sensibility: Aesthetics and Social Action in African Musical Idioms (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979); Jon Michael Spencer, The Rhythms of Black Folk: Race, Religion, and Pan-Africanism (Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 1995); Jon Michael Spencer, “A Revolutionary Sexual Persona: Elvis Presley and the White Acquiescence of Black Rhythms,” in In Search of Elvis: Music, Race, Art, Religion, ed. Vernon Chadwick (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997), 109-122; Angela M. S. Nelson, ed., “This Is How We Flow”: Rhythm in Black Cultures (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1999). 4. Paul Tillich, Theology of Culture (London: Oxford University Press, 1959), 7–8. 5. Halifu Osumare, The Africanist Aesthetic in Global Hip-Hop: Power Moves (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 74–77, 105–148. 6. Cited in Jon Michael Spencer, Protest and Praise (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1990), 183. 7. Cited in Amiri Baraka (LeRoi Jones) and Amina Baraka, The Music: Reflections on Jazz and Blues (New York: Morrow, 1987), 270. 8. Molefi Kete Asante, The Afrocentric Idea (Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 1987), 191. 9. Spencer, “Rhythm,” 67-69. 10. Kurtis Blow, “The Breaks,” Hip Hop Greats: 12 Classic Raps (Roulette Records, SR 6501, 1986); Sugar Hill Gang, “Rapper's Delight,” Sugar Hill Gang (Sugarhill, SH-245, 1980). 11. Geneva Smitherman, Talkin' and Testifyin': The Language of Black America (Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 1977), 104. 12. Smitherman, 75. 13. Asante, 35. 14. Asante, 178. 15. Smitherman, 118. 16. Ralph H. Turner and Lewis M. Killian, ed., Collective Behavior (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1957), 423. 17. Smitherman, 108. 18. Cited in Smitherman, 112-13. 19. Naughty by Nature, “O. P. P.,” Naughty by Nature (Tommy Boy, TBCD-1044, 1991). Naughty by Nature’s “Hip Hop Hooray” also has call-response elements in it. 20. Jon Michael Spencer, Sacred Symphony: The Chanted Sermon of the Black Preacher (New York: Greenwood Press, 1987), 6. 21. John Miller Chernoff, African Rhythm and African Sensibility: Aesthetics and Social Action in African Musical Idioms (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979), 56. 22. Chernoff, 5. 23. Asante, 193.

64

Angela M. Nelson

24. Chernoff, 56. 25. Daphne Duval Harrison, Black Pearls (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1990), 8. 26. Asante, 38. 27. Naughty by Nature, “Everything's Gonna Be Alright,” Naughty by Nature. 28. Naughty by Nature, “O. P. P.” 29. Naughty by Nature, “Rhyme’ll Shine On,” Naughty by Nature. 30. MC Lyte, “Throwin' Words at U,” Eyes on This (First Priority, A4-91304, 1989). 31. Queen Latifah, “Come Into My House,” All Hail the Queen (Tommy Boy, TBC-1022, 1989). 32. Asante, 189. 33. Slovenz, 151. 34. Cited in Slovenz, 151-52. 35. Slovenz, 152. 36. Eric B. and Rakim, "Put Your Hands Together," Follow the Leader (Uni Records, UNIC-3, 1988). 37. Kurtis Blow, "The Breaks," Hip Hop Greats: 12 Classic Raps. 38. Naughty by Nature, “Rhyme’ll Shine On.” 39. Naughty by Nature, “O. P. P.” 40. Sugar Hill Gang, “8th Wonder,” 8th Wonder (Sugarhill, SH-249, 1981). 41. Public Enemy, “Fight the Power,” Fear of a Black Planet (Def Jam, CT-45413, 1990). 42. Sugar Hill Gang, “8th Wonder.” 43. Fat Boys, “Can You Feel It?,” The Fat Boys (Sutra, SUS-1015, 1984). 44. Ice Cream Tee, “Let’s Work,” Can't Hold Back (Uni, UNI-9, 1989). 45. L. L. Cool J., “Aah, Let’s Get Ill,” Bigger and Deffer (Def Jam, FC 40793, 1987). 46. 7A3, “Everybody Get Loose,” Coolin' in Cali (Geffen Records, GHS 24209, 1988). 47. Too Nice, “The Phantom of Hip Hop,” Cold Facts (Arista, AL-8583, 1989). 48. Queen Latifah, “Come Into My House.” 49. Queen Latifah, “Dance for Me,” All Hail the Queen. 50. Public Enemy, “Power to the People,” Fear of a Black Planet. 51. Public Enemy, “Welcome to the Terrordome,” Fear of a Black Planet. 52. Public Enemy, “911 Is A Joke,” Fear of a Black Planet. 53. Soitos, 162; Katrina Hazzard-Gordon, Jookin': The Rise of Social Dance Formations in African-American Culture (Philadephia, PA: Temple University Press, 1990).

BIBLIOGRAPHY Asante, Molefi Kete. The Afrocentric Idea. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 1987. Baraka, Amiri (LeRoi Jones) and Amina Baraka. The Music: Reflections on Jazz and Blues. New York: Morrow, 1987. Barlow, William. “Looking Up at Down”: The Emergence of Blues Culture. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 1989. Blow, Kurtis. “The Breaks.” Hip Hop Greats: 12 Classic Raps . Roulette Records, SR 6501, 1986. Burley, Dan. “The Technique of Jive.” In Mother Wit from the Laughing Barrel: Readings in the Interpretation of Afro-American Folklore, 206–221. Edited by Alan Dundes. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1973. Burrows, David. Sound, Speech, and Music. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1990. Chernoff, John Miller. African Rhythm and African Sensibility: Aesthetics and Social Action in African Musical Idioms. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979. Costello, Mark and David Foster Wallace. Signifying Rappers: Rap and Race in the Urban Present. New York: Ecco, 1990. Eric B. and Rakim. Follow the Leader. Uni, UNIC-3, 1988. Fat Boys. Fat Boys. Sutra, SUS-1015, 1984.

"Put Your Hands Together"

65

Hall, Stuart. “What Is This ‘Black’ in Black Popular Culture?” 1992. In Popular Culture: A Reader, 285–93. Edited by Raiford Guins and Omayra Zaragoza Cruz. London: Sage, 2005. Harrison, Daphne Duval. Black Pearls: Blues Queens of the 1920s. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1990. Hazzard-Gordon, Katrina. Jookin': The Rise of Social Dance Formations in African-American Culture. Philadephia, PA: Temple University Press, 1990. Hebdige, Dick. Cut 'n' Mix: Culture, Identity and Caribbean Music. London: Comedia, 1987. Hip Hop Greats: 12 Classic Raps. Roulette Records, SR 6501, 1986. Hodge, Daniel White. The Soul of Hip Hop: Rims, Timbs and a Cultural Theology. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Books, 2010. Holt, Grace Sims. “Stylin' Outta the Pulpit.” In Rappin' and Stylin' Out: Communication in Urban Black America, 189–204. Edited by Thomas Kochman. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1972. Ice Cream Tee. Can't Hold Back. Uni, UNI-9, 1989. Isley Brothers. The Heat is On. T-Neck Records, PZ 33536, 1975. Jones, LeRoi (Amiri Baraka). Blues People: The Negro Experience in White America and the Music That Developed From It. New York: Morrow Quill, 1963. Kool Moe Dee. How Ya Like Me Now. Jive, 1079-1-J, 1987. ———. Knowledge is King. Jive, 1182-4-J, 1989. L.L. Cool J. Bigger and Deffer. Def Jam, FC-40793, 1987. MC Lyte. Eyes on This. First Priority, A4-91304, 1989. Naughty by Nature. Naughty by Nature. Tommy Boy, TBCD-1044, 1991. Nelson, Angela M. S., ed. “This Is How We Flow”: Rhythm in Black Cultures. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1999. Osumare, Halifu. The Africanist Aesthetic in Global Hip-Hop: Power Moves. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007. Pinn, Anthony B., ed. Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music. New York: New York Press, 2003. Public Enemy. Fear of a Black Planet. Def Jam, CT-45413, 1990. Queen Latifah. All Hail the Queen. Tommy Boy, TBC-1022, 1989. Savannah Syncopators: African Retentions in the Blues. CBS, M-52799, 1970. 7A3. Coolin' in Cali. Geffen, GHS-24209, 1988. Sidran, Ben. Black Talk. New York: Da Capo Press, 1981. Slovenz, Madeline. “‘Rock the House’: The Aesthetic Dimensions of Rap Music in New York City.” New York Folklore 14, no. 3–4 (1988): 151–163. Smitherman, Geneva. Talkin' and Testifyin': The Language of Black America. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977. Soitos, Stephen F. The Blues Detective: A Study of African-American Detective Fiction. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1996. Southern, Eileen. The Music of Black Americans. New York: Norton, 1983. Spencer, Jon Michael. Protest and Praise: Sacred Music of Black Religion. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990. ———.“A Revolutionary Sexual Persona: Elvis Presley and the White Acquiescence of Black Rhythms,” in In Search of Elvis: Music, Race, Art, Religion, 109–122. Edited by Vernon Chadwick. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997. ———. "Rhythm in Black Religion of the African Diaspora." Journal of Religious Thought 44, no. 2 (Winter-Spring 1988): 67–82. ———. Sacred Symphony: The Chanted Sermon of the Black Preacher. New York: Greenwood Press, 1987. ———.The Rhythms of Black Folk: Race, Religion, and Pan-Africanism. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 1995. Sugar Hill Gang. 8th Wonder. Sugarhill, SH-249, 1981. ———. Sugar Hill Gang. Sugarhill, SH-245, 1980. Taylor, Mark Lewis. “Bringing Noise, Conjuring Spirit: Rap as Spiritual Practice.” In Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music, 107–130. Edited by Anthony B. Pinn. New York: New York University Press, 2003.

66

Angela M. Nelson

Tillich, Paul. Theology of Culture. London: Oxford University Press, 1959. Too Nice. “The Phantom of Hip Hop.” Cold Facts. Arista, AL-8583, 1989. Treacherous 3. "Action." Sugarhill, SH-599-A, 1983. Turner, Ralph H. and Lewis M. Killian, ed. Collective Behavior. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1957. Whodini. Back in Black. Jive, 1227-4-J, 1986.

Chapter Five

"Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So:" Viewing Rap Music as a Form of African-American Spirituality Darrell James Wesley

“Letting the redeemed of the Lord say so” means giving voice to those who have experienced existential misery and ontological anxiety. “Saying so” is the creative articulation of that misery and ruin, and the depiction of “the redeemed” implies taking non-being into itself, resulting in temporary release from non-being and ontological anxiety. In Psalm 107, there is the joyous celebration of return from exile and isolation as pilgrims returning from exile collectively acknowledge their gratitude for deliverance from oppressive realities. In doing so, they inspired and encouraged others. Like those pilgrims in Psalm 107, African-Americans can speak of isolation, exile, marginalization, poverty, imprisonment, and so forth. Therefore, I argue that to be redeemed is to be in a constant state of ontological anxiety; yet, in the face of anxiety, the redeemed find ways to flourish and to transcend both anxiety and various threats to their being. Therein is the essence of spirituality—creating ways to condition the spirit to overcome and transcend painful forces that interrupt well-being and quality of life. To be redeemed is to tap into resources in order to create a self that refuses to be consumed by ontological anxiety. I argue that an African-American spirituality is a robust phenomenon, not necessarily connected to a particular religious context, but one that comes from the creative ways in which African-Americans confront their existential realities and ontological anxiety. Regardless of particular confessional expressions—be they Christian, Muslim, etc.—spirituality connects AfricanAmericans through communal experiences of racism, oppression, and displacement. These experiences give rise to cultural productions that empower, 67

68

Darrell James Wesley

transform, and critique. Moreover, African-American spirituality stands as robust in that it transcends religion per se and embodies a form of existence that embraces non-being, and transcends non-being by tapping into the soul’s resources. This form of spirituality results in what I term radical ontology. I define spirituality by building on Mark Lewis Taylor’s conceptualization of spiritual and spirituality in “Bringing Noise, Conjuring Spirit: Rap as Spiritual Practice.” Taylor provides a useful observation by noting: In many popular audiences today, “spirituality” is often contrasted with “religion.” Amid the eclectic and hybrid terrain of global religious phenomena, people often refer to themselves as “spiritual but not religious.” What is meant by “spiritual” is highly varied. The meaning of the statement lies less in what is meant by spiritual and more in what is meant by the contrast with religion. In making the contrast, speakers are usually distancing themselves from official religious organizations and hierarchies that often have claimed sole propriety to public senses of mystery or the sacred. Claiming to be spiritual enables those same speakers to cultivate their own discursive and ritual experiences of mystery, to construct or join alternative religious communities and movements, and thus seek to avoid the more established religious orders. The need to make this contrast becomes even stronger if established religions are seen, as they often are, to be ineffective communicators—silent about social trauma or actively complicit in systematic dehumanization. 1

Taylor’s distinction between spiritual and religious is helpful because a definition of spiritual may be provided without necessarily referencing a particular religious discourse or without the imposition of a religious organizational structure. Instead, within the word “spiritual” is the word “spirit,” giving credence to energizing and animating forces beyond established doctrinal, confessional, and even theological contexts. African-Americans come from a plethora of religious sensibilities; yet despite these differences, they share similar discursive experiences that entail a common history and painful present. This common history and painful present are discursive ingredients for an African-American spirituality. I agree with Taylor who suggests that the African-American spirit is a conjuring spirit and that rap music participates in the animation and energizing of the African-American spirit. To make this point Taylor defines the word “conjure” in connection with rap music’s spiritual economy: The word “conjure” is rich and appropriate when considering rap music’s “spiritual economy.” Conjuring evokes the magic and mystery that is . . . so central to musical emotion. Emerging from the Latin root, conjurare (“to swear together”), the term also suggests that when rap music conjures spirit, it is engaged in a process that is both serious and communal. Even the definition of conjure that most dictionaries describe as obsolete—“to conspire,” from conspirare (“to breathe together”)—may be appropriate given rap music’s

"Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So"

69

capacity to encode the winds of resistance that blow and sometimes swirl among people struggling to survive and flourish amid states of disorder and deadly regimentation. 2

Implied in this definition of “conjuring spirit” is an ontology that entails both struggle and resistance. This ontology also entails a spirit of resistance and survival in the face of existential angst. I argue that any discourse on AfricanAmerican spirituality must take into consideration anxiety and the spirit’s ability and wherewithal to transcend anxiety. African-American cultural productions are essential elements that facilitate such transcendence. In reconsidering a discourse on spirituality, Taylor notes that popular music is a cultural production that gets at the core of a community and, consequently, Taylor argues that popular music “tends to give the terms ‘spiritual/spirit’ three kinds of meaning in social context: ‘liberatory,’ ‘liminal,’ and ‘integrative.’” 3 Building on Taylor’s discursive analysis of spirit and spirituality, I argue that African-American spirituality must include various components that speak to the realities of African-Americans. First, African-American spirituality grows out of and develops from an ontological predicament, namely, the threat of non-being. I refer to this threat of non-being as the first layer of African-American spirituality. Second, given these threats, AfricanAmerican spirituality is liberatory. Given the desire for freedom, such language is indigenous to oppressed people, especially African-Americans. The second layer of African-American spirituality pivots on a need for existential liberation. Third, I see African-American spirituality as a means by which the spirit of a certain people is formed and transformed by its social and cultural ingredients. This take on spirituality brings together the liberatory with the liminal. The final layer of an African-American spirituality is animation of the communal spirit through cultural productions and expressions. The final layer comes into fruition by what Cornel West calls radical democracy and individuality, and though West sees these as norms for his revolutionary Christianity, I believe they may serve as norms for African-American spirituality. This conceptualization ultimately results in radical ontology; that is, through “saying so” African-American rappers (re)create themselves and their community in the face of ontological anxiety. To begin, I offer an analysis of ontological anxiety and appropriate Paul Tillich’s notions of being and non-being. After considering Tillich’s analysis, I apply this conception of ontological anxiety to the existential predicament of urban Black youth.

70

Darrell James Wesley

THE REDEEMED: URBAN YOUTH, BEING/NON-BEING, AND ONTOLOGICAL ANXIETY I argue that the first layer of African-American spirituality is ontological anxiety and that a Tillichian notion of non-being is a helpful way to situate this first layer. I appreciate Tillich’s sober understanding of both the painful realities of life as well as the human capacity to exist courageously in the face of ontological anxiety. In his seminal text The Courage to Be and the second volume of his Systematic Theology, Tillich elucidates the meaning of being and highlights its threats vis-à-vis non-being. For Tillich, to be or to exist inevitably coexists with the threat of non-being: If one is asked how nonbeing is related to being-itself, one can only answer metaphorically: being “embraces” itself and nonbeing. Being has nonbeing “within” itself as that which is eternally present and eternally overcome in the process of the divine life. The ground of everything that is is not a dead identity without movement and becoming; it is living creativity. Creatively it affirms itself eternally conquering its own nonbeing. As such it is the pattern of the self-affirmation of every finite being and the source of the courage to be. 4

Tillich speaks here generally about existence and consequently universalizes ontological anxiety. Unlike fear, which has a definite object, anxiety’s only object is non-being. As an object of anxiety, non-being is a pervasive reality that we must confront with courage. Yet despite possible moments of courage, this object of anxiety is a constant in everyone’s life: It is not the realization of universal transitoriness, not even the experience of the death of others, but the impression of these events on the always latent awareness of our own having to die that produces anxiety. Anxiety is finitude, experienced as one’s own finitude. This is the natural anxiety of man as man and in some way of all living beings. It is the anxiety of nonbeing, the awareness of one’s finitude as finitude. 5

Death is an absolute state of non-being and the awareness of death instills anxiety. Tillich contends that anxiety comes in three crucial forms that are threats to being. Nonbeing threatens humankind’s ontic self-affirmation, relatively in terms of fate, absolutely in terms of death; humankind’s spiritual selfaffirmation relatively in terms of emptiness, absolutely in terms of meaninglessness; and humankind’s moral self-affirmation, relatively in terms of guilt, absolutely in terms of condemnation. 6 Though all three threats are important, the first two are most helpful in my analysis of African-American spirituality. That is, non-being for African-Americans pertains mostly to the ongoing threats of fate, death, emptiness, and meaninglessness. I exempt the threat of

"Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So"

71

guilt and condemnation because in my rendering of African-American spirituality, those threats are more indicative of the oppressors than the oppressed. Moreover, according to Tillich, ontic affirmation and spiritual selfaffirmation cohere: Ontic and spiritual self-affirmation must be distinguished but they cannot be separated. Man’s being includes his relation to meanings. He is human only by understanding and shaping reality, both his world and himself, according to meanings and values. His being is spiritual even in the most primitive expressions of the most primitive human being. In the “first” meaningful sentence all the richness of man’s spiritual life is potentially present. Therefore the threat to his spiritual being is a threat to his whole being. The most revealing expression of this fact is the desire to throw away one’s ontic existence rather than stand the despair of emptiness and meaninglessness. The death instinct is not an ontic but a spiritual phenomenon. 7

Tillich argues that existence inevitably entails both the relative and absolute threats to being to include the concomitant concerns regarding ontic and spiritual well-being. That is, as humans, we have the daily threats of emptiness, meaninglessness, fate, and death. However, there is good news. Tillich goes on to argue that though existence implies non-being, existence also entails the capacity to stand out of non-being: The root meaning of “to exist,” in Latin, existere, is to “stand out.” Immediately one asks: “To stand out of what?” . . . The general answer to the question of what we stand out of is that we stand out of nothingness. But we have learned from the Greek philosophers that non-being can be understood in two ways, namely, as ouk on, that is, absolute non-being, or as me on, that is, relative non being. 8

In summarizing his argument Tillich states: Existing can mean standing out of absolute non-being, while remaining in it; it can mean finitude, the unity of being and non-being. And existing can mean standing out of relative non-being, while remaining in it; it can mean actuality, the unity of actual being and the resistance against it. But whether we use the one or the other meaning of non-being, existence means standing out of nonbeing. 9

However, missing in this brilliant assessment on the structure of being and threats to it is that while we are capable of “standing out” of relative nonbeing, there are social, political, and existential constraints that make it harder for some to stand out of both relative and absolute non-being. Racism, sexism, and heterosexism bear witness to the fact that, while some experience relative non-being (me on), others experience absolute non-being (ouk on). Absolute non-being leaves one in a state of perpetual hopelessness, and

72

Darrell James Wesley

relative non-being declares that one’s potential estrangement is resolved by “standing out” of non-being. Indeed, everyone can experience relative nonbeing, but African-Americans, especially those living in urban centers and ghettos, confront the daily threats of death and emptiness. Though Tillich’s genius affords him the wherewithal to assess humanity’s existential predicament, his physical and theoretical distance from the everyday pain of inner city African America affords him the privilege to universalize non-being as a mere existential predicament, free of institutional structures of power that create oppression. What is most ironic about Tillich’s notions of being and non-being is that both The Courage to Be and his three volumes of Systematic Theology were published during Jim Crow segregation. By publishing texts on threats to being and the reality of non-being and excluding African-American suffering within his analysis illustrate how Tillich freezes a discussion of non-being as merely existing in abstract terms. Thanks to the insights of theologians like James Cone, the move to render African-Americans invisible and the failure to include the African-American painful narrative within theological discourse deserve criticism. Cone makes the following observation: Theology cannot be indifferent to the importance of blackness by making some kind of existential leap beyond blackness to an undefined universalism. It must take seriously the questions, which arise from black-existence and not even try to answer white questions, questions coming from the lips of those who know oppressed existence only through abstract reflections. 10

Kelly Brown Douglas also articulates the irony of the silence of academic theology during the Civil Rights and Black Power Era: By the end of the 1960s, Black consciousness had erupted within northern cities. Black people living in urban ghettoes rebelled against all that denied their humanity. They burned, looted, and destroyed the signs of their oppression. They set their neighborhoods on fire and put their lives on the line for their dignity and freedom. . . . Did Jesus Christ have any meaning for a people “on fire” with self-respect and a vision for freedom? Now was the time for theologians to speak. 11

Both Cone’s and Douglass’s critiques of classical theology may also apply to Tillich’s proposal of universal threats of non-being while articulating a concrete reality, namely, the pervasive ontological anxiety within Black ghettoes. As oppressed people experience estrangement and threats of non-being, they seek out possibilities of liberation. Liberation from existential anxiety is not merely taking non-being into itself, as Tillich assumes; rather, liberation emerges by resisting non-being and embracing threats to being while con-

"Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So"

73

structing creative ways to both confront and meaningfully exist in the face of these threats. In the face of relative and absolute non-being, there has to be an element of liberation. What I mean by liberation is a sort of existential transcendence or as Taylor nicely depicts it, a liminal component of African-American spirituality. This transcendence is liberatory because it affords AfricanAmericans with the wherewithal to transcend ontic and spiritual threats to being. In this way liberation is existential in that it facilitates ways in which African-Americans rise above oppressive predicaments and find ways to provide affirmation and courage to look oppression straight in the face and still celebrate life. Herein is the second layer of African-American spirituality that I present, one that embraces existential liberation in order to rise above the potential psychic and emotional damage, or as noted above, ontic and spiritual threats to being. As a result, the efficacy of African-American cultural production in general, and rap music in particular, becomes necessary. In other words, rap music is a way of “saying so.” This “saying so” is part of both a cultural politics of difference and a counter-hegemonic movement. Through rap music’s unique cultural contribution, African-American youth experience radical democracy and individuality, making them the spiritual beneficiaries of a radical ontology. “SAYING SO:” RAP MUSIC AS PART OF A CULTURAL POLITICS OF DIFFERENCE AND A COUNTER-HEGEMONIC MOVEMENT Like the spirituals and the blues, rap music offers a radical way of viewing and experiencing the world through being a part of a counter-hegemonic movement. This movement offers existential liberation through radical democracy and individuality. Like Mark Lewis Taylor, I view rap music as a function of the liberatory and liminal. However, I consider these functional components as combined ingredients of the same layer, not as separate, independent layers. I view Black cultural production as essential to existential liberation and since the enslavement period, African-Americans have employed their creative genius to rise above the painful realities of oppression in its various forms. Rising above the painful realities of oppression is what I identify as radical ontology. Similar to Taylor, this move is a “state of being betwixt-and-between, in the margins, on the threshold.” 12 The analytical difference that I provide is that this liminal move, as a moment of the existential act, affords oppressed people, particularly urban African-American youth, to rise above or transcend their oppressive and painful realities. I argue that African-American cultural productions, especially its music, are components of African-American spirituality simply because they are, in part, responses to the ongoing threats to being. This liminal move is similar

74

Darrell James Wesley

to what Anthony Pinn refers to as a move from a quest for complex subjectivity “to life as a complex conveyer of cultural meaning with a detailed and creative identity.” 13 Regarding the nature of being, African-Americans face ontic and spiritual threats in the face of meaninglessness, emptiness, fate, and death. Hence, Pinn notes that this move is necessary because “it is the struggle to obtain meaning through a process of ‘becoming.’” 14 I argue that rap music participates in a larger discourse that helps in making this liminal move “of becoming” possible. This larger movement is what Cornel West defines as a cultural politics of difference. A cultural politics of difference is a counter-hegemonic movement, bringing into fruition two critical metaphysical realities, namely, radical democracy, and individuality. In the essay “The New Cultural Politics of Difference,” Cornel West engages creative ways to react to various threats to being, illustrating that marginalized and oppressed people have agency in how they view and deal with painful realities. In this insightful essay, West offers a brief genealogy that highlights a deeply flawed Eurocentric tradition that oppresses, objectifies, and marginalizes vulnerable people. This tradition has sought to cast people of African descent as both intellectually and aesthetically inferior as a means to serve white supremacist ideology and practices. These notions and practices “promoted black inferiority and constituted the European background against which black diasporan struggles for identity, dignity (selfconfidence, self-respect, self esteem), and material resources.” 15 West argues that the intellectual challenge for a cultural politics of difference is finding creative ways to combat representations aiding the proliferation of pejorative notions of Black beauty, Black intelligence, and morality. These pejorative conceptions of Black beauty, Black intelligence, and morality are the discursive ingredients giving rise to police profiling, low academic expectations, and other social maladies that leave African-Americans vulnerable. Hence, the effectiveness of a cultural politics of difference consists of creative responses to the precise circumstances of our present moment—especially those of marginalized First World agents who shun degraded self-representations, articulating instead their sense of the flow of history in light of the contemporary terrors, anxieties, and fears of highly commercialized North Atlantic capitalist cultures (with their escalating xenophobias against people of color, Jews, women, gays, lesbians, and the elderly). The thawing, yet still rigid, Second World ex-Communist cultures (with increasing nationalist revolts against the legacy of hegemonic party henchmen) and the diverse cultures of the majority of inhabitants on the globe smothered by international communication cartels and repressive postcolonial elites (sometimes in the name of communism, as was the case in Ethiopia) or starved by austere World Bank and IMF politics that subordinate them to the North (as in freemarket capitalism in Chile) also locate vital areas of analysis in the new cultural terrain. 16

"Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So"

75

West applies this cultural politics of difference to sub-communities generally affected by degraded self-representation, colonization, capitalism, hegemony, and poverty. He references cultural agents emerging from the First World, Second World ex-Communists, Ethiopia, and Chile. Though West provides a broad stroke by looking at cultural creators across the globe, he specifically highlights African-American cultural producers by celebrating expressions of their genius in the face of oppression. He specifies the contributions of genres like rhythm and blues, the blues, and jazz. To add to this collection is the brilliant articulation of hip hop in general and rap in particular. Like other African-American cultural creations, rap music surfaces as a response to the brutality, imprisonment, and mistreatment of young AfricanAmericans. In an attempt to include hip hop and rap in this ensemble of critical cultural voices, Anthony Pinn notes: Hip hop culture and its varied stylistic expressions (such as rap music) emerge as one of the most significant developments of the late twentieth century, emerging in a nation marked by significant cultural transformations corresponding to the rethinking of life geographies and meanings expressed through the visual arts, music, literature and other symbol systems, vocabularies, signs, and representations that comprise what we refer to as culture in general. 17

Pinn notes that rap music’s contribution to transforming existential realities has religious significance in that rap music is influenced by humanism, and humanism conceives of humanity “as fully (and solely) accountable and responsible for the human condition and the correction of its plight.” 18 Given the transformative posture of a cultural politics of difference and its humanistic impulse, rap music is a necessary inclusion. Indeed, rap has surfaced as a, if not the, cultural production reacting to the guttural cry in inner cities and urban centers. Interestingly, and quite usefully, Pinn’s argument that African-American humanism could be construed as a more subtle and nuanced form of religiosity because the basic structure of religions “is a general quest for complex subjectivity in the face of the terror and dread associated with life within a historical context marked by dehumanization, objectification, abuse, intolerance, and captured most forcefully in the sign/symbol of the ‘ghetto.’” 19 As Cornel West points out in Prophesy Deliverance: A Revolutionary AfroAmerican Christianity, humanistic responses as seen in a cultural politics of difference bring into fruition two critical metaphysical ingredients: radical democracy and individuality. 20 Given Pinn’s valuable definition of religion, I am able to view rap music as a religious component of a cultural politics of difference as well as extend West’s position that democracy and individuality are sources for a radical Afro-American Christianity to my theory of an African-American spirituality.

76

Darrell James Wesley

In Prophesy Deliverance Cornel West argues that Black cultural productions are part of a counter-hegemonic movement in response to oppression. For West, and for the sake of argument, this counter-hegemonic movement brings into realization the two sources (noted above) for African-American revolutionary Christianity, namely, radical democracy and individuality. Though West seeks to establish a revolutionary Christianity, I position radical democracy and individuality as critical trajectories for an AfricanAmerican spirituality in general, not merely confined to prophetic Christian discourse. My conception of spirituality underscores the spirit or the soul of African-Americans, and therefore, understands cultural productions as integral to the healthiness of the African-American soul. Rap music participates in this development. West notes that radical democracy and individuality are moral norms of prophetic Christianity and these norms are the critical ingredients for positively changing the lives of African-Americans. Existential liberation emerges by putting into practice radical democracy and individuality, whereby individuals exercise their God-given power to make important choices and are able to give input to the governing of their lives. 21 Theoretically, these norms espouse the principle of self-realization, where individuals find both individual value and freedom within community. The principles of radical democracy and individuality entail three critical notions: (1) the understanding that every individual “regardless of class, country, caste, race, or sex should have (the) opportunity to fulfill his or her potentialities;” 22 (2) the dignity of persons and depravity of persons which will illuminate how human nature is endowed with a capacity to resolve problems and to inflict pain; and (3) the dialectic of contradiction and transformation where contradiction presupposes what presently is and transformation implies the ability to change the prevailing reality. 23 In other words, radical democracy and individuality reflect the depravity of persons in that they acknowledge that human beings are imperfect and prone to selfishness and self-centeredness. Given that we are imperfect, we are capable of exercising injustice. They reflect the dignity of persons who are capable of goodness and compassion and who are able to rise above and change their oppressive realities. That is, regardless of our circumstances in life, radical democracy and individuality accentuate individual and collective power as well as give voice to every person despite his or her social and political location. That radical democracy and individuality are norms of prophetic Christianity expresses the dialectic of human nature and human history. This dialectic of human history and human nature is the amalgam of four subdialectics. The first is a dialectic of imperfect products and transformative practice, the second is a dialectic of prevailing realities and negation, the third is a dialectic of human depravity and human dignity, and the fourth

"Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So"

77

dialectic is a dialectic of “what is” and “the not yet.” 24 The dialectic of human history and human nature essentially unveils that although history bears witness to the depravity of human nature and its proclivity to cause harm and destruction, the very nature of individuals is such that they are able to change their circumstances from “what is” to “what ought to be.” 25 This dialectic of human nature and human history presents the ontological and existential realities that preclude human flourishing; yet it unveils the intrinsic power of individuals to confront these realities and threats. Ontologically, this dialectic affirms the dignity of all human beings while also recognizing these threats and is quite aware of humankind’s proclivity to evoke pain. Both individuality and radical democracy are ways to ensure that the citizens most vulnerable to threats of non-being have a voice in the way that their lives are being governed. Therefore, radical democracy and individuality are collateral resources to ensure that vulnerable people can combat threats of non-being. West invokes the power imbued within human beings to exude metaphysical possibilities and to transcend the ontological threat of non-being. Although death, disease, and despair are inevitable, the dialectic of human history and human nature ushers in existential liberation. Existential liberation is the human proclivity to experience flourishing while living with the possibilities of emptiness, meaninglessness, fate, and death. Of critical importance for West is a positive understanding of reality that comes from cultural products, resources, and influences. Individuals come out of communities that shape their outlook on life and reality. In this way, their reality is their reality, and they have the power to resist pervasive notions of self-hood that may preclude well-being. Because of their dignity, they possess the power to initiate change within normative discourse as well as divert the community away from destructive sensibilities like low self-esteem, low self-worth, and inferiority. In other words, through their dignity as individuals, they possess the power to transform “what is” into “what ought to be.” West brings prophetic Christianity into a meaningful conversation with progressive Marxism and after a thorough delineation of six major streams in Marxist tradition (the Bernsteinian, Leninist, Stalinist, Trotskyist, Councilist, and Gramscian streams), West concludes that the Gramscian stream is the best embodiment of the norms of individuality and radical democracy. 26 “Gramsci provides a valuable framework in which to understand culture, its autonomous activity and status, while preserving its indirect yet crucial link with power in society.” 27 For Gramsci and West, cultural productions are ways to interrogate regimes of oppression or means to instigate structural social change. More specifically, it is Gramsci’s insistence of a counterhegemonic culture that offers helpful critique of dominant and oppressive forces. It is both the act of production and function of the cultural thing being produced that facilitate existential liberation and transcendence of these dom-

78

Darrell James Wesley

inant forces. Black religious life, as West sees it, should be informed by and contribute to, “a counter-hegemonic culture and structural social change in American life.” 28 RAP AND AFRICAN-AMERICAN SPIRITUALITY In the final part of this chapter, I show how rap music is indeed a part of such an important movement and how the genre is a critical element in producing an African-American spirituality. The force of my argument is that what makes some rap music a form of spirituality is its function. That is to say, rap music, like the blues and the spirituals, serve as a counter-hegemonic movement that facilitates an ontological shift from anxiety to flourishing and meaning. Historically, African-Americans have used cultural expression to facilitate transcendence from oppression and the most obvious way is through music. In his book Why Lord?: Suffering and Evil in Black Theology, Anthony Pinn points out that the spirituals were the way in which enslaved Africans expressed their existential misery. These songs highlighted the pain of slavery, family separation, degradation, and ontological ruin. In the midst of the disintegration of family, they sang songs that spoke of feeling like a motherless child. In referencing abandonment, they sang songs that highlighted being alone, where no one could hear them pray and vice versa. “In this respect, the spirituals present the misery of life as a slave and speak to the isolation and disjointedness resulting from physical bondage.” 29 These songs like others highlight the fact that there was no line of demarcation between the sacred and secular. The sacred was the secular. Physical liberation was spiritual liberation, and although it was their religion that gave enslaved Blacks the strength to survive, these sacred songs were usually created not in sacred spaces but during the hours of work and labor. The difference between the blues and spirituals is that the blues were not sacred in the strict sense. However, they functioned very much like the spirituals, namely, both highlighted the misery of social conditions while at the same time empowering the slave community and even invoking a spirit of resistance. In Social Work and the Black Experience, Elmer and Joanne Martin point out that the blues and the spirituals were Black people’s way of “moanin'.” They state that both “the spirituals and the blues cover a wide range of problems, but a central, recurring, dominant, and pervasive theme of both is the problem of loss and separation.” 30 Indeed, the blues highlight the blues of everyday life, whether romantic or social. “Moaning” is the gutter cry of the brokenhearted, and brokenhearted is an ambiguous depiction depending on who’s doing the “moaning.” To the lover, brokenhearted depicts the individual experiencing romantic loss and estrangement from the be-

"Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So"

79

loved; to the Black slave, brokenhearted depicts the individual experiencing disintegration of family. 31 Overall, the blues express a kind of existential angst derived from separation from loved ones. Such painful possibilities usher in “moanin',” but the Martins also argue that these painful possibilities are followed by the dawning of “morning.” In addition, this dawning could be liberation from slavery but it also could be the moment enslaved Africans experience existential transcendence. In Noise and Spirit, Pinn brilliantly shows that though the spirituals and the blues may differ in content—that is to say, the former being intrinsically religious and the latter intrinsically secular—they share a similar function. In the introductory chapter “Making a World with a Beat: Musical Expression’s Relationship to Religious Identity and Experience,” Pinn argues that a function of music like the spirituals and the blues is to highlight existential pain and the ontological threat to being. He states that cultural expression and especially African-American music is: a way of “moving” through harsh circumstances with dignity and integrity. Through songs developed very early in their “New World” experiences, enslaved Africans addressed the harsh and hypocritical practices of white Americans and envisioned the possibility of a better and richer existence. 32

The blues and the spirituals spoke to the harsh realities of slave life and did so in a way that not only brought a clandestine critique to social oppression but also facilitated a way to transcend this reality through empowerment and self-affirmation. Making the same argument Pinn writes the following to highlight the importance of the blues: The blues present an early African-American response to the absurdity of the “New World” and an expression of dignity in spite of its dehumanizing tendencies. When things were falling apart, the blues kept body and soul together. The music rejected much of what the “New World” attempted to force upon those of African-American descent through the creative reworking of cultural expressiveness within the context of a new environment. The formation of healthy consciousness through the use of musical forms such as the blues was deep, so deep that white cultural voyeurs to white consumers, black listeners received subversive bits of information, such as the miseries of black life based on the hypocrisy of white economic, social, and political dealings. 33

The radical assumption to be made is that rap music, like the spirituals and the blues, participates in this counter-hegemonic tradition and, moreover, that (some) rap music contributes to the development of the soul and spirit of African-Americans. Given the profane and obscene lyrics in some rap, one could be reluctant to make such a claim. However, I argue that the fundamental connection between rap music and the spirituals and the blues is that all express the existential predicament of African-Americans. Rap music as

80

Darrell James Wesley

critical to a counter-hegemonic movement is clear in its oppositional flavor and its direct critique and acknowledgment of the atrocities of the hood. In Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America, Tricia Rose argues that rap music is part of a counter-hegemonic movement. With regard to West Coast rap, she argues that a critique of both America’s social problems and hegemonic culture emerges. Rappers from Los Angeles point to the social misery of Watts and Compton, highlighting threats of nonbeing. She states that “Los Angeles rappers from Compton and Watts, two areas severely paralyzed by the postindustrial economic redistribution, developed a West Coast style of rap that narrates experiences and fantasies specific to life as a poor young, black male subject in Los Angeles.” 34 Theresa A. Martinez agrees, noting that “not only are rap’s critiques of hegemonic discourse threatening, just as other black popular cultural forms like jazz and rock 'n roll were in the past, but rap’s loud vocalization of resistance is also.” 35 In making a case for the importance of rap music as a cultural form, which is in part a religious form, I will discuss the philosophical and intellectual acumen of one of rap’s most celebrated artists, Tupac Shakur. Michael Eric Dyson contends that Tupac Shakur is a cosmic figure, whose theological and philosophical imagination has resulted in the prolific creation of music and poetry that brilliantly highlight black suffering and eschatological hope. A careful examination of particular songs by Tupac demonstrates that he was preoccupied with the black existential predicament. Like Tillich, Tupac was interested in that which is of ultimate concern. Dyson points out that “ultimate concern” was high on Tupac’s existential agenda. “That’s what Tupac was searching for, I believe, this Tillichian modality of existence, this embrace by ultimate concern, and to stick with Tillich, this ‘courage to be’ in the face of the death and destruction he witnessed in his neighborhood and in his life.” 36 A point of note here is that Tupac’s ultimate concern was centered on the disjunction between assertions of God’s goodness with the reality of Black suffering. Tupac’s music hits the postmodern scene during a time of drug addiction, single motherhood, poverty, and AIDS. Growing up in the ghetto, Tupac knew of all these misfortunes first hand. A careful reading of his poetry and attentive listening to his lyrics will present a young artist grappling with existential angst as well as relative and absolute threats of non-being. Many of Tupac’s songs lament the tragic realities of living in the hood, and the work required to both cope with and transcend these tragic realities. For example, in the song “Brenda’s Got a Baby” Tupac underscores the misfortune of teenage pregnancy. Moreover, he also offers how it is the impetus for other social maladies like addiction, poverty, and prostitution. As Tupac narrates Brenda’s story, he decries depressive circumstances that befall Brenda and others like her. Molestation, displacement, invisibility, drug addiction and prostitution are motifs included

"Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So"

81

within Brenda’s story. Though we may quickly declare that this is Brenda’s problem, Tupac argues in the song that this problem can affect the entire African-American community. 37 Tupac’s songs expose the pain that he and others like him experience, but his songs also critique pervasive structures of oppression. Like Tillich’s method of correlation, Tupac’s songs and poetry attempt to answer existential questions implied in the ghetto situation. In answering existential questions, Tupac raises the consciousness of young people living in the hood so that they can experience hope and transcendence. Tupac’s existential vision involves communal accountability, unconditional love for fellow AfricanAmericans, and the courage to stand up and speak out. In one of his posthumous releases, he articulates how those visited with existential angst will live together in the Kingdom of God (a Thugz Mansion). In the song “Thugz Mansion,” Tupac envisions his own death and imagines existing in a place where he transcends the painful realities of the ghetto. In this mansion there is peace and freedom from the threat of nonbeing. In ghetto spaces Tupac admits to contemplating suicide, which is fortunately dismissed by imaging his mother’s melancholy. Yet Tupac’s eschatological vision, as articulated in the song, entails audacious hope and sharing communal space with Black artists and leaders who had passed on. Some of these Black artists include Marvin Gaye, Sam Cooke, Miles Davis, and Billie Holiday. According to Tupac, Thugz Mansion is a place to escape the social maladies that consistently haunt Black people and so to ease his mother’s anxieties, Tupac tells her that he is doing well and keeping good company. 38 He also asks his mother to tell his “homies” that he is in heaven and this heaven is where Black people can be themselves with no worries of acquiescing to pervasive and oppressive structures of power. Essentially “Thugz Mansion” is a song that highlights eschatological power to both transcend these structures of power and transform “what is” to “what ought to be.” As noted above, Tupac’s lyrics also provide a critique of social maladies like racism, poverty, hunger, and police brutality, instilling within his listeners an oppositional spirit and a disdain for such oppression. To use the language of bell hooks Tupac, along with other rappers, use their talents to “talk back” to both structures of power and the threat of non-being. 39 For example, in the song “Changes” Tupac critiques poverty, drug addiction, and police brutality. Thinking of his young life in the ghetto, his mother’s drug addiction, and his friends who died violent deaths, Tupac laments that he sees no changes and only sees racist faces. Moreover, he critiques the government for declaring a war on drugs but turning a blind eye to poverty. His brilliant commentary is that the so-called war on drugs gives the police license to harass African-American youth in urban centers and ghettos. Tu-

82

Darrell James Wesley

pac suggests that instead of policing African-American neighborhoods, the government should investigate and interrogate corporate greed. 40 CONCLUDING REMARKS African-American youth dwelling in urban centers and ghettos know all too well the ontological problematic, where they confront ontic and spiritual threats to being. Yet despite the threats of meaninglessness, emptiness, fate, and death, these young people find solace, encouragement, empowerment, and flourishing through this indigenous form of music termed as rap. Like enslaved Africans, who relied on the spirituals and the blues to transcend and (re)create their realities, these young urban and ghetto dwellers rely on rap music to experience radical ontology. Radical ontology embraces threats to being. Radical ontology comes from the production of and listening to words, rhythms, beats, vibration of this remarkable genre that continues to interrogate, critique, empower, and inspire. Indeed, radical ontology is what comes out of African-American spiritual formation. African-Americans not only (re)create themselves in the face of non-being, but they also have agency in their own transcendence and are determined to change “what is” to “what ought to be.” In this postmodern modern moment, African-American youth are vulnerable to the racism and classism that still remain integral to the American way of life. Their spiritual formation consists of threats to being and creating ways to transcend these threats. Listening to and performing rap songs can occasion a radical transformation for African-Americans especially those living in urban ghettos. These urban ghetto dwellers are, in fact, the “redeemed of the Lord,” and they are continuing their quest “to say so.” NOTES 1. Mark Lewis Taylor, “Bringing Noise, Conjuring Spirit: Rap as Spiritual Practice,” in Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music, ed. Anthony B. Pinn (New York: New York University Press, 2003), 119. 2. Ibid., 108. 3. Ibid., 119. 4. Paul Tillich, The Courage to Be (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1952/1980), 34. 5. Ibid., 35-36. 6. Ibid., 45. 7. Ibid., 51. 8. Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, vol. 2 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1957), 20. 9. Ibid., 21. 10. James Cone, God of the Oppressed (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1997), 117. 11. Kelly Brown Douglas, The Black Christ (New York: Orbis Books, 1999), 53. 12. Taylor, “Bringing Noise, Conjuring Spirit,” 121.

"Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So"

83

13. Anthony Pinn, “‘Handlin’ My Business:’ Exploring Rap’s Humanist Sensibilities,” in Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music (New York: New York University Press, 2003), 86. 14. Ibid. 15. Cornel West, “The New Cultural Politics of Difference," in The Cornel West Reader (New York: Basic Civitas Books, 1999), 128. 16. Ibid., 120. 17. Anthony Pinn and Monica R. Miller, “Introduction: Intersections of Culture and Religion in African-American Communities,” in Culture and Religion 10:1 (March 2009), 1. 18. Pinn, “Handlin’ My Business,” 87. 19. Ibid., 86. 20. My usage of metaphysics is based on a minimalist conception of transcendence. This minimalist conception situates metaphysical discourse within the context of experience. That is to say, metaphysical discourse has more to do with the way we experience the world and understand our realities. In this way, radical democracy and individuality are metaphysical constructs used to give vulnerable people the power to transcend and possibly transform their realities. 21. West is careful to point out that individuality is integral to his project and is not the same as “doctrinaire individualism,” which views persons as “maximizers of pleasure and appropriators of unlimited resources.” See West’s Prophesy Deliverance, page 16. 22. Ibid., 16. 23. Ibid., 17. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid., 136. 27. Ibid., 118. 28. Ibid., 121. 29. Anthony Pinn, Why Lord?: Suffering and Evil in Black Theology (New York: Continuum, 1995), 28. 30. Elmer Martin and Joanne Martin, Social Work and the Black Experience (Washington, DC: NASW Press, 1995), 52. 31. Ibid, 54. 32. Anthony Pinn, “Making a World with a Beat: Musical Expression’s Relationship to Religious Identity and Experience,” in Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music (New York and London: New York University Press, 2003), 3. 33. Ibid., 6. 34. Tricia Rose, Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America (New Haven, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1994), 59. 35. Theresa A. Martinez, “Popular Culture as Oppositional Culture: Rap as Resistance,” in Sociological Perspectives, 40:2 (1997), 23. 36. Michael Eric Dyson, Open Mike: Reflections on Philosophy, Race, Sex, Culture and Religion (New York: Basic Civitas Books, 2003), 277. 37. “Brenda’s Got A Baby,” on album 2Pacalypse Now (Jive Records, 1991). 38. “Thugz Mansion,” on posthumous album Better Dayz (Interscope Records, 2002). 39. bell hooks, Talking Back: Thinking Feminist, Thinking Black (Cambridge MA: South End Press, 1989). 40. Tupac Shakur “Changes,” on album Greatest Hits (1998), disc 2.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Cone, James. “Who is Jesus Christ for Us Today?” in God of the Oppressed, 117. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1997. Douglas, Kelly Brown. “The Theological Development of the Black Christ,” in The Black Christ, 53. New York: Orbis Books, 1999.

84

Darrell James Wesley

Dyson, Michael Eric. “Searching for Black Jesus: The Nietzschean Quest of a Metaphysical Thug,” in Open Mike: Reflections on Philosophy, Race, Sex, Culture, and Religion, 277. New York: Basic Civitias Books, 2003. Hooks, Bell. Talking Back: Thinking Feminist. Thinking Black, Cambridge, MA: South End Press, 1989. Martin, Elmer and Joanne Martin. Social Work and the Black Experience, 52–54. Washington, DC: National Association of Social Workers, 1995. Martinez, Theresa A. “Popular Culture as Oppositional Culture: Rap as Resistance,” in Sociological Perspectives, Vol. 40, Issue: 2 (January 1997): 23. Pinn, Anthony. “Handlin My Business: Exploring Rap’s Humanist Sensibilities,” in Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music, 86–87. New York: New York University Press, 2003. Pinn, Anthony and Monica R. Miller. “Introduction: Intersections of Culture and Religion in African-American Communities,” in Culture and Religion, Vol. 10, Issue: 1 (March 2009): 1–9. doi: 10.1080/14755610902786270. Pinn, Anthony. “Spirituals as an Early Reflection on Suffering,” in Why Lord? Suffering and Evil in Black Theology, 28. New York: Continuum International Publishing Group, Inc., 1995. Rose, Tricia. “All Aboard the Night Train: Flow, Layering, and Rupture in Postindustrial New York,” in Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America, 59. New Haven, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1994. Shakur, Tupac. “Brenda’s Got a Baby,” on album 2Pacalypse Now. Jive Records, 1991. Shakur, Tupac. “Changes,” on album Greatest Hits/Disc 2. Interscope Records, 2002. Shakur, Tupac. “Thugz Mansion,” on posthumous album Better Days. Interscope Records, 2002. Taylor, Mark Lewis. “Bringing Noise, Conjuring Spirit: Rap as a Spiritual Practice,” in Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music, ed. Anthony B. Pinn, 108–119. New York: New York University Press, 2003. Tillich, Paul. “Being, Nonbeing, and Anxiety,” in The Courage to Be, 34–51. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1952/1980. Tillich, Paul. “Existence and the Christ,” Vol. 2 of Systematic Theology, 20–21. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1957. West, Cornel. “Introduction: The Sources and Tasks of Afro-American Critical Thought,” in Prophesy Deliverance, 16. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1982/2002. West, Cornel. “The New Cultural Politics of Difference,” in The Cornel West Reader, 119–139. New York: Basic Civitas Books, 1999.

Chapter Six

From the Same Womb of the Same Struggle: Hip Hop Music with the Blues and the Gospels VaNatta S. Ford

This chapter focuses on hip hop (or rap) music’s connectedness with the musical genres of the blues and the gospels. Though the genres of the blues and gospel music are presently performed and recorded today, for the sake of this chapter, the researcher will focus on characteristics of early blues and gospel music between 1920 and 1950. Through an analysis of the Black musical forms of hip hop music, the blues, and gospel, this chapter will show that hip hop music is directly connected with these earlier secular and religious musical forms through its emergence, form, content, and function. It is the researcher’s objective to show that hip hop music is the artistic progeny between the union of its sacred matriarch, gospel music, and its secular patriarch, the blues. Understanding its linkage to earlier black musical forms is substantive because it demonstrates the continuity of African-American musical traditions. Moreover, it proves that this artistic expression did not fade away after the blues, jazz, and gospel eras, but exists and continues to provide comfort, escape, creativity, hope, edutainment (a mix of education and entertainment coined by hip hop icon KRS-One), therapy, and confidence to its listeners. It also shows that throughout the years of oppression that Black people have faced and continue to face, from the American institution of slavery to the Civil Rights movement and beyond, their resilience has birthed creative means to function, overcome, and exist in an oppressive society. The rhetorical language or “orality” of black folks through their music has preserved not only their lives but also their spirits in the face of subjugation and ridicule. 85

86

VaNatta S. Ford

CONDITIONS OF EXISTENCE Similar to its maternal and paternal forbearers of gospel and the blues, hip hop music emerged out of the inequities of poverty, racism, hopelessness, and hardship. Though hip hop music did not arise out of the plantation experience like the blues or out of the post reconstruction period as the gospels, it was born into the struggle and depression of urban economic deficiency. Ralph Ellison has suggested Afro-Americans have had rhythmic freedom in place of social freedom, linguistic wealth in place of pecuniary wealth. 1 This poignant statement is true of the evolution of the blues and gospel musical genres, and remains to be the case with the emergence of hip hop music and culture. Michael Eric Dyson asserts the economic exigencies of deprivation forced poor black and brown kids into greater survival and aesthetic creativity. 2 Disenfranchised black and brown ghetto youth created this musical and cultural art form as a coping strategy to deal with the depression and socio-economic downturn of the day. Dyson further implores: They were also driven to create something important out of the fragments of culture because of the economic suffering of poor folk during the Reagan era. Resources were sparse, especially in the inner-city schools targeted by cruel budget cuts that depleted arts programs and denied poor children access to instruments and broad musical literacy. 3

When hip hop music emerged, President Jimmy Carter was on his way out of office and Ronald Reagan came in as the fortieth president of the United States. Reagan’s entry into presidential office marked a great decline in the socio-economic climate of the United States with unemployment at a record high and major budget cuts in education and social services throughout the nation. The inner cities took the economic shift very hard, but in New York City’s borough of the Bronx youth created a vibrant and raw cultural form to deal with the oppression they faced. 4 It was here that the four central elements of hip-hop emerged: break dancing, dj-ing, graffiti, and rapping. 5 However, it was the rhetorical message, “orality,” of rap music that launched hip hop regionally, nationally, and internationally which gave voice to the struggles and realities of African-Americans and disenfranchised people in the nation. Rap music became the new hymns of urban youth to transcend social and worldly ills similarly in the way Black religious music helped its listeners to survive and rise above oppression. RELATIONSHIP TO CONDITIONS OF EXISTENCE During hip hop music’s emergence on the scene, Black and Latino urban youth were not accepting of the socio-economic climate of New York City or

From the Same Womb of the Same Struggle

87

the rest of the United States. 6 Their unrest and disapproval of, what many have termed as “Reaganomics” and its trickle-down policies sparked their creativity to rebel against the system, which birthed the hip hop culture that includes the art form of rap music. The conditions of their existence caused Black youth and young adult culture to critically examine and confront these issues through rhetorical and educating discourse over hard rhythmic beats. Rose asserts that rap music is a black cultural expression that prioritizes black voices from the margins of urban America. 7 This margin to center paradigm found within the rhetoric of hip hop music has shaped a culture in which hip hop music has emerged. Since economic hardships, racial inequalities, and tough times were not new obstacles for black Americans, they were able to create a musical phenomenon (rap) in spite of their disparity that would help them to survive the great depression of the urban ghetto in which they were forced to live. These youth and young adults like their grandparents, great-grandparents, and great-great-grandparents before them, that created the blues and gospels, created rap in the midst of their tumultuous situations, and used their creativity as a platform of resistance, cultural camaraderie, group preservation, entertainment, and therapeutic transcendence. This musical art form also provided a metaphysical or spiritual outlet where their pain was transformed into power to fight against the poverty and inequalities that they faced. FORM According to Dyson, the most obvious feature of rap culture is its form, which values the spoken word and prizes the central place of drum, song, and story in oral tradition with deep roots in African-American culture. 8 In other words, rap music is a rhetorical form that is narrative, utilizing rhyme schemes and distinct cadences, performed over rhythmic and musical drumbeats. Smitherman contends that rap music is rooted in the Black Oral Tradition of tonal semantics, narrativizing, signification/signifyin’, the Dozens/ playin’ the Dozens, Africanized syntax, and other communicative practices. 9 In early rap music, and a lot of rap music today, the beat is “sampled” or taken from earlier black and non-black musical forms such as jazz, blues, R&B, soul, rock, gospel, etc., and then looped or repeated adding other musical instrumentation. An individual known as an MC (master/mistress of ceremony; microphone controller; mover of the crowd) preforms this spoken word or rapper, that illustrates his or her stories and themes over beats in which listeners are taken on a lyrical journey through the mind of this wordsmith. Smitherman maintains, as African-America’s ‘griot’ the rapper must be lyrically/linguistically fluent; he or she is expected to testify, to speak the truth, to come with it in no uncertain terms. 10 When performed effectively

88

VaNatta S. Ford

this art form can transform the listener to transcendence and escape into the world of the mc/rapper or to a place into the listener’s own mind. Cornell West sums it up like this when he states: In short, black rap music recuperates and revises elements of black rhetorical styles—some from our preaching—within black musical and rhythmic production. Black rap music recovers and revises elements of black rhetorical styles—some from black preaching—black rhythmic drumming. In short, it combines the two major organic artistic traditions in black America—black rhetoric and black music. 11

Hip hop or rap music is a candid, uncensored, expressive art form that allows people to say what they think and models itself after many earlier black musical forms such as the blues, jazz, soul, and gospel. From the blues, it captures the brutal honesty and the art of story telling—its rawness and narrative solo nature. From jazz, hip hop music gets its improvisation (freestyle), its cadence, its lyrical flow and rhythmic pattern (scatting). From soul music it draws its heartfelt, soulful, and free-spirited nature—and from gospel it gets its prophetic voice and social consciousness, and where it acknowledges the presence of the Divine (God). According to Levine, the overriding thrust of the gospel songs is otherworldly. Emphasis is almost wholly upon God with whom humankind’s relationship was one of total dependence. 12 The idea that God is able to bring hope to humanity is the central theme of gospel music. Levine further contends Jesus, rather than the Hebrew Children, dominated the gospel songs. Moreover, it was not the warrior Jesus of the spirituals, but the benevolent spirit who promised his children rest and peace and justice in the hereafter. 13 Although all hip hop music does not make this intersection with gospel music and other black religious musical forms, there are countless examples of this connection throughout this genre of music such as “Jesus Walks,” 14 “Ghetto Heaven Part Two,” 15 “Through The Wire,” 16 “Forgive Them Father,” 17 “Church,” 18 “Praying For Help,” 19 and many others. One can view these songs as “new gospels” in a sense because they offer hope and spiritual transcendence through faith in God—centered in a Christian hermeneutic. In hip hop music the mc/rapper is seen as the spokesperson for the community—both the positive and negative sides. Dyson explains this by using Chuck D of Public Enemy’s famous words when he asserts, that rap is the “CNN” of black youth culture. 20 The MC’s status as a spokesperson can also be associated with many of the characteristics of an Old Testament biblical prophet. For instance, biblical characters like the prophets Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Habakkuk all spoke about what was happening in their communities just as rappers often speak about what is taking place on the streets and in their respective communities. Spencer suggests that these ‘sidewalk prophets’— journalistic dispatchers of learning gleaned from their experiences in the

From the Same Womb of the Same Struggle

89

streets—strive to explain, even shape, America by making it the object of their juvenile brand of intellectual probing and discourse. 21 Some have argued that blues music encompasses an intimate element different from other Black musical traditions, focusing on the individual self and life’s troubles. According to Levine, he makes the argument that out of all black musical art forms, the blues was the most highly personalized, indeed, the first almost completely personalized music that Afro-Americans developed. 22 Though this assertion may be true, hip hop music is also very personal, often illustrating the rapper’s intimate details of struggles, hurt, loss, and love. Though early hip hop music was often formed of rap duos and crews, the MC still had the opportunity to tell his or her story in their verse, making it a very personal experience. Hip hop music’s syncretism of earlier black musical forms can easily be found in its musicality, rhetoric, style, and often its artistic approach. Bogdanov, Bush, Erlewine, and Woodstra contend: For those who didn’t understand it or never investigated its origins, hip hop seemed to have come from nowhere. Still the MC’s blasting out of teenagers’ ghetto blasters during the late 1980s relied on decades of formative influences: black power performers from Gil Scott-Heron to the Last Poets, jive bandleaders as far back as Cab Calloway, rhyming comedians like Pigmeat Markham, Jamaican deejays U-Roy and Dennis Alcapone as well as the dub poetry of Mutabaruka and Linton Kwesi Johnson, poetry from the African griots, even rapping radio DJs like Frankie Crocker. 23

There has always been fluidity between the genres or styles of black musical traditions, and this is evident with the emergence of hip hop music. Levine states that the line between purely religious and purely secular songs was not clear to the enslaved, and some of this blurring remained well after freedom. 24 This mixing or erasure of static boundaries is part of African cultural tradition where there is no definitive distinction between what is considered sacred (holy) and what is viewed in western terms as secular (worldly). There is not the dualistic struggle of divine and material that is found in western Christianity, but in African culture both exist harmoniously. CONTENT The content of hip hop music today spans an array of subject matter from racial inequalities, sex, politics, material wealth, love, triumph, struggles, women, and faith in God, to name a few. While rap’s form connects it to a rich field of African-American cultural practice, its message of historical remembrance and prophetic social criticism connect it to a powerful history of African-American cultural resistance, rebellion, and revolution. 25 When it

90

VaNatta S. Ford

emerged in the late 1970s and early 1980s it served as party and dance music where DJs, break-dancers, and MCs came together for fun and entertainment. Early rap recordings were about having fun and partying-it-up with friends and boasting about which one had the most superior rap skills. 26 Later more serious and politically focused hip hop groups and artists began to look at what was happening in their communities and began to speak about the injustices they were facing. One example of this conscious focused hip hop music was the 1982 classic “The Message” 27 by rap pioneers Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five. The rappers lament that it feels like they are in the wild by themselves because of poverty and violence. They feel as though they are suffocating—being pushed to the limit and they question if things will ever change where they live. This song depicts the heart and soul of the socio-economic crisis of the inner city that was plaguing New York City in the early 1980s. One can see the parallel to the blues in content because it portrays the telling and dismal reality that these rappers and their community faced. The rappers talked about the lack of jobs, the infiltration of drugs into the community, school dropouts, pimps and prostitutes, and plain depression. The writers of this rap song did not write out of a place or sense of hope but out of sheer desperation, like the blues. James Cone cites from W. E. B. DuBois’ The Souls of Black Folks when he states: The blues are made by working people . . . when they have a lot of problems to solve about their work, when their wages are low and they don’t have no way to exist hardly and they don’t know which way to turn and what to do. 28

One can offer the same explanation for the writers of “The Message,” and other rap artists past and present, that grew up poor and write music on behalf of the disenfranchised people in their communities. Using this argument, this song in content is simply the blues. Cone documents an anonymous blues song that is reminiscent of the pain and hopelessness expressed in “The Message.” 29 The singer of this song was sick and tired of the depression and hardships that he or she faced and was ready to get rid of the blues. Like “The Message,” this blues song illuminates to its listeners what it is like to be at wits’ end, and not being able to withstand the depression or blues any longer. It is very similar to the sentiment in the chorus of “The Message” when the rapper talks about feeling as if he is on the brink of an emotional breakdown. Both of these individuals are about out of patience concerning their present conditions, which are the main cause of their blues and disappointment. Another hip hop song that parallels earlier black musical forms is “Everything is Everything” 30 by Grammy Award-winning hip hop icon Lauryn Hill. Her 1998 chart topping album The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill made her a household name but it also showed how brilliantly this rhyming, singing

From the Same Womb of the Same Struggle

91

phenom was able to connect the black musical art forms of soul, R&B, reggae, and gospel with the raw energy and syncopated rhythms and rhetoric of hip hop music. The content and delivery of “Everything is Everything” can be paralleled to the black musical form of gospel because of its message of hope and faith in God in spite of life’s difficulties. Though Hill does not make mention of “God” or salvation in “Jesus Christ” which is found in the majority of gospel songs, her message of hope and ecological metaphor of the seasons changing, from the chill and cold of the winter months to the warmth and growth of spring, touch Old and New Testament biblical and theological understandings of God’s providential hand in humanity’s changing seasons of life. The message in this song, like that of the content in the gospel song, gives the listener hope to press on because change is on the way. Hill’s “Everything is Everything” also shows a connection with the gospels by illustrating an “other-worldly” transcendence. She discusses the idea that a band of angels accompanies her and is not afraid of anyone since she is in a relationship with an all-powerful God. Her boisterous confidence that she is in close contact, or has a divine connection, with the “king” is not spiritual arrogance but an assurance that her faith in the “King of Kings” affords her the privilege not to fear any man or woman. For the listener this is good news that encourages them to know that “The King” is close by. The idea of God’s presence and immediacy in the lives of God’s people is a central theme that is found in gospel music. Hill tapped into the communicative content and function of the gospels and effortlessly merged it into the fabric of her hip hop style and message. Her hip hop illustration and message of hope, in “Everything is Everything,” helps the listener escape from their present situations giving them refuge, therapy, comfort, and a sense of godly dignity. This song, comparable to the content of gospel music, helps to restore dignity where there is doubt, and a renewed since of trust where there has been tribulation. Though the song “Everything is Everything” has many similarities to the content of gospel music, one major factor in Hill’s song that is different from that of the gospel song is the sense that “change” would take place on earth and not in heaven. Hill’s understanding of “change” is completely opposite from the gospels’ “heavenly” change. In this particular instance, Hill connects her ideology of change to the slave spirituals, which explain God’s deliverance on earth. FUNCTION The functionality of hip hop music is simple—it is designed to meet the vast needs of the people that listen to it. For some hip hop music gives hope and a way of escape. For others hip hop music gives them confidence and swagger.

92

VaNatta S. Ford

Others believe that hip hop’s function is to tell a story of trials, tribulation, and triumph. Another may believe that hip hop music functions as therapy and edutainment while others may believe that hip hop music is their outlet for fun and entertainment. Over the years, from its emergence to its position in contemporary times, hip hop music has functioned as a voice for the marginalized, forgotten, oppressed, and depressed living in this country. It has similar elements and functionality to the blues because it is raw and gives a personal account of the MC’s struggles. It functions like the gospels because it gives hope to the downtrodden and let’s them know that “The King” is present and close to them, as they walk through the valley of their present circumstances. The rhetorical power of both gospel and hip hop music is that the “word” has the ability to transcend present circumstances and take the listener to another place. This trait enables and provides the listener with hope. Dyson has stated that: From the ready resources of culture, history, tradition, and community, rap artists fashion musical personae who literally voice their hopes, fears, and fantasies: the self as cultural griot, feminist, educator, or itinerant prophet of black nationalism; but also the self as inveterate consumer, misogynist, violent criminal, or sexual athlete. 31

Hip hop music’s functionality plays many roles but its main role is to revolutionize and influence agents of community change and stability. SUMMARY Through an examination of the emergence of hip hop music, the conditions of existence that formed this communication dynamic, and its relationship to the conditions of existence, this research has provided a starting point in presenting hip hop music’s connection with the blues and gospel music. As a result of the examples that have been given about hip hop music’s form, content, and function, the reader is able to see more definitively the linkage and continuity with the blues and gospel music. Through an analysis of hip hop lyrics, and an understanding of the characteristics of blues and gospel music, the similarities and connection of these three art forms is more clearly evident. NOTES 1. Ralph Ellison: quoted in Cornel West, “On Afro-American Popular Music: From Bebop to Rap,” in Black Sacred Music: A Journal of Theomusicology: Sacred Music of the Secular City, ed. Jon Michael Spencer (Durham: Duke University Press, 1992), 282. 2. Michael Eric Dyson, Know What I Mean? (Philadelphia: Basic Civitas Books, 2007), 74.

From the Same Womb of the Same Struggle

93

3. Dyson, Know What I Mean?, 73–74. 4. S. H. Fernando Jr., “Back in the Day: 1975–1979,” in The Vibe History of Hip Hop, ed. Alan Light (New York: Random House Publishing, 1999), 13. 5. Dyson, Know What I Mean?, 72. 6. Tricia Rose, Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1994), 2. 7. Rose, Black Noise, 2. 8. Dyson, “Rap Culture, the Church, and American Society,” in Black Sacred Music: A Journal of Theomusicology: Sacred Music of the Secular City, ed. Jon Michael Spencer (Durham: Duke University Press, 1992), 269. 9. Geneva Smitherman, Talkin That Talk: African-American Language and Culture (New York: Routledge, 1999), 269. 10. Smitherman, Talkin That Talk, 269. 11. West, “On Afro-American Popular Music,” 293. 12. Lawrence Levine, Black Culture and Black Consciousness: Afro-American Folk Thought From Slavery to Freedom, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford, 2007), 175. 13. Levine, Black Culture and Black Consciousness, 175. 14. Kanye West, vocal performance of “Jesus Walks,” by Kanye West and Che Smith, recorded in 1999-2002, on The College Dropout (Roc-A-Fella Records/Island Def Jam, 2004), compact disc. 15. Lonnie Lynn and Michael Archer, vocal performance of “Ghetto Heaven Part Two,” by Lonnie Lynn, Michael Archer, Ahmir Thompson, James Poyser, Peter Lord, Sandra S.Victor, and Vernon Smith, recorded in 1999-2000, on Like Water For Chocolate (Geffen Records, 2000), compact disc. 16. West, vocal performance of “Through the Wire,” by Kanye West, David Foster, Tom Keane and Cynthia Weil, recorded in 2002, on The College Dropout (Roc-A-Fella Records/ Island Def Jam, 2004), compact disc. 17. Lauryn Hill, vocal performance of “Forgive Them Father,” by Lauryn Hill, recorded in 1997-1998, on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (Columbia Records, 1998), compact disc. 18. Andre Benjamin and Antwan Patton (Outkast), vocal performance of “Church,” by Antwan Patton, Kevin Kendricks, Andre Benjamin, Myrna Crenshaw and Patrick Brown, recorded in 2001-2003, on Speaker Boxxx/The Love Below (LaFace/Arista, 2003), 2 compact discs. 19. Clifford Harris, vocal performance of “Praying For Help,” by Clifford Harris, recorded in 2004, on Urban Legend (Atlantic Records, 2004), compact disc. 20. Dyson, “Rap Culture, the Church, and American Society,” 272. 21. Jon Michael Spencer, “Introduction of Rap,” in Black Sacred Music: A Journal of Theomusicology: Sacred Music of the Secular City, ed. Jon Michael Spencer (Durham: Duke University Press, 1992), 267. 22. Levine, Black Culture and Black Consciousness, 221. 23. V. Bogdanov, J. Bush, S. T. Erlewine, and C. Woodstra, All Music Guide to Hip-Hop: The Definitive Guide to Rap and Hip Hop (Berkeley: Group West, 2003), vi. 24. Levine, Black Culture and Black Consciousness, 170. 25. Dyson, “Rap Culture, the Church, and American Society,” 272. 26. Fernando, “Back in the Day,” 14. 27. Nathaniel Glover, Joseph Saddler, Eddie Morris, Robert Wiggins and Guy Williams (Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five), vocal performance of “The Message” by Melvin Glover, Edward Fletcher and Bobby Robinson, recorded in 1982, on The Message (Sugar Hill Records, 1993), compact disc. 28. W. E. B. DuBois: quoted in James Cone, The Spirituals and The Blues: An Interpretation (New York: Orbis Books, 1972), 189. 29. Cone, The Spirituals and The Blues, 106. 30. Hill, vocal performance of “Everything is Everything,” by Lauryn Hill and Johari Newton, recorded in 1997–1998, on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (Columbia Records, 1998), compact disc. 31. Dyson, “Rap Culture, the Church, and American Society,” 268.

94

VaNatta S. Ford

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bogdanov, V., J. Bush, S. T. Erlewine, and C. Woodstra. All Music Guide to Hip-Hop: The Definitive Guide to Rap and Hip Hop. Berkeley: Group West, 2003. Cole, Johnetta Betsch, and Beverly Guy Sheftall. Gender Talk: The Struggle For Women’s Equality in African-American Communities. New York: One World Books, 2003. Cone, James. The Spirituals and The Blues: An Interpretation. New York: Orbis Books, 1972. Dyson, Michael Eric. Know What I Mean? Philadelphia: Basic Civitas Books, 2007. ———. “Rap Culture, The Church, and American Society.” In Black Sacred Music: A Journal of Theomusicology: Sacred Music of the Secular City, edited by Jon Michael Spencer, 268–274. Durham: Duke University Press, 1992. Fernando, S. H. “Back In the Day: 1975-1979.” In The Vibe History of Hip Hop, edited by Alan Light, 13–21. New York: Random House Publishing, 1999. Levine, Lawrence. Black Culture and Black Consciousness Afro-American Folk Thought From Slavery to Freedom. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford, 2007. Rose, Tricia. Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. Hanover: University Press of New England, 1994. Smitherman, Geneva. Talkin That Talk: African-American Language and Culture. New York: Routledge, 1999. Spencer, Jon Michael. “Introduction of Rap.” In Black Sacred Music: A Journal of Theomusicology: Sacred Music of the Secular City, edited by Jon Michael Spencer, 265. Durham: Duke University Press, 1992. West, Cornel. “On Afro-American Popular Music: From Bebop to Rap.” In Black Sacred Music: A Journal of Theomusicology: Sacred Music of the Secular City, edited by Jon Michael Spencer, 282–294. Durham: Duke University Press, 1992.

DISCOGRAPHY Andre Benjamin and Antwan Patton (Outkast), vocal performance of “Church,” by Antwan Patton, Kevin Kendricks, Andre Benjamin, Myrna Crenshaw and Patrick Brown, recorded in 2001-2003, on Speaker Boxxx/The Love Below (LaFace/Arista, 2003), 2 compact discs. Clifford Harris, vocal performance of “Praying For Help,” by Clifford Harris, recorded in 2004, on Urban Legend (Atlantic Records, 2004), compact disc. Common and D’Angelo. Like Water For Chocolate. Geffen Records, 2000, compact disc. Dr. Dre featuring Snoop Dogg, Daz Dillinger, Kurupt, and Jewell. The Chronic. Death Row/ Interscope Records, 1992, compact disc. Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five. The Message. Sugar Hill Records, 1993, compact disc. Originally released in 1982. Kanye West. College Dropout. Roc-A-Fella Records/Island Def Jam Recordings, 2004, compact disc. Lauryn Hill. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. Columbia Records, 1998, compact disc. T. I. Urban Legend. Atlantic Records, 2004, compact disc. Travis Porter. Make it Rain. Jive Records, 2010, compact disc.

Chapter Seven

Performing Spirituality: Lil Wayne’s Letters from a New York Jail Sharon Lauricella

By 2007, platinum hip hop artist Lil Wayne (born Dwayne Michael Carter, Jr.) 1 had become a rap superstar. His freestyles and popular mixtapes in the South propelled his popularity north; on July 22, 2007, the New Orleans native performed to a sold-out crowd at New York City’s Beacon Theatre. Police presence that night was extensive, and following the show, Carter was arrested for attempted gun possession. 2 New York’s tough gun laws demanded a one-year prison sentence for the Grammy Award-winning rapper, and his prison stint on Rikers Island began on March 8, 2010. The circumstances surrounding Carter’s uncommon live performance in New York led to a similarly exceptional public performance online. While in prison, Lil Wayne posted letters to a blog in order to maintain contact with his fans. The site, www.weezythanxyou.com, hosts ten letters from Wayne, together with thousands of comments from fans. The blog entries express immense mutual gratitude, positivity, encouragement, and a pervasive sense of spirituality and religiousness. This paper considers the content of Lil Wayne’s letters from Rikers, together with posted comments from fans in the context of spiritual communication and participatory media. The blog posts are analyzed by considering that the act of writing—and in this case, blogging—is a performing art. For Lil Wayne, the performance of writing is a spiritual act, and it is argued that participatory media (in this case, a famous person’s blog from prison) can facilitate connections on a religious/spiritual level. The simultaneous expressions of spirituality and popular culture are considered in the context of Black music history, noting that the sacred (or religious) and the profane (popular or irreverent) have often coexisted in Black music and culture. 95

96

Sharon Lauricella

THE PLACE OF HIP HOP IN CURRENT RESEARCH Over the last decade, hip hop has received increased attention, with research growing in areas such as hip hop’s significance to linguistics, 3 culture, 4 and feminism. 5 Hip hop has been analyzed in historical context as a reflection of the disenfranchisement of Black youth, 6 and it has been argued that hip hop is compromised by the White-dominated music industry. 7 Rose eloquently suggests that rap music is the voice of a movement already present in communities. 8 The historical context of hip hop music shows that the culture and messages in hip hop are part of a larger community movement. Reed offers a clear chronology of the interplay between spirituality and the more rugged, public concept of music. 9 According to Reed, West Africans, accustomed to a combination of religion, music, and daily life, began to separate spiritual, in-church music from the more “public” expressions of music once they were moved to North America as slaves. Reed traces the link between Black music and spirituality from colonization to the post-Civil war period to Motown, and addresses modern spiritual concepts with popular culture via gangsta rap artist Tupac Shakur’s lyrics. 10 Reed illustrates that Black music, as influenced by history and culture, is—and has been—at once sacred (or, religious and holy) and profane (or, popular, irreverent, and secular). While the coexistence of both the sacred and profane in Black music and culture is evident, the degree to which they are expressed simultaneously or separately has fluctuated throughout modern history. Accounts of the history and context of Black music and spirituality have primarily addressed Christian denominations. However, Sorett traces the history of hip hop through the African Diaspora, and does so via an examination of Islam and a more explicit account of White supremacy in North America. 11 Similarly, Kelley 12 and Chang 13 link hip hop to Black history and culture. Historical accounts of hip hop offer a telling story of how music, spirituality, and culture are inextricably linked, thus necessitating a fuller concept of hip hop as a spiritual and cultural expression. Hip hop can therefore be considered a current manifestation of both the holy and profane, making religious/spiritual utterances while maintaining its place in popular culture. Hip hop is multifaceted and, like other genres, embodies a variety of styles. Cornel West identified the importance of what he considers the more desirable “prophetic” hip hop, which is characterized by political nuances, a culture of protest and social commentary. 14 Artists associated with the prophetic hip hop movement include Lauryn Hill, Nas, Talib Kweli, Mos Def, Common, and Dead Prez. Prophetic hip hop stands in contrast to “gangsta” or “Constantinian” hip hop, the more “popular,” top-40 rap characterized by a glorification of gang violence, misogyny, drug use, and extravagance. Jazz

Performing Spirituality

97

great Wynton Marsalis, in his aversion to Constantianian and gangsta hip hop, called this kind of rap “ghetto minstrelsy.” 15 Although both politics and culture are featured in prophetic hip hop, another defining element in this genre is spirituality. Sorett 16 traces the trajectory of spirituality in rap back to MC Hammer’s gospel track, “Son of the King” on his 1987 debut album Let’s Get it Started. In 1996 Nas showed his devotion by titling his 1996 album It Is Written and his 2001 release God’s Son. References to God have even been made by 50 Cent in his tracks “Many Men” and “Gotta Make it to Heaven.” In a valiant move by a top-40 artist, Kanye West released “Jesus Walks” in 2004; it was the third single from his debut album The College Dropout. Despite its nonconformity to “popular” rap—it openly embraced religion and spirituality—“Jesus Walks” was West’s fourth top-20 hit and reached #11 on the Billboard 100. Other notable rap artists with a spiritual message include P. Diddy, whose 1999 track “Best Friend” described his relationship with God, and Lupe Fiasco, who remixed West’s “Jesus Walks” into the Muslim version “Muhammad Walks,” and began his 2006 album Lupe Fiasco’s Food and Liquor with a Muslim prayer. A handful of Christian rappers have been identified, including the Gospel Gangstaz 17 and other gospel rap acts. 18 While spiritual overtones in rap music have been noted, religious communities have also attempted to bring youth to the church by using rap and hip hop music in services. 19 Rev. Timothy Holder 20 sought to connect with youth in South Bronx, and introduced the unconventional Hip Hop Prayer Book which exhibits a “rebirth and remix” of the church. 21 While much of hip hop’s spiritual tones are Christian in convention, Pinn and Miller identify the diversity of religious and spiritual tones in rap music, and suggest that rather than being doctrine-specific, one also can consider hip hop an expression of the link between religion and culture. 22 Pinn poses the challenge to examine hip hop culture in a way that avoids its Christianization, such that we are able better to understand rap music as “a terrain for the articulation of religious struggle and redemption.” 23 Sorett similarly suggests that religious diversity, rather than adherence to a specific orthodoxy, is a defining characteristic of rap music. 24 Examples of this observed diversity include Nava’s outline of the Brown experience in hip hop theology, 25 and Kirk-Duggan’s examination of Lauryn Hill and Tupac Shakur’s creation of verse to reflect upon God and spirituality as they relate to the human experience. 26 Spirituality, then, can be considered an “existing sentiment . . . being nurtured by the [hip hop] community.” 27

98

Sharon Lauricella

ANALYZING A RAP ARTIST’S PRISON BLOG Confinement to a prison cell leaves one with much time for reflection and thought, and in some cases, the opportunity for creativity and self-expression. Several well-known figures wrote letters to the public much like Lil Wayne did from Rikers. The oldest and perhaps best-known in religious circles include biblical chapters Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, and Philemon, which originated as letters written by Paul while being held prisoner in Rome. Martin Luther King Jr.’s, Letter from Birmingham Jail was written during his incarceration in Alabama; King gave pieces of the letter to his lawyer and the letter was constructed bit by bit. 28 Much of Nelson Mandela’s autobiography Long Walk to Freedom was also written in secret during his imprisonment on Robben Island by the apartheid regime in South Africa. 29 The less admirable Hitler dictated the first volume of Mein Kampf while imprisoned in a Bavarian fortress. 30 Written self-expression while in prison is not limited to famous or political figures. One of the first blogs from prison is Shaun Attwood’s pseudonymous Jon’s Jail Journal, which was written both creatively and clandestinely while imprisoned in Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Maricopa County Jail system. 31 The blog developed into a recently published book, 32 which outlines the atrocities in the notorious system by “America’s Toughest Sheriff.” Other prison bloggers include Ben Gunn in Ben’s Prison Blog 33 and the blog of death row inmate Vernon Lee Evans, Meet Vernon, which was created as part of a campaign for a stay of execution for Evans, a convicted murderer. 34 Lil Wayne’s prison blog is less of a political commentary than, for example, King’s, Mandela’s, or Attwood’s. Wayne suggests that he wanted to write to the blog in order to maintain contact with his fans. The blog, then, could stand in lieu of face-to-face performances; without a stage presence, the blog could maintain alternative contact. This attempt is not far-fetched, as Greenblatt argues, “writing is a performance, like singing an aria or dancing a jig.” 35 Similarly, Rheingold suggests that writing (such as communicating with faraway virtual friends, as he did) is a performing art. 36 This paper suggests that Wayne’s blog postings, which included personal reflections, accounts of life in prison, and “shout outs” to specific fans were his way of “performing” in the public, online forum during his imprisonment. One could argue that, in keeping with the notion of “performance,” that the weezythanxyou.com blog was a public relations strategy to maintain an alternative stage presence. The blog would keep Wayne top of mind to fans, and encourage personal contact in the form of comments made to Wayne’s postings. In other words, one may suggest that the blog was a public relations “stunt” in order to garner publicity from his prison sentence given that there is no way to verify that the words posted to the blog were Wayne’s own. Nevertheless, in an interview with Rolling Stone, Wayne discussed his im-

Performing Spirituality

99

prisonment and spirituality, indicating that while in prison, he read the Bible, and “it was deep.” 37 Wayne continued to post to the same blog address subsequent to his release, and has not attempted to disassociate himself from the spiritual and emotional overtones posted to the blog during his imprisonment. While we do not know if each word was Wayne’s own, it is reasonable to take the blog entries on good faith and have confidence that they were the words of the self-appointed “greatest rapper alive.” An additional reason to believe that the blog is legitimate is that it was kept during a time of crisis, and exhibits characteristics of spiritual coping. Zinnbauer, Pargament, and Scott identified that when facing a life crisis such as divorce, illness, or bereavement, many people engage in religious/spiritual methods of coping. 38 Approaches such as appraising God’s will, recognizing the opportunity for spiritual growth, and identifying feelings of support and partnership with God are all useful in helping people to cope with the demands and challenges in life. Hochheimer also notes that our awareness of the Life Force often becomes heightened in times of crisis. 39 It can be safely assumed that a prison sentence would be considered a life crisis, thus allowing us to specifically consider the legitimacy of the religious and spiritual overtones in Lil Wayne’s blog. I consider participatory media, in this case, as a channel for spiritual communication. More and more people have turned to the internet as a means of working through personal challenges and/or expressing themselves. It is therefore meaningful that religious and spiritual coping is, in this instance, combined with a web presence. Blogging has become a means of expressing oneself politically, 40 communicating with others in times of illness, 41 and logging one’s experiences in the context of hobbies such as travel 42 or cooking. 43 According to Blood, “freestyle blogs are nothing less than an outbreak of self-expression.” 44 Lil Wayne’s example of religious coping is one such self-expression; it is at once public and personal, both secular and profane. It is in this context of self-expression, or writing as a performing act, 45 that we consider Lil Wayne’s blog from prison. METHODOLOGY Background to the Blog The weezythanxyou.com website was launched on April 2, 2010. The site contains ten blog posts (called “letters”) penned by Wayne and subsequently posted on the blog by an assistant. 46 The initial letter posted on the launch date was entitled, “Gone 'til November.” The final entry from Rikers was dated November 2, 2010, entitled, “The End of a Long Journey.” By February 7, 2011, there were a total of 17,898 comments to the letters posted by site viewers. The initial posting of April 2, 2010 attracted the most com-

100

Sharon Lauricella

ments, with 5,275 postings; the letter with the fewest comments (426) was dated September 13, 2010. Traffic on the site peaked on November 5, 2010, with a maximum of approximately 49,000 viewers, according to Quantcast.com. 47 Another peak in viewership was exhibited in early April 2010, with approximately 36,000 viewers accessing the site. 48 Viewership at these times was likely highest given publicity surrounding Lil Wayne’s release from prison on November 4, and the site’s debut on April 2, almost one month after Lil Wayne’s entry to Rikers on March 8. According to estimates by Alexa.com, approximately 52 percent of visitors to the weezythanxyou.com website view the site from the United States. In comparison with internet averages, the majority of the site’s users tend to be under the age of thirty-five. Viewers are disproportionately childless, moderately educated men, most of whom browse the website from school. 49 Analysis To analyze the letters, a grounded theoretical approach was employed to code the data. 50 The author and a research assistant conducted independent analyses of the data and a coding scheme was agreed upon. The data was again independently coded in an initial line-by-line coding process. The total number of lines in the letters equalled 1009. The average length of a letter was 101 lines, the longest being Letter 7, posted on September 28, 2010, totalling 265 lines, and the shortest Letter 8, dated October 7 at 17 lines. Comments on the letters totaled nearly 18,000; therefore, a sample of comments to the blog was analyzed. The first 100 comments posted to each letter were chosen, as it was expected that the most enthusiastic fans would have been among the first to read and make comments to new posts. Through dialogue between the coders, twenty-three categories were established for the data in the letters, which were further coded into fifteen broader categories. Sixteen categories were established for the comments from fans. Many comments to the blog were included in several categories (i.e., a full comment could be considered both “encouragement” and “prayer”), thus comments were coded according to the individual making the post. Inter-rater reliability for coding a sample of posts using this categorization scheme was calculated by means of the Phi coefficient. 51 Results were acceptable at 0.87. RESULTS There were seven categories that most frequently occurred in the line-by-line coding of letters from Rikers. Table 1 shows the categories occurring in more than 5 percent of the lines of data. As seen in Table 1, the overwhelming majority of lines in Wayne’s letters were sentiments of gratitude. Love con-

Performing Spirituality

101

stituted 28 percent of lines in Wayne’s Rikers letters, while encouragement, God/prayer, and specific compliments to fans each comprised 10 percent of the lines posted in the blog. Among the sample of comments from fans under analysis (a total of 1000 comments), many were expressions of several categories (for example, a single line could carry two codes, such as “inspiration” and “location” if a fan posted that Wayne was the individual’s inspiration for him or her in a particular city or country). The most frequently attributed coding categories in the blog’s comments were encouragement and gratitude, followed closely by expressions of love and anticipation. Table 2 shows the categories occurring in more than 5 percent of the individual comments from fans. References to prayer were included in every “letter” or blog post that Wayne sent from Rikers. Each blog post mentioned prayer in some form, whether a quoted prayer, reports of praying for fans or a plea for fans to pray for him during his incarceration. Letters 1 and 2 contained full prayers at the conclusion of the post, Letter 7 is concluded with a reference to Psalm 64, and Letter 9 references John 14:1. In the sample of 1,000 comments analyzed, fan comments to every letter included references to spirituality. In the sample of 1,000 comments analyzed, 18 percent contained allusions to God (“If God bring [sic] you to it, he will bring you through it”) or prayer (“I continue to pray for you and your safety while you’re locked up, as well as the safety [of] your children”). While remarks about prayer and God were the most obvious representations of spirituality in the blog, other sentiments relative to spirituality abound in letters from Wayne and comments from fans. Gratitude and an attitude of thankfulness were pervasive throughout both sides of the communication. Analysis of the blog indicated that 69 percent of the content of Wayne’s posted letters included expressions of gratitude (primarily to fans, but also to family members and other rap artists). The sample of comments Table 7.1. Most Frequently Occurring Categories in Letters from Rikers Category

% in Letters from Rikers

Gratitude

69

Love

28

Encouragement

10

God/prayer

10

Compliments

10

Communication (references to the blog or receipt of letters/mail, “shout outs”)

8

Personal references (private responses to specific letters)

6

102

Sharon Lauricella

Table 7.2. Most Frequently Occurring Categories in Comments to the Weezythanxyou Blog Category

% in Comments from Fans

Encouragement

35

Admiration

35

Love

32

Anticipation (of Wayne’s release and/or new music)

24

God/prayer

17

Communication (references to the blog or receipt of letters/mail, “shout outs”)

16

Music/Young Money/Cash Money Label

14

Inspiration

11

Location (fan’s city/contry)

11

“Free Weezy” slogan

11

Positive comment about a specific blog post

8

Missing (Wayne and/or his music)

7

Gratitude

6

showed that 6 percent of comments from fans were expressions of gratitude directly to Wayne. Love is another spiritual element that comprised a large part of both the letters from Lil Wayne and comments posted by fans. Letter 3, entitled, “I love you all,” references Wayne’s affection for his fans. Sentiments of love for his supporters, love of being alive, and affection for family members constituted 28 percent of the content of his letters posted to the blog. Similarly, 32 percent of posted comments from fans were expressions of love, primarily for Wayne and/or his music. Another element adding to the positivity of the blog is the notion of encouragement. 10 percent of the content of Lil Wayne’s letters was expressions of encouragement directed to a specific fan that he stated by name (“stay positive,” “stay focused”). Content of the sample of comments to the blog indicated that 35 percent of the content of comments was expressions of encouragement (“keep your head up,” “may your time b [sic] shorter and may your mind b [sic] stronger”). Letters from Wayne posted to the blog did not contain any references to violence, sex, drugs, crime, or materialism.

Performing Spirituality

103

DISCUSSION Use of Spirituality in Crisis Overall, the tone of both the letters from Wayne and comments from fans posted to the weezythanxyou.com blog is a performance of positivity, mutual support, and spirituality. Encouragement and gratitude are pervasive in the blog posts and comments, and Wayne provides a spiritual overtone for the blog by publicly requesting a sacred connection with his fans. He references his practice of daily prayer and appeals that his fans reciprocate: “I’ll continue to pray for all of you. Just keep doing the same for me” (Letter 8). Four of the letters posted from Rikers conclude with prayers or scripture. Interestingly, Letter 7 concludes with the words, “Psalm 64.” This Psalm is addressed to the “Director of Music,” “Choirmaster,” or “Chief Musician,” and is a Psalm of David. Inclusion of this reference implies that Wayne was well aware of the meaning of this Psalm, and it may have some deeper meaning given that the same blog post contains references to his colleagues at Young Money Entertainment. One’s connection with spirituality in times of personal crisis tends to increase. Practices such as prayer are helpful in coping with life challenges 52 including health crises, 53 economic challenges, 54 and sexual abuse. 55 It is clear that Wayne engaged in spiritual practices in order to cope with his incarceration. Transparency in employing spirituality in the coping process was extensive, for 100 percent of his letters contained allusions to God, prayer, and/or scripture. Similarly, nearly one-fifth of the comments from fans were spiritual in nature. Supporters posted comments responding to his request for a spiritual connection: “IM KEEPN U N MII PRAYERZ [sic]” (Comment 50, Letter 1), “hey weezy, you take care and remember you have alot of people that pray for u and yours everyday. Your truly blessed. You have inspired alot of people [sic]” (Comment 3, Letter 3) and “I continue to pray for you.” (Comment 54, Letter 7). Such spiritual support from fans was in direct response to Wayne’s plea for his fans to pray for him. One comment from a fan remarked on the tone of spirituality in the letters Wayne posted from prison: “I didn’t know your [sic] so religious! I’m glad God could help you so much, and the love and prayers of us your fans too!” (Comment 70, Letter 10). In this case, Wayne clearly performs spirituality during his time of personal crisis. Humility and Suffering Lil Wayne also performs humility and suffering throughout the Letters that he posted from Rikers. In Letter 8 he writes, “I don’t think people truly understand how much their thoughts and well wishes have helped me

104

Sharon Lauricella

through this time in my life. Not everyone is as lucky as I am and it humbles me daily.” The abundant expressions of encouragement from fans, constituting 35 percent of the content of comments to the blog, show a sense of humility and gratitude. Letter 10 clearly shows this performance of humility: “I thank you all for being so very supportive, as I never imagined how much impact my words and life can have.” Fans also noticed this sense of modesty. One posted a comment relative to Wayne’s modesty: “Man- can’t believe how humble you are!! I’m going to add you to my prayer list! Keep on keepin on!” (Comment 68, Letter 9). In this case, the performance of humility encouraged a deeper and more personal connection with fans. Discourse made possible by the blog facilitated a deeper understanding by the public of Lil Wayne as a sufferer, for he disclosed his frustrations about being in prison: “Even writing this, it’s tough to come to grips with the fact I cannot spend this special day [Mother’s Day] with you [Wayne’s mother]” (Letter 2). Wayne also expresses the monotony of prison life in Letter 5: “Well ain’t nothing going on in here but the time, which seems like it’s taking forever. I’m trying to make the most out of every second tho, mentally.” Such expressions reveal frustration and suffering, although such emotions are laced with positivity in his desire to make the most of his time, to think positively, and express love for the people in his life. Here, the performance is one of honesty and modesty; this performance is acknowledged and appreciated by fans. Positivity One of the most significant performances of positivity identified in the blog was the mutual expressions of encouragement. Wayne personally replied to fan letters received via mail by posting personal notes at the conclusion of his blog entries. One-tenth of the content of the letters from the blog was personal notes of encouragement to fans relative to their aspirations or challenges. For example, in Letter 3 Wayne wrote, “Lucife—STAY IN SCHOOL! And keep writing.” Wayne identified Jamel Hawkins in Letter 4 by name and posts words of encouragement: “Stick with the music, keep it positive.” A mutual sense of encouragement was evident in the blog, with 35 percent of the comments posted from fans in the sample analyzed being sentiments of encouragement. Common expressions include encouraging Wayne to remain positive throughout his time in prison: “Don’t let these tough times bring you down, You ar [sic] the best rapper alive:D” (Comment 66, Letter 4). This mutual sense of encouragement is another performance of the sense of connection that is evident between a musician and his fans. Performances of love throughout the blog were abundant. Over one-fifth of the content of Wayne’s letters from prison were expressions of love, and nearly one-third of comments from fans in the sample are articulations of

Performing Spirituality

105

love. 56 While Wayne expressed love for his children, loving life, his colleagues at Young Money Entertainment, and fans, comments posted to the blog from fans were primarily expressions of love for Wayne as an individual and also for his music. Wayne concludes Letter 3 with, “Love and appreciate life. God bless.” One of the most interesting expressions of love is in Letter 2, “A Mother’s Worth.” The purpose of this letter was to honor mothers, which Wayne did profusely: To the mothers of my beautiful children, there remains nothing but love, adoration, and respect coming from my heart . . . my own mother, Mrs. Cita. You are my heart and your [sic] are my soul. . . . Mom, I love you more than you will ever know. Probably more than I love my own self. Enjoy Mother’s day because you deserve it.

This unabashed performance of affection for the women in Wayne’s life characterizes Letter 2. Such affection for Wayne’s mother is not terribly surprising, because, after his father abandoned the family, his mother raised him. Performances of adoration for the mothers of his children (Wayne has fathered four children with four different women) is somewhat more surprising. To publicly laud the mothers of his children, and to cite love and respect with such sincerity is notable. Wayne further expresses that the women in his life—not himself—are role models. Such expressions of affection and humility (particularly toward women) are in direct contrast to many of Wayne’s rap lyrics. 57 Gratitude The largest proportion of comments in the Letters from prison posted by Lil Wayne were sentiments of gratitude; 69 percent of the content of his letters expressed thankfulness. Gratitude, or counting one’s blessings, is clearly a spiritual factor in the blog. The component of gratitude took form in both the performance of narratives in Wayne’s letters, as well as his direct comments to fans posted in the blog. For example, Letter 7 includes, “. . . my fans, you are the best in the world. When reading those letters, you never cease to amaze me with your love. I am forever grateful.” Similarly, Wayne concludes Letter 2: “To everyone, again, I cannot stress this enough, thank you so, so much for the support.” Direct comments to fans are usually characterized by an expression of thanks from Wayne, and a direct comment to the fan relative to his or her letter. For example Wayne writes, “Erica Da Rosa— Thanx for the love babe. You’re in my prayers” and, “Cameron Lovett— Thanx for the love & respect” (Letter 7). Such comments are typical of Wayne’s expressions of gratitude directly to fans, and show intent to identify and thank individuals who made a difference during his imprisonment.

106

Sharon Lauricella

It is evident that the performances of gratitude, encouragement, and humility are closely related. As letters poured in to Wayne (there were so many that they were considered a fire hazard by prison staff, 58 he took the opportunity to perform online and personally and publicly thank his fans “as much as I can” (Letter 3). It is evident that this well-known rap star was not fully aware of his influence on fans. His final letter from prison included the sentiment, “I thank you all for being so very supportive, as I never imagined how much impact my words and life can have” (Letter 10). Similarly, Letter 4 includes, “I never imagined that I could have such an impact on people’s lives. Because of this, I vow to be a bit more careful of what I say.” Communication from and with fans opened the opportunity to expose a more humble, unassuming voice from Rikers rather than the arrogant, materialistic voice heard in many of his rap lyrics. Participatory Culture and Black Music As an incarcerated Black music artist, Lil Wayne performed his suffering, understanding, humility, and spirituality via the weezythanxyou.com blog. Reed has shown how Black music and spirituality have been intertwined throughout history; Lil Wayne’s blog is an embodiment of the “sacred and profane” to which Reed refers. It is a performance of both a spiritual expression and a popular, or public, articulation. The blog is an example of the progression of the sacred and profane in modern hip hop culture, for it embodies spirituality while it is written by a rapper best known for lyrics which boast about money, sex, and fame. This combination is acceptable in the context of the history of Black music and culture, and the blog stands as an example of the religious/spiritual within a secular context. Given the prolific comments from fans, Lil Wayne’s blog is also an example of how participatory culture has come in step with the religious/ spiritual in popular context. Rheingold emphasizes the community evident in computing, and others similarly suggest that computer-mediated communication allows for people to form emotional attachments to one another. 59 The current analysis demonstrates the sense of community and emotional attachment formed via a blog. For example, in Wayne’s final post from Rikers, he wrote, “I laughed with some of you, reasoned with some of you, and even cried with some of you” (Letter 10). Such comments demonstrate the emotional connection that Wayne made with his fans. Similarly, fans made comments such as, “I have so much love in my heart for you and I can feel the sincerity in the words that you say, just like your music. Praying for you always . . .” (Comment 27, Letter 1). In such cases, which are characteristic of many fan comments, the blog facilitated expression and connection. The weezythanxyou.com blog is an example of how a community which would be considered within the framework of popular culture meets, via participato-

Performing Spirituality

107

ry media, with religious/spiritual expression. The hip hop community, with its inherent sacred undertones, was expressed and active 60 via Lil Wayne’s blog from prison. According to Driscoll, the use of technology in this case should not be surprising, for technological innovation “is a fundamental characteristic of participation in hip hop culture.” 61 CONCLUSION Prior to his prison stint, Lil Wayne had the look and swagger of rap’s exemplar stars. Lough’s documentary The Carter exemplifies this image, exposing Wayne’s sizzurp 62 and marijuana use, misogynistic attitude toward sex, abundance of tattoos, and materialism. Lyrics of some of Lil Wayne’s popular raps such as the 2007 track, “Lollipop” 63 and his upbringing in New Orleans’s tough Hollygrove neighborhood contributed to this “gangsta rap” image. However, while The Carter focused on Wayne’s use of substances and self-centred attitude, it also included glimpses into his spirituality. For example, the film includes a clip during which Wayne led a prayer with his crew by joining hands and praying, “Dear God, we come to you again tonight. We thank you for that first off. Thou shalt let this be another great successful show. Thou shalt let everyone enjoy the show and enjoy themselves and make it back to their destination safely, including us. Amen.” Wayne’s spirituality was therefore already established before his prison stint. Elements evident in Lil’ Wayne’s blog from prison, including performances of prayer, references to scripture, positivity, gratitude, love, and encouragement worked in concert to produce an amplified sense of modesty and an unmistakable sense of spirituality. Letters written by Wayne and posted to the blog make it clear that over his eight months of imprisonment that communication from fans instilled in him a heightened sense of humility, and that support from friends, family, and fans was of great assistance in coping with his incarceration. Greenblatt argues that writing is a performing act. 64 This analysis of Lil Wayne’s blog from prison suggests that keeping the blog was indeed a performance. It was one which facilitated contact with others, served as a coping strategy, and was a means of self-expression. Over 18,000 fans “attended” Wayne’s performances online via the blog by means of making comments, and still others read the blog and connected with Wayne in this online medium. The weezythanxyou.com blog presents a different, perhaps more whole, image of Lil Wayne. The blog challenges Wayne’s image as a puerile, selfish, and misogynistic rapper. While still recognizing and lauding his roots, Wayne reveals a grateful, sincere persona and not only expresses a great deal of spirituality in his own letters, but also encourages his fans to pray, and to find courage, strength, and happiness. His unabashed embrace of spirituality

108

Sharon Lauricella

is notable, for as a well-known artist in this genre, his embrace therein suggests that spirituality is a welcome and meaningful part of the hip hop community. Given the rich and vibrant history of Black music and its intrinsic connection between the sacred and the profane, Lil Wayne’s blog can be considered a modern performance of the link between the sacred (in this case, prayer and coping) and the profane (connections via popular music and technology). The expression of spiritual overtones in a digital communication format is different from that which had been done by any other rap artist to date. Going beyond lyrics and “performing spirituality” in the digital realm is a notable shift in the acceptability of spirituality in the hip hop community, particularly in its invitation for the audience, in active form, to be involved. NOTES 1. Additional nicknames for Lil Wayne include “Weezy,” “Tune,” “Tunechi,” and combinations such as, “Lil’ Weezy,” etc. 2. Shaheem Reid, “Lil Wayne’s New York Arrest: What Happened that Night?” MTV, October 23, 2009, accessed April 29, 2011. http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1624592/lilwaynes-new-york-arrest-what-happened-that-night.jhtml. 3. H. Samy Alim, “On Some Serious Next Millennium Rap Ishh,” Journal of English Linguistics 31.1 (2003): 60–84, accessed April 21, 2011. doi:10.1177/0075424202250619; H. Samy Alim, Roc the Mic Right: The Language of Hip Hop Culture (New York: Routledge, 2006); Adam Bradley, Book of Rhymes: The Poetics of Hip Hop (New York: Basic Civitas Books, 2009); Marcyliena Morgan, “‘Nuthin' but a G Thang’: Grammar and Language Ideology in Hip Hop Identity, in Sociocultural and Historical Contexts of African-American Vernacular English, ed. Sonja Lanehart (Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 2001): 187-209. 4. Charis E. Kubrin, “Gangstas,Thugs and Hustlas: Identity and the Code of the Street in Rap Music,” Social Problems 52, no. 3 (2005): 360–378; Jeffrey Ogbar, Hip Hop Revolution: The Culture and Politics of Rap (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 2009); Imani Perry, Prophets of the Hood: Politics and Poetics in Hip Hop (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004); Anthony B. Pinn and Monica R. Miller, “Introduction: Intersections of Culture and Religion in African-American Communities,” Culture and Religion 10.1 (2009): 1–9, accessed April 28, 2011. doi:10.1080/14755610902786270; Tricia Rose, The Hip Hop Wars: What We Talk About When We Talk About Hip Hop—And Why it Matters (New York: Basic Civitas Books, 2008). 5. Wilma J. Henry, “Hip Hop Feminism: A Standpoint to Enhance the Positive SelfIdentity of Black College Women,” Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice 47.2 (2010): 139–156; Jennifer Pemberton, “‘Now I Ain't Sayin' She's a Gold Digger’: AfricanAmerican Femininities in Rap Music Lyrics” (PhD diss., Florida State University, 2008), accessed April 27, 2011. http://etd.lib.fsu.edu/theses/available/etd-04062008-130736/unrestricted/PembertonJSpring2008.pdf; T. Denean Sharpley-Whiting, Pimp’s Up, Ho’s Down: Hip-Hop’s Hold on Young Black Women (New York: New York University Press, 2008). 6. Cheryl L. Keyes, Rap Music and Street Consciousness (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2004). 7. Norman Kelley, Rhythm and Business: The Political Economy of Black Music (New York: Akashic Books, 2005). 8. Lauren Kennedy, “Music, Social Justice and Market Manipulations: An Interview with Professor Tricia Rose,” Fish Rap Newspaper, UC Santa Cruz, May 2005, accessed April 27, 2011. http://www.triciarose.com/commentary_fishrap.shtml.

Performing Spirituality

109

9. Teresa Reed, The Holy Profane: Religion in Black Popular Music (Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky, 2003). 10. Ibid., 148–160. 11. Josef Sorett, “‘Believe Me, This Pimp Game is Very Religious’: Toward a Religious History of Hip Hop,” Culture and Religion 10.1 (2009): 11–22, accessed January 28, 2011, doi:10.1080/14755610902786288; Josef Sorett, “Black Church: A Mix of Faith, Entertainment,” CNN, September 13, 2010, accessed April 27, 2011. http://edition.cnn.com/2010/OPINION /09/12/Sorett.church.entertainment/index.html?iref=24hours. 12. Robin D. G. Kelley, Race Rebels: Culture, Politics, and the Black Working Class (New York: The Free Press, 1994). 13. Jeff Chang, Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation (New York: Picador, 2005). 14. Cornel West, Democracy Matters: Winning the Fight against Imperialism (New York: Penguin Press, 2004). 15. John Lewis, “Shock of the New,” The Guardian, March 2, 2007, accessed April 27, 2011. http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2007/mar/02/jazz. 16. Josef Sorett, “Hip-Hop Religion and Spiritual Sampling in a ‘Post-Racial’ Age,” Religion Dispatches, March 24, 2010, accessed May 3, 2011. http://www.religiondispatches.org/ books /culture/2281/hip-hop_religion_and_spiritual_sampling_in_a_ percentE2 percent80 percent9Cpost-racial percentE2 percent80 percent9D_age/. 17. John B. Hatch, “Rhetorical Synthesis Through a (Rap)prochement of Identities: Hip Hop and the Gospel According to the Gospel Gangstaz,” Journal of Communication and Religion 25 (2002): 228–267. 18. Cheryl R. Gooch, “Rappin’ for the Lord: The Uses of Gospel Rap and Contemporary Music in Black Religious Communities,” in Religion & Mass Media: Audiences & Adaptations, ed. D. A. Stout and J. M. Buddenbaum (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1996): 228–242. 19. Nate Herpich, “‘Shake it Out for Jesus’: Churches Co-opt Hip Hop,” Christian Science Monitor, January 6, 2006, accessed April 27, 2011. http://www.csmonitor.com/2006/0106/ p01s02-ussc.html; Jason B. Johnson, “Churches Try Holy Hip-Hop: Ministries Take to Genre to Attract More Young People,” The San Francisco Chronicle, January 31, 2006, accessed April 27, 2011, http://articles.sfgate.com/2006-01-31/bay-area/17279416_1_hip-hop-gospelrap-negative-rap. 20. Timothy Holder, The Hip Hop Prayer Book (New York: Church Publishing Incorporated, 2006). 21. Matthew C. Maddex, “Remixing and Rebirthing the Church: The Hip Hop Prayer Book as an Unconventional Tool to Bring the Altar to the Streets,” paper presented at the annual meeting of the NCA 94th Annual Convention, San Diego, CA, accessed April 27, 2011, http:// www.allacademic.com/meta/p258065_index.html. 22. Pinn and Miller, “Intersections of Culture and Religion,” 3. 23. Anthony B. Pinn, “Rap Music Culture and Religion: Concluding Thoughts,” Culture and Religion 10.1 (2009): 106, accessed April 28, 2011, doi:10.1080/14755610902786361. 24. Sorett, “Believe Me, This Pimp Game is Very Religious,” 19. 25. Alexander Nava, “The Browning of Theological Thought in the Hip Hop Generation,” in Creating Ourselves: African-Americans and Hispanic Americans on Popular Culture and Religious Expression, ed. Anthony B. Pinn and Benjamin Valentín (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009), 181–198. 26. Cheryl A. Kirk-Duggan, “The Theo-Poetic Theological Ethics of Lauryn Hill and Tupac Shakur,” in Creating Ourselves: African-Americans and Hispanic Americans on Popular Culture and Religious Expression, ed. Anthony B. Pinn and Benjamin Valentín (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009), 204–233. 27. Lauren Kennedy, “Music, Social Justice and Market Manipulations: An Interview with Professor Tricia Rose,” Fish Rap Newspaper, UC Santa Cruz, May 2005, para. 4, accessed April 27, 2011, http://www.triciarose.com/commentary_fishrap.shtml. 28. Martin Luther King, Jr., Letter from Birmingham Jail (1963), accessed December 21, 2011. http://www.stanford.edu/group/King/frequentdocs/birmingham.pdf. 29. Nelson R. Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom (New York: Back Bay Books, 1995).

110

Sharon Lauricella

30. Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf, translated by R. Manheim (New York: Reynal & Hitchcock, 1939). 31. Shaun Attwood, http://jonsjailjournal.blogspot.com/2009/12/welcome-guardian-readers-i-started-jons.html, accessed February 4, 2012. 32. Shaun Attwood, Hard Time (Edinburgh: Mainstream Publishing Co., 2011). 33. Ben Gunn, http://prisonerben.blogspot.com/, accessed February 4, 2012. 34. Vernon Lee Evans, http://meetvernon.blogspot.com/, accessed February 4, 2012. 35. Stephen Greenblatt, “Writing as Performance,” Harvard Magazine, September-October 2007, para. 1. Accessed December 20, 2011. http://harvardmagazine.com/2007/09/writing-asperformance.html. 36. Howard Rheingold, The Virtual Community: Homesteading on the Electronic Frontier (Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley, 1993). 37. Josh Eells, “Return of the Hip-Hop King,” Rolling Stone 1123, February 3, 2011: 44–49, 78. 38. Brian J. Zinnbauer, Kenneth I. Pargament, and Allie B. Scott, “The Emerging Meanings of Religiousness and Spirituality: Problems and Prospects,” Journal of Personality 67.6 (1999): 889–919. 39. Hochheimer, “Toward a Theoretical Foundation,” 3. 40. Janet Johnson, “Blogs and Dialogism in the 2008 United States Presidential Campaign”(PhD diss., Texas Woman’s University, 2010), retrieved July 8, 2011 from Dissertations & Theses: Full Text (Publication No. AAT 3414407). 41. Sujin Kim and Deborah S. Chung, “Characteristics of Cancer Blog Users,” Journal of the Medical Library Association 95.4 (2007): 445–450. doi: 10.3163/1536-5050.95.4.445. 42. Carmela Bosangit, Scott McCabe, and Sally Hibbert, “What is Told in Travel Blogs? Exploring Travel Blogs for Consumer Narrative Analysis,” Information and Communication Technologies in Tourism 2 (2009): 61–71. doi: 10.1007/978-3-211-93971-0_6. 43. Anita Blanchard, “Blogs and Virtual Communities: Identifying a Sense of Community in the Julie/Julia Project,” Into the Blogosphere: Rhetoric, Community and Culture of Weblogs, ed. Laura Gurak, Smiljana Antonijevic, Laurie Johnson, Clancy Ratcliff, and Jessica Reyman (University of Minnesota, 2004), accessed February 3, 2011, http://blog.lib.umn.edu/blogosphere. 44. Rebecca Blood, “Weblogs: A History and Perspective,” September 7, 2000, accessed July 7, 2011, www.rebeccablood.net/essays/weblog_history.html. 45. Greenblatt, 2007; Rheingold, 1993. 46. Eells, 2011, 47. 47. Quantcast.com, accessed January 28, 2011, www.quantcast.com/ www.weezythanxyou.com. 48. Quantcast.com. 49. Alexa.com, accessed April 20, 2011, http://www.alexa.com/siteinfo/weezythanxyou.com#. 50. Kathy Charmaz, Constructing Grounded Theory: A Practical Guide Through Qualitative Analysis (Los Angeles: Sage Publications, 2006). 51. William A. Scott, “Reliability of Content Analysis: The Case of Nominal Scale Coding,” Public Opinion Quarterly 19 (1955): 321–325, accessed April 27, 2011, http:// poq.oxfordjournals.org/content/19/3/321.full.pdf. 52. Mary K. Bade and Stephen W. Cook, “Functions of Christian Prayer in the Coping Process,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 47.1 (2008): 123–133, accessed April 21, 2011. doi: 10.1111/j.1468-5906.2008.00396.x; Charles S. Carver, Michael F. Scheier, and Jagdish Kumari Weintraub, “Assessing Coping Strategies: A Theoretically Based Approach,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 56.2 (1989): 267–283; Kenneth I. Pargament, Spiritually Integrated Psychotherapy: Understanding and Addressing the Sacred (New York: The Guildford Press, 2007), 10. 53. E. James Baesler, Valerian J. Derlega, Barbara A. Winstead, and Anita Barbee, “Prayer as Interpersonal Coping in the Lives of Mothers with HIV,” Women & Therapy 26 (2003): 283–295.

Performing Spirituality

111

54. Andrew Clark and Orsolya Lelkes, “Deliver us from Evil: Religion as Insurance.” PER Working Paper 06/03, European Center for Social Welfare Policy and Research (December 2005), accessed April 21, 2011, http://www.pse.ens.fr/clark/DeliverDec05.pdf. 55. Nichole A. Murray-Swank and Kenneth I. Pargament, “God, Where Are You?: Evaluating a Spiritually-Integrated Intervention for Sexual Abuse,” Mental Health, Religion & Culture 8.3 (2005):191–203, accessed April 27, 2011. doi: 10.1080/13694670500138866. 56. A comment was only categorized “love” if it included the specific word “love.” Expressions of admiration or adoration without the word “love” were not included in this coding category. 57. For example, the track “Bedrock” was a top-40 hit for Lil Wayne and Young Money Entertainment artists, reaching #2 on the Billboard Chart on the week ending March 13, 2010. Wayne’s lyrics on this track include, “I’m attracted to her, for her attractive ass . . . I knock her lights out, and she still shine.” Young Money feat. Lloyd 2009. 58. Eells, 2011, 47. 59. Henry Jenkins, Katie Clinton, Ravi Purushotma, Alice J. Robison, and Margaret Weigel, “Confronting the Challenges of Participatory Culture: Media Education for the 21st Century,” The MacArthur Foundation, 2006, Accessed July 7, 2011, http://digitallearning.macfound.org/ atf/cf/%7B7E45C7E0-A3E0-4B89-AC9C-E807E1B0AE4E percent7D/JENKINS_WHITE_PAPER.PDF. 60. Jenkins argues for the active nature of fans. See Jenkins, et al., “Confronting the Challenges.” 61. Kevin Driscoll, “Stepping Your Game Up: Technical Innovation Among Young People of Color in Hip-Hop” (MSc diss., Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2009), 17, accessed July 7, 2011, http://cms.mit.edu/research/theses/KevinDriscoll2009.pdf. 62. Sizzurp is a liquid mixture, usually purple in color, of promethazine with codeine, flavored soda and a Jolly Rancher in a Styrofoam cup. 63. The more conservative lyrics on this track include, “Shawty wanna l-l-lick me like a lollipop . . . So I let her lick the rapper” (Lil Wayne 2007). 64. Greenblatt, 2007.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Alexa.com. Accessed April 20, 2011. http://www.alexa.com/siteinfo/weezythanxyou.com#. Alim, H. Samy. “On Some Serious Next Millennium Rap Ishh.” Journal of English Linguistics 31.1 (2003) : 60–84. Accessed April 21, 2011. doi:10.1177/0075424202250619. –––. Roc the Mic Right: The Language of Hip Hop Culture. New York: Routledge, 2006. Attwood, S. Hard Time. Edinburgh: Mainstream Publishing Co., 2011. Bade, Mary K., and Stephen W. Cook. “Functions of Christian Prayer in the Coping Process.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 47.1 (2008): 123–133. Accessed April 21, 2011. doi: 10.1111/j.1468-5906.2008.00396.x. Baesler, E. James, Valerian J. Derlega, Barbara A. Winstead, and Anita Barbee. “Prayer as Interpersonal Coping in the Lives of Mothers with HIV.” Women & Therapy 26 (2003): 283-295. Blanchard, Anita. “Blogs and Virtual Communities: Identifying a Sense of Community in the Julie/Julia Project.” Into the Blogosphere: Rhetoric, Community and Culture of Weblogs, edited by Laura Gurak, Smiljana Antonijevic, Laurie Johnson, Clancy Ratcliff, and Jessica Reyman (University of Minnesota, 2004). Accessed February 3, 2011. http:// blog.lib.umn.edu/blogosphere. Blood, Rebecca. “Weblogs: A History and Perspective.” September 7, 2000. Accessed July 7, 2011. www.rebeccablood.net/essays/weblog_history.html. Bosangit, Carmela, Scott McCabe and Sally Hibbert. “What is Told in Travel Blogs? Exploring Travel Blogs for Consumer Narrative Analysis.” Information and Communication Technologies in Tourism 2 (2009): 61–71. doi: 10.1007/978-3-211-93971-0_6. Bradley, Adam. Book of Rhymes: The Poetics of Hip Hop. New York: Basic Civitas Books, 2009.

112

Sharon Lauricella

The Carter. 2009. Produced by Adam Bhala Lough. 75:32. Sundance Film Festival, QD3 Entertainment, DVD. Carver, Charles S., Michael F. Scheier, and Jagdish Kumari Weintraub. “Assessing Coping Strategies: A Theoretically Based Approach.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 56.2 (1989): 267–283. Chang, Jeff. Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation. New York: Picador, 2005. Charmaz, Kathy. Constructing Grounded Theory: A Practical Guide Through Qualitative Analysis. Los Angeles: Sage Publications, 2006. Clark, Andrew and Orsolya Lelkes. “Deliver us from Evil: Religion as Insurance.” PER Working Paper 06/03, European Center for Social Welfare Policy and Research (December 2005). Accessed April 21, 2011. http://www.pse.ens.fr/clark/DeliverDec05.pdf. Driscoll, Kevin. “Stepping Your Game Up: Technical Innovation Among Young People of Color in Hip-Hop.” MSc disseratation, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2009. Accessed July 7, 2011. http://cms.mit.edu/research/theses/KevinDriscoll2009.pdf. Eells, Josh. “Return of the Hip-Hop King.” Rolling Stone 1123 (February 3, 2011): 44–49, 78. Evans, Vernon Lee. Meet Vernon. Accessed December 20, 2011. http://meetvernon.blogspot.com/2005/03/introduction.html. Gooch, Cheryl R. “Rappin' for the Lord: The Uses of Gospel Rap and Contemporary Music in Black Religious Communities.” In Religion & Mass Media: Audiences & Adaptations, edited by D. A. Stout and J. M. Buddenbaum, 228–242. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1996. Greenblatt, Stephen. “Writing as Performance.” Harvard Magazine, September-October 2007. Accessed December 20, 2011. http://harvardmagazine.com/2007/09/writing-as-performance.html. Gunn, Ben. Ben’s Prison Blog. Accessed December 20, 2011. http://www.blogger.com/profile/ 14923205052778958118. Hatch, John B. “Rhetorical Synthesis Through a (Rap)prochement of Identities: Hip Hop and the Gospel According to the Gospel Gangstaz.” Journal of Communication and Religion 25 (2002): 228–267. Henry, Wilma J. “Hip Hop Feminism: A Standpoint to Enhance the Positive Self-Identity of Black College Women.” Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice 47.2 (2010): 139–156. Herpich, Nate. “‘Shake it Out for Jesus’: Churches Co-opt Hip Hop.” Christian Science Monitor, January 6, 2006. Accessed April 27, 2011. http://www.csmonitor.com/2006/0106/ p01s02-ussc.html. Hitler, A. Mein Kampf. Translated by R. Manheim. New York: Reynal & Hitchcock, 1939. Hochheimer, John. “Imagination and the Life Force: Toward a Theoretical Foundation for Spirituality and Communication.” (Award Winner: Top Paper Category, Spiritual Communication Division). Paper presented at the annual meeting of the NCA 95th Annual Convention, Chicago, 2009. Holder, Timothy. The Hip Hop Prayer Book. New York: Church Publishing Incorporated, 2006. Jenkins, Henry, Katie Clinton, Ravi Purushotma, Alice J. Robison, and Margaret Weigel. “Confronting the Challenges of Participatory Culture: Media Education for the 21st Century.” The MacArthur Foundation, 2006. Accessed July 7, 2011, http://digitallearning.macfound.org/atf/cf/%7B7E45C7E0-A3E0-4B89-AC9C-E807E1B0AE4E percent7D/ JENKINS_WHITE_PAPER.PDF. Johnson, Janet. “Blogs and Dialogism in the 2008 United States Presidential Campaign.” PhD dissertation, Texas Woman’s University, 2010. Retrieved July 8, 2011 from Dissertations & Theses: Full Text. Publication No. AAT 3414407. Johnson, Jason B. “Churches Try Holy Hip-Hop: Ministries Take to Genre to Attract More Young People.” The San Francisco Chronicle, January 31, 2006. Accessed April 27, 2011. http://articles.sfgate.com/2006-01-31/bay-area/17279416_1_hip-hop-gospel-rap-negativerap. Kelley, Norman. Rhythm and Business: The Political Economy of Black Music. New York: Akashic Books, 2005.

Performing Spirituality

113

Kelley, Robin D.G. Race Rebels: Culture, Politics and the Black Working Class. New York: The Free Press, 1994. Kennedy, Lauren. “Music, Social Justice and Market Manipulations: An Interview with Professor Tricia Rose.” Fish Rap Newspaper, UC Santa Cruz, May 2005. Accessed April 27, 2011. http://www.triciarose.com/commentary_fishrap.shtml. Keyes, Cheryl L. Rap Music and Street Consciousness. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2002. –––. Rap Music and Street Consciousness. Champaign: University of Illinois, 2004. Kim, Sujin and Chung, Deborah S. “Characteristics of Cancer Blog Users.” Journal of the Medical Library Association 95.4 (2007): 445–450. doi: 10.3163/1536-5050.95.4.445. King, Martin Luther, Jr. Letter from Birmingham Jail. 1963. Accessed December 21, 2011. http://www.stanford.edu/group/King/frequentdocs/birmingham.pdf. Kirk-Duggan, Cheryl A. “The Theo-Poetic Theological Ethics of Lauryn Hill and Tupac Shakur.” In Creating Ourselves: African-Americans and Hispanic Americans on Popular Culture and Religious Expression, edited by Anthony B. Pinn and Benjamin Valentín, 204–223. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009. Kubrin, Charis E. “Gangstas,Thugs and Hustlas: Identity and the Code of the Street in Rap Music.” Social Problems 52.3 (2005): 360–378. Lewis, John. “Shock of the New.” The Guardian, March 2, 2007. Accessed April 27, 2011. http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2007/mar/02/jazz. Lil Wayne. “Lollipop.” On Tha Carter III. New Orleans, LA: Cash Money Records, 2007. mp3. Maddex, Matthew C. “Remixing and Rebirthing the Church: The Hip Hop Prayer Book as an Unconventional Tool to Bring the Altar to the Streets.” Paper presented at the annual meeting of the NCA 94th Annual Convention, San Diego, CA, 2008. Accessed April 27, 2011. http://www.allacademic.com/meta/p258065_index.html. Mandela, Nelson R. Long Walk to Freedom. New York: Back Bay Books, 1995. Morgan, Marcyliena. “‘Nuthin' but a G Thang’: Grammar and Language Ideology in Hip Hop Identity.” In Sociocultural and Historical Contexts of African-American Vernacular English, edited by Sonja Lanehart, 187–209. Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 2001. Murray-Swank, Nichole A. and Kenneth I. Pargament. “God, Where Are You?: Evaluating a Spiritually-Integrated Intervention for Sexual Abuse.” Mental Health, Religion & Culture 8.3 (2005): 191–203. Accessed April 27, 2011. doi: 10.1080/13694670500138866. Nava, Alexander. “The Browning of Theological Thought in the Hip Hop Generation.” In Creating Ourselves: African-Americans and Hispanic Americans on Popular Culture and Religious Expression, edited by Anthony B. Pinn and Benjamin Valentín, 181-198. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009. Ogbar, Jeffrey. Hip Hop Revolution: The Culture and Politics of Rap. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2009. Pargament, Kenneth I. Spiritually Integrated Psychotherapy: Understanding and Addressing the Sacred. New York: The Guildford Press, 2007. Pemberton, Jennifer. “‘Now I Ain't Sayin' She's a Gold Digger’: African-American Femininities in Rap Music Lyrics.” PhD dissertation, Florida State University, 2008. Accessed April 27, 2011. http://etd.lib.fsu.edu/theses/available/etd-04062008-130736/unrestricted/PembertonJSpring2008.pdf. Perry, Imani. Prophets of the Hood: Politics and Poetics in Hip Hop. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004. Pinn, Anthony B. “Rap Music Culture and Religion: Concluding Thoughts.” Culture and Religion 10.1 (2009): 97–108. Accessed April 28, 2011. doi:10.1080/14755610902786361. Pinn, Anthony B. and Monica R. Miller. “Introduction: Intersections of Culture and Religion in African-American Communities.” Culture and Religion 10.1 (2009): 1–9. Accessed April 28, 2011. doi:10.1080/14755610902786270. Quantcast.com. Accessed January 28, 2011. www.quantcast.com/www.weezythanxyou.com. Reed, Teresa. The Holy Profane: Religion in Black Popular Music. Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky, 2003.

114

Sharon Lauricella

Reid, Shaheem. “Lil Wayne’s New York Arrest: What Happened That Night?” MTV, October 23, 2009. Accessed April 29, 2011. http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1624592/lil-waynesnew-york-arrest-what-happened-that-night.jhtml. Rheingold, Howard. The Virtual Community: Homesteading on the Electronic Frontier. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley, 1993. Rose, Tricia. The Hip Hop Wars: What We Talk About When We Talk About Hip Hop—And Why it Matters. New York: Basic Civitas Books, 2008. Scott, William A. “Reliability of Content Analysis: The Case of Nominal Scale Coding.” Public Opinion Quarterly 19 (1955): 321–325. Accessed April 27, 2011. http:// poq.oxfordjournals.org/content/19/3/321.full.pdf. Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean. Pimp's Up, Ho's Down: Hip Hop's Hold on Young Black Women. New York: New York University Press, 2008. Sorett, J. “‘Believe Me, This Pimp Game is Very Religious’: Toward a Religious History of Hip Hop.” Culture and Religion 10.1 (2009): 11–22. Accessed April 28, 2011. doi:10.1080/ 14755610902786288. –––. “Black Church: A Mix of Faith, Entertainment,” CNN, September 13, 2010. Accessed April 27, 2011. http://edition.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/09/12/ Sorett.church.entertainment/ index.html?iref=24hours. –––. “Hip-Hop Religion and Spiritual Sampling in a ‘Post-Racial’ Age.” Religion Dispatches, March 24, 2010. Accessed May 3, 2011. http://www.religiondispatches.org/books/culture/ 2281/hip-hop_religion_and_spiritual_sampling_in_a_ percentE2 percent80 percent9Cpostracial percentE2 percent80 percent9D_age/. West, Cornel. Democracy Matters: Winning the Fight Against Imperialism. New York: Penguin Press, 2004. Young Money feat. Lloyd. “BedRock.” On BedRock. New Orleans: Cash Money Records, 2009. mp3. Zinnbauer, Brian J., Kenneth I. Pargament, and Allie B. Scott. “The Emerging Meanings of Religiousness and Spirituality: Problems and Prospects.” Journal of Personality 67.6 (1999): 889–919.

Hip Hop and Religion

115

Chapter Eight

Rap with Soul and Pray with Flow: Youth on Hip Hop Musicality and Catholic Spirituality Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza

INTRODUCTION Hip hop moves youth, but what does it mean to be spiritual and to come up in the hip hop scene? With this question in mind, we gathered half a dozen youth from L.A. and asked them what hip hop musicality has to do with spirituality. Specifically we were interested in how hip hop and spirituality influence the way Catholic youth understand themselves and how it affects their lives. We also sought to understand the interplay between hip hop and Catholic culture. Early in the interviews, it became clear that both hip hop and spirituality played an active role in constructing identity of the youth in our sample. We found that hip hop deeply affected youth with powerful prayer experiences and songs with ego-shaping messages. North and Hargreaves (1999) promote that music plays a powerful role in adolescent identity. It serves as a “badge” function used both to interpret others and to express the self, which is similar to Goffman's (1971) notion of tie signs, which signify social alliance. Musical genres provide resources for the self, as well as cues for interpretation. For instance, Clay (2003) argues that African-American youth use hip hop to authenticate their Black identity. We found that hip hop and spirituality overlap in identities of the youth we studied in politicized and layered ways, consistent with the notion of crystallized selves forwarded by Tracy and Trethewey (2005). Keeping with Tracy and Trethewey’s suggestion, understanding the identity of spiritual, hip hop youth requires moving beyond the real/fake self dichotomy. 117

118

Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza

Connection and expression have equally important parts to play, as the youth had a lot to say about unity and community. Of course, young people can feel crushed by rejection (Thompson & Grace 2001) and worry about inclusion fragility and rejection contagion (Leets & Sunwolf 2003). In this case, however, there seemed to be more going on than kids just trying to be “cool.” Their musical and religious connections shaped them. Peer groups are, after all, key in developing autonomous morality (Cole & Cole 2001), and prosocial behavior leads to higher levels of moral reasoning (Eisenberg & Fabes 1998). In addition to forging young selves and new connections, we found hip hop and spirituality offer interpretations of each other. Specifically, the culture of hip hop and the culture of the Catholic Church create an intercultural space, and each has lessons about how the other culture should be taken. Chen and Starosta (2008) teach that negotiating intercultural space leads to a rise in emotional competence. Cultures can also serve as counterbalances for each other. Asante (2008) asserts that we should use Afrocentric cultures to remedy certain elements of Eurocentric ideologies. In the case of these youth, hip hop (classically tied to Black realities) and Catholicism are certainly in dialogue with each other. First, we investigate extant literature related to hip hop, spirituality, and youth. Specifically, we look to ways rappers incorporate spiritual messages into their art, how religious communities integrate hip hop into their mission, and how cultural critics read these overlaps. This leads to our research questions and the qualitative research methodologies we use to answer them. Finally, we report our findings and discuss their implications. Hip Hop and Spirituality Josef Sorett (2009) argues that the history of hip hop gains much depth when one reads it from a religious perspective. Rappers draw on various religious and spiritual resources for word play and message and, in turn, offer cultural reflections on the sacred in contemporary times. While many frame hip hop and religion as major points of contention, the history of hip hop suggests religiosity is the rule rather than the exception. According to Sorett (2009), Islam had a profound impact on hip hop’s early years in the 1970s. Islamic traditions, such as the Nation of Islam and Five Percenters (the Nation of Gods and Earths) not only set the stage for blending spiritual truths with the hip hop musical form, but also their lyrics became part of the hip hop vernacular (Sorett 2009). MC Hammer’s “Son of the King” first incorporated Christianity in 1987. Since then, examples of religiously infused rap include The Wu-Tang Clan, Common, and Nas. In recent years, Kanye West’s single “Jesus Walks” and Ja Rule’s album Rule 3:36 exemplify that religiously bent hip hop can hold up in the mainstream market.

Rap with Soul and Pray with Flow

119

Rappers drawing on religion are only one part of the equation, as religious institutions also draw on rap. The ministry of Episcopal Priest Timothy Holder, the creator of the hip hop mass, comingles the message and form of Christian liturgy with the street vernacular of hip hop in an effort to meet people, particularly urban youth, where they are (Davies 2004). Holder also offers a Christian/hip hop translation in the Hip Hop Prayer Book. The psalm “The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul,” may have spoken to agrarian Jews in 1000 B.C. who may have actually been shepherds or at least known one. The metaphor may carry less salience for urban youth who may not have grass in their yard much less have ever seen a sheep. Holder’s remedy is Psalm 23 in hip hop style: “The Lord is all that, I need for nothing. He allows me to chill. He keeps me from being heated and allows me to breathe easy” (Holder 2006). Rev. Stephen Pogue also puts on hip hop masses in Harlem with the help of Kurtis Blow, rapper, producer, and now ordained minister (Herpich 2006). Finally, books such as Jesus and the Hip Hop Prophets (Teeter and Gee 2003) blend the language and realities of urban life in order to deliver Christian messages. While hip hop artists and religious leaders often blend ends and means, philosopher-activist Cornel West does not believe all religious activity and hip hop is admirable. In his book Democracy Matters, West offers a two-part taxonomy identifying a parallel trend operating in both cultural spaces of hip hop and religion. West distinguishes between what he calls Constantinian Christians and prophetic Christians. Constantinian Christians blend power and religion and so are named for being the ideological successors of Constantine, the fourth century Roman Emperor who West claims co-opted Christianity for political power. On the other hand, prophetic Christians are awareness-raisers and justice-seekers; they have been exemplified by the libratory efforts of Dorothy Day and Martian Luther King. West goes on to extend this distinction to hip hop culture by differentiating Constantinian hip hop that co-opts cultural forms for material gain (think violent, materialistic, and misogynistic lyrics often found in the Top-40) and prophetic hip hop that reveals inequity and promises to transform society (such as Mos Def, Talib Kweli, Dead Prez, and Common). Tricia Rose (2008) echoes this distinction in what she calls conscious versus commercialized hip hop. West’s distinction lays out an economic/political terrain in which spirituality and musicality reside. However, simple categorization into the prophetic bucket or Constantinian bucket is not easy. The artist Common, although often placed in the prophetic camp, warns, “Preaching turns people off. . . . Don't beat people over the head with it. It's like eating healthy food—you want it to taste good. You can't just give them a meal with no flavor. You've got to add that sauce” (Vognar 2007). While Common may have gained his popularity with “I used to love H.E.R.,” which famously lays out how over-

120

Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza

commercialization soiled hip hop, he resists seeing his work as purely podium. KRS-One calls striking this balance “edutainment.” While “conscimmercialized” does not roll off the tongue, the point is made. These artists more or less affirm that there can be fun hip hop and healthy hip hop, but that these are actually on two separate axes. The goal is to create healthy, fun hip hop. P. Diddy muddies the distinction even more. In an MTV interview, Diddy frames the spirituality of hip hop within an older tradition. I always relate hip-hop to our old Negro spirituals. They were sung in the cotton fields to help us get by, to help us not kill ourselves by going crazy [under] the worst oppression in the world. The music, the soulfulness, the spiritualness expressed in song helped us to get through another day. That's the same impact hip-hop has had on this generation. People could try to undermine it, but it's honestly the truth. Hip-hop has helped us make it through our life in the inner cities. (Reid 2007)

In addition to illuminating a spiritual dimension of hip hop, one can read Diddy’s reflection as a caution against hastily claiming that popular hip hop is non-spiritual. This is not to say that all hip hop is ultimately good or that West’s or Rose’s critiques are wrong, but that even culturally problematic art may have an emancipatory part to play. Perhaps when speaking of an oppressed people, entertainment is a form of salvation. Whether in the rap game to gain a profit or be a prophet, the spirit moves. Youth and young adults figure prominently in hip hop culture. Black and white, urban and suburban, the youth are listening. Moreover, people have opinions about it. Rev. Al Sharpton draws an analogy to electricity. “It can be used negatively or positively. The same electric current that lights up your house can also electrocute you. It is the misuse of hip hop culture to attack our women and promote violence” (Anonymous 2000). Sharpton considers gansta rappers “well-paid slaves” who have sold out to record executives and sees loose-fitting clothing as “prison clothing.” LL Cool J turns the blame away from artists by claiming, “The thing that is going to make your child do or feel negative things is a lack of good parenting. Now, if you try to let BET or MTV raise your child, then you are going to have a problem” (Anonymous 2000). Music mogul Russell Simmons casts hip hop positively by arguing that the movement has globalized Black plight and made the wide non-black audience more sensitive to the realities of inner-city life. Still others, like G. Craige Lewis, have an entirely negative view. Lewis asserts, that clearly hip hop is a clever tool of the devil to corrupt black youth. Heavy metal got white kids to bite the heads off bats, but black kids needed something else. Lewis travels among Black Pentecostal Churches claiming to be on a direct mission from God against the culture of hip hop (Hyde 2005). Lewis positions himself in opposition to the holy hip

Rap with Soul and Pray with Flow

121

hop forwarded by Holder, Blow, and others who blend the musical form with religion. Hip hop’s spiritual history varies widely across religions, and no single belief claim unifies the genre. However, Sorett argues that hip hop reflects the “particular experiences of primarily black youth living in the United States’ post-industrial urban centers” and that its “otherwise heterodox collection of post-soul spiritualities bore witness to the lived (and imagined) realities of black youth reluctant to align themselves with the religious institutions of their elders” (12). However, what about non-black, religiously aligned youth? In a sense, one can interpret the project at hand as an extension of Sorett’s explanation of hip hop spirituality to a broader group. As Sharpton, Lewis, and other cultural commentators opine about the impact of hip hop culture and spiritual matters, youth who consume it are not part of the conversation. Widespread sales mean hip hop has fans, but the voices of the youth are curiously missing from the spiritual discussion. Is hip hop sacred? Is it profane? Scholars, activists, parents, preachers, and artists all have a say. What do the youth say? Youth not only have an excellent pulse on the movements of the genre, but they also have their own position on spirituality, religious education, and engagement with sacred mysteries. ENGAGING THE CULTURE Building on the practical and theoretical overlap of hip hop and spirituality, this project investigates the lived intersections between the two. In the conceptual development phase of the project, we were driven by the basic question “What do hip hop and spirituality have in common?” Extending Sorett’s theorizing about hip hop spirituality, we wanted to focus on youth with exposure to the hip hop movement (Los Angeles) who were also aligned with an orthodox faith (Catholic Church). Research, theorizing, and pre-interviews yielded three more specific research questions. Given the role music and religiosity play in adolescent and youth adult identity formation, we want to know do hip hop and spirituality influence the way Catholic youth understand themselves? Moreover, in light of the social implications of musical and spiritual communities, how do hip hop and spirituality affect their lives, shape their ways of being, and how do youth make sense of being members of both hip hop and Catholic culture? To get at some answers, we did in-depth interviews along with sampling music. We used interviews collaboratively to create detailed personal reflections on the intersection between Catholic youth’s hip hop and spiritual lives. A second point of contact became an ever-growing, suggested playlist. Not only would the youth directly quote songs and offer explanations, but they would also suggest songs that served as exemplars for points they made.

122

Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza

While interviewing two of the youth, they pulled out their iPods and interpreted songs as they played. HIP HOP SPIRITUALITY Growing up in Los Angeles and working there as a youth minister and teacher, the first author came to know a variety of hip hop lovers and through them the culture. In an effort to gain deeper insight into the musical movement of hip hop and its impact on a particularly salient population, we created our first search criteria, hip hop-loving youth. Not only has hip hop historically been inspired by urban youth realities, but also music in general is also often a critical part of a young person’s life. As such, young adults living in the City of Angels seemed a fine place to start. Constructing a hip hop spirituality requires more than an extensive playlist. In addition to loving hip hop, we wanted to interview youth with exposure to religious teachings and experience with spiritual communities. While we could have included any youths who considered themselves spiritual, we chose to focus on a particular religious community not particularly associated with urban youth realities: the Catholic Church. The Catholic Church is largely rooted in tradition and rarely accused of being hip or cutting edge, so we felt that hip hop-loving Catholic youth would have given prior thought to the potential cognitive dissonance between the religion of their childhood and the music of their young adulthood. Therefore, we began snowball sampling for young, hip hop-loving Catholics using connections drawn from the first author’s work as a youth minister in Pasadena. This influenced the demographics of our participant pool. The Catholic Church in Pasadena is predominantly Caucasian and AsianAmerican, with fewer African and Latino-Americans. Because of this, our participants were largely Asian and Caucasian. While this focus was not an a priori determination, we believe delving into the cultural impact of hip hop in a non-black audience has merit. Scholars such as Clay (2003) and Perry (2008) illustrate how hip hop plays a role in constructing Black identity within the United States and beyond. Studying non-black members of the hip hop movement offers an opportunity to see its broader, concentric cultural influences. Six youth contributed to this study through creative, collaborative interviews. In a way, each youth serves as a case study on spirituality and hip hop. We did not select our participants randomly, and our study is not structured to be statistically generalizable. Instead, our intent was faithfully to invoke their voices on a subject about which they have much to say and few stages on which to say it. Readers are invited to make naturalistic generalizations where they see contextual transferability (Kvale 1996). By drawing on qual-

Rap with Soul and Pray with Flow

123

itative methods, we brought together their spoken verse and offered our own academic form of spoken remix. What follows is not the way Catholic youth make sense of hip hop spirituality, but rather several ways. INTERVIEWS Interview questions sought descriptions of hip hop and spiritual exposure and practice. Other questions included definitions of terms, reflections on peak listening and praying experiences, and comparisons between the two lifestyles. Probes used as a “digging tool” (Lindlof and Taylor 2002) allowed the interviews to uncover underlying ideologies and go from first-order answers into more subtle accounts. In addition, we asked the youth a series of openended questions to elicit interpretations of their own responses. We did this to “push forward” the analysis and focus subsequent interviews (Kvale 1996). Each in-depth interview lasted at least one hour. All the youth were male. We recruited participants via email and over the phone using a snowball sampling. We asked each person interviewed if he knew other hip hop Catholic youth. Interviews were held at a time and a place designated by the interviewee, ranging from living rooms to Mexican restaurants. Most of the interviewees were eighteen or nineteen, with one twenty-eight-year-old. 1 The youths’ racial backgrounds included Asian, Caucasian, and Latino. All the youth interviewed had been fans of hip hop for at least five years, were raised Catholic, and had participated in some form of youth group in high school. Five of them attended Catholic high schools, and one attended a public high school. The styles of hip hop the youth identified themselves as listening to included underground, alternative, Top-40, and old school. We transcribed each interview within one week, which yielded sixty pages of typed data. In addition to listening to the youth, we also listened to their music. We listened to approximately eighty songs by dozens of artists directly suggested by the youth. This included Kid Cudi, One Below, Binary Star, Knaan, Immortal Technique, LL Cool J, Dr. Dre, Biggy, Tupac, Wu Tang, Outkast, Eminem, Cyprus Hill, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, Lil Wayne, NAS, Jay-Z, Scarface, Kanye West, Westside Connection, Snoop Dogg, Cannabis, the Beastie Boys, and DMX. We also sampled works of artists identified by our literature review of spirituality and hip hop, including KRS-One, Common, Lauren Hill, Mos Def, Talib Kweli, Dead Prez, Ja Rule, and Kurtis Blow. While listening to suggested songs, scratch notes were taken that reflected on both stylistic dimensions and content. This yielded thirty-five pages of typed data.

124

Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza

DATA ANALYSIS The transcribed interviews and musical sampling scratch notes were read using a process called open coding (Charmaz 2006). This technique produced broad codes, including “community,” “energy,” and “flow.” Guided by these codes, we then performed an in-depth analysis using NVivo qualitative analysis software. An iterative process was used to analyze the data by moving dynamically between interviews, transcription, music sampling, coding, theorizing, and reviewing literature. During the transcription and coding process, we wrote analytic asides when we saw potential sites for theorizing, which in turn changed the way we sampled suggested music. Using the software, we created emergent descriptive and conceptual codes. Finally, we analyzed the codes for co-occurrence and wrote analytic memos describing the shared space between hip hop and spirituality. For instance, notions of self, truth, and expression were rarely referenced apart from each other. By close reading and the reflective process of writing analytic memos, we came to realize that many of the youth framed the truth as not a universal value but a highly personal, authentic expression of the self. These analytic memos served as the foundation for our findings. FINDINGS In the realm of Catholic youth, hip hop and spirituality have various points of overlap. According to the interviewed youth, both hip hop and spirituality increase social awareness, foster connections, influence emotion, offer sites for expression, involve daily practices, reveal the self, alter perception of time, and improve understanding. By probing the co-occurring phenomena between hip hop and spirituality in light of our research questions, we found that (1) the youth saw the self as both socially constructed and as authentic, (2) expression, connection, and community had social and spiritual dimensions, and (3) hip hop and Catholic culture each recursively interpreted the other. “Everybody’s got a Thug Side”: Constructing, Revealing, and Prophesying Self True expression is a remedy for loneliness. In the ecosystem of young adulthood, the self is both a blessing and a curse. Chronic self-consciousness is a real threat when youth are pressured to be both individuals and part of the group. Being a fan of hip hop can help a youth integrate into a friend group, which may solve the problem of acceptance. “Got into it in the sixth grade. It all started with dirty rap—all the kids were saying—ah this is cool,” said David, a nineteen-year-old Asian-American. However, the youth also report

Rap with Soul and Pray with Flow

125

that social pretending can threaten feeling like an individual. Fortunately, good hip hop can help solve this crisis too. The youth enact their identity in order to fit in, which is consonant with a performative approach to identity. In her work concerning ideal selves, Wieland (2010) defines the dramaturgical self as a process of identity construction, “a normative activity through which socially acceptable ideals of whom one should be are woven into an individual’s understanding of whom he or she is.” Andy, an eighteen-year-old Asian hip hop-lover with a mean fadeaway said, “A huge social habit almost everyone has in high school these days is acting black.” The youth in our interviews reinforce constructivist accounts of self. They use resources provided by friends and artists to make themselves. However, they are not only their front-stage selves. They report that too much front-stage acting leads to a lingering sense of inauthenticity. Although the self is made, it can be made wrong. Andy later said, “I never think of what the artists say as my truth because only I can determine that. . . . I see them more as resources, not the book of answers.” Too much attention to and evocation of mainstream fragments of being leaves them feeling empty and false. Ironically, while hip hop is in a way an instrument of their identity crisis, it is also an instrument of their liberation. Running deep in hip hop culture is the ever-thrumming message to “forget society and what it thinks about you.” While the message “Be yourself” is a little different from “I’m a gangsta and I don’t give a fuck,” they accomplish similar inoculation to overreliance on discursively available identity fragments. While some may question the positivity of embracing the thug side of oneself, the youth we interviewed reported differently. Learning to overcome society’s expectations allows them to accept themselves, which leads to more self-confidence and ability to socialize. Andy: Kid Cudi [Andy’s favorite artist], what he promotes is, forget what society wants you to do, forget the person your friends want you to be. Just remember who you want to be. That makes me more confident with who I am and made me accept myself more, regardless of how others accepted me and what others think about me. And that brought me more self confidence and self esteem. Therefore, I was able to become more sociable.

Hip hop is a very real tool for self discovery; self discovery leads to self comfort. Manny (aka Dank Stylez when he raps), an eighteen-year-old Caucasian, claimed hip hop has made him a better person by making him more confident, self aware, and better able to present himself. The majority of youth interviewed professed that the deeper self, to which a person must remain true, has a spiritual dimension. Ray, an 18-year-old Asian-American who writes beats, raps with Manny, and calls himself Ray2Fly, 2 framed spirituality from the perspective of the self. “It’s your

126

Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza

inner self. Spirituality is your spirit, your soul. What you feel inside, not just the physical things, basically your second self in your heart, what you believe in.” In the estimation of the youth, the self is not merely a social construction, but also constituted by a deeper divinity. Part of the joy of hip hop is that through ongoing, reflective consumption a person can reveal new and deeper fragments of his or her soul. Despite the sacred nature of the “second self,” the youth did not posit a permanent or impermeable inner identity. Andy did not hesitate to say he has a purpose that is related to his deeper self. However, when asked what it was, he responded, “I don’t have the full answer to that. I’m still generating my answers.” According to Andy, even his divine self has a partial and changing nature. If his identity has essential characteristics, they are mysterious. In a way, this framing resonates with theories positing socially situated, crystallized selves. For instance, Sean, an eighteen-year-old Caucasian, identified, “What I listen to depends on the group I’m in.” However, the youth retained modernist notions of true selves and emphasized “self-discovery.” While at first this seems paradoxical, recall Cornel West’s Constantinian prophetic distinction. One can interpret the youth’s report of socially fragmented identities as “Constantinian” selves, identities that are shaped by the power, politics, and societal discourses. On the other hand, they testify to having a deep, “prophetic” self that seeks awareness, justice, and liberation. This dichotomy mirrors trends identified by Clay (2008): “Several representations of the production of Black culture conclude that there is an ongoing identity struggle within the Black community. This struggle has been centered on identifying who is ‘authentic’ and who is a ‘sellout.’” According to the youth, the authenticity of the “true” self does not arise from a static inner self but a dynamic relationship between the political and the prophetic. They claim self-acceptance occurs when a person’s social self encounters, understands, and embraces his or her spiritual self. The three-part process of encounter, understand, and embrace was a reoccurring theme. Self-acceptance has its benefits. Self-love leads to wanting to be themselves, which in turn aligns them with their purpose. Self-hatred, on the other hand, prevents a person from seeing his or her purpose. While accepting one’s self is important to the good life, not all deep urgings are divine prodding. Sometimes we operate under illusions of self-satisfaction. We should also note that the relationship to the self bears on relationships with others. Andy suggests a positive correlation between self-satisfaction and openness to others. Finally, selves are not static in location. An artist can put himself “out there.” Manny spoke of putting himself into faith and music, mingling with his work, and doing things with purpose. Through sacrifice, he invests himself into rapping and teaching Confirmation classes to other youth.

Rap with Soul and Pray with Flow

127

Ray: St. Francis, he was really rich back then, before he was a saint. But then he sacrificed everything for nature, for himself, for his cause. I can kind of see putting myself in there. I can see myself sacrificing my time, my effort into music, or I’ll sacrifice my time and effort to practice what I believe in.

Another interpretation of the spiritual self is that it is constituted by belief. Deeply rooted within the spiritual self are the things in which they really believe. Acting in accordance with those beliefs is the road to having purpose and motivation. They make a distinction between “a set of beliefs” and “believing in something.” Sets of beliefs are articulated stances on the nature of things, often espoused by religions. Believing in something, however, involves the solemn investment of the self. Investment of one’s life is not only a dimension of the self, but it is also the beginning of connection. Expression and Connection, Unity and Community Expression is a crucial part of the life of young, hip hop-loving Catholics. They make a distinction between saying something and speaking it. Saying is a mere locutionary act, an empty articulation of speech. Speaking, however, involves illocutionary force that is full of meaning, passion, and honest confession of belief. It is through speaking meaningfully that they express themselves. The youth also are drawn to musical artists they feel exemplify expressiveness. Expression can benefit both the speaker and the listener. It allows speakers to put their experiences into words, which gives them a sense of satisfaction. Putting things into words can also lead to self discovery. Honest expression accomplishes various ends for listeners, as well. If the listener identifies strongly with an artist and the problems discussed in a song, the listener can be comforted by the kindred spirit. Alternatively, even if the reality expressed by the artist does not resonate with the listener, he or she can draw from the artist’s experience, which increases empathy and opens the listener to alternate ways of being. Receiving similar and dissimilar expression can both lead to self discovery—the dimension of expression that draws these young Catholics to hip hop. The various expressions of self by their favorite musical artists become resources for self discovery. We should note, however, that not all expression is positive. Expressivity has thrust, and people who regularly engage in expression that is unaligned with their inner self can lead themselves astray. West’s Constantinian/prophetic distinction has traction here as well. Ray defined fake hip hop as “just saying stuff for the money.” Positive spiritual and musical expression lays the foundation for connection. Connection is a powerful element of hip hop and spirituality. Andy described the connection between artists and listeners. “[The artist] is putting himself at your level. He’s basically talking about you; he’s putting your

128

Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza

voice out there. That connection you have with that artist is amazing.” The youth report various benefits from connecting with artists. The connection offers a site of self discovery. It negates loneliness. Connection with artists creates the feeling of peace and removes burdens, which is a trait the youth also ascribe to spiritual connection. While isolation leads to self-consciousness, connection leads to comfort. Joe, a twenty-eight-year-old half-Caucasian, half-Mexican, attested to the power of spiritual community: “I have opened my heart and mind to others on retreats. In an environment of loving care, I have made connections that I will never forget and that may have changed the way I view humanity forever.” Manny recounted the following anecdote: I told my story at a senior retreat, and afterward one of my classmates I didn’t even know that well came up to me and said, “That’s the same predicament I’m in. And now I know what to do. Thank you so much.” And he gave me a hug, and I was like, no problem. Little things like that mean the world, at least to me.

The type of connection represented here bears resemblance to Buber’s philosophy of dialogue (1937). Buber articulates that deep connection is possible and that such connection occurs when the I realizes it is part of the thou. This is opposed to the I-it relationship, where the I objectifies both itself and the it by coming to it as separate. While Buber idealizes the I-thou relationship, he recognizes that individuals fall in and out of the more transcendent, connected form of relating. While many scholars often stop there when reporting Buber’s philosophy, he goes on to say that the basis for I-thou relations is a deep connection to God, the eternal thou. The similarity between Buber’s account and the ideology of the youth is striking. They talk about overcoming the trivial interactions to having extraordinary connection. They also report that such connection has transformative effects on the way they see themselves, which supports Buber’s distinction between the Is. Even hip hop’s parallel objectifying and subjectifying trends mirror Buber’s assertion that people fall in and out of I-thou and Iit. Recall Common’s warning that an artist cannot message all the time. Connection is practice-driven. Our hip hop-loving Catholics engage in various spiritual practices, including solitary prayer, group prayer, adoration of the Blessed Sacrament (praying in front of the exposed, consecrated Eucharist), meditation, spiritual singing, and chanting. They identify hip hop practices as making beats, rapping, freestyling, tagging, and dancing. The hip hop/spiritual lives of the youth involve some kind of daily performance of one or more of these practices. Not every song gives a deeper vision of the self. “When I add music to my iPod, I add a huge list to listen to and see if I like it and delete later,” said Andy. Likewise, not every prayer leads to a

Rap with Soul and Pray with Flow

129

mind-shattering experience of the divine, evidenced in Ray’s confession, “Every morning [at school] we have to say the prayer of St. Francis, and we don’t, we just mumble it every day.” However, doing something daily opens us to the indwelling of inspiration and opens opportunities for connection. Connection on a broad scale can create community. Joe explained how. “Hip hop has generated a community of listeners. Various spiritual groups have been generated in a similar fashion. Both have methods of reducing one’s self-consciousness so as to participate in a communal event, like prayer, song, and dance.” Both hip hop and spirituality can create community and are often consumed in groups. Community also serves as a stage for deeper spiritual engagement. Ray recounted a powerful communal prayer while adoring the Blessed Sacrament: “Everyone else was crying and close to the monstrance [the vessel used to display the consecrated Eucharist]. This presence started to fill me in here. Everyone was feeling the same way, and then I just felt God was in the room for some reason. We were connecting at a deep level.” Perhaps divinity provides a literal Lebenswelt, a lifeworld of spirited meanings where people can meet. Ray did not describe a telepathic connection that overcomes the bounded self, but rather a changing world of interpreted signs that is best visited with love. Through this, community can provide consistency and shared concerns. Spiritual communities can provide care and instruction to meet spiritual needs. Joe said community “empowers me when I’m feeling beaten down.” However, not all influences of community are positive. Joe, the eldest in the study, also warned about hip hop and the spiritual community’s ability to designate the hatred of others, which can lead to violence. “[Community] is very valuable—almost too important in my opinion. It’s good in the sense that it has consistency and shared concerns, but the community also designates others who are hated so fiercely, violence is often the result.” Joe also raises a concern about possibly oppressive elements of spiritual community. “The ideal spiritual community would provide all people with care and instruction to best meet their spiritual needs; however, I often find spiritual communities to simply enforce orthodoxy from whichever power stands at the top of its hierarchies.” Hip hop and spirituality are powerful ways these six youth experience connection, expression, and community. However, they also provide the caveat that hip hop and spirituality are not the only space for community. Andy: “Everyone has their own connection. There is no universal answer.” As will be discussed below, these youth advocate for multiple ways of being, which is an agenda possibly born from hip hop and Catholic culture comingling. The youth interviewed considered hip hop and spirituality as two important elements of their lives. They were chosen as interviewees to help address the research question: How do youth make sense of being members of both

130

Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza

hip hop and Catholic culture? We found that each culture offers an interpretation of the other and alters the way it is performed. Spirituality Reads Hip Hop The spiritual lives of our young Catholics influence their consumption of hip hop; their faith affects their musical tastes. Manny believed his faith allowed him to understand what he was listening to. A lot of times people are so wrapped up in the beat or the way it’s presented they don’t really get what is being said or the message that the artist is trying to convey. . . . My spirituality has allowed me to understand music on a more personal level and then take it for what I believe and what I’ve been taught. I’m not going to listen to a song about rape or killing people and be like, "Man that was a great song." I’m gonna be like, "I can see where they are coming from, but I don’t agree with it." I’ll make my own interpretation.

The values espoused by their faith community serve as a boundary for what messages are worth taking up. This is not to say they will never listen to a song celebrating sex, drugs, violence, or greed, but they will do so with a more critical ear. Andy said, “I don’t listen to what’s cool. I listen to what’s real to me.” He also considered uncritical consumption a dangerous sign. “If everything that is cool in the media now is real to me, then I think I have a serious problem. If I start to agree with everything on the radio, I will voluntarily go see a therapist.” When given a song by a friend celebrating sexual violence, Manny responded, “I guess everyone sees things differently, but me, coming up in a Catholic background, view it as something we shouldn’t celebrate.” He later described himself as confident in his decisions and upbringing and unwilling to change for others. While it is not uncommon for rappers to celebrate violence, sexual exploits, and money, Catholic cultural values moderate musical messaging. Interpreting hip hop from a spiritual lens also offers a different reading of songs with negative themes. Sean reflected that some unpleasant songs offer valuable lessons. “The spirituality in hip hop is putting a good twist on a bad story.” Some songs that seemingly encourage violence or materialism may serve as form of musical revelation. “Prophecy involves confronting pain and encountering beauty, both for the prophet and whoever listens attentively” (Chilton 2011, ix). Sometimes hip hop makes us uncomfortable because it forces us to attend to that which we try to ignore. Perhaps exposure to the liberatory work of Catholic social teaching encourages the youth to hear music as a form of social critique.

Rap with Soul and Pray with Flow

131

Hip Hop Reads Spirituality Likewise, being part of hip hop culture influences the way young, hip hoploving Catholics approach their Catholicism. Hip hop, with its multicultural origins, serves a broadening function for openness to other types of people. Manny: For a really long time, I thought that if you weren’t Catholic you must be misguided. That’s how I grew up. But now, it’s like, hip hop has so many different types of artists and so many different types of music that fall into the category, that it kinda has allowed me to [see that] the same thing goes for your religion or spirituality. There are so many types of faiths or beliefs that people have you can’t claim it is wrong, you just have to listen to them and see what they have to say. You might not agree with it, but you can appreciate and understand.

Being part of hip hop culture alters the way these youth see beyond the walls of their Catholic community. Although the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches, “[God’s] providence, evident goodness, and saving designs extend to all” (Catechism 842), it is not uncommon for its members to view derogatorily those outside their fold. Indeed, one can take the assertion that Catholicism is the universally true church as a judgment against all outside the visible institution. Instead, the youth in this study regularly personalize claims with statements like, “that’s what I think,” or “for me.” We should not read the youth in this study as ideological pushovers. They strongly assert that being open to encountering, understanding, and embracing people is important, but that is different from agreeing with them. The youth, drawing on diverse cultural resources, demonstrate openness to alternate ways of being. One way to conceptualize this openness is as intercultural competence. Chen and Starosta (2008) assert that “intercultural communication competence demands positive emotions that enable individuals to be sensitive enough to acknowledge and respect cultural differences” (223). They go on to identify this trait as including four dimensions: selfconcept, open-mindedness, nonjudgmental attitudes, and social relaxation. The youth demonstrate all four. In the end, Josef Sorett (2009) may be more right than he knows. He argues that urban, diasporic themes run through hip hop despite heterodox religious claims. As we see youth advocating for openness to other ways of thinking, heterodoxy itself may be a cultural value within the spiritual reality of hip hop. CONCLUSION The intersection of hip hop and spirituality offers insight into scholastic and theological notions of knowing and being. As an analogy, consider the work

132

Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza

of Matthew Fox and the techno-cosmic mass. Fox (1983) blends his theology with elements of raves not only to draw youth, but also to attend to the bodily aspects of worship. In the case of hip hop spirituality, the religious epistemology, or way of thinking, combined with embodied cultural practice brought about ontological transformation, or a change in who they were. We did not merely find religious music lovers. We found a hip hop-enabled performance of an embodied, religious epistemology. On one hand, this way of understanding allowed the youth to critique certain aspects of the Catholic Church, while on the other hand it created the opportunity for Catholic realities to be authentically lived. The youth alter their sense of what is real in their relationship to the divine and Christianity by co-mingling their Catholic upbringing with their lived experiences and immediate musical and spiritual communities. Hip hop Catholic youth conceive of their selves as both real and constructed; participate in authentic expression, connection, and community; and use the space created by each culture to interpret the other. Read separately, these results can offer insight into youth issues. The authentic and constructed selves suggest that youth are influenced by their music and social groups, but also that they are capable of engaging those influences critically. Their account of self also defies easy placement into a conceptual paradigm and implies caution should be taken when generalizing about the nature of identities from theoretic frameworks. Concerning connection, it should surprise few to learn that community is important to youth and young adults. However, their reflections on vivid moments of interconnection serve as an invitation to scholars to not become overly jaded about authentic communication. It also suggests that work on peak communicative experiences are relevant to music and spirituality. Finally, the fact that hip hop and spiritual culture recursively interpret each other demonstrates that intercultural communication theory has more applications than U.S.-Japan business interactions. Some may consider the pacifying of hip hop via Catholicism as a softening of important aspects of hip hop’s militant roots, just as others may interpret the open-mindedness brought to Catholicism by hip hop as a fateful watering down of the Catholic teachings. We, however, find the interaction between cultures a promising testament to the value of multiculturalism. These three findings also can be read simultaneously as constructing a hip hop spirituality. Hip hop spirituality is more than a spiritual experience of music or a musical rendering of spiritual truths. The two traditions resonate in the everyday lives of youth. Hip hop spirituality is the intersection of power and authenticity as many voices construct and reveal the self, the other, and the divine. This is not to say that hip hop and spirituality are the only forms of construction and revelation. Certainly, people have navigated authenticity and power while discovering the self, other, and divine through

Rap with Soul and Pray with Flow

133

practices such as nature, poetry, art, scholarship, knitting, and billiards. However, hip hop and spirituality are a way, a vivid and impactful way, of coming to terms with our humanness. At the end of their interviews, we asked each youth to construct his own version of hip hop spirituality. In the spirit of heterodoxy, we give them the final word. Joe echoed Sorett by highlighting the social component of hip hop spirituality. “[It] would have to be some kind of moral philosophy based on dealing with the real physical needs and impulses of a young, urban humanity based on music.” Manny emphasized the way hip hop spirituality relates to the self. “It’s about having an understanding and faith in yourself. I think hip hop allows you to express feelings on a greater level, and I think spirituality allows you to understand those feelings.” Finally, Ray identified hip hop and spirituality’s common pursuit for truth, which flows from highly personal, authentic expression of the self. It’s truth. It’s self-expression. It’s reflection. It’s connection. That just rhymed. I’m free styling here. Prayer and songs. They are both the same thing. Hip hop songs and prayer are the same thing. You need to put life into it. Hip hop spirituality is putting the life into something to make it legit, authentic, or else it is nothing. That’s what hip hop spirituality is: putting life into something.

NOTES 1. Joe, our twenty-eight-year-old participant, provided a valuable take on the subject of hip hop spirituality. His thinking was impacted by not only a few more years of introspection, but also years of post-secondary education. When we analyzed our data, Joe’s contributions were bracketed from the rest and used as a critical counterpoint to the five younger participants. 2. For music by Dank Stylez and Ray2Fly, see http://soundcloud.com/dank2fly.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Anonymous. “Is Hip-Hop Culture Harming our Youth?” Jet 98 (2000): 30–35. Asante, M. K. “The Ideological Significance of Afrocentricity in Intercultural Communication.” In The Global Intercultural Communication Reader, ed. M. K. Asante, Y. Miike & J. Yin, 47–56. New York: Routledge, 2008. Buber, M. I and Thou. 1937. Reprint, London: Continuum International Publishing Group, 2004. Catholic Church. Catechism of the Catholic Church. 2nd ed. Vatican: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2011. Charmaz, K. Constructing Grounded Theory: A Practical Guide through Qualitative Analysis. Los Angeles: Sage Publications, 2006. Chen, G., and W. J. Starosta. “Intercultural Communication Competence: A Synthesis.” In The Global Intercultural Communication Reader, ed. M. K. Asante, Y. Miike & J. Yin, 215–238. New York: Routledge, 2008. Chilton, B. Introduction to The Pope's War, by M. Fox. New York: Sterling Ethos, 2011. Clay, A. “Keepin’ it Real: Black Youth, Hip-Hop Culture, and Black Identity.” American Behavioral Scientist 46 (2003): 1346–1358. Cole, M. and S. R. Cole. The Development of Children. 4th ed. New York: Worth, 2001.

134

Tim Huffman and Amira De la Garza

Davies, M. “‘Go Forth and Tell it Like It Is’: Roskam Raps at Hip Hop Mass.” Episcopal News Service, 6 July 2004. http://www.episcopalchurch.org/3577_42063_ENG_HTM.htm. Eisenberg, N. and R. Fabes. “Prosocial Development.” In Social, Emotional, and Personality Development. Vol. 3 of Handbook of Child Psychology, ed. W. Damon and N. Eisenberg, 701–778. New York: Wiley, 1998. Fox, M. Original Blessing. Santa Fe, NM: Bear, 1983. Goffman, E. Relations in Public: Microstudies of the Public Order. New York: Basic Books, 1971. Herpich, N. “‘Shake it out for Jesus’: Churches Co-opt Hip-Hop.” The Christian Science Monitor, January 6, 2006. ALL edition, 1. Holder, T. The Hip Hop Prayer Book. New York: Church Publishing, 2006. Hyde, J. “Hip-Hop's Public Enemy; Minister G. Craige Lewis has one Goal: Get Hip-Hop out of the Church. Forever.” Dallas Observer, December 8, 2005. Kvale, S. InterViews. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 1996. Leets, L. and Sunwolf. “Communication Paralysis During Peer-Group Exclusion: Social Dynamics that Prevent Children and Adolescents from Expressing Disagreement.” Journal of Language and Social Psychology 22 (2003): 355–384. Lindlof, T. R., and B. C. Taylor. Qualitative Communication Research Methods. 2nd ed. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 2002. North, A. C., and D. J. Hargreaves. “The Functions of Music in Everyday Life: Redefining the Social in Music Psychology.” Psychology of Music 27 (1999): 71–83. Perry, I. Prophets of the Hood: Politics and Poetics in Hip Hop. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004. Perry, M. “Global Black Self-Fashionings: Hip Hop as Diasporic Space.” Identities—Global Studies in Culture and Power 15 (2008): 635–664. Reid, S. “Finding my Religion: Hip-Hop gets the Spirit.” MTV.com, 2007. http:// www.mtv.com/bands/h/hip_hop_religion/news_feature_071904. Rose, T. The Hip Hop Wars: What We Talk about When We Talk about Hip Hop—And Why it Matters. New York: BasicCivitas, 2008. Sorett, J. “‘Believe me, this Pimp Game is very Religious’: Toward a Religious History of Hip Hop.” Culture and Religion 10 (2009): 11-22. Thompson, M. and C. O. Grace, with L. J. Cohen. Best Friends, Worst Enemies: Understanding the Social Lives of Children. New York: Ballantine, 2001. Tracy, S. J. and A. Trethewey. “Fracturing the Real-Self-Fake-Self Dichotomy: Moving Toward Crystallized Organizational Identities.” Communication Theory 15 (2005): 168–195. Vognar, C. “Hip Hop Artist Common Keeps Passion Alive.” Special from The Dallas Morning News, November 30, 2000, 1. West, C. Democracy Matters: Winning the Fight against Imperialism. New York: The Penguin Press, 2004. Wieland, S. M. B. “Ideal Selves as Resources for the Situated Practice of Identity.” Management Communication Quarterly 24 (2010): 503–528.

Chapter Nine

Embracing the Nation: Hip-Hop, Louis Farrakhan, and Alternative Music Dawn-Marie Gibson

Few religious actors on the U.S. stage have engendered such polarizing opinions as Louis Farrakhan. The Black Muslim leader rose to national and international attention in 1995 when he led the Million Man March in Washington, D.C. Farrakhan’s path to popularity in pockets of the United States can only be understood within the historical framework in which he operates. The liquidation of numerous Civil Rights and Black Nationalist groups in the United States throughout the 1970s left a vacuum in Black Leadership that Farrakhan attempted to fill. Louis Farrakhan’s NOI and cultural Black Nationalism, in the form of rap and Hip-Hop, are products of the same socioeconomic environment. Thus, both share similar concerns about the society surrounding them and ideas about possible prescriptions for social change. Farrakhan and the Nation of Islam (NOI) have enjoyed something of a mutually beneficial relationship with the Hip-Hop world. Hip-Hop artists helped promote the NOI, and its leaders, via their music. Similarly, Farrakhan has mentored and influenced numerous Hip-Hop artists including Sista Souljah, Ja Rule, Ice Cube, and more recently Snoop Dogg. Throughout much of its history NOI members have been forbidden to work in the entertainment industry and particularly in the music industry. Farrakhan finally terminated this prohibition in February 2006 when he established the Ministry of Arts and Culture (MAC) of the NOI. NOI artists including MC Islam and Connie Muhammad have found the MAC to be a forum that enabled them to promote their music, contribute to, and engage with the Hip-Hop mainstream.

135

136

Dawn-Marie Gibson

HIP-HOP’S ROLE IN REVIVING NOI The Nation of Islam (NOI) was undoubtedly the most ambitious and successful Black Nationalist entity to emerge in the United States in the mid-twentieth century. Yet, revelation of its patriarch’s succession of extra-marital affairs and Malcolm X’s assassination in 1965 tarnished the group’s prestige. The death of Elijah Muhammad in 1975 marked the end for the NOI as many knew it. 1 Louis Farrakhan’s efforts to “resurrect” the NOI in the late 1970s and early 1980s met with little success. Indeed, many barely knew the group outside of the confines of Chicago and Harlem in the 1980s when rap music emerged. As late as 1984, for example, the NOI’s newspaper, The Final Call was only being published irregularly with “a press run of about 25,000.” 2 Rap artists played an important, but largely overlooked, role in promoting the NOI and its leadership. More importantly, the Hip-Hop world helped revive the NOI’s prestige in pockets of Black America. Louis Farrakhan’s NOI and rap music find their origins in the post-Civil Rights epoch. Indeed, both were born out of and nurtured by the devastating socio-economic decay that characterized inner city urban centers. The NOI and rap music flourished as agents of socio-economic reform against the backdrop of the Republican Party’s indifference to long-standing inequalities between Blacks and their white counterparts. In their seminal book, Chain Reaction: The Impact of Race, Rights and Taxes on American Politics (1992) Thomas and Mary Edsall argue that the Republican Party secured a “lock” on the U.S. presidency throughout the 1980s due to their manipulation of widespread fears relating to race and taxes. Black America’s economic plight was exacerbated because of the changing nature of America’s industrial economy. In 1984 for example, only 37 percent of Black men aged sixteen to twenty-four were employed compared to 63 percent of white men. 3 The exodus of African-American males from the labor market in the early 1980s made escape from the Black underclass increasingly difficult. Adding to the plight of the urban poor was the all too noticeable absence of Black leaders. Robert Smith attributes the absence of African-American leaders to what he describes as the process of “co-optation”: A major result of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s, in addition to the enactment of major substantive legislation, was the integration or co-optation of the leadership of the movement into systemic institutions and processes. Co-optation is understood as the process of absorbing the leadership of dissident groups into a political system in response to mass discontent and threats (or perceived threats) to system stability or legitimacy. . . . By the 1980s virtually all of the talented leadership of Black America was incorporated or seeking incorporation into the system, contending that “working within the system” was the most important—if not the only—means to achieve the post Civil Rights era objectives of the Black community. 4

Embracing the Nation

137

Co-optation resulted in a dearth of high-profile grass roots leaders in Black America. As a result, the aspirations of young African-Americans were largely unrepresented and relegated to the periphery of successive Republican government’s respective agendas. Rap music communicated AfricanAmerican concerns and desires to the larger society. Catherine Powell has suggested that rap music reflected “the hopes, concerns, and aspirations of urban Black youth in this, last quarter of the 20th Century.” 5 Rap music was initially characterized as staunchly chauvinistic— a character trait that some suggest is also found in the NOI. Rap music’s chauvinism was largely a non-coordinated response to the re-emergence of the Black matriarch stereotype in popular culture and daily discourse in the United States. The stereotype of the Black matriarch was revived throughout America in 1965 following the publication of Daniel Patrick Moynihan’s controversial report: The Negro Family: The Case for National Action. Moynihan described African-American men’s frustrations to be rooted in their economic condition: Both as a husband and as a father the Negro male is made to feel inadequate, not because he is unlovable or unaffectionate, lacks intelligence or even a gray flannel suit. But in a society that measures a man by the size of his pay check, he doesn't stand very tall in a comparison with his white counterpart. To this situation he may react with withdrawal, bitterness toward society, aggression both within the family and racial group, self-hatred, or crime. Or he may escape through a number of avenues that help him to lose himself in fantasy or to compensate for his low status through a variety of exploits. 6

Moynihan’s conclusions, however much debated, revealed the dramatic rise in the number of African-American children raised in female-headed households. In 1983, for example, a female headed nearly half of all AfricanAmerican families. 7 The popularization of Moynihan’s report led to the reaffirmation of the historical and racist stereotype of Black men as unable to master the role of the family provider. Black America’s “crisis of masculinity” was and continues to be addressed extensively both via the academic arena and the Hip-Hop world. The reclamation of Black manhood became a prominent theme in the lyrical content of rap artists particularly as the 1980s progressed. Rap artists emphasis on ‘reclaiming their manhood’ set them in perfect ideological harmony with the gender politics of the NOI. Indeed, feminist scholars have often highlighted male control as the underlying experience of female members of the NOI. During its formative years, rap artists utilized their music to address socio-economic disparities that permeated Black America. Such socially conscious records borrowed from the speeches of prominent 1960s Black Nationalists and former NOI representatives including Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali. Long before Spike Lee brought Malcolm X’s life story to American

138

Dawn-Marie Gibson

and international audiences, rap artists strived to keep Malcolm’s militant message alive. Early rap groups including Boogie Down Productions, Public Enemy and Ice Cube incorporated segments of Malcolm X’s lyrics into their speeches. The fascination with Malcolm X continued into the late 1980s. In 1988, for example, when rap group Public Enemy released their second album, titled “It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold us Back,” references to Malcolm X were featured heavily throughout. New York Times journalist Jon Pareles described the album as “rap with a fist in the air.” 8 The vast majority of references to Malcolm X in the aforementioned records failed to refer to Malcolm’s break with the NOI in 1964 or his political evolution throughout 1965. Historian Charise Cheney notes that: This representation of Malcolm X—frozen in time—signifies rap artists’ investment in a politics that equated power with violence and violence with manhood, for they did not acknowledge Malcolm X’s political maturation after his break with the nation of Islam . . . the post-N.O.I. Malcolm X does not fit into the masculinist discourse of post Civil Rights U.S. Black nationalism, and therefore that history is prone to erasure. 9

Malcolm X was not the only prominent NOI member cited as a strong Black Nationalist figure by rap artists. Former world heavyweight boxing champion, Muhammad Ali, was also prominently featured in the works of rap artists especially after the release of When We Were Kings (1996), a short documentary about the build-up to Ali’s heavyweight bout with George Foreman in Zaire in 1974. The film’s soundtrack featured rap artists including the Fugees, Q-Tip, and Busta Rhymes. The official single for the film was produced by the Fugees and titled “Rumble in the Jungle.” Throughout their musical tribute to Ali, rap artists Lauryn Hill and Wyclef Jean laced their lyrics with references to Ali’s NOI membership. More subtle references to NOI dogma including the refusal of registered members to engage in any war can be found throughout the song. 10 RAP WARS Rap music entered the mainstream in 1988 when MTV inaugurated Yo MTV Raps. The segment displayed rap artists including Busta Rhymes, Sean Combs, Biggie Smalls, and many others. In the same year, Public Enemy released their much-anticipated second album. Louis Decker noted that the publicity provided via Yo MTV raps gave “black nationalism in the United States its first widely publicized expression in nearly two decades.” 11 Such publicity however also helped highlight undercurrents of discord between high-profile rappers. Rap music’s popularity soared in the early 1990s with the formation of East Coast Rap label Bad Boy under the management of

Embracing the Nation

139

Sean Combs, and West Coast rap label Death Row Records under the direction of Suge Knight. Both groups signed an array of talented artists. The former counted among its stars Biggie Smalls and the latter, Snoop Dogg, and Tupac Shakur. Tensions between East Coast and West Coast rappers escalated throughout the early 1990s and heightened when Snoop Dogg taunted Bad Boy rappers at the Source Awards in 1995. Violence ensued between both camps and resulted in the deaths of two of Hip-Hop’s most talented artists, Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls. Shakur added further fuel to discord between Bad Boy and Death Row when he released “Hit Em Up,” a record on which he alleged to have had sexual intercourse with Faith Evans, the then wife of Biggie Smalls. 12 The subsequent deaths of both Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls reaffirmed the nascent reputation that HipHop had by that time earned as being violent. Louis Farrakhan and NOI representatives made ongoing pleas for unity between rap artists during the discord between Shakur and Smalls. Their effect however was minimal. Indeed, it was not until the later 1990s that one could see Farrakhan’s and the NOI’s influence on Hip-Hop artists. Farrakhan’s future interventions in the Hip-Hop world included an annual Hip-Hop summit designed to discuss feuds and iron out grievances between rival artists. Farrakhan’s annual Hip-Hop Summits have been attended by prominent civil rights groups including the National Urban League and Hip-Hop artists including Snoop Dogg and Sean Combs. In conjunction with Hip-Hop mogul Russell Simmons, Farrakhan has thus far hosted a Hip-Hop Summit annually. At the 2001 summit in New York, for example, Russell Simmons noted that, “The Hip-Hop Summit is about building bridges on a myriad of levels where politicians, civil rights leaders, artists and music executives are coming together to find out where we stand in the world at large.” 13 The Hip-Hop summit’s interventions in the rap world helped ensure that rap artists take greater responsibility for their lyrical content. Farrakhan’s private meetings with prominent Hip-Hop artists have provided him with a greater degree of influence in the Hip-Hop world than many would care to admit. BUILDING RELATIONSHIPS WITH HIP-HOP ARTISTS Farrakhan strengthened his relations with many Hip-Hop artists throughout the early 1990s and particularly with Sista Souljah and Ice Cube. In early 1992, presidential candidate Bill Clinton rebuked female rap artist Sista Souljah at an event hosted by Jesse Jackson for what he regarded as her defamatory rap lyrics. 14 Political analysts understood Clinton’s attack on the rap artist as part of his larger efforts to distance his party from a belief that they were beholden to the Black Vote. Monte Piliawsky, for example, noted

140

Dawn-Marie Gibson

that identification with African-Americans had become the “Achilles’ heel” of the Democratic Party and Clinton sought to at times sever this identification: In the 1992 presidential campaign, the democratic standard bearer avoided making virtually any reference to civil rights and racial discrimination. . . . Focusing on a war on welfare and tough action against crime, the same two themes formerly used by the Republicans as racial code words, Clinton became only the second democratic presidential candidate since 1948 to outpoll his Republican opponent among White voters. 15

Political analysts often suggest that the target of Clinton’s reproach was not Sister Souljah but Jesse Jackson, who had invited the singer to speak at the Rainbow Coalition’s annual event the previous night. Clinton refused to apologize for his remarks even after legitimate claims that the singer had been misquoted. In response to Clinton’s chide, Jackson commented that many people felt “aggrieved” by the diversion in Clinton’s speech. 16 In quick response to Clinton’s chide, Farrakhan, who had previously worked with Jackson, called on rap artists to defend Sista Souljah’s reputation. In an edition of the NOI’s newspaper, The Final Call, he noted that: I have known Sister Souljah (a.k.a.) Lisa Williamson for the past seven or more years. In that time, I have known her to be a committed, dedicated and caring person for the rights of Black people in America and throughout the earth, particularly for those who struggle for true liberation of our people. . . . Now is the time for Black men to stand up for the Black woman, particularly those who are willing to take the point in the struggle for our liberation. All Black male rappers, particularly those who are the most conscious, should stand with and behind Sister Souljah and let the enemies know that we will not stand for any harm coming to our sister. . . . The Nation of Islam stands with and behind Sister Souljah. 17

Farrakhan’s efforts to defend Sista Souljah in the national media helped further his exposure to audiences beyond his traditional power base in Chicago and Harlem. FARRAKHAN’S AND HIP-HOP’S ANTI-SEMITISM Louis Farrakhan’s influence on Hip-Hop artists has not always been constructive or socially progressive. One notable example of Farrakhan’s rather unconstructive influence on Hip-Hop artists relates to anti-Semitism. Farrakhan has made several highly publicized anti-Semitic comments since he first came to national attention during Jesse Jackson’s presidential campaign in 1984. The Muslim minister’s reference to Judaism as a “gutter religion” in

Embracing the Nation

141

1984 helped Farrakhan become “one of the most well known anti-Semites in the United States.” 18 Indeed, much of the national media attention that Farrakhan received throughout the later 1980s and 1990s related specifically to allegations of anti-Semitism. Farrakhan’s willingness to partake in interviews with high-profile news organizations suggests two things. First, that he desired to clarify instances where he believed he had been previously misquoted or quoted out of context. Secondly, it suggests that he relished the unprecedented publicity that the NOI received. In March 1990, Farrakhan consented to an extensive interview with The Washington Post. The interview covered a number of issues but in particular allegations of anti-Semitism: Now to speak of the charge of anti-Semitism. To say that Louis Farrakhan is an anti-Semite is an improper and unjust characterization of me. To say that I have been critical of Jews and critical of the state of Israel is true. But I have been critical of Blacks, critical of our leaders, critical of Arabs, critical of Whites, and yet my own people don’t call me anti-Black and Arabs don’t call me anti-Semitic and they are also Semitic people. The term is wrong. And wrongfully applied. My criticism of Jews should be taken in that light…I was referring to the actions of the state of Israel using God and religion as a cover for lying, stealing, murder, using God’s name as a shield for your dirty religion, meaning your preaching one thing, but you are practicing another. 19

Hip-Hop has often been characterized in the national media as anti-Semitic. Allegations of anti-Semitism were directed to rap artist Ice Cube and rap group Public Enemy in the early 1990s. Both Ice Cube and Public Enemy have engaged extensively with the NOI. Indeed, the latter was known to have been an ardent supporter of NOI rhetoric. Ice Cube’s anti-Semitic lyrics received much attention in the national press prior to the release of his 1991 album Death Certificate. Similarly, Public Enemy received much scrutiny when one of its members, Professor Griff, commented that: “Jews are responsible for the majority of the wickedness around the world.” Similar comments emanated from Public Enemy’s single, “Welcome to the Terrordome.” 20 Farrakhan’s anti-Semitic rhetoric reached new heights in 1992 when he authorized the NOI’s publication The Secret Relationship Between Blacks and Jews. The book appears to have been written with the sole intent of implicating Jews as having been the primary beneficiaries of the transatlantic slave trade: Deep within the recesses of the Jewish historical record is irrefutable evidence that the most prominent of the Jewish Pilgrim Fathers used kidnapped Black Africans disproportionately more than any other ethnic or religious group in New World history and participated in every aspect of the international slave trade. The immense wealth of Jews, as with most of the White colonial fathers,

142

Dawn-Marie Gibson was acquired by the brutal subjugation of Black Africans purely on the basis of skin color—a concept unfamiliar to Moses. Now, compiled for the first time, the Jewish sources reveal the extent of their complicity in Black slavery in the most graphic of terms. 21

The Secret Relationship infuriated the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), as did Farrakhan’s constant promotion of the book as the “starting point” for a new Black-Jewish dialogue. Farrakhan missed no opportunity to publicize the book at the various universities where he delivered lectures in the early 1990s. Indeed, the book continues to feature in the NOI’s advertisements in The Final Call as does volume 2 of the book that was published in 2010. The book found its most ardent supporters in the Hip-Hop industry. West Coast “gangster rapper” Ice Cube, for example, had his photo taken reading The Final Call, with a large number of FOI guards behind him, for the back cover of his 1991 album Death Certificate. Ice Cube’s anti-Semitic lyrics and support for the NOI resulted in various organizations, including the Simon Wiesenthal Center, calling for record stores to ban the 1991 album. In a December 1991 issue of The Final Call, for example, NOI columnist, Rosalind X Moore, reprinted the text of the Wiesenthal Center’s letter to record stores. The intent behind the reprint was clearly to defend Ice Cube and capitalize on the letter as evidence of “Jewish efforts” to control the proliferation of the Hip-Hop industry and the content of rap lyrics: The Wiesenthal Center does not advocate censorship. We absolutely agree that the artist in question, Ice Cube, has the constitutional right to promote murder and racism. We also believe that Americans from all walks of life have the right not to sell or buy this album. We hope that your company will carefully review the contents of this album and choose not to reward the artist and the producers of these inflammatory lyrics by keeping it off your shelves. 22

Responses to the Simon Wiesenthal Center’s efforts to censor Ice Cube’s album differed notably. In an edition of the New York Times, for example, Jon Parlels noted that while Ice Cube’s lyrical content was clearly disturbing he still had “a right to be heard.” 23 The NOI’s apparent endorsement by both the Hip-Hop world and other mainstream figures continues to upset the ADL. In an interview with Oren Segal, the ADL’s director for Islamic affairs in New York, he noted that: Our position on the NOI has been well established for many years. We see the NOI as an anti-Semitic organisation. . . . The material that they put out through their website, their “educational material” speeches and events, there is a demonstrated record of trying to demonise Jews but also to blame Jews for the situation that Farrakhan describes African-Americans being in in this country. They are embraced by some legitimate mainstream figures which is also a troubling part of the group. 24

Embracing the Nation

143

The extent of Farrakhan’s influence on rap and Hip-Hop artists particularly with regards to anti-Semitism is an area that requires further exploration. However, clearly both Farrakhan and a segment of the rap artists that he engages with share similar socio-economic concerns and ascribe blame for inequality with Jewish Americans. ASSESSING FARRAKHAN’S INFLUENCE IN BLACK AMERICA Louis Farrakhan’s influence in the Hip-Hop world grew in the months prior to and after the Million Man March (MMM) in Washington, D.C., in October 1995. The MMM witnessed the largest gathering of African-American men in the history of the United States and secured Farrakhan’s entry into the history books. Hip-Hop artists eagerly supported the call to march on Washington as did many leading academics including Cornel West. Yet, Farrakhan had by 1995 become something of a notorious figure in the Black community and to endorse the march risked also being construed as an endorsement of Louis Farrakhan. Leading scholars including Manning Marable reasoned that Farrakhan was not the reason for the march’s apparent success but that a dearth of socio-economic opportunity had led them to join the event: To most of the African-American men who responded to Farrakhan’s call to Washington, D.C., it seemed that Black people had few alternatives except to turn inward. If White institutions, politics and society could not be transformed democratically to reflect racialised minorities, African-Americans on their own had to employ their resources and skills for the survival and upliftment of their race. 25

In the aftermath of the MMM Farrakhan solidified his relationships with numerous Hip-Hop artists and executives and in particular Snoop Dogg and Russell Simmons. Snoop Dogg announced his membership in the NOI in 2009 at the annual Saviors Day Convention, an event held in honor of the NOI’s founder. Yet, Snoop Dogg’s encounters with the NOI commenced long before 2009. In the late 1990s, Snoop had attended Farrakhan’s annual Hip-Hop Summits and on December 27, 2005, he joined Farrakhan at the memorial service for Stanley Tookie Williams, the leader of the notorious Crips gang in South Central Los Angeles. Snoop had worked alongside the NOI in raising awareness of Williams’s clemency bid, something that was denied by California’s governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Snoop’s eventual decision to join the NOI appears to have been reached over more than a decade. 26 In a later exclusive interview with The Final Call, Snoop discussed his own maturation:

144

Dawn-Marie Gibson I just try to teach them about unity as far as bringing different organizations together that would have never been together because I'm cool with everybody. So if I got somebody from this organization that doesn't like that organization I can find a way to pull them together and then both their organizations will become one and that's how we work on a common ground. It's just a matter of communication. An argument or dispute is a conversation away from peace. It's just a matter of who is going to be man enough to say “I was wrong” or “I'm willing to hear what you're saying” instead of jumping to conclusions and wanting to fight and hurt somebody. That's not the mentality that I push and promote. That's why I'm so successful because peace is my main thing, it's not about money. It's about making sure everybody is having a good time and loving and living and enjoying life. 27

Farrakhan’s continued efforts to engage with the Hip-Hop world has earned him the respect of numerous music producers and executives. Russell Simmons, for example, who manages Def Jam records, regularly attends the NOI’s Saviors Day conventions and more often than that attributes the NOI as having a very positive influence in the streets: . . . the Muslims were always a positive influence, and it was obvious to me and anybody my age that they reformed a lot of lives. I always had an appreciation for the work that the minister did in the community. To me, that was much more important than some of the other things that have come up about him such as his being called anti-Jewish . . . Minister Farrakhan is really the conscience of Black leadership in America. He may not be in the news everyday, but he is certainly the biggest leader and the most powerful leader in Black-America. 28

The aftermath of the MMM also provided Farrakhan with an opportunity to engage much more extensively in the Hip-Hop community. Following the emergence of subsequent and somewhat violent disputes between rap artists 50 Cent and Ja Rule, Farrakhan hosted a televised interview with Ja Rule to discuss the origins of the problems between the two artists. Ja Rule’s interview with the Muslim minister reaffirmed Farrakhan’s celebrity status among rap artists and solidified his reputation as something of a peacemaker. 29 Ja Rule’s foe, 50 Cent, however, refused to sit down with Farrakhan and discuss the roots of his discord with Ja Rule. Ja Rule’s exit from the rap industry soon after, arguably prevented a repeat of the Shakur-Smalls episode in the 1990s. Farrakhan’s NOI made further efforts to reach out to Hip-Hop and rap artists in 2005 when they announced that they would be awarding an annual Million Man March Image award. The first recipient of the award was Kanye West, a relatively new rapper signed to Rocafella Records. 30 West had endeared himself to the NOI and Louis Farrakhan when he censured the U.S. government and the Federal Emergency Management

Embracing the Nation

145

Agency for its painfully slow response to Hurricane Katrina in 2005 during an NBC special on 2 September 2005: I hate the way they portray us in the media. You see a Black family, it says, “they’re looting.” You see a White family, it says, “They’re looking for food.” And, you know, it’s been five days [waiting for federal help] because most of the people are Black. And even for me to complain about it, I would be a hypocrite because I’ve turn away from the TV because it’s too hard to watch. I’ve even been shopping before even giving a donation, so now I’m calling my business manager to see what is the biggest amount I can give, and just to imagine if I was down there, and those are my people down there. So anybody out there that wants to anything that we can help—with the way America is set and, the Red Cross is doing everything they can. We already realize a lot of people could help that are at war right now, fighting another way—and they’re given them permission to go down and shoot us! . . . George Bush doesn’t care about Black people. 31

West’s tirade set him perfectly coordinated with the majority of AfricanAmericans. In mid-September 2005, a national-wide poll found that 60 percent of African-Americans concurred with the belief that “the federal government’s delay in helping victims in New Orleans was because the victims were Black,” while only 12 percent of whites agreed. 32 THE MINISTRY OF ARTS AND CULTURE Farrakhan’s willingness to engage with and mentor Hip-Hop artists such as Snoop Dogg reflects his own love of music. Prior to becoming a minister in the NOI’s Boston temple in the 1960s, Farrakhan had worked as an entertainer under the stage name “The Charmer.” However, following Elijah Muhammad’s orders that all NOI members withdraw from the entertainment industry Farrakhan gave up his music career. 33 Prior to Elijah Muhammad’s edict, Farrakhan had put his artistic talent to good use in the NOI. He wrote and performed in two plays for the NOI: Orenga and The Trial. Farrakhan also wrote and performed several songs for both plays including, “White Man’s Heaven is a Black Man’s Hell,” “The Messenger,” “We Need Somebody,” and “Elijah is Leading Us On.” Coverage from the NOI’s then newspaper, Muhammad Speaks, reveals that the plays were immensely popular with NOI members. 34 In a later interview with Jabril Muhammad, Farrakhan noted feeling anxious about the prospect of giving up music and particularly the violin. 35 Not until April 1993 did Farrakhan publicly play the violin again when he performed a Felix Mendelssohn concert in North Carolina. Yet, a segment of the NOI eschews their leader’s use and love of the violin because of its “European” origin. Unable to tackle their criticism Farrakhan has consented that he understands and sympathizes with their point of view. 36

146

Dawn-Marie Gibson

NOI members have been somewhat prohibited from pursuing careers in the entertainment industry since the 1960s. In 2007, Louis Farrakhan eventually relaxed this rule when he established the NOI’s Ministry of Arts and Culture (MAC) in 2007. 37 The MAC serves as a forum in which NOI artists can promote their own music and NOI dogma. Needless to say membership in and association with the NOI prevents many of these individuals from ever finding the fame that their secular counterparts do. NOI artist Connie Muhammad, for example, notes that while membership in the NOI has not “hindered” her music career, it has meant that she has had to become “comfortable” with the idea of never breaking into the mainstream. Connie Muhammad who performs under the stage name Nut Meg released her first album titled Shahada in 2008. While the album is well-known within the MAC it is unknown outside of the confines of the NOI. In an interview, for example, she noted that: The music industry is very much a controlled industry and you have to take certain avenues to get to success and if you’re not able to take those avenues then you won’t make it and that’s by design and I already understand that that’s not going to possible for me and I’m comfortable with that. But we are building something within the already established structures of the NOI where we are self-reliant, self-sufficient, and music distribution is included. 38

For male members of the NOI, the MAC has also proven to be a supportive arena in which they can develop as music artists. MC Islam is perhaps the most well-known rapper in the NOI aside from Snoop Dogg. MC Islam, more commonly known as Jameil Muhammad, was born into the NOI in Richmond, Virginia. His mother is a lifelong member of the NOI and encouraged his musical talent within the precinct of the NOI. 39 MC Islam notes that via the MAC he approaches his music “independently” and that his lyrics reflect the “moral code” to which NOI members adhere. 40 Like Connie Muhammad and a small number of other MAC members, MC Islam’s work is generally unknown outside of the group. Yet, for both Connie Muhammad and MC Islam the MAC provides exciting opportunities via which they can relay the NOI’s teachings and generally promote the NOI’s dogma. The NOI’s involvement with the music industry has grown steadily from the early 1980s. Both Farrakhan’s NOI and Hip-Hop music emerged out of the same historical context and thus it is not surprising that they share in common themes of patriarchy and advocacy of economic self-help. Hip-Hop artists have played an important role in promoting Farrakhan’s NOI and reinvesting in the NOI a degree of legitimacy. The emergence of the Ministry of Arts and Culture provides a forum in which NOI artists can share their talents. The development of the MAC’s structures may in the future provide

Embracing the Nation

147

a greater opportunity for NOI artists to promote their music beyond the confines of the NOI. NOTES 1. Edward E. Curtis, Islam in Black America: Identity, Liberation, and Difference in African-American Islamic Thought (New York: State University of New York Press, 2002). 2. E. R. Shipp, “Candidacy of Jackson Highlights Split among Black Muslims,” The New York Times, 27 February 1984, A10. 3. Judy Claude, “Poverty Patterns for Black Men and Women,” The Black Scholar 17.5 (1986): 20–23. 4. Robert C. Smith, “System Values and African-American Leadership,” Souls: A Critical Journal of Black Politics, Culture and Society 10.1 (2008): 23–32. 5. Catherine Tabb Powell, “Rap Music: An Education with a Beat from the Street,” Journal of Negro Education 60.3 (1991): 245. 6. Daniel Patrick Moynihan, The Negro Family: The Case for National Action (U.S Department of Labor, 1965). 7. C. Eric Lincoln & Lawrence Mamiya, The Black Church in the African-American Experience (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1990), 321. 8. Jon Parales, “Public Enemy: Rap with a Fist in the Air,” The New York Times, 24 July 1988, H25. 9. Charise Cheney, Brothers Gonna Work it Out: Sexual Politics in the Golden Age of Rap Nationalism (New York: New York University Press, 2005), 81–82. 10. The Fugees, “Rumble in the Jungle” (Polygram Records, February 11, 1997). 11. Jeffrey Louis Decker, “The State of Rap: Time and Place in Hip-Hop Nationalism,” Social Text 60.43 (1993): 60. 12. Derek Lwamoto, “Tupac Shakur: Understanding the Identity Formation of Hyper-Masculinity of a Popular Hip-Hop Artist,” The Black Scholar 33.2 (2003): 44. 13. http://www.finalcall.com/artman/publish/article_2748.shtml (accessed June 30, 2009). 14. Gwen Ifill, “Clinton Stands by Remark on Rapper,” The New York Times, June 15, 1992, 16. 15. Monte Piliawsky, “The Clinton Administration and African-Americans,” in The Politics of Race: African-Americans and the Political System, ed. by Theodore Rueter (USA: M. E. Sharpe, Inc., 1995), 895. 16. Gwen Ifill, “Clinton at Jackson Meeting: Warmth, and Some Friction,” The New York Times, June 14, 1992, 31 17. Louis Farrakhan, “Statement on Sister Souljah,” The Final Call, July 13, 1992, 3. 18. Interview with ADL Director of Islamic Affairs, Oren Segal, April 8, 2011. 19. Farrakhan, “Statement on Sister Souljah,” 3. 20. Michael Quinn, “Never Shoulda been let out the Penitentiary,” Cultural Critique 34 (1996): 76. 21. The Historical Research Department of the NOI, The Secret Relationship between Blacks and Jews (Chicago: NOI, 1991), 7. 22. Rosalind X Moore, “Jewish Groups Boycott Rap Album,” The Final Call, December 2, 1991, 28. 23. Jon Parales, “Should Ice Cube’s Voice be Chilled?,” New York Times, December 8, 1991, H30. 24. Interview with ADL Director of Islamic Affairs, Oren Segal, April 8, 2011. 25. Manning Marable, “Black Fundamentalism: Farrakhan and Conservative Black Nationalism,” Race and Class 39.4 (1998): 2. 26. Rosie Walsh, “Snoop Dogg joins the Nation of Islam,” The Guardian, March 2, 2009, 11. 27. http://www.finalcall.com/artman/publish (accessed October 20, 2010).

148

Dawn-Marie Gibson

28. Manning Marable and Cheryll Y. Greene, “Def America: Russell Simmons,” Souls: A Critical Journal of Black Politics, Culture, and Society 4.2 (2005): 91. 29. Bringing the Peace (Final Call Incorporated, 2003) [DVD]. 30. www.finalcall.com/artman/publish/article_1852.shtml (accessed 3 June 2008). 31. Erica M. Czaja, “Katrina’s Southern ‘Exposure,’ the Kanye Race Debate, and Repercussions of Discussion,” Souls: A Critical Journal of Black Politics, Culture and Society 9.1 (1997): 59. 32. Ibid. 33. Jabril Muhammad, Closing the Gap: Inner Views of the Heart, Mind and Soul of the Honorable Minister Louis Farrakhan (Chicago: FNC Publishing Co, 2006), 113–114. 34. “Orenga tells True History of Afro-Americans,” Muhammad Speaks, December 1960, 7–14. 35. Muhammad, Closing the Gap, 113. 36. Ibid., 144. 37. Author interview with Connie Muhammad, June 10, 2010. 38. Ibid. 39. Author interview with Jameil Muhammad, February 16, 2011. 40. Author interview with Jameil Muhammad, February 16, 2011.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bringing the Peace (Final Call Incorporated, 2003) [DVD]. Cheney, Charise. Brothers Gonna Work it Out: Sexual Politics in the Golden Age of Rap Nationalism. New York: New York University Press, 2005. Claude, Judy. “Poverty Patterns for Black Men and Women,” The Black Scholar 17.5, 1986. Curtis, Edward E. Islam in Black America: Identity, Liberation, and Difference in AfricanAmerican Islamic Thought. New York: State University of New York Press, 2002. Czaja, Erica. “Katrina’s Southern ‘Exposure,’ the Kanye Race Debate, and Repercussions of Discussion,” Souls: A Critical Journal of Black Politics, Culture and Society 9.1, 1997. Decker, Jeffrey Louis. “The State of Rap: Time and Place in Hip-Hop Nationalism,” Social Text 60.43, 1993. Edsall, Mary, and Thomas Byrne Edsall. Chain Reaction: The Impact of Race, Rights and Taxes on American Politics. New York: W W Norton and Co., 1992. Farrakhan, Louis. “Statement on Sister Souljah,” The Final Call, July 13, 1992. Fugees, The. “Rumble in the Jungle” (Polygram Records, February 11, 1997). Ifill, Gwen. “Clinton Stands by Remark on Rapper,” The New York Times, June 15, 1992. Ifill, Gwen. “Clinton at Jackson Meeting: Warmth, and Some Friction,” The New York Times, June 14, 1992. Lincoln, C. Eric & Lawrence Mamiya. The Black Church in the African-American Experience. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1990. Lwamoto, Derek. “Tupac Shakur: Understanding the Identity Formation of Hyper-Masculinity of a Popular Hip-Hop Artist,” The Black Scholar 33.2, 2003 Marable, Manning. “Black Fundamentalism: Farrakhan and Conservative Black Nationalism,” Race and Class 39.4, 1998. Marable, Manning and Cheryll Y. Greene. “Def America: Russell Simmons,” Souls: A Critical Journal of Black Politics, Culture, and Society 4.2, 2005. Moore, Rosalind X. “Jewish Groups Boycott Rap Album,” The Final Call, December 2, 1991. Moynihan, Daniel Patrick. The Negro Family: The Case for National Action. U.S. Department of Labor, 1965. Muhammad, Jabril. Closing the Gap: Inner Views of the Heart, Mind and Soul of the Honorable Minister Louis Farrakhan. Chicago: FNC Publishing Co, 2006. “Orenga tells True History of Afro-Americans,” Muhammad Speaks, December 1960. Parales, Jon. “Public Enemy: Rap with a Fist in the Air,” The New York Times, July 24, 1988. Parales, Jon. “Should Ice Cube’s Voice be Chilled?” New York Times, December 8, 1991.

Embracing the Nation

149

Piliawsky, Monte. “The Clinton Administration and African-Americans,” in The Politics of Race: African-Americans and the Political System, ed. by Theodore Rueter USA: M. E. Sharpe, Inc., 1995. Powell, Catherine Tabb. “Rap Music: An Education with a Beat from the Street,” Journal of Negro Education 60.3, 1991. Quinn, Michael. “Never Shoulda been let out the Penitentiary,” Cultural Critique 34, 1996. Shipp, E. R. “Candidacy of Jackson Highlights Split among Black Muslims,” The New York Times, February 27, 1984. Smith, Robert C. “System Values and African-American Leadership,” Souls: A Critical Journal of Black Politics, Culture and Society 10.1, 2008. The Historical Research Department of the NOI. The Secret Relationship Between Blacks and Jews. Chicago: NOI, 1991. Walsh, Rosie. “Snoop Dogg joins the Nation of Islam,” The Guardian, March 2, 2009.

Chapter Ten

Oath Continuities: The Inner Structure, Meaning, and Spiritualism of “Mau Mau” Hip Hop Mickie Mwanzia Koster

Oathing—the use of words as a spiritual form of power to shape conditions and influence outcomes—is not new and is far from stationary. Recent research actually defines oathing as a complex, elaborate, and sophisticated political, cultural, social, and spiritual system that evolves over time. 1 Oaths are meaningful words vocalized outwardly for justice. The process typically involves listeners or witnesses gathered to find truth. 2 Over time, oathing has found new ways of expression. Hip hop is a transformed oath, a type of oath altered from its traditional form to accommodate the needs of listeners. This study explores the oathing evolution in Kenya, a place where many remember the connections to oath heritages. Oathing was particularly important during the Mau Mau war from 1952 to 1960. Kenyans used reconstituted, elaborate, and secretive oaths to contest British oppression and exploitation leading eventually to Kenya’s independence. This revolution has had a long-lasting impact on Kenyans. The conviction and courage of Mau Mau fighters continue to resonate with many disenfranchised Kenyans today who feel that they have been politically, socially, and economically forgotten. The focus of this study is the agency of this particular group of Kenyans and their application of hip hop for resistance and unity. For this reason, the term “Mau Mau hip hop” is presented for analysis. Mau Mau hip hop is a modern application of the Mau Mau ideologies to contemporary challenges expressed through hip hop in Kenya. 3 Mau Mau thinking in this regard encompasses history, consciousness of present injustices, and the collective belief that a change is imminent. The treatment of resistance oathing in Kenya over time can provide a way to think about the hip hop oath continu151

152

Mickie Mwanzia Koster

ities worldwide. Mau Mau hip hop is a radicalized oath grounded on the Mau Mau history, memories, and inspirations of Kenyan nationalists. The concept of Mau Mau hip hop can be best understood by considering one of Kenya’s leading hip hop groups, Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau. The group is separate from the Mau Mau fighters of the 1950s, but they have internalized the Mau Mau identity and spirit. This group grounds hip hop messages and lyrics in the principles of Mau Mau fighters. The group deliberately uses Mau Mau in their name, showing their affinity and homage. Samuel Kangethe Ngigi provides an explanation of the group’s purpose: The group goes beyond entertainment, it seeks to educate, to raise the consciousness of people to their socio-cultural, political, and economic conditions . . . . The spirit of Mau Mau is what is important to us, that and their concept of struggle. What strikes me is their [members of the Mau Mau] marginality in the society they lived in compared to our marginality. What inspires us [members of Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau] is their courage, faith fighting against colonialism. 4

Ngigi offers a rich connection between conditions in modern-day Kenya and the importance of previous Mau Mau fighters. Other artists echo this link. For example, Githiji Grongi states, “We are all descendants of Mau Mau . . . the spirit of the struggle and a commitment to a cause of economic and political equality gives us a commonality.” 5 The most evident and conscious link is the name of the group. However, Ngigi provides one of the clearest distinctions between Mau Mau fighters and hip hop movements in his statement: The difference between them [Mau Mau fighters] and us [Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau] is that theirs was a mental and physical fight against oppression and exploitation. Our struggle is mental, we use music to fight for not only individual liberation and self-knowledge, but we also hope to inspire others. 6

Based on the centrality of oathing to the Mau Mau, it is only natural for Ukoo Fulani members to connect spiritualism with words like “to inspire” and “to uplift one to a level of meditation, serious thought and realization.” 7 Collectively, artist and fan interviews have been valuable in understanding the oathing continuities, spiritual connection, and complex hip hop transformations. There is an African-centered relationship between oathing, words, and spiritualism. Oathing variations like hip hop connect over time in their ritualized treatment of words. Revolutionary, political, and educational forms of hip hop use lyrics and statements that reveal truth and influence conditions. 8 The Bible and other religious texts exemplify the way in which words manifest and create. In Mark 4:4–14, words are described as seeds, “the sower

Oath Continuities

153

soweth the word,” representing the power of words to produce. Likewise, Janheinz Jahn, in Muntu: African Culture and the Western World, discusses the magical power of the word, arguing that through the word “man is the master of things.” 9 Jahn makes this point in his statement: Man must do much more than sow and reap, for the seed corn has of itself no activity of its own, it does mothering without the influence of man, it would not grow but would remain lying in the ground without his help. . . Through Nommo, the life force, which produces all life, which influences ‘things’ in the shape of the word . . . God has solidified the earth with water. Again, he makes blood with water. Even in stone there is that force, for dampness is everywhere. And since man has power over the word, it is he who directs the life force. Through the word he receives it, shares it with other beings, and so fulfills the meaning of life. 10

Jahn provides a very important African dimension and perspective and is not alone in this association; other scholars have treated the presence of nommo and the centrality of word power. For example, Molefi Asante, in his book, The Afrocentric Idea, “examines African-American oratory as the totalization of the Afrocentric perspective, emphasizing the presence of nommo, the generative and productive power of the spoken word.” 11 Asante also explores the nommo concept in Afrocentricity, revealing the importance of African frameworks in the scholarly investigations of Africans and their descendants. 12 Although these dynamics are relevant, they have been addressed in detail in secondary works. This work complements the African-centered framework and follows Jahn’s and Asante’s interpretation of nommo as a spiritual force. Individuals, as we will see in this historical treatment of oathing, can shape their destiny by their use of statements to invoke spirits when participants truly have faith in the words. Oathing uses the spiritual properties of words to unite, inspire, educate, and ignite participants. Some scholars trace hip hop roots back to narratives of the African griot and the black preacher who used words and messages to uplift their marginalized congregations. However, hip hop development should not be historically limited to these genres. 13 This work explores the historical origins and spiritualism of hip hop by analyzing it as oath continuity designed to move fans from one state to another. This is not to suggest that this is the only explanation for what we now call hip hop, but only to offer alternative and additional possibilities related to hip hop development. Powerful spiritual and cultural elements of the past do not vanish, but reemerge in the present. Mau Mau hip hop is a modern continuity of African oathing ceremonies. Naturally, many would not necessarily make this connection based on the perceived cultural breaks between ancient and modern African traditions. However, this work aims to offer another perspective by considering hip hop as a cultural phenomenon tied to ancient African oath

154

Mickie Mwanzia Koster

traditions. According to William Banfield in Cultural Codes, “musicologists and historians have identified the African spoken word traditions as some of the world’s great early performance practices.” 14 The oath connection is important because it offers a different explanation of hip hop and the potential power of hip hop on the world. On the surface, oathing, whether expressed during specific historical moments like Kenya’s Mau Mau rebellion or through the hip hop beats and lyrics of Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau, can appear as something simple and meaningless. However, through close analysis of oath practices, the inner structures, meaning, symbolism, and spiritualism reveal a much more vibrant and complicated story. Oathing, especially forms used for resistance or contesting current circumstances, is connected to a much larger Black liberation, equality, and freedom narrative that is still being shaped. The use of words to combat struggles shows a consciousness of oathers in the form of soldiers, artists, or listeners to attempt to challenge and contest the status quo. Jahn states that the manipulation of word in this manner is practicing magic: “According to African philosophy man has, by force of his word, dominion over ‘things’; he can change them, make them work for him, and command them. However, to command things with words is to practice ‘magic.’” 15 We know that “magic” is simply the ability to shape and control events through supernatural forces, a practice embedded in traditional African beliefs. Yet, important revolutions like Mau Mau and hip hop are still misunderstood, devalued, invented, and even criminalized partly because of these mystical elements and the energy associated with these movements as a means to suppress the movements’ power, influence, and to control the image. History is full of examples of the destruction of African-rooted power systems that challenge the status quo; the undermining of voodoo is an example of an African-based religion that many still shun and fear as a means to control its appeal. Many still used various oaths in Kenya to unite, assert truth, seek justice and power, and re-establish order despite decades of social change and turbulence. The notions of truth connect and speak directly to the spiritualism (unseen power associated with rituals of spoken words) associated with the oathing or hip hop process. These orchestrated and performed words, statements, lyrics, acts, and varied expressions invoke, and are thereby overheard by the invisible or spirits who listen and judge. The other spiritual dimension of this work is associated directly with the energy of the message and associated acts (i.e., dance, music, gestures, symbols, etc.) that make rituals more moving and help to enhance the performance and power of the statements. This work argues that hip hop is a modern oath continuity with spiritual properties that, when embraced, has the ritual power to change circumstances for the better.

Oath Continuities

155

Spiritualism has been a common thread in oathing practices and is evident today in expressions of Mau Mau hip hip. Therefore, we will explore the background of ancient Kithitu oathing in Kenya prior to the 1920s, examine how oathing was changed in the 1950s during the Mau Mau war, and finally, analyze the modern oathing expressions of Mau Mau hip hop. The objective is to provide a historical evolution of oathing as a ritual experience that has found a new way to emerge in the present through hip hop. OATHING IN PRE-COLONIAL KENYA In order to examine the transformations of oathing to hip hop, we start by looking briefly at the oathing practices documented during the early 1900s. It is such an old practice that we are unable to discern when it began. Similar to other societies, written records document that long before colonialism in Kenya, oathing was woven into the fabric of the laws and various ceremonies. Elders, in particular, used it to resolve major judiciary matters, 16 such as to reveal guilt or innocence of parties involved in questionable legal disputes. Many practice oathing to promote truth and awareness of situations that were destabilizing and causing conflict in the African communities. These acts are similar to the motives of hip hop artists who use lyrics to raise the political and social consciousness of their listeners with the objective of placing power in the hands of the wronged. The process of oathing in Kenya is referred to as “eating the Kithitu.” 17 The description of eating the oath words is symbolic on many levels. It shows the internalization of the words and serves as a reminder of the active and continuous process of oathing. Based on these early accounts, oathing was only limited by the mind and beliefs of those that engaged in the ritual activity. Different oathing types were found throughout Kenya. As ethnic groups migrated to different areas in East Africa, they took with them all of the cultural practices, beliefs, and traditions like oathing. Some Africans used oaths, as their ancestors, for justice, to voice grievances, maintain order, and re-establish peace. One such oath was generally apparent and took on a variety of names like kithitu, kithito, and kipitu. In 1913 Charles Dundas outlined in detail the application of oathing rituals as a means to resolve legal disputes. 18 Dundas found that elders regularly used the oathing ceremonies like the kithito to determine the innocence or guilt of individuals in questionable judicial matters. 19 Ethnographer Gerhard Lindblom describes the kipitu oathing process. Lindblom refers to the technical name for swearing over the “kipitu” as “kuna kipitu” (to strike the kipitu) or “Kuia kipitu” (to eat kipitu), which is the process of binding the oathing men. 20 Based on his records, oathers were required to stand on the stones during the oathing ceremony as a

156

Mickie Mwanzia Koster

symbolic method to strengthen the oath, with the stones representing stability. 21 The third type of oath, the kithitu, involved the application of strict rules and conditions during ceremonies. Based on interview accounts, some Kenyans noted that the application of the kithitu oath meant that for seven days there were certain household constraints. 22 Family members had to make sure women were not menstruating, having an abortion, giving birth, or having sex. 23 Throughout history, oathing and women have had an interesting relationship. In pre-colonial Kenya, women were not able to own, oath, or have anything to do with the kipitu oathing process or object. 24 If there were cases involving women, the men would step in to resolve the issue and to oath on behalf of the women. 25 In oathing, Ueda states the kithitu has the “power to judge the truth” and the oathing process is embedded into the larger constructs of African morality, values, and order. 26 However, these conditions changed with female participation in the Mau Mau war and in hip hop. Gender analysis always provides an interesting peek at social dynamics and societal changes. This background is by no means a complete treatment of oathing in precolonial Kenya but shows the cultural, political, social, and spiritual complexity of the ritual before widespread European contact under colonialism. The goal is to show the existence of an oathing system that has long been embedded into African life. Oathing, as a spiritual system, would reappear in modified versions as a means to establish societal justice and liberation. OATHING IN COLONIAL KENYA: THE MAU MAU REVOLUTION One of the most dramatic oath transformations occurred during the Mau Mau war. The Mau Mau revolution is often described as a revolution of the mind, even though as Ngigi mentioned earlier, it also involved a physical (fighting) component that differs from Mau Mau hip hop oathing. The Mau Mau represents an awakening of Kenyans in which they confronted the contradictions of British modernity. The war was a fight for African land and freedom, which eventually led to Kenya’s independence in 1963. The heart of the movement was reconstituted oathing serving as the foundation for secrecy, allegiance, unity, and consciousness. The oath that emerged because of the Mau Mau movement was one that was transformed from ancient oathing, as briefly outlined above, to accommodate the needs of the Mau Mau nationalists. The detailed evolutionary backgrounds of the oaths during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries have been outlined in secondary sources. 27 Mau Mau oaths created new boundaries and behavior following the grave colonial situation in Kenya. 28 Several key areas were radicalized from their former state. Oaths became more inclusive, extending participation to the

Oath Continuities

157

young, women, and other ethnicities. The oath changed by taking on more extreme symbolism in ceremonies, including the handling of bodily fluids, sexual gestures, and other taboos that were forbidden in pre-colonial oathing practices. In addition, oathing was also subject to two new systems of criminalization and purification that were not a part of traditional forms of oathing. The Mau Mau oath represents the clearest evidence of how traditions adapt over time, while providing us with important future categories for analysis. Existing Oath Structures Select core ritual elements of oathing have remained intact from pre-colonial oathing to Mau Mau oathing. These elements or objects include connections to date/time, location, roles, symbolism, symbol types, statements, oath types, spirits, curses, and justice. 29 All oaths take place during a specific time and on a specific date. Similarly, the location of the performed oath was important because it shaped the nature of the oathing experience. For example, Mau Mau oathing often took place in the forest or rural areas where it took on extra levels of symbolism, spiritualism, and meaning compared to oaths performed in urban spaces. However, under hip hop the locations are primarily urban environments. Another important aspect of the oath experience was the oath role. Typically, there were, at a minimum, two roles or individuals present during an oathing experience, the oather and the oath administrator. Under hip hop, the two major roles are the artist/rapper and the fan/listener. The ritual oath administrator, like the hip hop artist, would undoubtedly have a different experience than a fan and was ultimately responsible for inspiring, motivating, uniting, and moving individuals from one state to another. One of the most distinguishing features of oathing is the use and importance of symbolism. Oathing is a symbolic process and is used as a method to confer meaning and power to statements. Symbols included artifacts, objects, aspects of nature, and gestures. For example, soil was used to represent stolen Kenyan land, and numbers and colors used during pre-colonial oaths seemingly possessed magical properties that would enhance power or strength. In some ceremonies, oathers waved a sword seven times while taking statements to represent the Mau Mau struggle, fight, and associated need for violence. During the hip hop revolution, symbolism includes items like the dress of the artists, dreadlocked hair, jewelry, and sexuality to create various levels of group unity, resistance, and meaning. Another crucial component of oathing is the words, statements, lyrics, and messages. While the statements varied by the type of oath administered, all oathing statements had the same purpose and conveyed the same meaning—the unification and liberation of Kenya. In hip hop oathing, the words

158

Mickie Mwanzia Koster

are equally meaningful and powerful and speak of unity, liberation, and justice. The connection to spiritualism is also embedded in oathing. Spiritualism represents an invisible force that listens to the statements, lyrics, and vows. This force is responsible for unleashing judgment, seeking justice, and disseminating curses, if applicable. As mentioned earlier, spiritualism is embedded into the oath ritual practice using words and associated acts designed to invoke spirits. During the Mau Mau war, freedom fighters testified that they believed in the power of the oath because of the spiritual connection. 30 Spiritualism connects directly with another important dimension of the oathing experience, justice. Oaths have always been associated with re-establishing order, equality, and peace. The statements, vows, and lyrics often all point back to the need for moving members closer to justice as a part of the transforming oathing ritual process. Under hip hop, all of the Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau artists interviewed indicated that their music is a practice for justice. For instance, artist David Maina states, “our music talks about the oppression and exploitation of many in society. I guess by addressing these injustices, it also aspires to seek redress from the same.” 31 Together all of these objects briefly presented outline oathing components that have been consistent over time. However, during the Mau Mau period in the 1950s, new relationships were created that deserve attention. We will see that during the hip hop revolution, these core objects largely remain intact. New Oath Structures The analysis of oathing during the Mau Mau period is not complete without considering the new structures added and how these relationships would play out under the hip hop period. The newly added objects provide an important dimension in understanding the inner structure and oath continuities over time. The added relationships include: Oath-Gender, Oath-Youth, Oath-Purification, and Oath-Criminalization. I will examine each one to explore the significance during the Mau Mau period and how it transforms under the hip hop revolution. The Oath-Gender Relationship Prior to the 1950s, justice oaths, as identified during the pre-colonial period, forbade oathing to women. However, oathing roles changed during the Mau Mau war to include women in the process as participants and oath administrators. Likewise, during the hip hop movement, women would continue to play an important role, not only participating as listeners, musicians, dancers, but also rapping and composing. During the Mau Mau war, the presence of women modified the ceremonies making them much more sexualized, which

Oath Continuities

159

often played out in sexually symbolic acts like using the female body as a way of shocking participants and creating new levels of unity. This was extremely important because sexual matters were often viewed as taboo. However, women used their participation to liberate themselves and gain political power and a voice. The revolution needed women because they could maneuver in spaces not open to men. Women in the oathing experience forced men to re-evaluate the meaning of manhood under new structures of inequality. We see the continuity of this development in hip hop, providing important new spaces for women who used this public platform as a way to liberate themselves and openly voice exploitations and grievances. 32 The Oath-Youth Relationship Similarly, oathing during the 1950s witnessed the inclusion of youth in ceremonies, which was forbidden in previous oathing practices because oathing was controlled by elderly men (sixty years of age and older). During Mau Mau, this was an important dimension because extending oathing practices to the younger generations changed the energy of the war and provided an outlet for this restless population. The young carried new ideas and a fighting drive because they had nothing to lose in the existing society. For young men in particular, the Mau Mau movement represented an opportunity for them ultimately to become “men,” defined as the ability to marry (which was becoming increasingly difficult under the economic constraints of colonialism). The oath-youth relationship became very important during the hip hop revolution with the majority of those participating being poor, deprived, and powerless African youth. Hip hop participation also provided them an outlet to voice their grievances and collectively resist oppressive conditions. As a group, this younger generation brought to the movements energy and fervor that continued to radicalize oathing, which was once the business of only powerful elderly men. The Oath-Purification Relationship It was important during the Mau Mau war to purify those that engaged in oathing activities because of the death and violence associated with the movement. Oathing prior to this period did not need to undergo purification because it was viewed as a virtuous ritual associated with honor. However, this relationship notes the changed impression of oathing ceremonies as a practice that took on undesirable practices and taboos, from killing to the handling of bodily fluids that were never associated with former oaths. Hip hop oathing does not include acts such as death and violence that require

160

Mickie Mwanzia Koster

purification as Mau Mau participants experienced during the war. The fight for them is more mental and spiritual than physical. The Oath-Criminalization Relationship Another key link created was the relationship of oathing to crime. Prior to the 1950s oathing was never viewed as a criminal act. As seen during the precolonial oathing practices, oathing actually worked in conjunction with the existing African judicial systems. However, this shifted during the Mau Mau war and became a way to suppress the influence of oathing. During the war, the British used the law to criminalize all individuals who participated in or were present during the administration of the Mau Mau oath. 33 The actual act of oathing was criminalized, with the guilty being executed under the British colonial law. In Kenya today, oathing is still viewed as an act attributed to thugs and hoodlums. 34 This same sort of criminalization is associated with hip hop artists who are viewed as gangsters, rebels, and political agitators. Hip hop artist, Grongi states, “the police used to harass our members usually because we all sport dreadlocks, but with time, people have come to respect us…we only reflect the society.” 35 However, some people have difficulty with hip hop artists because of the messages and the perceptions tied to hip hop. Artist Samual Kangethe addresses these dynamics by offering his interpretation: The world we live in is not right, and if hip hop reflects the ills of society who should be blamed? . . . Western hip hop glorifies illicit sex, gang violence, drugs, and crime that have shaped people’s perceptions of hip hop, but hip hop need not be associated with criminal activity. It is not criminal to express ones anger in a song; anger that might find a dangerous outlet if not properly channeled. 36

As articulated by the examples above, hip hop is not a criminal activity, and no laws exist that execute those who rap, as was the case for Mau Mau oathers. Criminalization has long been an effective strategy for those in power, to shape the impressions and to downplay the power of the messages that speak on behalf of suffering people. The Mau Mau oath changed from pre-colonial oaths to accommodate the needs of participants and to respond to the tense, dangerous, and deadly moment in time. The oath during the Mau Mau revolution was reconstituted as seen above, but maintained important pre-colonial oathing properties. The oath was a product of both the past and the present. With this foundation, we can now explore in more detail oathing in Kenya under the hip hop revolution.

Oath Continuities

161

OATHING IN MODERN KENYA—THE HIP HOP REVOLUTION— NOW TO HIP HOP Oathing under the hip hop revolution has also undergone some transformations that provide insight into the moment. Jeffrey O. G. Ogbar traces the origin of the hip hop revolution to the Black Power movement in the 1970s, starting with African-American and Puerto Rican-youth in New York. 37 The 1970s was a period in which African-people worldwide sought varied forms of expression to voice frustrations with exploitative systems that would continue to regulate black people. The hip hop revolution, like many revolutions, was a radical break from the past—in this case in the way music was transmitted and performed. The lyrics were not quite words to be sung; instead, they were a collection of long narratives and statements similar to African style storytelling but with messages clearly focused on the current political, economic, and social conditions. Mau Mau hip hop, as discussed here, is a particular type of hip hop experience used to bring justice, liberation, resistance, and freedom to listeners. The Mau Mau hip hop oath ceremony is a ritual performance that consists of an artist/rapper that serves as the orchestrator of the practices. He or she decides how to motivate, inspire, and engage listeners using various symbols, dance, music, and lyrics that spiritually transition fans to an uplifted state. The symbolism, gestures, and spoken words invoke God and listening spirits to provide justice. Thus, the hip hop experience in many ways is similar to the ritual practices of the Mau Mau oath. This is distinct from other forms of rap music that lack historical, cultural, political, and social consciousness. However, as shown under the Mau Mau Revolution section, the main oathing structures that were present from the early pre-colonial times are still intact, which includes an association with time/date, location, role, symbols, symbol types, oath types, and spiritualism. The Mau Mau Hip Hop Oath Model, 1970-present Oathing has changed to accommodate the hip hop revolution from the 1970s to the present. Figure 10.1 is a Mau Mau hip hop Oath Model providing an interpretation of a dynamic Mau Mau hip hop experience. It reads that the Mau Mau hip hop oath, defined here as a continuity of previous oaths in Kenya, is a complex ritual performance with relationships to a specific time, place, role, symbols, spiritualism, language, lyrics, dance, music, women, the young, criminalization, hip hop nature/type, and truth. Object 1.0 is in the center of the model and represents the core object for analysis, Mau Mau hip hop. This object represents one single hip hop experience shaped by relationships that define the power and nature of the occur-

162

Figure 10.1.

Mickie Mwanzia Koster

The “Mau Mau Hip Hop” Oath Model

rence. Objects 2.0-2.4, hip hop Time, hip hop Location, hip hop Role, hip hop Symbol Type, hip hop Symbol, and Spiritualism, respectively, are consistent with the oathing structures noted in pre-colonial and colonial Kenya. The differences are mostly associated with the name of the entity, the attributes associated with the entity, which is specific to the nature and time of the experience, and the different domain “types” of attributes. For example, the domain of symbol types will vary since symbolism is usually a function of the meaning of an object, gesture, or act that is specific to a time and place. The model reads that there are many different symbols that can be connected

Oath Continuities

163

to hip hop, such as hand gestures associated with lyrics, Western dress, artists nicknames, and specific words used in music. The spiritualism entity, Object 2.4, is one key dimension that hip hop artists hold in high regard. For example, Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau artist, Zacharia Mwaura, states in an interview on hip hop, “Most social, political, and economic issues have a spiritual angle in them. And these are what we address in our music, trying to find an alternative, to inspire change and encourage people.” 38 From Mwaura’s perspective, Mau Mau hip hop “influences people positively and makes them learn about their life in relation to their past and the commonality of struggle that runs through it.” 39 In another account, hip hop artist Ramadhan Chombo (also known as Sharama) adds on the topic of Mau Mau hip hop spiritualism that, “I guess the spiritual dimension comes from the hope we give to youths and society in general.” 40 Chombo holds that hip hop music ultimately works to inspire, remind, and challenge people. Objects 2.9-3.1 labeled as Women & Sexuality, Young, and Criminalization, respectively, all address relationships that were first discovered in the 1950s during the Mau Mau movement. These entities shape the nature of hip hop. Like during the Mau Mau period, the hip hop revolution would offer an important space for women to contest and to embrace various forms of sexual power. The relationship to the Young is also a defining characteristic of the hip hop movement with the bulk of followers representing youth who are, especially in Kenya, often poor, uneducated, and lack political influence. Finally, the relationship between hip hop artists and criminalization, as mentioned earlier, is the product of many external forces like the media that shapes their image and people’s impressions of them. 41 In the United States, some artists give themselves criminal identities. For example, “Gangsta” hip hop emerged in the late 1980s and was associated with artists like Tupac Shakur, 50 Cent, and Snoop Dogg who promoted violence, thug life, and criminal behavior. 42 All of these objects are relationships that continued during the hip hop revolution. The purification object, unlike the others, was not carried over since it was unnecessary compared to the deadly Mau Mau war. Object 3.2 is the hip hop type and represents the wide variety of hip hop forms, including revolutionary, political, educational, Gangsta, etc. Object 3.3, hip hop Truth, represents another distinguishing aspect of this experience. This object represents hip hop’s pursuit of truth, which is one of the objectives of the artists. For example, Grongi claims that the purpose of Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau is to “represent the truth . . . we help each other grow in the ways we think and approach issues. We offer people inspiration.” 43 The overall ritual experience is designed to promote justice and righteousness. At the bottom of the diagram are several new entities created during the hip hop revolution from the 1970s onward. Object 2.5 represents hip hop

164

Mickie Mwanzia Koster

lyrics that map to oathing statements that existed in previous oathing forms. This entity is key to the experience because it represents words spoken, memorized, and repeated. For example, the Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau song, “Angalia Saa,” translates in English as “look here/now.” The song uses statements like “I know what you want” and “you are a hero” to connect with listeners and encourage them. Close analysis of various songs reveals statements that are used to educate, to unite, to call listeners to action, and to inspire listeners, very similar to the spirit of Mau Mau oathing. Language, represented as object 2.6 on the model, is also a component of the hip hop experience as some songs may use different languages to foster unity across different ethnic groups. This was not as important during former oaths because they were often conducted at the ethnic group level. However, under Mau Mau hip hop, the message crosses ethnicity with groups like Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau having members representing several different ethnicities. The use of language is also symbolic, representing the varied dimensions of the struggle on the local, national, and international level. Mau Mau hip hop is typically in Kiswahili with a few English words for accent; both languages are used to cross the boundaries of ethnicity that often divides Kenyans. Unlike previous oaths, hip hop is often connected with various hip hop dances, as depicted in Object 2.7, and music, shown as Object 2.8. Dance, on the model, is broken out as a distinct object because of its significance in using the body to enhance the ritual experience through symbolic gestures and sexual movements. Similarly, music, because of its importance in hip hop, is represented as a distinct object. Musical beats, instruments, and lyrics are analyzed separately. The dance and music objects were not ritually associated with previous justice oathing ceremonies, although some Mau Mau oath ceremonies included songs. The hip hop model presented is not exhaustive of all the possibilities that can make up the hip hop experience; however, it does in the context of oathing, provide an overview of many of the inner structures and components at play. The model offers an opportunity for us to see the complexity of hip hop as a dynamic system. Understanding the root of a cultural tradition enables us to interpret it in modern form. Culture changes slowly and all developments have a past or a connection to something much larger. The Mau Mau hip hop Model provides a close analytical evaluation of the inner structures of hip hop so that it can be compared to former oathing performances. The radicalization of the oath during the Mau Mau war to include women, more sexual ceremonies, and more power statements through invoking spirits remains but has been intensified over time. These and other hip hop-related objects have been included as modernized transformations designed to strengthen the experience based on the participants and the needs of the time. Like all forms of cultural change, elements that were no longer

Oath Continuities

165

functional in society were cast aside. In this case, purification and cursing were no longer needed; thus they were abandoned by the oathing system. Contrary to the beliefs of many, African-culture and the culture of Africanpeople worldwide is a dynamic and ever changing process. Hip hop is a transformation that is the result of many cultural systems like oathing coming together to create new forms of power in the present. 44 In this treatment of oathing over time, we are able to see the evolution of hip hop as an oathing development and reaction to current political, social, and cultural issues. The spiritualism of hip hop can best be evaluated by understanding it as it relates to oathing. This interpretation provides for a clear picture of the placement of hip hop spiritualism within a much more elaborate ritual process that uses varied components to enhance, accent, and ultimately transition fans to a more desirable state and level of consciousness. Like most rituals, spirits are invoked and are expected to respond. Finally, as a reconstituted oath form, hip hop can be viewed as an organized resistance movement. It is clear from interviews that groups like Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau have clearly attempted to tap into this spiritual oathing and word power to provide a political voice for their supporters. CONCLUSION The interpretation of the historical roots and spiritual developments of hip hop as a modern oath form in Kenya offers a fresh approach. Important cultural traditions do not completely die; they find new ways of expression in the modern world. We have seen evidence and the evolution of oathing applications over time in Kenya. Hip hop artists have intentionally tapped into, continued, and transformed a much older oathing tradition. Word power is a spiritual process within African culture and philosophy. From the beginning of time, Africans understood the fragile relationship between the word and God. Therefore, words were handled carefully. Oathing has a spiritual dimension with powerful words because God or other spirits were invoked and heard the statements and messages. Movements like the Mau Mau were effective because of the spiritual bond, secrecy, and unity of members. The messages and motivations of hip hop artists through their songs are very important to the society, especially the youth. The spiritual link to the spoken word is present because the living, dead, and those in between hear the words. Hip hop has the potential to become a powerful and effective force especially if the artist/performer understands and appropriates their role in the ritual process, and the listener truly believes in the spiritualism of the words. The hip hop artist, like the Mau Mau oath administrator, elders, and others, moves those that engage, listen, and recite from one state to a better one, and this journey is spiritual.

166

Mickie Mwanzia Koster

Oath spiritualism stems from a genuine faith in the oathing statements, and from this study we have seen the ways in which hip hop is greater than just the music, dance, lyrics, and other symbols. The power of hip hop is in the combination of many different elements working together. The connection of Mau Mau hip hop as a transformed oath experience provides us with one explanation of the power and appeal of hip hop that suggests new conversations beyond Kenya. The historical evolution of oathing also allows us to predict areas of future radicalization and possibilities through the ritual engagement of words. With this, we are confronted with an opportunity to utilize the full oathing power of hip hop as a system for social, economic, and political change. NOTES 1. Mickie Hudson-Koster, “The Making of Mau Mau: The Power of the Oath” (diss. Rice University, 2010). 2. James Endell Tyler, Oaths: Their Origin, Nature, and History (London: John W. Parker West Strand, n.d.), 27. Also note that the “listeners and witnesses” may be spiritual. 3. However, the goal is that this focused treatment of Kenya can then be used for more global comparisons. 4. Interview, Samuel Kangethe Ngigi, April 2011, Westlands, Nairobi, Kenya. 5. Interview, Githiji Grongi, April 2011, Dandora, Nairobi, Kenya. 6. Interview, Ngigi. 7. Interview, Ngigi. 8. Mau Mau hip hop will be explained more later in this study. But, it refers to the artists like Ukoo Fulani Mau Mau who embrace the participants in the Mau Mau war to fight for Kenyan Independence from their British colonizers in 1952. 9. Janheinz Jahn, Muntu: African Culture and the Western World (New York: Grove Press, Inc. 1989), 121. 10. Ibid., 124. 11. Molefi K. Asante, The Afrocentric Idea (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998), 22. 12. Molefi K. Asante, Afrocentricity: The Theory of Social Change (Chicago: AfricanAmerican Images, 2003). 13. William Banfield, Cultural Codes: An Interpretative History from Spirituals to Hip Hop (Toronto: The Scarecrow Press, Inc., 2010), 172. 14. Ibid., 172. Also see Strode, The Hip Hop Reader, 3-9. 15. Jahn, Muntu, 135. 16. Charles Dundas, “History of Kitui,” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 43 (July–December 1913): 510–514. 17. Interviewees often described the oathing process as one in which the Kithitu was beaten or eaten; both statements involved the invoking of the power of the oath and eating the oathing statements. Interviews with K. Mutunga, K. Nthuva, and K. Kitavi, June 2009, Kitui, Kenya. Gerhard Lindblom in his 1920 document, The Akamba in British East Africa: An Ethnological Monograph (168), refers to the kipitu as kuna kipitu (to strike the kipitu) or Kuia kipitu (to eat kipitu) which is the process of binding the oathing men. 18. Dundas, “History of Kitui,” 510–514. 19. The Kithito is defined as an article with great power, and if a man falsely swears, he can expect death. See Dundas, “History of Kitui,” 511–512. 20. See Lindblom, The Akamba in British East Africa,168. Ueda, in the article, “Kithitu among the Kamba,” describes this process as “kuya kithitu” (to eat the kithitu).

Oath Continuities

167

21. Ibid., 168–169. 22. Interviews, K. Mutunga and P. Matheke, June 2009, Kitui, Kenya. 23. Interview, P. Matheke, June 2009, Kitui, Kenya. 24. Although this was the case in the past, today some Kenyan women actually own, possess, and use the Kithitu. My husband is Kenyan, and this is the case in his family. It is an interesting point to explore in more detail in the contemporary application and uses of the Kithitu object and oath. 25. Lindblom, The Akamba in British East Africa, 170–171. 26. Ueda, “Kithitu among the Kamba.” 27. For example, see Kershaw, Mau Mau From Below, 229, and Kanogo, Squatters and the Roots of Mau Mau, 116. 28. The complex factors that led up to the Mau Mau movement have been the topic of many scholars, and a full treatment is beyond the scope of this study. Recent accounts on the history include the works of Caroline Elkins, Imperial Reckoning, and David Anderson, History of the Hanged. However, this study will consider the relationship to African grievances in terms of the embedded meaning of the oathing statements from the perspective of participants. 29. A complete study of Mau Mau oathing is not treated here; for this detailed analysis see Hudson-Koster, The Making of Mau Mau, chapter “The Mau Mau Oath Model: Meaning, Symbols, Structure, and Relationships.” 30. Interview, P. Musuo and J. M. Malei, January 2009, Machakos District. 31. Interview, D. Maina, April 2011, Dandora, Nairobi, Kenya. 32. See Hudson-Koster, The Making of Mau Mau, chapter on “Gender and Oathing.” 33. Official Judgment Document from C.A. Cooper, H.M Supreme Court of Kenya on October 14th, 1954 on Emergency Trial No. 103 of 1954. KNA MLA 1/986-CC 103/1954. Case #103 Rex vs. Ruben Mbwika, Nathan Kiswii, and Nguma Muindi. 34. Interview, R. Simiyu of The Emerald Initiative Kenyan Association, January 2010, associated with the viewing and discussion of Wendo Wa Kavete of Kibwezi District: “Purification Ritual Performance.” 35. Interview, Grongi. 36. Interview, Ngigi. 37. Jeffrey O. G. Ogbar, Hip-Hop Revolution: The Culture and Politics of Rap (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2007). 38. Interview, Z. Mwaura, April 2011, Roy Sambu, Nairobi, Kenya. 39. Interview, Mwaura. 40. Interview, Ramadhan Chombo, April 2011, Westlands, Nairobi, Kenya. 41. For more information see Ogbar, Hip-Hop Revolution,105–138. 42. Banfield, Cultural Codes, 175. 43. Interview, Grongi. 44. The other systems or cultural developments like Music and Dance are outside of the scope of this focused study.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Archival Sources Kenya National Archives, Murembi Library Collection. Udea, Hitoshi. “Kithitu Among the Kamba of Kenya—the Case Study of Kilonzo’s Kithitu.” Kenya National Archives Mss. 83–821 390 EUD. N.D.

Other Works Anderson, David. Histories of the Hanged: Britain’s Dirty War in Kenya and the End of Empire. London: Weidenfeld and Nelson, 2005.

168

Mickie Mwanzia Koster

Asante, Molefi K. Afrocentricity: The Theory of Social Change. Chicago: African-American Images, 2003. ———. The Afrocentric Idea. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998. Banfield, William. Cultural Codes: An Interpretative History from Spirituals to Hip Hop. Toronto: The Scarecrow Press, Inc, 2010. Beidelman, T. O. “Some Notes on the Kamba in Kilosa District.” Tanganyika Notes and Records 57 (September 1961): 181–194. ———. The Cool Knife: Imagery of Gender, Sexuality, and Moral Education in Kaguru Initiation Ritual. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1997. Behrand, Heike and Ute Luig, eds. Spirit Possession, Modernity, and Power in Africa. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1999. Butler, Paul. Let’s Get Free: A Hip Hop Theory of Justice. New York: The New Press, 2009. Comaroff, Jean. Body of Power, Spirit of Resistance: The Culture and History of a South African People. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985. Corfield, Frank Derek. Historical Survey of the Origins and Growth of Mau Mau. Cox, James L. Expressing the Scared: An Introduction to the Phenomenology of Religion. Zimbabwe: University of Zimbabwe Publications, 1992. Devish, Rene. Weaving the Threads of Life. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1993. Douglas, Mary. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. London: Ark Paperbacks, 1966. Drewal, Margaret Thompson. Yoruba Ritual: Performers, Play and Agency. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1992. Dundas, Charles. “History of Kitui.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 43 (July–December, 1913): 480-549. ———. “Native Laws of the Bantu Tribes of East Africa.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland (January-June, 1921): 271–278. Elkins, Caroline. Imperial Reckoning: The Untold Story of Britain’s Gulag in Kenya. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2005. G. Grongi. Interviewed and translated by F. M. Ndaka. Dandora, Nairobi, Kenya. April 2011. Harris, Paul. “Mau Mau returns to Kenya.” Sydney Morning Herald, January 17, 2000, http:// www.hartford-hwp.com/archives/36/260.html. Harrison, Anthony Kwame. Hip Hop Underground. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2009. Hobsbawm, Eric and Terrance Ranger, eds. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. Hudson-Koster, Mickie. “The Making of Mau Mau: The Power of the Oath.” Unpublished PhD. Dissertation, Rice University, 2010. ———. “Suppressed Rites of Power: Systems of Colonial Criminalization.” Paper presented at the African Studies Association Conference, Chicago, IL, November 2008. Ikenga-Metuh, Emefie. “Ritual Dirt and Purification Rites among the Igbo.” Journal of Religion in Africa 15, Fasc. 1 (1985): 2–24. Itote, Waruhiu. Mau Mau in Action. London: General Printers Ltd, 1979. Reprinted:1985, 1990. ———. Mau Mau General. Nairobi: East African Pub. House, 1967. Jahn, Janheinz. Muntu: African Culture and the Western World (New York: Grove Press, Inc. 1989), 121. Jahn, Janheinz and Marjorie Grene. Muntu: African Culture and the Western World. New York: Grove Press, 1994. Kanogo, Tabitha. African Womanhood in Colonial Kenya, 1900–1950. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2000. ———. Squatters and the Roots of Mau Mau, 116. Kenyatta, Jomo. Facing Mount Kenya: The Tribal Life of the Gikuyu. London: Secker and Warburton, 1938. Kershaw, Greet. Mau Mau from Below. Ohio: Ohio University Press 1997. Kitwana, Bakari. The Hip Hop Generation. New York: The Perseus Books Group, 2002.

Oath Continuities

169

Kopping, Klaus-Peter, Bernhard Leistle, and Michael Rudolph, eds. Ritual and Identity: Performative Practices as Effective Transformations of Social Reality. Heidelberg: University of Heidelberg, 2006. Larson, Michael Todd. “A Mau Mau Oath-taking Ceremony Administered by General Blood performed on February 2, 1956.” Unpublished PhD. Dissertation. University of North Carolina, 1972. Leakey, L. S. B. Mau Mau and the Kikuyu. London: Metheun and Company, Ltd., 1954. Lindblom, Gerhard. The Akamba in British East Africa: An Ethnological Monograph. Uppsala: Appelbergs Boktryckeri Aktiebolag, 1920. Lonsdale, John. “Mau Mau of the Mind: Making Mau Mau and Remaking Kenya.” The Journal of African History 31.3 (1990): 393–421. McWhorter, John. All About the Beat: Why Hip-Hop Can’t Save Black People. New York: Penguin Group, Inc., 2008. Ntarangwi, Mwenda. East African Hip Hop: Youth Culture and Globalization. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2009. ———. Gender, Identity, and Performance: Understanding Swahili Cultural Realities through Song. New Jersey: Africa World Press, Inc., 2003. Odhiambo, E. S. Atieno and John Lonsdale. Mau Mau and Nationhood: Arms, Authority and Narration. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2003. Ogbar, Jeffrey O. G. Hip Hop Revolution: The Culture and Politics of Rap. Lawrence: University Press of Kanas, 2007. Opolot, J. S. E. The Crime Problem in Africa: A Wake-Up Call of the 1960s–1990s. Paris: Univers de Presse, 1994. Otieno, Wambui Waiyaki. Mau Mau Daughter: A Life History. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1988. P. Musuo. Born 1922. Interviewed by M. Musyimi. Tape recording and notes. Mutituni. February 2009. Paden, William E. Interpreting the Sacred: Ways of Viewing Religion. Boston: Beacon Press, 1992. Phillips, Kenneth N. From Mau Mau to Christ. Nairobi: Africa Inland Mission, 1958. Presley, Cora Ann. Kikuyu Women, the Mau Mau Rebellion, and Social Change in Kenya. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1992. R. Chombo. Interviewed and translated by F. M. Ndaka. Westlands, Nairobi, Kenya. April 2011. Ray, Carina. “The Empire’s Ghost Returns.” New African (August/September 2009): 18–22. Rose, Tricia. Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 1994. S. Ngigi. Interviewed and translated by F. M. Ndaka. Westlands, Nairobi, Kenya. April 2011. Machakos District Smitherman, Geneva. Word From the Mother: Language and African-Americans. New York: Routedge Publishing, 2006. Strode, Tim. The Hip Hop Reader. New York: Pearson Education, Inc. 2008. Tilly, Charles. Politics of Collective Violence. Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2003. Time. “Kenya: SOS.” October 27, 1952, http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/ 0,9171,890400,00.html. Turner, Victor. The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Turner. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1967. ———. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-structure. New York: Walter De Gruyter Inc. 1969. Tyler, James Endell. Oaths: Their Origin, Nature, and History. London: John W. Parker West Strand, n.d. Ueda, Hitoshi. “Kithitu among the Kamba of Kenya—The Case Study of Kilonzo’s Kithitu.” Journal of African Studies, Japanese Association for African Studies, 16 (March 1977). Vasina, Jan. Oral Tradition As History. Oxford: James Currey Publishers, 1985. Watkins, S. Craig. Hip Hop Matters: Politics, Pop Culture, and the Struggle for the Soul of a Movement. Boston, Beacon Press Books, 2005.

170

Mickie Mwanzia Koster

White, Luise. “Separating the Men from the Boys: Constructions of Gender, Sexuality, and Terrorism in Central Kenya, 1939–1959.” International Journal of African Historical Studies 23.1 (1990): 1–25. White, Luise, Stephen F. Mieshcher, and David William Cohen, eds. African Words, African Voices. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001. Z. Mwaura. Interviewed and translated by F. M. Ndaka. Roy Sambu, Nairobi, Kenya. April 2011.

Chapter Eleven

My Soul Knows How to Flow: A Critical Analysis of the History of Urban Black Christian-Themed Rap Erika D. Gault

Three years prior to the first commercially released Christian rap single Afrika Bambaataa, the Soulsonic Force’s “Planet Rock” begin pushing the limits of synthesized sound. A year later “Looking for a Perfect Beat” would further test its boundaries. The year following the 1985 release of “Bible Breaks” by Stephen Wiley, the first commercially released Christian rap album, would prove just as significant in rap music history. 1 A group of white twenty-something males would top the charts with “(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (To Party!).” The Beastie Boys and the Aerosmith/Run DMC duo of “Walk This Way” would arguably become the single most influential crossover singles to hit mainstream radio airwaves in the mid-1980s. Rap music’s expansion into wider markets would influence the development of subsequent sub-genres during the same period. In large part, black Christian rap artists of this period would come of age amidst many of the same postindustrial urban realities that birthed the wider rap music culture. Yet, quite differently, for Christian rap would be the latent embrace it would receive in Christian music circles. By the release of “Bible Breaks,” rap music was already nearly fifteen years old. 2 The birth of Christian rap early in the 1980s has much to do with the overall changes in America’s religious landscape by the decade’s beginning. A 1985 Gallup poll revealed that one in three Americans switched from the faith in which they were raised. This was a significant change from a 1955 poll, which held that only 4 percent, or one in twenty-five Americans, had switched religions. 3 Within that thirty-year period, however, much of what characterized the religious landscape of America had greatly declined. Un171

172

Erika D. Gault

like the 1980s, the World War would overshadow much of the decade of the 1950s. The return of G.I. troops marked the beginning of a new era. The creation of spacious new suburban communities would signal the departure of several families residing in the city. As new lines between the city and the suburbs were coming into definition, startling new religious contours also begin to take shape. The sprawl and prosperity into which many baby boomers were born seemed unyielding. The zeitgeist of the period could be felt and in some ways would be spurred on by religious leaders. Billy Graham would gain notoriety for his promulgation of an individual salvation. Norman Vincent Peale’s The Power of Positive Thinking and Monsignor Fulton J. Sheen’s Peace of Soul would offer both a path to individual success and inner peace. In several denominations attendance swelled. Church memberships rose to almost 65 percent of the national population. 4 Yet, those Post World War decades also mirrored the increased pluralism within American religion. Indeed, much of the appeal of Billy Graham’s message lay in its nonsectarian approach. As well, the 1962 beginning of the Second Vatican council represented an opening of religious doors to the modern world. However, much of the optimism and unyielding growth which churches witnessed in those first two decades following the World War would all but dry up into the 1970s and 1980s as sectarian growth gave way to increasingly insular churches. This, coupled with a tidal wave of discontent with several other civic institutions by the late-1960s would lend to the disillusionment with many mainline Christian denominations going into the following decades. However, this was not only true for traditional Christian churches. The displacement of several religious institutions in American cities during those years left the next generation of seekers in a quandary regarding religious belief. In large part, however, Christian belief into the 1970s would witness a faltering of many longstanding denominations. Organizations like the United Methodist, the Episcopal Church, Presbyterian Church in the USA, and the United Church of Christ would experience a major blow to church attendance and membership. 5 Nevertheless, just as these denominations witnessed decline, a new brand of Christian belief was flourishing. Christian Evangelicals would gain notoriety for their use of both television and popular culture symbols in relating their message and for the political influence they would wield going into the 1980s. Under the direction of such deeply conservative leaders as Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell organizations like the Christian Coalition and the Moral Majority would demonstrate a tremendous amount of influence on American politics. The rise of conservative neo-evangelicalism in America by the 1980s can account for the early style and content of Christian rap. For those who came of age during the decade of the 1970s the realities of post-industrial America were felt in urban centers. In Black Noise, a now

My Soul Knows How to Flow

173

iconic work in the field of Rap Studies, Tricia Rose argues that several of these realities would be influential in the creation of rap music. Early in its history, spirituality was a part of rap culture. Afrika Bamaabaata’s creation of the Zulu nation was founded in part to inspire a universal embrace of several beliefs. This “quasi-theological mess” as Jeff Chang described in “Infinity Lessons” would garner support among some emerging hip hop artists by the late-1980s. 6 A hodgepodge of belief, Zulu Nation supported among other principles, those of the Nation of Islam, Nation of Gods and Earths, Nwaubin beliefs, and Abrahamic religions of both the Old and New Testament of the Bible. Thusly, while decidedly Christian rappers would not emerge until the mid-1980s, one cannot overlook the Christian strain within earlier rap music. The appearance of Christian motifs within rap songs of the 1970s and within the ideologies of prominent rappers would influence the following decade’s emergence of definitively Christian rappers. Moreover, while it would occur in, albeit, limited ways, Christian rappers would in turn affect the wider rap industry. Indeed the 1985 release of “Bible Breaks” by Stephen Wiley would be preceded by his 1979 song “Basketball” which would reach #71 on the charts six years later when it was recorded by rap artist Kurtis Blow. 7 Blow, now a licensed minister, has continued both producing and performing both secular and Christian rap. Several later Christian rappers have noted an involvement in the earlier culture of secular rap music prior to their transition into Christian rap. For others the lines between the two genres are not so clearly drawn. Rapper B. B. Jay, also called the Pentecostal Poppa, recounted how the culture of hip hop developed in his childhood neighborhood in the 1970s. His involvement with its musical production would naturally evidence his Christian identity. 8 Yet, by the 1980s, other distinctly Christian rappers were influencing even B. B. Jay. Charles E. Mitchell Sr.’s, (a.k.a. Rap’n Rev) concert, would be B. B. Jay’s first Christian rap performance. 9 By the late-1980s, a few other commercially successful acts would emerge. Michael Peace 1987 release of RRRock it Right would garner attention in Christian music and he would soon become one of a handful of Christian solo rappers. 10 The following year P.I.D. (Preachas In Disguise) would release a musical cassette entitled Here We Are. 11 However, the most commercially successful Christian rap group of the decade would be D.C. Talk. As a group, D.C. Talk would move further away from their hip hop base by the mid-1990s. However, their first initial success would come from the 1989 rap release album entitled D.C. Talk, popularizing Christian rap into the 1990s. 12 Their success is telling of both the texture of Christian rap at the time and more generally American Christianity by the late-1980s. The trio met at Liberty University. Founded by Jerry Falwell in 1971, Liberty University would become known as a staunchly conservative Chris-

174

Erika D. Gault

tian institution. 13 Falwell streamlined the rise of religious conservatism in the 1980s through this institution along with several others that involved Falwell during those decades. Its strongly evangelical thrust would influence the content of D.C. Talk. By the creation of their first CD, the Religious Right had come to wield a considerable amount of power in American politics. A seldom discussed fact, however, is the role of music in advancing the goals and motives of the Religious Right. It would be 1976 when then vice-president of Sparrow Records, Billy Ray Hearn would sign a few very wellknown artists like Annie Herring, Keith Green, and Matthew Ward. 14 Early performers of “Jesus music” and participants in the late-1960s Jesus Movement, these artists would become instrumental in creating the next wave in Christian music, soon dubbed Christian Contemporary Music. Evangelists like Billy Graham, his son Franklin Graham Jr., and David Wilkerson would be early proponents of using both the content and style of the Hippie movement in evangelizing to youth. The concept of “free love” became an epitome of God’s love. The principle of the Golden Rule affirmed many hippies’ belief in altruism and the creation of a more equitable society. Evangelism often occurred in more unconventional locations like Christian coffeehouses. Here youth gathered for more than the traditional sermon. Preston Shires describes popular Christian coffeehouses like Catacombs in Seattle, Washington, by saying, Music figured prominently. Bob Dylan-styled folk singers, guitarists, drummers, and electric organists replaced surefooted pedal organists and choirs. The music gave the coffeehouses a nightclub ambience . . . which drew youth in. The novelty of singing Christian lyrics to rock 'n roll or contemporary folk tunes sent the message home that this was relevant religion. 15

Shires argued that, as the youth in the Jesus Movement came of age so too did the conservative Christian movement. As the two grew their messages compounded. D.C. Talk would become emblematic of that merger. A fact not lost on the group, whose widely successful 1996 album JesusFreak paid homage to the moniker given to those youth connected to the late-1960s Jesus Movement. Nevertheless, in large part the music of D.C. Talk spoke for and to mostly the same audiences as earlier Jesus music. Sparrow Records, now of EMI Christian Music group, would describe this core audience in saying “‘Jesus music’ began to catch on with record-buying suburban teens and college kids.” 16 By the late-1980s, the same remained true for much of Christian rap. The average consumer remained youthful, suburban, and white. While the birth of rap music would occur in the predominately black neighborhoods of South Bronx, Christian rap would find a miniscule audience within these same communities by the late-1980s. Within black relig-

My Soul Knows How to Flow

175

ious circles, one can attribute several factors to the latent embrace of Christian rap. If Falwell and organizations like Liberty University and the Moral Majority were representative of many white Christian voters, black voters’ political views seemed to rest at the opposite end of the spectrum. The 1984 and 1988 presidential campaigns of Rev. Jesse Jackson sought to counter the ascendancy of conservative politics, not least of which was demonstrated in the 1980 presidential election of Ronald Reagan. While ultimately unsuccessful, the candidacy of Jackson would demonstrate the virility of the Black Church. Its ability to mobilize black communities around his liberal policies also showed where black sensibilities lay by the close of the 1980s. This is not to suggest that the political or social activism of either Jerry Falwell or Rev. Jessie Jackson bears most of the blame for why African-Americans remained, in large measure, uninterested in Christian rap into the early1990s. Yet it does show the tenor of the moment, which is that American religious and political belief remained strongly divided along racial lines— despite D.C. Talk’s being a multiracial group. Yet in large part, the content and style of their music would continue to top white Christian radio stations’ play lists because it represented, in several ways, white Christian sensibilities of the time. Tricia Rose describes hip hop as “developing a style which nobody can deal with.” 17 To some degree, what may have kept the grittier themes within Christian black rap off the airwaves were the challenges such a style presented for white sensibilities. However, perhaps more significant was the fact that approaches to rap music in black communities revealed strikingly different sensibilities altogether from D.C. Talk. Relevant rap among African-American Christians remained closer to the neighborhoods and prerogatives of black communities, a style and content mostly found only within secular rap by the 1990s. In “The Hood Comes First,” Murray Forman notes, Throughout the 1980s and 1990s . . . the specificity of references to urban locale has become increasingly evident as rappers illustrate their awareness that the city is not an evenly structured space but one that is prone to a tangible unevenness, with different places constituting distinct zones of activity. 18

Earlier Christian rap albums failed to capture in any large part urban black audiences because many felt it did not embody a sense of place. Much of what pushed Run-DMC to commercial success would be a style of simple black jeans, Kangol caps and lace-less Adidas. Yet, their style indicated a specific location that worked to draw an important geography of meaning for both black and white audiences. When D.C. Talk released their first album, it demonstrated a highly evangelical flavor quite indicative of its Christian neoconservative influence stressing, as it did, personal salvation and evangelism. Unlike secular artists of the same moment who were making the move to

176

Erika D. Gault

conscious lyrics, which critiqued social ills, or gangsta rap that described the harsher realities of urban life, D.C. Talk’s lyrics steered clear of the racial politics of rap. The album’s closest mention of such content would come in the second-stanza admonition of “Gah Ta Be,” where the artist would emphasize to listeners that salvation was independent of social markers such as race. 19 D.C. Talk’s early albums not only often remained mute on the issues most prevalent within black communities, where issues of race and gender were mentioned, their importance was often minimized. 20 By the close of the 1980s, many popular Christian rappers would deal with the issue of race by essentializing identities in much the same way. At a time when rap music popular among African-Americans stressed specific identities through the use of geographical locators, city, street, and neighborhood names, it is apparent why white Christian rap proved little alternative to its secular counterpart. The founding of Gotee Records by Toby McKeenan would help facilitate the expansion of Christian rap into urban black environments in the early1990s. With first producing the gospel R&B group Out of Eden, Gotee soon expanded to include rap acts as diverse as G.R.I.T.S., Christafari, Knowdaverb (now Verb), and Deepspace 5. Other labels like Tooth and Nails, parent company to Uprock, would soon develop providing Christian listeners with new rap acts like KJ-52, Manafest, and Sup the Chemist. The diversity of artists and messages these labels would bring to Christian-themed rap would sensitize Christian listeners to the art form and help make the music accessible to a wider audience. Yet, specifically for black urban audiences, Christian rap music would owe its development to a few other emergent realities of the late-1980s. Just as Billy Ray Hearn had capitalized on the early success of Jesus Music among white suburban youth his foresight in expanding into urban black markets would open black audiences to the sound of Christian rap. Another early singer in the Jesus Movement would be none other than Andraé Crouch. Though African-American, it would take Hearn’s assistance to popularize Crouch’s music in urban black settings. Hearn recalls how he cajoled black stations like Detroit’s WQBH to play Crouch’s music in the early 1970s. 21 Crouch’s musical influence over the Jesus Movement would also affect the style of the newly emerging genre known as Urban Contemporary Gospel. Credited with being the first artists to substitute the proper name “Jesus” for “he” in gospel songs, Crouch would lead the way for rising black contemporary Christian performers throughout the 1980s and into the 1990s.

My Soul Knows How to Flow

177

BLACK CHRISTIAN RAP OF THE 1990S In the early-1990s, groups which held a more urban panache and remained strongly influenced by the gospel music tradition would be instrumental in introducing Christian rap to black audiences. While there would be the earlier “Son of a Preacher” track, it would be the 1990 release of the hit Christian single “Pray” by M.C. Hammer that would reach the #1 on Billboard charts. 22 The success of this album would help to elevate gospel rap to a more prominent status among African-Americans. Perhaps “Pray” was so successful among black audiences given its ability to combine both secular and sacred musical traditions familiar to them. Musically Hammer’s track was able to endear itself to audiences through a sample of Prince’s “When Doves Cry” song. Regarding content, however, “Pray” remained true to its Gospel’s roots, even imploring the voices of a choir. Within Protest and Praise: Sacred Music of Black Religion, Jon Michael Spencer opines that the spirituals/gospel tradition within the Black Church has provided a powerful tool in articulating and overcoming existential oppression and struggles common in black communities. 23 Hammer’s “Pray” follows along this same trajectory in recounting his rise to fame. His faith and strong work ethic propel his level of material success despite obstacles. 24 The rise of a prosperity gospel the decade prior can perhaps be partly responsible for the theology presented in “Pray.” Two years after its release Jim Bakker, undeniably one of the decade’s most influential televangelists, would be imprisoned for his fraudulent business dealings. Yet, by the year of Hammer’s release, his message of individual prosperity had become a mainstay in the neo-Pentecostal Movement. Jerry Falwell would take over Bakker’s fledgling ministry, further mobilizing conservative Christians. However, Hammer’s view while perhaps affected by the general evangelical tenor within religious circles at that time, also had a distinctly black Christian flair. Hammer makes clear his continued connection to this African-American religious tradition and its geographies. In addition, while Hammer’s later decline in popularity would be attributed to his lack of authenticity, the sense of place and heavy reliance upon black gospel themes found within Hammer’s lyrics amidst the affirmation of individual success would typify many black Christian rap songs of the decade. Just as white evangelicals would wield a considerable theological influence on the lyrics of rap songs in the decade, perhaps more significant would be the rise of several black televangelists in the same period. Bishop T. D. Jakes, Bishop Eddie Long, and Carlton Pearson—espousing a message of prosperity greatly impacted by earlier televangelist Creflo Dollar—would emerge as popular voices within the contemporary Black Church. Many in this prosperity movement in the 1990s recast the Black Church’s historic message of liberation and struggle against oppression as an individual pursuit. It was in many ways reminiscent

178

Erika D. Gault

of earlier African-American preachers like Father Divine and Daddy Grace. Yet, the stakes were higher and broadcast opportunities for AfricanAmerican preachers had greatly increased. The new age of black televangelism would combine the best of the neo-Pentecostal movement with the traditional theology of the Black Church. The struggle for freedom became an economic one. The social justice strain in Black churches receded in many ways into the background of black theology as doctrines of prosperity coupled with the wider white neo-Pentecostal movement. The beginning of the millennial era would find Time magazine wondering on its front cover whether or not Bishop Jakes would be the next Billy Graham. Graham, known for his strong alliances with many conservative presidencies of the last half of the twentieth century, would have proven a mismatched comparison in earlier decades—indeed, less than two decades prior the ministry of Jakes still lay in its infancy. As well, Rev. Jesse Jackson’s campaign mirrored many of the hopes and beliefs of the Black Church. Yet, the black televangelist rise throughout the 1990s would be on the theological backs of the wider white Christian televangelism. This was not, however, the same political machine engineered by Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson, and championed by the Religious Right. Men like Kenneth Hagin and Oral Roberts mostly mentored the prominent black televangelists of the mid-1990s. Thusly, their ministries would lack the kind of political influence garnered by the Religious Right. The major shift within the black “electric church” would be ideological. Those shifts would greatly influence the development of Christian rap. The message of prosperity, which came of age in that decade, had much to do with the occurrence of the economic boom. It seemed the oft-repeated words of Oral Roberts, that “something good is going to happen to you!” had had a prophetic effect on the U.S. economy during those years of the Clinton administration. In reality, a number of forces had combined to spur the economy’s growth. Joseph Stiglitz would describe those years as follows: After sluggishness in the 1970s and 1980s, productivity in the United States had risen sharply, to levels that exceeded even those of the boom following World War II. Globalization was in full swing, and in ways that redounded distinctly to the good of this country. . . . The flow of capital to emerging markets had multiplied sixfold in just over six years—a remarkable increase, driven by the search for ever higher returns. U.S. representatives at G-7 meetings and elsewhere boasted of our success, preaching to the sometimes envious economic leaders of other countries that if they would only imitate us, they, too, would enjoy such prosperity. Asians were told to abandon the model that had seemingly served them so well for two decades but was now seen to be faltering. Sweden and other adherents of the welfare state appeared to be abandoning their models as well. The U.S. model reigned supreme. 25

My Soul Knows How to Flow

179

Within such an economic climate, evangelicals promised similar returns to congregates. Yet, the promise of prosperity within rising black mega churches remained in many ways an unfulfilled one. The economic disparities, which had plagued African-Americans in decades prior, would continue into the 1990s. There had been an uptick in black earnings following the close of the Civil Rights era. Several of these black elite would become a part of the new Black Church culture. However, the cocaine trade, joblessness, lack of housing and education in these communities by the 1980s, would only exacerbate the problems of poverty in urban centers. The post-industrial cities that birthed rap music continued to color the experiences of black youth into the 1990s and yet, the message of prosperity that filled the pulpits of several black televangelists during this period and into the following decade seemed to connect with another generation of Black churchgoers facing an array of economic realities and geographies. The urban, suburban, poverty stricken, upwardly mobile, and well-to-do were all attracted to the new prosperity message. Michael Eric Dyson has noted, “gangsta rap’s greatest sin is that it tells the truth about practices and beliefs that rappers hold in common with the black elite. This music has embarrassed black bourgeois culture.” 26 The disjuncture rap music presented in black communities seemed to be an issue of economics. Urban black youth had created both a sound and content rooted in certain urban realities, which the black middle class earlier in rap’s history could not situate. 27 Not until the late-1980s, in producers and artists like Russell Simmons, Run-DMC, LL Cool J, and Public Enemy, did the listening audiences meet viable black suburban or at least middle-class rappers. 28 Black Churches, still the domain of the black bourgeoisie, seemed even later in their acceptance of the art form in churches. Three years following the release of “Pray” this much seemed true in the highly publicized campaign against negative rap taken on by Rev. Calvin Butts, pastor of the affluent Abyssinia Baptist Church. Scheduling a June 5 rally, Butts promised to steamroll over offensive rap CDs. He ultimately called off the event, in favor of a sit-down conversation with rappers. 29 In an unforgettable interview with Luther Campbell, Butts would insist that he held a deep appreciation for the art form, only the negative content that demeaned women and celebrated the visceral forms of black sexuality troubled him. 30 To his credit, the Harlem pastor had even welcomed controversial rappers into his pulpit and praised the lyrics of other rappers in earlier sermons. However, in the annals of rap history Butts would become synonymous with the staunch conservatism of black elite churchgoers. While highly powerful in black religious circles, in many ways Butts represented the old guard of elite Black Churches. Abyssinia’s history stretched back to the Civil Rights activism of Adam Clayton Powell Jr.

180

Erika D. Gault

However, the new face of the Black Church into the mid- to late-1990s was not as quick to speak out against rap music. In several ways, its most prominent televangelists embodied the culture of hip hop and rap music making its ethos of consumerism acceptable among the black bourgeois. Preachers like Bishop T. D. Jakes represented much of the prosperity of upwardly mobile congregants. 31 The fact that several black televangelists held many of the accoutrements of wealth and often encouraged the rampant consumerism of congregants provided a comfortable haven for the black middle-class. It is no coincidence then that both the lifestyle and money found within rap music circles would also find its way into the coffers of a few black churches. By the millennial era, several prominent black preachers would be connected to rappers and their music, adding a greater significance to the genre. Perhaps one of the most publicized instances would come a year before the dawn of the millennium. BLACK CHRISTIAN RAP INTO THE MILLENNIAL ERA The conversion of Mason Druell Betha (a.k.a. Murda Mase) and his subsequent departure from rap music shocked adoring fans. While he would become a licensed minister under Pastor Jonathan Carter of Siloam Baptist Church in December of 1999, it would be the ministry of Creflo Dollar that would most affect both the style and content of Mase’s new message in his Atlanta-based ministry, S.A.N.E. (Saving a Nation Endangered). 32 In 2004, Mase would create yet another buzz upon his return to rap music. Speculations would rise regarding supposed feuds that caused his departure and the money woes that marked his return. Mase, however, would respond in an October issue of Vibe that year by saying, “When I left it was because of God. And when I came back, it was because of God.” 33 The new Mase held a much more positive image as a self-described “bad boy gone clean,” alluding to his time spent on Sean Comb’s Bad Boy Record label. 34 The influence of Creflo Dollar’s tutelage would be apparent. The third album of his career featured the track entitled “Breathe, Stretch, Shake” where Mase exhibits Dollar’s influence on his theology. Voluminous boasts regarding his material wealth fill each stanza. Here Mase attributes the celebration of wealth to “favor.” An oft repeated word in neo-Pentecostal circles, “favor” suggests a principle of preferential blessing to those who have accepted salvation. Mase says as much in the opening lines “Welcome Back,” in suggesting that his success concurs with the date of his conversion. 35 These preferential blessings—according to Mase’s mentor Creflo Dollar—can account for the material wealth of the faithful. However, these blessings were also connected to a concept known among Word of Faith ministries as seedtime and harvest. The phrase lifted

My Soul Knows How to Flow

181

from an obscure verse in Genesis 8:22 would offer the foundation for this brand of theology that Word of Faith ministers like Kenneth Hagin and his protégé Creflo Dollar would popularize. Mase’s touting of this doctrine has raised both criticism and praise from the rap industry and the Black Church. In many respects, the mixed reception his comeback album would receive suggests both the confusion and hesitation among many in accepting both Mase and Christian-themed rap. Positing himself as more of a positive rapper and showing disdain for the moniker “gospel rapper” left Mase with few options in developing a new fan base. Yet, it did open the door for rappers like B. B. Jay who in either their music or persona, refused to be categorized as one or the other. Moreover, it suggested new alternatives for secular rappers as well. The exposure the ministry and teachings of Creflo Dollar had already began receiving in rap circles was perhaps elucidated a year prior to Mase’s album release in 50 Cent’s rap song “Poppin Them Thangs” where he boastfully compares himself to Creflo Dollar in his ability to obtain wealth. 36 Mase’s later tracks with 50 Cent’s G-Unit would once again raise a critical eye regarding the rapper’s beliefs as he likens himself to Christ. In many ways reminiscent of earlier Sean “P. Diddy” Combs’s and Nas’s donning of crowns and crosses, his mix taped entitled “Crucified for the Hood” featured the names of artists with whom he had engaged in past feuds. Full of violent imagery and obscenities’ “Crucified for the Hood” seemed a distant cry from the Welcome Back album released just a year prior. A recent return to the pulpit, however, has found Mase even more resolute in Creflo Dollar’s teachings and his style. A brief glance at his most recent sermons finds him mimicking, down to the conservative blue suit, his Atlanta-based mentor. Mase’s theological and stylistic dithering is telling of the difficulty other rap artists have had in finding a place in the Black Church. Yet, there have been other more successful mergers. Perhaps the most influential voice in paving the way for rap music in the Black Church would not be a rapper at all. Four years prior to Ludacris Freedom of Speech album featuring Bishop Eddie Long, Bishop T. D. Jakes and Kirk Franklin would offer a quasi-rap a year following the 9/11 attacks. Despite the bombing of the World Trade Center the week prior, the week of September 17, 2001, would prove pivotal for Bishop T. D. Jakes for other reasons. That week the cover of Time article opined, “Is This Man the Next Billy Graham?” In the following year’s release of “911,” Kirk Franklin would address criticism some may have had with Jakes’s ascendancy. In a fabricated conversation, Franklin shares his personal struggles with Bishop Jakes. Seeking to articulate both the fear and angst of a post-9/11 listening audience, he discusses his ambivalence in performing mundane tasks such as opening the mail or boarding a plane, given the threat of another terrorist attack. 37

182

Erika D. Gault

While Bishop Jakes’s response to his distress offers a message of hope and eventual triumph over trials, both pervasive themes in the Black Church’s theology, Franklin takes Jakes to task for dispensing what he views as generic advice. If Franklin’s voice is meant to be representative of apprehensive Americans, Jakes becomes the embodiment of an out-of-touch, irresponsive church. When Franklin becomes frustrated in one stanza given Jakes’s inability to relate Jakes retort includes a story of pain amidst success. Yet, Franklin questions this given his recent spot on the cover of Time magazine. 38 Moreover, here Franklin attacks the success of televangelists such as Jakes who by 2002 had achieved much during the prior decade’s wave of new black televangelists. If the conversation had ended here, the above would simply have read as a powerful critique of both Jakes and the Black Church. However, Franklin provides an important forum for Jakes to address those who might criticize his multi-millionaire status and growing notoriety. In so doing, Kirk Franklin, as part of the vanguard in gospel hip hop, endorses Bishop T. D. Jakes, the vanguard in not only Black Church circles but in the “electronic” Black Church as well. Reaffirming the message of the Black Church, he responds to Franklin by divulging a number of obstacles that continue to beleaguer him. 39 Within a month of its release the album containing this track would become certified gold and Jakes’s image as the relevant pastor and Franklin’s own role as a pillar in gospel music were both affirmed and strengthened through the musical collaboration. Given Jakes’s appearance on the cover of Time the previous year, his words in “911” would resonate with many. It represented the classic “come up” story. It worked as a meta-narrative of the Black Church in much the same way that Hammer’s “Pray” had years earlier. As well, mostly through the musical accompaniment and incorporation of themes central to the Black Church, “911” posits the story of African-Americans in a specific locale, the black urban environ. In addition, if anyone could possibly be successful in attempting such a narrative it would be Kirk Franklin. His music has become synonymous with religious urban hip hop since the debut of his first album in 1993. There had been earlier gospel hits that appealed to both the ear and prerogatives of an urban black audience and yet provided the kind of crossover appeal that won steady rotation in secular venues. For instance, Edwin Hawkins, 1967 “Oh Happy Day,” Andraé Crouch, 1979 “I’ll Be Thinking of You,” and the Clark Sisters’ 1981 “You Brought the Sunshine” would all become major hits and advance Urban Contemporary Gospel. Yet, by the 1990s Franklin would soon out-sell many earlier gospel singers, becoming the first religious artists to have a major crossover hit in twenty years by 1993. 40 Franklin represented the new vanguard of gospel artists following the success of earlier artists like Andraé Crouch. Others like John P. Kee, BeBe and Cee Cee Winans, and Yolanda Adams would help to make major recording labels more cognizant

My Soul Knows How to Flow

183

of black urban audiences. Moreover, while neither a rapper nor a singer, Franklin’s style and urban flair would increase the Black Church’s level of comfort with hip hop in general and Christian rap in particular. With rap artists like Cheryl James of Salt and Pepper, and other R&B artists like R. Kelly and Mary J. Blige appearing on his later albums, Franklin helped to make rap music a staple in urban contemporary gospel. Yet, there would also emerge decidedly gospel rappers who spoke to and for urban black audiences and garnered commercial success. OTHER SIGNIFICANT, CHRISTIAN RAP ACTS SINCE THE 1990S A year following the release of Franklin’s first album in Dallas, Texas, a little further west the Gospel Gangstaz would also receive attention for their 1994 release of Gang Affiliated. Former gang members from Compton and South Central, Los Angeles, the group’s lyrics would exhibit all the grit and street sensibilities of other West Coast rappers of the mid-1990s. However, their message remained deeply religious. The production of the group’s third album would be taken on by B-Rite Music, now a part of Sony’s Zomba Music Group. The backing of a major label would propel the group to success and signal to industry leaders the growing significance of urban Christian rap. Their third album in 1999, I Can See Clearly Now, would earn Gospel Gangstaz a Grammy nomination in the “Best Rock Gospel Album Category.” It remained on the gospel charts for more than a year. 41 Two years prior, a group called Cross Movement would release their first album, entitled Heaven’s Mentality. 42 Now operating as Cross Movement Records the Philadelphia-based group has become a major voice in urban Christian rap. Artists like Da Truth, Ambassador, and Phanatik have all developed a name for themselves since CMR’s development as a label. In 2004, they signed a distribution deal with Provident/BMG, further increasing their visibility. Those moments of the late-1990s/early millennium would prove pivotal for the growth of Christian rap music. Along with the development of Cross Movement Records, the Gospel Gangstaz’s crossover success and Mase’s highly publicized departure and return to hip hop, there would be other climatic moments in the genre’s development. Artists like B. B. Jay, T-Bone, Dynamic Twins, and D.O.C. (Disciples for Christ) would also rise early in the 1990s and begin receiving some notoriety and airplay by the late-1990s. The rise of independent labels and the growth of online media tools have been pivotal in maintaining the subgenre’s base. Labels like Reach Records, Xist, Lamp Mode Records, other larger music corporations with rap music divisions and online magazines like Rapzilla have greatly advanced the pres-

184

Erika D. Gault

ence of urban Christian rap. It is evident that Christian rap music of today has finally come of age. CONCLUSION There was a time when Christian rap music could be easily discounted for its elementary rhymes, poor production, and excessively Christian themes concerned only with evangelism. Yet, the dismissive hand with which some scholars continue to treat the art form must be reconsidered. From its beginning, artist like Michael Peace and P.I.D. sought to engage important topics in black communities. However, in large part, these artists remained unpopular or the victim of record labels’ poor marketing of Christian rap music in the early 1980s. While the inception of D.C. Talk changed this, its message emphasized mostly white suburban ethos. Into the 1990s, the genre experienced a significant diversifying of labels, artists, and themes that brought Christian rap back to the same roots that inspired the wider rap culture. No longer wrought with only Christian overtones that characterized earlier popular lyricist, urban Christian rap music configured important narratives, telling of certain geographical, racial, ethnic, and class realities. Interestingly enough, the flourishing of this new black urban Christian sound would occur alongside the transformation of the Black Church. Tricia Rose writes, “Hip hop style is Black urban renewal.” 43 Within black urban spaces, this renewal has occurred on both racial and religious terrain. Therefore, it was that black neo-Pentecostal televangelists in many ways co-opted hip hop’s style and sensibilities in advancing their message. In the process hip hop in general and rap music in particular was able to establish a more influential presence within the Black Church. Black Christian rappers in many ways have been able to reaffirm the more traditional and new Black Church sensibilities while simultaneously addressing their current marginality in American culture. The aftershocks of America’s recession caused a major reconsideration of the prosperity gospel. As urban Christian rap continues to diversify and shake loose from this doctrine the next phase in its development can only be told by its MCs. NOTES 1. Busy R, “Stephen Wiley,” The Holy Hip Hop Database, May 11, 2011, http:// hhhdb.com/index.php?id=223. 2. While the first successful commercial rap single would be The Sugarhill Gang’s 1979 “Rapper’s Delight,” I place its inception between two significant time periods. DJ Kool Herc, who is often credited with the creation of “break beats” began mixing in the early 1970s. However, earlier traditions of jive talking, black radio disc-jockeying, and James Brown’s unique lyrical approach can also be thought of as antecedents to the mid-1980s rap explosion.

My Soul Knows How to Flow

185

See Robert Ford Jr., “B-Beats Bombarding Bronx: Mobile DJ Starts Something with Oldie R& B Disks,” Billboard, July 1, 1978, 65. 3. Robert Wurthnow, The Restructuring of American Religion: Society and Faith since World War II (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988). See also George Gallup Jr., Religion in America: Fifty Years, 1935–1985 (Princeton: Princeton Religion Research Center, 1985). 4. John Corrigan and Winthrop Still Hudson, American Religious History, 8th ed. (New York: Prentice Hall, 2010), 341. 5. Ibid. 6. Jeff Chang, “Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip Hop Generation” (New York: Picador, 2005), 106. 7. Bill Francis, “Rappin for Jesus: Stephen Wiley, Grandmaster for God,” Spin, November, 1988, 22. 8. Jarvis Edward Cooper (rapper) in discussion with the author, April 2010. 9. Ibid. 10. Busy R, http://hhhdb.com/index.php?id=175. 11. Ibid. 12. Barry Alfonso, “D.C. Talk,” in The Billboard Guide to Contemporary Christian Music (Billboard Books: New York, 2002), 155–157. 13. See Jerry Falwell, Building Dynamic Faith (Nashville: World Publishing Inc, 2005). 14. EMIGroup, “EMI Christian Music Group History,” EMI Music Christian Music Group, May 11, 2011, http://www.emicmg.com/about/history.aspx. 15. Preston Shires, Hippies of the Religious Right (Waco: Baylor University, 2007), 96–97. 16. EMIGroup, “EMI Christian Music Group History,” EMI Music Christian Music Group, May 11, 2011, http://www.emicmg.com/about/history.aspx. 17. Tricia Rose, Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America (Hanover: Wesleyan University Press, 1994), 61. 18. Murray Forman, The Hood Comes First: Race, Space, and Place in Rap and Hip Hop (Wesleyan: Middletown, 2002), xviii. 19. D.C. Talk, “Gah Ta Be,” D.C.Talk (ForeFront Records, 1989). 20. Perhaps an even more disparaging attempt at deemphasizing race would be D.C. Talk’s 1992 Two Honks and A Negro. There would also be the 1995 “Colored People” which would tout a message of unity for all humans above racial distinctions that might divide. 21. Bill Carpenter, “Andraé Crouch,” Uncloudy Days: The Gospel Music Encyclopedia (San Francisco: Backbeat Books, 2005), 107. 22. M.C. Hammer is widely known for the Christian rap track “Pray.” However, it must be noted that M.C. Hammer began his career as a Christian rap artist. Forming the rap group Holy Ghost Boys, Hammer would produce songs like “B-Boy Chill.” Hammer’s story would, however, be uniquely different from other black Christian rap artists who became full-fledged ministry leaders following their foray into Christian rap. Stephen Wiley and Michael Peace now both serve in ministry. Hammer would refashion himself and his content to become more marketable in the wider rap industry. 23. See Jon Michael Spencer, Protest and Praise: Sacred Music of Black Religion (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1990). 24. M.C. Hammer, “Pray” (Capitol Records, 1990). 25. Joseph Stigliz, “The Roaring Nineties,” The Atlantic Monthly 290.3 (2002): 75–89. 26. Nick De Genova, “Caught up in the (Gangsta) Rapture,” The Source, June 1994, 58–59. 27. Murray Forman and Mark Anthony Neal, “Postindustrial Soul: Black Popular Music at the Crossroads,” That’s the Joint: The Hip Hop Studies Reader (New York: Routledge, 2004), 364–65. 28. Chang, 231. 29. Clifford J. Levy, “Harlem Protest over Rap Lyrics Draws Debate and Steamroller,” New York Times, June 6, 1993. See also Larry Olmstead, “From Powerful Pulpit, a Moral Warrior Takes Aim,” New York Times, June 5, 1993. 30. Maury Povich Show, “Offensive Rap Lyrics and Videos,” aired 1993.

186

Erika D. Gault

31. In his book Watch This! Jonathan Walton delineates the differences in prosperity gospel preachers. There are important nuances between the doctrines of Creflo Dollar and Bishop T. D. Jakes that cannot be taken up here. However, whether through discussions of financial wealth, entrepreneurial ventures, or “name it and claim it” theologies, the black televangelists herein discussed have retained a message of prosperity as a core theme in their sermons. See Jonathan L. Walton, Watch This! The Ethics and Aesthetics of Black Televangelism (New York: New York University, 2009). 32. Staff writer, “Ex-Rap Star Mase Starts Ministry In Atlanta,” Jet, December 11, 2000, 56–57. 33. Erik Parker, “Hip Hop’s Messiah: Is Mase For Real?” Vibe, October 2004, 129. 34. Mason Betha and John Sebastian, “Welcome Back,” Welcome Back (Bad Boy, 2004). 35. Ibid. 36. Curtis Jackson, David Darnell Brown, Christopher Lloyd, “Poppin them Thangs” (GUnit Records, 2003). 37. Kirk Franklin, “911,” The Rebirth of Kirk Franklin (Gospocentric Records: 2002). 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. Lisa C. Jones, “Kirk Franklin’s Joyful Noise,” Ebony. October 1, 1995, 66. 41. Carpenter, 157. 42. Ibid., 106. 43. Rose, 61.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Alfonso, Barry. “D.C. Talk,” in The Billboard Guide to Contemporary Christian Music. Billboard Books: New York, 2002 Betha, Mason and John Sebastian. “Welcome Back,” Welcome Back. Bad Boy, 2004. Busy R. “Stephen Wiley,” The Holy Hip Hop Database. May 11, 2011, http://hhhdb.com/ index.php?id=223. Carpenter, Bill. “Andraé Crouch,” Uncloudy Days: The Gospel Music Encyclopedia. (San Francisco: Backbeat Books, 2005. Chang, Jeff. Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip Hop Generation. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2005. Corrigan, John and Winthrop Still Hudson. American Religious History, 8th ed. (New York: Prentice Hall, 2010), 341. D.C. Talk. “Gah Ta Be,” D.C. Talk. (ForeFront Records, 1989). De Genova, Nick. “Caught up in the (Gangsta) Rapture,” The Source. June, 1994. Dyson, Michael Eric. Holla If You Hear Me: Searching for Tupac Shakur. New York: Civitas Books, 2001. Falwell, Jerry. Building Dynamic Faith. Nashville: World Publishing Inc, 2005. Ford Jr., Robert. “B-Beats Bombarding Bronx: Mobile DJ Starts Something with Oldie R&B Disks,” Billboard. July 1, 1978, 65. Forman, Murray. The Hood Comes First: Race, Space, and Place in Rap and Hip Hop. Wesleyan: Middletown, 2002. Forman, Murray and Mark Anthony Neal. “Postindustrial Soul: Black Popular Music at the Crossroads,” That’s the Joint: The Hip Hop Studies Reader. New York: Routledge, 2004. Francis, Bill. “Rappin for Jesus: Stephen Wiley, Grandmaster for God,” Spin, November, 1988. Franklin, Kirk. “911,” The Rebirth of Kirk Franklin. (Gospocentric Records, 2002). Gallup Jr., George. Religion in America: Fifty Years, 1935–1985. (Princeton: Princeton Religion Research Center, 1985). Jackson, Curtis, David Darnell Brown, and Christopher Lloyd. “Poppin them Thangs,” G-Unit Records, 2003. Jones, Lisa C. “Kirk Franklin’s Joyful Noise,” Ebony. October 1, 1995. Levy, Clifford J. “Harlem Protest over Rap Lyrics Draws Debate and Steamroller,” New York Times, June 6, 1993.

My Soul Knows How to Flow

187

M.C. Hammer. “Pray,” (Capitol Records, 1990). Olmstead, Larry. “From Powerful Pulpit, a Moral Warrior Takes Aim,” New York Times. June 5, 1993. Parker, Erik. “Hip Hop’s Messiah: Is Mase For Real?” Vibe. October, 2004, 129. Rose, Tricia. Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. Hanover: Wesleyan University Press, 1994. Shires, Preston. Hippies of the Religious Right. Waco: Baylor University, 2007. Spencer, Jon Michael. Protest and Praise: Sacred Music of Black Religion. (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1990. Stigliz, Joseph. “The Roaring Nineties,” The Atlantic Monthly. 290.3, 2002. Walton, Jonathan L. Watch This! The Ethics and Aesthetics of Black Televangelism. New York: New York University, 2009. Wurthnow, Robert. The Restructuring of American Religion: Society and Faith since World War II. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988).

Chapter Twelve

Morality, the Sacred, and God in Ghanaian Hip Hop Harry Nii Koney Odamtten

The adoption of Hip-Hop by the world’s youth is a turning point in the history of youth culture in particular and global public culture in general. The embracing of Hip-Hop in the West African country of Ghana is exemplary of this worldwide transformation. The indigenous Ghanaian version of Hip-Hop is Hip-Life. This Ghanaian musical genre is a combination of Hip-Hop and High-Life. High-Life is also a Ghanaian genre with West African and AfroDiaspora roots. It emerged in Ghana as part of the anti-colonial struggle in West Africa, and has spawned of many varieties until the emergence of HipLife. Hip-Life is therefore viewed as a direct musical descendant of Hip-Hop and High-Life, and is performed and produced mostly by people of Ghanaian heritage. These performers rap in one of many indigenous Ghanaian languages such as Ga, Twi, Hausa, or Ewe, English, Black English (U.S./U.K. Ebonics), Jamaican Patois, and Ghana’s version of the West African English (Creole) locally termed broken or Pidgin English. 1 In terms of Hip-Life’s significance to humanity, and the shift in public culture, the leading originator of the genre, Reggie Rockstone says it best, “our people there in America who do not necessarily know what’s going on in Africa; this music here will definitely bridge the gap. This will be the one that conveys the different messages and styles across . . . so we learn about each other; the one world drum, the one world beat.” 2 Rockstone’s one world beat brings us to one of the enduring facets of most human societies worldwide, that is religion. Hip-Life artistes also rap about their spirituality, drawing inspiration from the various religions that occupy the Ghana public space. Such religions include traditional Ghanaian religions, Islam, Christianity, and Rastafarianism. 189

190

Harry Nii Koney Odamtten

Rhymes by the cosmopolitan Hip-Life legend Reggie Rockstone and his local compatriot Obrafour certainly point to the expression of diverse spiritual and religious notions, as well as a Black spiritual consciousness in Ghanaian Hip-Hop. Such an understanding was not immediately evident to an older Ghanaian generation, when in the 1990s Reggie Rockstone pioneered the Ghanaian Hip-Hop movement, known in Ghana as Hip-Life. Back then, HipLife was viewed as an epitome of the gradual creeping of negative foreign values into Ghanaian civil society, with special emphasis on Ghanaian youth. Even though Hip-Life has since then become the soundtrack for harnessing the country’s creative energy for growth and development, and emerged as Ghanaian youth’s “signature worldwide,” some of the old prejudices about moral decadence and loose values still exists. 3 THE MORAL, SACRED, AND PROFANE Harvard historian Emmanuel Akyeampong’s analysis of Ghanaian public culture, its intellectual, religious, secular, and aesthetic dimensions, has been useful in helping recognize the social pulse of the country. 4 However, in his co-review of Ghana’s fiftieth anniversary with Ama de-Graft Akins for the journal Transitions, the two scholars seem to portray some generational friction. While the two esteemed scholars are successful in capturing the festive atmosphere in Ghana during the celebrations, they appear to what would be considered in Hip Hop, diss, that is, make Ghanaian Hip-Life appear insignificant. This perceived slight epitomizes the older generation’s pessimism about Hip-Life. The generational schism is immediately evident in the duo’s commentary on the anniversary celebrations. The review also gives credence to Akyeampong and Aikins’s diss in bold font: Ringtones of the national anthem and patriotic songs of the 1950s sneaked their way into the noisy [Italics mine] repertoire of soul, hip-life (a distinctly Ghanaian blend of high life and hip hop), reggae, and gospel so beloved to mobile phone-obsessed urbanites. 5

However, apart from this seeming diss, Akyeampong and Aikins also offer good descriptive analyses, and raise critical questions about Ghana’s independence celebrations, including capturing its religious connotations. They, for example, notice that Ghana’s “Liberation Square was transformed into a public shrine [italics mine] for the founding fathers of the Organization of African Unity (OAU), now renamed the African Union (AU).” 6 Nonetheless, in their description of Hip-Life as part of a noisy repertoire of older Black genres—soul and reggae—Akyeampong and Degraft-Aikins seem to be denying Hip-Life and its role as a vehicle or conduit for the expression of the sacred. Further, they seem to deny the stories of “hope, joy, comfort, relief,

Morality, the Sacred, and God in Ghanaian Hip Hop

191

and understanding” in human living with which Hip-Life artistes allow Ghanaians to experience the sacredness of their music. 7 This is therefore not only a questioning of the aesthetic and creative quality of Hip-Life, but also a denial of its practical function as a means of communication capable of creatively using and harmonizing the sensory perceptions of vision, speech, and hearing for remembering Ghana’s past and religiosity. 8 On the contrary, as Emeritus Historian of Religions Charles H. Long explains: The experience of the sacred reveals the social structure as an arena in which intimacy and obligation, actualities and potentials, and habits and conduct are defined and clarified. It is within the social structure that the dynamic relationships between groups and persons express a generality of conduct and behavior that becomes normative for the society, thus defining the events of social life. 9

Complementing Long’s description is the noted scholar of Ghanaian music, Professor John Collins, who points out in his survey of Ghanian music over a hundred year period, the close relationship between religion and music. This relationship, he explains, draws from the circular and dynamic exchange in Ghanian religiosity in which the sacred and the profane are seen as entangled. 10 It therefore should not be surprising that Hip-Life musicians with an awareness of the dynamics, intimacies, and obligations of their audience, as Long explains, are mindful of what the normative communication modes are for Ghanaian society. Artistes like Samini, who also perform Afro-Pop and Reggae-Dancehall, expresses Hip-Life musicians’ awareness of morality in Ghanaian public practice. In describing Ghana’s distinct brand of Hip-Hop, Samini explains that: One thing unique about what we doing from Ghana, is that we are mindful of the harsh language, we are mindful of negative messages, before a[sic] music could come out and be a big tune in Ghana, you have to be careful [about]what you are saying. If you are talking about sex, be constructive. If you are talking about [life in general], be careful who [you use] as an example. 11

Samini’s statement is corroborated by a number of people within and outside of the Hip-Life Movement including the Godfather of Hip-Life, Reggie Rockstone, and John Collins. Rockstone, a bilingual rapper with a culturally diverse background, was born in the United Kingdom, but was raised in Ghana, and stayed intermittently in the United Kingdom and the United States. As a result of these travel experiences, Rockstone became familiar with various urban cultural practices in the United Kingdom, the United States, and Ghana. He has in some contexts contrasted his American urban experience with that of Gha-

192

Harry Nii Koney Odamtten

na. 12 Reggie explains in a documentary that the neighborhood where he currently lives in Accra, called Labone-Cantonments, is a plush neighborhood of the capital, Accra. “[My] neighborhood is residential, far from thug neighborhood; all the stereotypes went out the window.” 13 Rockstone is also quick to correct young Ghanaian rappers unaware of the social meaning of terms they may have heard from American rap music, such as using terms like “Nigger.” 14 On other occasions, Rockstone complains about the manner in which some Hip-Life artists carelessly bandy “the word ‘bitch’ around, and the F-word—[because] this is how they see their brothers in the Diaspora, because they watch movies and the videos and they think this is how it is.” 15 In Rockstone’s case, we see a clear attempt to sanitize Hip-Life, and keep it within the moral norms of the country. Professor John Collins also describes this need of Ghanaian Hip-Life artists to be attentive to the moral demands of the Ghanaian public. He elaborates on Ghanaian rappers’ concern with public perception, explaining that “[in] Ghana, [Hip-Life musicians] decontextualized rap music, they didn’t take the whole [Italics mine] ethos, or cultural ethos of Black Americans, they simply took the vehicle, put their own voice; so it’s more positive.” 16 On the evidence of the above, it is apparent that Ghanaian Hip-Hop performers are conscious of the Ghanaian public’s concerns with moral decadence, and the injurious influence of foreign culture on Ghanaian mores and values. Such consciousness includes an engagement with the moral and sacred in Ghanaian culture—a fact gleaned from the various references to God and ancestors in the sound recordings of these Hip-Life musicians. As an Akan proverb states “Obi Nkyere Abofra Nyame,” that is no one teaches a child who God is. The assumption is that the existence of God for an Akan child is self-evident, an axiomatic truth. This is why the Ga—an ethnic group in Ghana—conceptualize human beings as both biological and spiritual beings, “receive the undying part of [their] spiritual nature from the Supreme Being.” 17 HIP-LIFE AND THE SUPREME BEING Ghanaian rapper Lil Shaker’s Allah Dey (exists/is) mix tape is an ample demonstration of a Ghanaian Hip-Hop musician’s acknowledgment of the eternal existence of a Supreme Being. 18 Lil Shaker, rapping in Ghanaian Pidgin English, begins by calling on his listeners to remember Allah. He does this using a call and response method in which his respondents repeat most of his last statements. He begins with verses that may be compared with a Muslim muezzin’s daily call to Muslims to prayer: Allāhu Akbar, meaning God is most great; and continues with, I testify there is no god, but God, and

Morality, the Sacred, and God in Ghanaian Hip Hop

193

Muhammad is his prophet, God is most great, there is no God but God. 19 Lil Shaker’s explication of Allah, like the muezzin’s begins: Lil Shaker, God Dey [God exists] Bra Kevin (featured rapper) You for remember; remember That life is short, be careful how you spend am; spend am So make u no forget to thank Jah; thank Jah [Rastafarian Supreme Being] Everybody must remember; remember Sey Allah Dey; Allah Dey [Arabic/Islamic word for God] Allah Dey; Allah Dey. 20

It is clear from the above that while Lil Shaker may be either unaware or minimally familiar with Islamic theological teachings, by using Allah, he is reifying to Muslim listeners the beauty, majesty, and mysteries of God as Muslims understand the notion of a Supreme Being. Having established this Islamic beginning, Lil Shaker continues by extolling the protective qualities of God even in times of bad fortune, scary, and dangerous situations: With God by me Charley, am not afraid; not afraid Of any kind of bad luck wey go come my way; come my way I see they are trying to scare me, but I no dey shake, no dey shake Cos Allah Dey I dey see danger; danger, but Allah Dey You go sey danger; danger, but Allah Dey We dey See danger; danger, eiih but Allah Dey Charley, see danger; danger, but Allah Dey.

Lil Shaker having made several references to the Islamic word for GodAllah, breaks into a praise song for God with an obvious Christian chorus, “Say Hallelujah; Hallelujah eh lujah eh X 4. Charley say Hallelujah eeih.” He continues with his expression of his trust in God, and then goes back to the use of the Islamic/Arabic Allah: Dem no dey like my life so dem want end am; end am Ibi like say Satan wey ei send am; send am Making me suffer is their agenda; agenda But me I no get nothing I go tell am, tell am Cos Allah dey, Allah dey.

Lil Shaker again asks his listeners to remember by returning to a Christian theme, this time referring to Jesus Christ, a divine personage in Judeo-Christian religious practice. Lil Shaker’s reference to Jesus Christ as his pen pal in the verses below is also a reflection of the intimacy that Christian theology emphasizes on the person of Christ. Christ, who in his time on earth was both human and divine, can relate to the human strivings of Christians, yet he also

194

Harry Nii Koney Odamtten

set an example by his spiritual successes as a human being. His divine resurrection also served or continues to serve as an inspiration for all Christian followers. However, it’s not all Judeo-Christian theology, because Lil Shaker uses the Akan and Ga word for Christ, Yesu Christo, thus localizing Jesus Christ and making him Ghanaian: You for remember; remember eh That Yesu Christo (Ga/Akan) is my pen pal; pen pal eh And he told me never to surrender; surrender eh So when in trouble just remember; remember Sey All ah dey, Allah dey; x2

After looping his chorus two times, Kevin Beats, who is featured on the track, raps at a faster tempo incorporating the Christian “Our Lord’s Prayer,” the act of kneeling and praying, and referencing that he (Kevin Beats) is made of iron despite the existence of wizards and witches. Just as Lil Shaker, Kevin Beats claims he is also not afraid because he believes he is God’s creation, and because of his God-given blessings, he is impervious to the machinations of any adversarial force. What this song demonstrates is not only Hip-Life artistes’ deep understanding of God in various religious contexts, but also shows the religious pluralism and tendency to be ecumenical in their views. One may for example interpret Lil Shaker’s Allah Dey as not only a celebration in Islamic ethos, and the dual power and tenderness of God, but also a reflection of the intimate and dynamic relationship between the cosmic and daily human travails, as well as joys. Allah Dey, which means God exists, therefore expresses as the Sunnah or Hadiths, written records of the sayings and deeds of the Muslim Prophet Muhammad, explain La ilaha il Allah, the oneness and indivisibility of God-Allah—the Supreme Being’s divine unity. 21 Lil Shaker does not only use Allah to reference a Supreme Force, but also uses the Rastafarian notion of God, Jah above. Apart from various Rastafarian sects that exist in Ghana, Rastafarian fashion, hairdo, and other aesthetic qualities also pervade Ghanaian urban space. Rastafarianism is originally an indigenously Afro-Diaspora social, cultural, and spiritual movement that began on the Caribbean island, Jamaica. It began in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, and has gained global prominence, along with adherents in Ghana. Rastafarians believe in the humanity of God, and the divinity of man. As a result they claim[ed] Emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Sellasie I, as the living God, and the Black messiah—fulfilling the second coming of Christ. 22 Above, Lil Shaker’s combination of the Judeo-Christian notion of a Supreme Being with the Akan equivalent of Jesus Christ, Yesu Christo, may be interpreted as an apparent reference to the Akan experience of Christianity. 23 Pashington Obeng explains that such African agency goes as far back as the

Morality, the Sacred, and God in Ghanaian Hip Hop

195

sixteenth-century when Portuguese Catholics arrived in Ghana. In this period, the Catholic rituals and images for St. Anthony and the Virgin Mary were incorporated into the traditional practices of the people of Elmina, in the central region of modern Ghana. Obeng goes on to explicate this agency to mean “when the African uses the models of a foreign religion to articulate aspects of his or her own religion. Furthermore, indigenous religions did and do sometimes use foreign religious models to renew themselves.” 24 One may surmise that Lil Shaker’s Allah Dey in poetic or aesthetic terms is a reflection of the mystical importance of the spoken word in both traditional African societies and among the Bedouin Arab among whom the lyrical and mytho-poetic quality of the Surah or Quranic verses merged with the revelations and prophetic career of the Prophet Muhammad. Allah Dey combines these Islamic and African meanings with the understanding of Christ in Christian thought. Christ as the word of God, his divine birth, as the manifestation of God’s word that had become flesh—which also combines with the anthropocentrism of traditional African religions. ORATORY, GOD TALK, AND THE BIRTH OF A NATION The question one would ask then is where did this form of oratory, God talk, and obvious ecumenical sensibility among Hip-Life musicians originate? One may begin answering this question by saying it is evident that notions of a Supreme Being among the various ethnic groups of Ghana has translated into an inter-religious national culture. John Mbiti has also argued about the religious notoriety, plurality of religions, communality, anthropocentrism, and ecumenism of African traditional religions. In the context of religious pluralism as a facet of the nation-state, in Ghana the idea begins under the leadership of the first President of Ghana, Kwame Nkrumah, who Hip-Life musician Obrafour above pays respect to as an ancestor. 25 Nkrumah gave the country its ecumenical beginning. This has recently become a subject of debate in the Ghanaian press. The debates have ensued because at a number of recent national occasions such as Independence Day, traditional priests have been disallowed from pouring libations, a ritual that they usually performed, concurrently with Muslim Sheikhs and Christian priests. First, Nkrumah was one of the best public orators, earning standing ovations at the All Africa People’s Congress held in Accra in 1958 and the United Nations in 1960. 26 It is possible to speculate that Nkrumah would earn props—or respect—from contemporary Hip-Life rappers for his oratorical skills. Like some Hip-Life acts, Nkrumah learned to combine the traditional oratorical skills of his indigenous heritage with that which he learnt from observing Black American preachers and American politicians. In

196

Harry Nii Koney Odamtten

1943, for example, while a student at Lincoln University, in the state of Pennsylvania, Nkrumah fell afoul of his theology professor for pouring libations at the graveside of James Kwegyir Aggrey. Aggrey, like Nkrumah after him, was an America-trained nineteenth-century Ghanaian intellectual who lived in the United States. He also taught Nkrumah at Achimota School in the then Gold Coast. Nkrumah’s history and philosophy instructor, one Professor Johnson, queried Nkrumah for his oratorical participation in a “heathen” ceremony. Nkrumah in characteristic fashion tried to show Johnson that there was a thin line between the oral act of pouring libation and his Christian beliefs orally projected from the pulpit: May I say however that to meet Christ on the highway of Christian ethics and principles by way of salvation, and turn back is a spiritual impossibility. The burden of my life is to live in such a way that I may become a living symbol of all that is best both in Christianity and in the laws, customs, and beliefs of my people. 27

Nkrumah’s response therefore revealed the underlying philosophical or ecumenical reasons for engaging in the traditional oratorical act of libation pouring at Aggrey’s final resting place, and why such oratorical acts became important in the shaping of a nascent Ghana. Nkrumah also admits to honing his oratory skills in Harlem, New York, listening to “the soap-box orators at the street corners. I was quite happy to spend my evenings there either quietly listening or, as was more often the case, provoking arguments with them.” 28 Nkrumah’s oratorical development therefore bears great similarity to many Hip-Life performers who maintained their indigenous Ghanaian heritage and ethos even as they learned and imbued foreign music of any kind. In intellectual terms, Nkrumah in his much acclaimed Philosophical Consciencism, pursued the idea of harmonizing Africa’s external Islamic and Euro-Christian with “the original humanist principles” of traditional Africa. 29 For Nkrumah “practice without thought is blind; thought without practice is empty,” so his pursuit of a philosophical synthesis of the best aspects of Euro-Christian and Islamic civilization with “African humanism” was given a practical platform throughout his campaign for Ghanaian independence and after. Nkrumah believed that his Philosophical Consciencism would help “contain the African experience of Islamic and Euro-Christian presence as well as the experience of the traditional African society, and, by gestation, employ them for the harmonious growth and development of the society.” This theoretical postulate became a part and parcel of the national fabric when Ghana gained independence in 1957, becoming the first Black African country south of the Sahara to achieve such a feat. 30

Morality, the Sacred, and God in Ghanaian Hip Hop

197

Nkrumah’s political party, the Convention People’s Party (C.P.P.), who adopted the Christian hymn “Lead Kindly Light,” also poured traditional libations at their political rallies. Moreover, while Nkrumah was president, he adopted a number of indigenous rhetorical strategies including that of libation pouring. Barbara Monfils documents the various occasions on which Nkrumah had traditional priests from different ethnic groups such as the Akyem, Ga, Asante, Ga, and Bono, pour libations at official ceremonies. She also shows Nkrumah’s use of both indigenous and Christian religious imagery, including his referencing by followers as Messiah, Savior of Africa, and Pillar of Fire. 31 Kwesi Yankah also points out Nkrumah’s appointment of a state linguist or Okyeame, thus incorporating the position of Okyeame, into modern Ghanaian statecraft. 32 In traditional societies in Ghana, the Okyeame is an orator, diplomat, and interpreter, and therefore possesses superior linguistic and oratorical skills. In fact one of the early Hip-Life duos named themselves Akyeame—that is, linguists. At present, Ghana has no state linguist, but the pouring of libation, which is prayer by traditional priests as well those offered by Islamic and Christian clerics, continued until the former was suspended under current president, John Evans Atta Mills. In a March 9, 2011 report by Joy FM, a radio station in the nation’s capital, social commentator Kwesi Pratt describes the recent cessation of libation pouring at national gatherings as “Taliban Mentality.” Pratt explains that the current president’s refusal to have traditional priests pour libation is “a clear case of religious intolerance. Once you become a president or whichever position you find yourself, you don’t have to impose your religion on others. It should not be tolerated.” 33 The president’s response was to explain “as a nation, we should know that it is God who is the president of this nation and indeed I [he] owe[s] nobody an apology for giving him [God] his due.” 34 Wading in on the debate, the Emeritus Archbishop of the Catholic Archdiocese of Kumasi, The Most Rev. Dr. Kwesi Sarpong, described the ban on libation as an uninformed and sentimental decision about the value of libations. He elaborated “those who see libation as anti-Christian are making a mistake” as forms of libation “draw us near God.” 35 At this point one may ask what all of this God talk, religion, and pouring of libation to ancestors and deities has to do with Ghanaian rappers? The relationship is that Hip-Life rapper Obrafour uses the oratorical style of the Ghanaian traditional priests used by Nkrumah and the State as a part of his craft. Obrafour incorporates aspects of these oratorical styles in his rendition of the Ghanaian national anthem in a song revealingly dedicated to Kwame Nkrumah. In Obrafour’s selected rhyme that opens this chapter, Obrafour has his song set to a chorus which utilizes the religious incantation and call and response format in traditional Akan libation pouring. Obrafour in his song therefore shows his libation to God, and continues by calling on the heavens,

198

Harry Nii Koney Odamtten

mother earth, and the ancestors, and then closes with a praise song for Nkrumah: Osoro ne asaase yaa, nsa, yao Nananom nsamanfoɔ nsa, yao Yɛyi Kwame Nkrumah paɛ Ghanafoɔ The heavens and mother earth, a drink of libation, yao Ancestors who have passed, a drink of libation, yao We sing praises of Kwame Nkrumah Ghanaians. 36

In his lyrics translated below, while utilizing the traditional prayer genre, Obrafour also pays homage to the oratory/spiritual foundations of Ghanaian society and honors the ancestors whose sweat and blood was used to achieve independence. In traditional oratorical fashion, Obrafour begins by telling the ancestors that if they hear him calling on them, then it is not for evil, but that the country needs direction. Obrafour rhymes: Yɛkɔgyina baabi na sɛ yɛfrɛ mo a na nyɛ adebɔne Ghanaman mu ha, yɛbu yɛ nne, yɛpɛ nkwankyerɛne Nsɛnkyerenee kyerɛ sɛ Ghanaman no ɛmpɛ nsɛmmɔne Kofi babɔne, mebɔ wo kɔkɔ gyae ne bɔne Kyerɛma asantebɔ sɛ Ghanaman sɛ montie Me nie, Obrafoɔ, mewɔ fahodie. 37 If we call on you it is not for evil Ghana needs direction Our past shows Ghana detest evil Kofi bad-child, I warn you, stop evil Drummer Asante, calls Ghana listen Here I am, Executioner, I have freedom Nkrumah mmɔdenmmɔ, nkunimdie Hunu sɛ, yɛn ara asaase ni, ɛyɛ abɔdenden ma yɛn The courage and victory of Nkrumah Saw that our own land is valuable to us.

In the next verse, Obrafour proceeds by including aspects of the Ghanaian national anthem in Twi, noting the sacrifices that the ancestors made in order for the present generation to earn their freedom. Obrafour pontificates that because of the past toils of the founding ancestors, Ghana would not be a state that engulfs itself with scandals: Mogya a nananom hwie gu nyinaa de too hɔ ma yɛn Dom yɛn, boa yɛn, gye yɛn Aduru me ne wo so sɛ yɛ nso bɛyɛ bi atoa soɔ Muamua so, kata so, ɔman mu deɛ ɛmma so

Morality, the Sacred, and God in Ghanaian Hip Hop

199

The blood our ancestors shed for us Saved us, helped us rescued us It’s now you and I’s turn Deep cover ups, against the state, won’t happen in this country

Obrafour continues by appealing to the sense of patriotism of Ghanaians of different ages, professions, and classes, asking and exhorting them to contribute to the nation-building process. Ɛnnɛ yɛbisa wo deɛ woayɛ ama ɔman Ghana, wobɛka sɛn? Lɔyafoɔ, dɔktafoɔ, ma memmisa nɛɛsefoɔ Adwadifoɔ, draevafoɔ, ma memmisa fitafoɔ Ɛkwaafoɔ, teelafoɔ, ma memmisa baabafoɔ Solgyafoɔ, tikyafoɔ, ma memmisa sukuufoɔ Ɔbrafoɔ, Ghana rap sofoɔ Today if you are asked what you’ve done for Ghana what would you say? Lawyers, Doctors, let me ask the nurses Traders, Drivers, let me ask the mechanics Farmers, Tailors, let me ask the barbers Soldiers, Teachers, let me ask school kids Obrafour (Executioner), Ghana Rap Priest

In these lyrics, Obrafour, who styles himself as rap sofour (Priest), has clearly assumed the traditional priest’s position—rap priest. Viewed in this capacity, Obrafour shows that contrary to the older generation’s claims, it is the elders who may have in their public quarrels become apathetic to the moral and spiritual foundations of the country. It is not Obrafour and his contemporaries in the Ghanaian urban arena who have forgotten the past simply because of a founding of a contemporary musical genre that has foreign influence. It seems that it is the elders, who in Ghanaian traditional society are supposed to be the custodians of the past, and are usually responsible for the pouring of libation, who are fighting over recognizing the Ghanaian religious and oratorical past. Ghana’s religious pluralism and ecumenism has therefore not been lost on Hip-Life artists. As Obeng explains above Ghanaians have been in the habit of renewing religious traditions with foreign models, a practice that has also been taken up by Hip-Life artists. This is evident in song of Hip-Life duo, Nkasei’s Adua ne bu, meaning the tree is broken or fallen. 38 Jesus Christ is metamorphized as an African-ancestor whose earthly or natural way of life is defiled by the coming of European goods, and the Atlantic slave-trade. Nkasei start their song off lamenting this turn of affairs, and they are helped along by Reggie Rockstone who proclaims, the revolution will be televised, a popular American phrase. The song also reflects the influence of various African Diaspora notions of a Black God or Christ on Hip-Life musicians. Nkasei begin their verse after Rockstone’s televised opening, rapping about Euro-

200

Harry Nii Koney Odamtten

pean arrival in Africa in the Atlantic era, and the deleterious effect of religion as practiced by the Europeans. Here, while Nkasei identifies Christian religion as a weapon wielded by Europeans, in identifying it with the gun, religion is cast as a destructive weapon and the cause of the woes of African societies. As if to turn the destructive religion into an asset, Nkasei cast Christ, the Christian divinity, in an African setting and imbue him with an African Identity, thus allowing Kkasei to see Christ in their own image, ways of life, and social identity. In their lyrics Nkasei remodeled Jesus Christ to reflect the duo’s African traditions. They first named Christ as Kwame, a name given to Ghanaian children born on Saturday. Kwame is also the name given to the Supreme Being in Akan society. It is the same Twediampong Kwame used by Obrafour as portrayed in the introductory epithet above. This usage of Kwame for Jesus Christ reflects the anthropocentrism in Ghanaian traditional religions, which is more concerned with humanity’s material needs. This material concern is seen in how Christ’s miracle of feeding the multitude with one loaf of bread is translated into the Ghanaian context. Here, Christ is shown feeding ten thousand people with three balls of a Ghanaian staple, a corn paste called Kenkey. Significantly, while Kenkey is consumed by Ghanaians of all classes, because it is relatively cheap and weighty and it fills bellies quickly, it is consumed more often by low income earning Ghanaians. 39 Nkasei’s substituting of a loaf of bread for Kenkey may therefore be understood as fashioning a social philosophy that embraces the Ghanaian masses. Also instead of turning water into wine, Kwame Kristo turns water into Pito. Pito is an economical local brew which is made with fermented millet or sorghum, regularly patronized by the lower classes. And to be clear about Kwame Kristo’s identity, Nkasei describe his African identity as including a natural way of life, love for the earth, and pride in his African identity. This African Christ—while similar to the Judeo-Christian Christ in other contexts—is in many ways also different from the Christian Jesus Christ taught to Africans by Europeans. Nkasei in this deliberate ambiguity depict the doctrine of the African Kwame Kristo as in conflict with a foreign deity, in their next set of lyrics clearly expressing a nativistic conception of religion—that is a return to old African ways of using herbal products, and peaceful societies before the African contact with Europeans in the Atlantic period. They conclude by asking who will save Africa, and Rockstone seems to have an answer as to how to repair the broken tree, and return to the time when African societies lived naturally yet had complex social systems. Rockstone’s lyrics delivered in ebonics reflect not only an interest in a United States of Africa, but bridging the gap between Diaspora Blacks and Africans through music, an expression of Pan-African sentiments dating as far back as the eighteenth century. In addition, while Rockstone himself wears dreadlocks, it is unclear whether Rockstone has any Rastafarian lean-

Morality, the Sacred, and God in Ghanaian Hip Hop

201

ings. Among Rastafarians, wearing dreadlocks reflects pride in a Black identity and phenotype, a natural way of life, and a mystical connection to the ethereal. 40 In the traditional African-sense, certain traditional societies reserve dreadlocks for children born of or dedicated to a particular deity. What is clear is that Rockstone sees the wearing of dreadlocks as a reflection of the natural way of life Nkasei described Kwame Kristo as having. This is also the second time Reggie Rockstone has made a statement on Jesus Christ being Black. The first time was in the second verse of his groundbreaking song Keep Your Eyes on the Road, when he raps, “Jhericurls [as opposed to dreadlocks] baby, now that’s a sin, Jesus Christ was a bibini [Black], is what I believe in.” The song was part of Rockstone’s album Meka (I will say it.) 41 So clearly, Rockstone believes in the black pigmentation of Christ. I suggest that the source of Rockstone’s beliefs stem from his sojourn in the African Diaspora, where he was exposed to notions of a Black Christ and Black particularism evident in the teachings of Falasha Jews, Nation of Islam (NOI), and lately, five percenters. 42 The NOI founder Elijah Muhammad, for example, taught that his mentor or teacher, Wallace D. Fard, who inexplicably disappeared in 1934, was Allah or God. 43 Reggie Rockstone, as explained earlier, grew up in London and New York, and as he rhymes, he has “seen it all, done it all from Brooklyn to Brixton [Black neighborhood in London].” This statement was in his contribution to Ghana’s representation on the BET cypher during the BET HipHop Awards in 2010. 44 Rockstone has also indicated that while in the United States, he had close association with some members of the erstwhile Black Panther Party. 45 It is therefore possible that through these associations, Reggie Rockstone was introduced to ideas of the Black Madonna and other ideas held by many Blacks in and outside of the Black Panther Party and during the Black Power cultural movements of the 1970s and 1980s. 46 In fine, Rockstone’s reference to African Dreadlocks, Black Jesus, the reparation movement, and Pan-Africanism is a reflection of his cosmopolitan knowledge of different Black cultures in Ghana, the United States, and the United Kingdom. Rockstone, like many others with diverse cultural experiences such as Ghana’s first president, Kwama Nkrumah, incorporates a global Black consciousness to the urban local space of Ghanaian Hip-Life. CONCLUSION The intent of this chapter is to contribute to the discourse on spirituality in the works of Hip-Hop musicians around the world. From the above analyses of various verses of Hip-Hop practitioners in Ghana, it is evident that the caricaturing of young Hip-Life musicians in Ghana as simply adopting foreign ways and promoting materialistic culture does not take into account

202

Harry Nii Koney Odamtten

their references to the holy, moral, and sacred. While Hip-Life as a genre draws on foreign models and ideas, it is autochthonous to Ghana and the charge of unbridled foreign influence or Hip-Life being raucous music is fallacious. This is because the varieties of Ghanaian Highlife that the older generation grooved with were neither immune to foreign influence, nor were they less Ghanaian for incorporating foreign elements into their homegrown music. Early High-Life bands like the Tempos, Ramblers, and Sunsum (Soul) Bands, High-Life greats, E. T. Mensah, Jerry Hanson, and Ampofo Adjei, as well as more recent musicians like Daddy Lumba, Kojo Antwi, and Amakye Dede have successively drawn on percussive and instrumental styles from Europe, the Caribbean, and North and Latin America. Ghanaian Hip-Hop performers have also engaged in such fusion of musical styles, including High-Life, yet have fitted such synthesis within the context of the modern Ghanaian agenda and its normative communication styles. The lyrics of Rockstone, Obrafour, Nkasei, and Lil Shaker show that a close understanding of Hip-Life songs portrays their intimate understanding of the diverse spiritual traditions permeating Ghanaian public culture. NOTES 1. I have offered a similar definition of Hip-Life in my chapter, “Hip-Hop Speaks, HipLife Answers: Global African Music,” in Native Tongues: The African Hip-Hop Reader, edited by Paul Saucier (New Jersey: Africa World Press, 2011). 2. Reggie “Rockstone” Ossei on Al Jazeera, “Playlist,” http://blip.tv/file/1990882. 3. Wan Luv Kubolor, on Al Jazeera “Playlist,” http://blip.tv/file/1990882. 4. See, for example, Emmanuel Akyeampong, Between the Sea & the Lagoon: An EcoSocial History of the Anlo of Southeastern Ghana, c. 1850 to Recent Times (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2001); “Bukom and the Social History of Boxing in Accra: Warfare, Citizenship in Precolonial Ga Society,” in International Journal of African Historical Studies 35 (2002): 39–60; Drink, Power, and Cultural Change: A Social History of Alcohol in Ghana c. 1800 to Recent Times (Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 1996); with Pashington Obeng, Spirituality, Gender, and Power in Asante History (Boston, MA: African Studies Center, Boston University, 1995). 5. Emmanuel Akyeampong and Ama de-Graft Aikins, “Ghana at Fifty: Reflections on Independence and After,” Transition 98 (2008): 24–26. 6. Akyeampong and de-Graft Aikins, Ghana at Fifty, 24. 7. Andre E. Johnson, “Call for Papers: Hip Hop Spirituality and Urban God Talk,” e-mail communication with author, February 14, 2011. 8. For a discussion of the pragmatic function of communication systems in Ghana and Africa see Kofi Ermeleh Agovi, “The Philosophy of Communication in Traditional African Society: The Literary and Dramatic Evidence,” Research Review NS 5 (1989): 52–59. 9. Charles H. Long, Significations, Signs, Symbols and Images in the Intepretation of Religions (Colorado: The Davies Group Publishers, 1999), 37. 10. John Collins, “Ghanaian Christianity and Popular Entertainment: Full Circle,” History in Africa 31 (2004): 407–423. 11. Al Jazeera, “ Playlist,” http://blip.tv/file/1990882. 12. CopkillahP, Hiplife in Accra, Ghana, 2008. http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=vh5TOQVP3to (cantonments, residential not a thug neighborhood). 13. CopkillahP, Hiplife in Accra, Ghana, 2008. http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=vh5TOQVP3to&feature=related. This is not to say that there are no non-plush urban

Morality, the Sacred, and God in Ghanaian Hip Hop

203

neighborhoods in Accra or Ghana. In fact Hip-Life group VIP was formed in a hard neighborhood of Accra, Nima. 14. Lee Kasumba, “Emcee Africa—The Battle Chronicles #1: Ghana,” http:// www.africanhiphop.com/archive/index.php?module=subjects&func=printpage&pageid=284& scope=all. 15. BBC, “Accra Reclaims Hip Hop,” http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/3241007.stm; Ghanaweb, “Accra Reclaims Hip-Hop,” http://www.ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/audio/artikel.php?ID=191170. 16. Al Jazeera, “Playlist,” http://blip.tv/file/1990882. 17. Sylvanus K. Odamtten, Indigenous Educational Ideas in Ghana (Accra: Ghana National Association of Teachers (GNAT), 1995), 1. 18. http://mp3skull.com/mp3/lil_shaker_ft_bra_kevin_allah_dey.html; see Lil Shaker, Allah Dey, Abuzu Music/Skillions, 2010. 19. For an extended discussion of Allah as Supreme Being or God, see translation of the Quran by Yusuf A. Ali, The Koran: Text, Translation and Commentary (Washington D.C.: American International Printing Company, 1946); or John L. Esposito, Islam: The Straight Path (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 68-74. 20. http://BiGxGh.com;mp3skull.com/mp3/lil_shaker_ft_bra_kevin_allah_dey.html; Lil Shaker, Allah Dey, Abuzu Music/Skillions, 2010 21. See Sunnah 83, and Esposito, Islam, 11–12. 22. Nathaniel S. Murrell, “The Rastafarian Phenomenon” in The Rastafari Reader: Chanting Down Babylon, ed. Nathaniel S. Murrell, William D. Spencer, and Adrian Anthony Mcfarlane (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998). 23. A period of African history, when Akans like many Africans made Christianity theirs. This was the era of African past when European missionaries tried to convert Africans to Christianity and the corresponding Africanization of Christianity. For extended academic treatments of this subject see, for example, Kwame Bediako, Christianity in Africa: The Renewal of a Non-Western Religion (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1995); John S. Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophy (London: Heinemann, 1990). 24. Pashington Obeng, “Religious Interactions in Pre-Twentieth Century West Africa,” in Themes in West Africa’s History, ed. Emmanuel Akyeampong (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2005), 148–149; 155–157. 25. I am not suggesting that there was no religious pluralism or ecumenism before Nkrumah; I am only discussing the subject within the context of a nation-state. 26. “Pandora’s Box: Black Power,” produced by Adam Curtis, BBC Video, 1992. 27. Ebenezer Obiri-Addo, Kwame Nkrumah: A Case Study of Religion and Politics in Ghana (Lanham: University Press of America, 1997), 63–64. 28. Kwame Nkrumah, Ghana: The Autobiography of Kwame Nkrumah (New York: Nelson, 1957), 243. 29. Kwame Nkrumah, Consciencism: Philosophy and Ideology for Decolonization (London: Panaf, 1978). 30. Nkrumah, Consciencism, 78, 70. 31. Barbara Monfils, “A Multifaceted Image: Kwame Nkrumah’s Extrinsic Rhetorical Strategies,” Journal of Black Studies 7 (1977): 313–330. 32. Kwesi Yankah, Free Speech in Traditional Society: The Cultural Foundations Communication in Contemporary Ghana (Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1998), 10–13. 33. Kwesi Pratt, “Kwesi Pratt: Ban on Pouring of Libation at State Ceremonies is Taliban Mentality,” http://news.myjoyonline.com/news/201103/62431.asp. 34. President Mills, “I owe no apologies for making God leader of my government,” http:// news.myjoyonline.com /news/201103/62646.asp. 35. Peter Akwasi Sarpong, “Don’t downplay libation at state ceremony,” http:// news.myjoyonline.com/news/201103/62509.asp. 36. Obrafour, Kwame Nkrumah, Yaanom, Pae Mu Ka, Last Two, 1999. 37. All translations of Ghanaian English, Twi, et cetera are mine, Harry Nii Koney Odamtten. 38. Nkasei, Adua Ne Ebu, Nsekyrene, Abib Records, 2000.

204

Harry Nii Koney Odamtten

39. Thanks to Kwame Essien, assistant professor, University of Central Arkansas, for assisting in this interpretive information 40. Ennis B. Edmonds, “Dread ‘I’ In-a-Babylon: Ideological Resistance and Cultural Revitalization,” in The Rastafari Reader: Chanting Down Babylon, 32–33. 41. Reggie “Rockstone” Ossei, Keep Your Eyes on the Road, Meka, Kassa Records 2000. 42. Edward Curtis IV, Black Muslim Religion in the Nation of Islam 1960–1975 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006); Michael Muhamad Knight, The Five Percenters: Islam, Hip Hop, and the Gods of New York (Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 2007); Ted Swedenburg, “Islam in the Mix: Lesson of the Five Percent,” paper presented at the Anthropology Colloquium, University of Arkansas, February 19, 1997. 43. Lawrence H. Mamiya, “Nation of Islam,” Oxford Encyclopedia of Modern Islamic World, vol. 3, 235–236; Esposito, Islam, 209–210. 44. Reggie Rockstone, “BET CYPHER, Ghana,” 2010 BET Hip Hop Awards, http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSoEPnAGGmg&playnext=1&list=PLE77F2F0E69FE8EC1. 45. Reggie Rockstone, Disastrous and Reggie Rockstone, interwiew part 2, http:// www.youtube.com/watch?V=35-7vLMcCtY. 46. Jeffrey O. G. Ogbar, Black Power Radical Politics and African-American Identity (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2005).

BIBLIOGRAPHY Agovi, Kofi E. “The Philosophy of Communication in Traditional African Society: The Literary and Dramatic Evidence.” Research Review NS 5 (1989): 52–59. Ali, A.Yusuf. The Koran: Text, Translation and Commentary. Washington, D.C.: American International Printing Company, 1946. Akyeampong, Emmanuel. Between the Sea & the Lagoon: An Eco-Social History of the Anlo of Southeastern Ghana, c. 1850 to Recent Times. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2001. ———. “Bukom and the Social History of Boxing in Accra: Warfare, Citizenship in Precolonial Ga Society.” International Journal of African Historical Studies 35 (2002): 39–60. ———. Drink, Power, and Cultural Change: A Social History of Alcohol in Ghana c. 1800 to Recent Times. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 1996. ———, ed. Themes in West Africa’s History. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2005. ———, and Ama de-Graft Aikins. “Ghana at Fifty: Reflections on Independence and After.” Transition 98 (2008): 24–34. ———, and Pashington Obeng. Spirituality, Gender, and Power in Asante History. Boston, MA: African Studies Center, Boston University, 1995. Bediako, Kwame. Christianity in Africa: The Renewal of a Non-Western Religion. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1995. Collins, John.“Ghanaian Christianity and Popular Entertainment: Full Circle.” History in Africa 31 (2004): 407–423. Curtis IV, Edward. Black Muslim Religion in the Nation of Islam 1960–1975. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006. Edmonds, Ennis B. “Dread ‘I’ In-a-Babylon: Ideological Resistance and Cultural Revitalization,” in The Rastafari Reader: Chanting Down Babylon, 32–33. Esposito, John L. Islam: The Straight Path. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. ———, ed. Oxford Encyclopedia of Modern Islamic World. Vol. 3. New York: Oxford, 1995. Knight, Michael M. The Five Percenters: Islam, Hip Hop, and the Gods of New York. Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 2007. Long, Charles H. Significations, Signs, Symbols and Images in the Interpretation of Religions Colorado: The Davies Group Publishers, 1999. Mbiti, John S. African Religions and Philosophy. London: Heinemann, 1990. Mamiya, Lawrence H. “Nation of Islam,” Oxford Encyclopedia of Modern Islamic World, vol. 3, 235–236; Esposito, Islam, 209–210. Monfils, Barbara. “A Multifaceted Image: Kwame Nkrumah’s Extrinsic Rhetorical Strategies.” Journal of Black Studies 7 (1977): 313–330.

Morality, the Sacred, and God in Ghanaian Hip Hop

205

Murrell, Nathaniel S., Adrian Anthony Mcfarlane, and William D. Spencer, eds. The Rastafari Reader: Chanting Down Babylon. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998. Nkrumah, Kwame. Ghana: The Autobiography of Kwame Nkrumah. New York: Nelson, 1957. ———. Consciencism: Philosophy and Ideology for Decolonization. London: Panaf, 1978. Obeng, Pahington. “Religious Interactions in Pre-Twentieth Century West Africa,” in Themes in West Africa’s History, edited by Emmanuel Akyeampong. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2005. Obiri-Addo, Ebenezer. Kwame Nkrumah: A Case Study of Religion and Politics in Ghana. Lanham: University Press of America, 1997. Odamtten, Harry Nii Koney. “Hip-Hop Speaks, Hip-Life Answers: Global African Music.” In Native Tongues: The African Hip-Hop Reader, edited by Paul Saucier. New Jersey: Africa World Press, 2011. Odamtten, Sylvanus K. Indigenous Educational Ideas in Ghana. Accra: Ghana National Association of Teachers GNAT, 1995. Ogbar, Jeffrey O. G. Black Power Radical Politics and African-American Identity. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005. Swedenburg, Ted. “Islam in the Mix: Lesson of the Five Percent.” Paper presented at the Anthropology Colloquium, University of Arkansas, February 19, 1997. Yankah, Kwesi. Free Speech in Traditional Society: The Cultural Foundations Communication in Contemporary Ghana. Accra: Ghana Universities Press, 1998.

Chapter Thirteen

In the Church, In the Streets: A Spectrum of Religious Expression in Christian Hip Hop and Spoken Word Poetry Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum

In the auditorium of Lindley Middle School in Mableton, Georgia, 1 InSpirit Truth Center 2 held their 10:30 a.m. church service on a warm spring day. The school auditorium held a small, all-black audience, consisting of thirtyfive regulars and a few visitors ranging from young pre-school children to middle-aged adults. The attendees were dressed casually, as well as the DJ, whose turntables and sound system were set up on the left-hand side of the stage. Intermittently throughout the service, the DJ played recognizable and original hip-hop music and mixed beats, infusing the public school venue of the church service with a sophisticated and unified hip-hop flavor that resonated with the audience. The service began more solemnly, however, with an extended prayer in the now darkened and quiet auditorium. The opening prayer, led by Minister Stanley, was deeply reflective, affirming, and urgent in nature. After the prayer, light returned to the auditorium, and Minister Stanley explained InSpirit Truth Center’s New Thought 3 approach. Distinguishing New Thought from the New Age spiritual movement, 4 he explained that the Center practices “renewed thought,” a process of seeking truths from biblical thought and practicing them with inspired meanings and metaphysical emphases. “Inspirational teachings do not stop,” he explained, “they continue.” As attendees stretched out their arms during the welcome portion of the service, they extended their hands toward other church attendees and recited, “I love you, I bless you, and I thank God for you.” 207

208

Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum

Then, a song by the conscious or alternative hip-hop artist Common titled “G.O.D. (Gaining One’s Definition)” was played before Minister Server, a self-described hip-hop minister, approached the podium to give the sermon. 5 The seated church audience bobbed their heads as the song played, obviously relating to its message, which communicated that there is only “one truth,” that religious doctrine is often flawed, and the importance of self- and spiritual understanding. In verse one of this song, Common details the religious beliefs and doctrines told to children about religion “with no answer to why” they should believe what they are told. He discusses his spiritual and religious research, from “the books of Zen, Tao the lessons, Koran, and the Bible” and discovers for himself that there is one “root” from which all of these religions stem. Rather than deeming one religion or spiritual practice supreme over others, in verse one Common relays a universalist spiritual philosophy that transcends factions, sects, and belief systems. With references to Islam and Christianity, Common challenges the concept of religion as an “emblem” or symbol and argues, “It should be a way of life.” The second verse of this song, sung by the artist Cee-Lo, continues the Universalist philosophy presented in verse one by addressing the deception of some religious teaching and church leaders. In particular, he points out that upon searching “scrolls from the Hebrew Israelites” he discovered that “Jesus wasn’t white.” This song, and InSpirit Truth Center’s church service, crystallizes the multifaceted and probing spirituality present in hip-hop music and culture writ-large, a diversity of faith expression and exploration that is also present in Christian hip-hop music and spoken word poetry. It is important to note that it is unconventional for a majority of churches aligned with traditional Christian denominations to regularly incorporate Christian hiphop music into their church services, let alone include non-Christian or mainstream hip-hop that would be considered secular as InSpirit Truth Center does. 6 Together with the church’s centering of the DJ on stage and his provision of musical accompaniment throughout the service, and with the hip-hop minister giving a sermon marked by hip-hop slang and song references, InSpirit Truth Center’s broadcasting of this song indicates theological flexibility and embracing of hip-hop culture as a spiritual practice. 7 Just as hip-hop is marked by diverse spiritual and religious roots and ideologies, Christian hip-hop music and spoken word poetry are multifarious, characterized by artists who choose to express their faith and proselytize through their music, poetry, and performances, by others who identify as Christian but who prefer to make no references at all to their faith practices in their music, poetry, and performances, and by others who lie in between. This chapter explores the gradient of faith expression in Christian hip-hop music, poetry, and performance. I argue that a higher-level understanding of tensions between sacred and secular forms and contexts in black popular and religious cultures lies in part in a close examination of the living archive of

In the Church, In the Streets

209

Christian hip-hop and spoken word musicking. Through “musicking,” Christopher Small's term for all social activity surrounding music, Christian hiphop artists make religion mean something concrete in their lives. The performances, music, poetry, and interview material in this chapter illustrate that artists’ negotiations of Christian and secular spoken word and hip-hop spaces, discourses, and audience expectations is an ongoing practice in which boundaries and tensions between them are never static. It is a dynamic process of complex artistic self-representation and expression in which intertwined and distinctive cultures—Christianity and hip-hop—inform and bleed into one another. Examining the living archive of Christian hip-hop and spoken word gives us concrete details for understanding how a segment of the hip-hop generation navigates contemporary sacred/secular divisions. Previous work has examined religiosity and spirituality in secular hip-hop (Spencer et al. 1991; Dyson 1996; Sylvan 2002; Pinn 2003; Hodge 2010), Five Percenterism and Islam in hip-hop (Miyakawa 2005, Knight 2007), holy hip-hop from a pastor’s or minister’s perspective (Smith and Jackson 2005, Kyllonen 2007), and secular hip-hop’s relationship to the Black church (Watkins 2007, 2011; Kirk-Duggan and Hall 2011). Additionally, Deborah Smith Pollard includes a chapter on Christian hip-hop in her book When the Church Becomes Your Party (2008). This chapter, which is part of a larger project, examines Christian hip-hop music and poetry exclusively, those works that are theologically specific, ostensibly evangelical, or otherwise connected to the institution or practice of Christianity. 8 Additionally, several of the aforementioned works examine audio-recorded performances of hip-hop or Christian hip-hop music in their analyses. This chapter seeks to fill a gap not only in scholarship on Christian hip-hop, but also in scholarship on Christian hiphop music and culture that centers live performances and artists’ discourse about their work. Through this approach, we gain a greater awareness of the cultural flows that shape Christian hip-hop performance as it is produced and consumed, as well as a more nuanced understanding of how artists mentally process and discuss the complexities of their artistic development and performances. This chapter features analyses of live Christian hip-hop and spoken word performances. I also analyze interviews with Christian hip-hop and spoken word artists based in Atlanta, Georgia, and Detroit, Michigan, that I conducted from 2006 to 2011 in an attempt to fill this gap. 9 In this way, I examine a spectrum of Black Christian faith practice expressed through the music, poetry, and culture in order to present a fuller picture of the dynamic nature of Christian or holy hip-hop. I define Christian hip-hop and performance poetry as those expressive forms created by selfidentified Christian artists. I include spoken word or performance poetry in this exploration of urban Christian hip-hop culture because both forms often exist simultaneously, synergistically, and symbiotically within Christian hiphop urban culture: spoken word and rap are often performed within singular

210

Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum

events and even by the same artist. These expressive forms—Christian hiphop and spoken word or performance poetry—are informed by a perhaps unexpectedly wide array of explicit and implicit political and religious ideologies. Artists range from explicitly Christian, those who proselytize and intensely express their faith in their music similar to the late gospel soloist Mahalia Jackson, to those who are implicitly Christian, choosing not to explicitly express their faith in certain contexts, or to produce works that do not always obviously reference their faith such as the late vocalist and guitarist Rosetta Tharpe. The four female and male artists discussed herein, Amena Brown, Mahogany Jones, Lecrae, Jay and Jay SOUL, hail from Atlanta, Georgia, and Detroit, Michigan—two dynamic and enterprising epicenters of Christian hip-hop, cities with large black populations and strong political and musical histories. Both cities, which make up the larger Holy Hip-Hop (HHH) movement, 10 boast a diversity of artists and a spectrum of performance styles appealing to Christian and non-Christian audiences. CONTEXT: HOLY HIP-HOP, ATLANTA, AND DETROIT Holy hip-hop, or Christian hip-hop, was born in the United States in the 1970s, a few years after the advent of rap music and culture on the east coast of the United States. Artists such as Stephen Wiley and Reverend GoLightly helped to solidify this subgenre of hip-hop music and culture in the mid1980s (Smith Pollard 2008). However, it was not until the early 1990s that Christian hip-hop gained national visibility and recognition among mainstream hip-hop artists, along with a wider audience and radio exposure. Today, Christian hip-hop artists such as Lecrae, The Ambassador, Kiwi, and Mahogany Jones perform for a variety of religious and non-religious audiences in cities such as Atlanta, Detroit, and around the world (Brooks-Tatum 2010). Atlanta is the most populous city in Georgia. With just over 420,000 residents in the city proper, the Atlanta Metropolitan Area boasts more than 5.4 million people and is considered the third largest metropolitan center in the Southeast United States and the ninth largest in the country. 11 While the state of Alabama was the central organizing hub for the Civil Rights movement, Atlanta was a major organizational and strategic center. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., one of the movement’s most visible and memorable leaders, resided there, and the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) made the city their headquarters. Atlanta elected its first black mayor, Maynard Jackson, in 1973. To date, the city of Atlanta has over one thousand places of worship. With a relatively large Catholic population, the Atlanta Metropolitan Area is also

In the Church, In the Streets

211

the home of several megachurches, Protestant churches with two thousand or more members. Examples include Pastor Creflo Dollar’s Word Changers Church International, a nondenominational church just outside of Atlanta in College Park, and Mount Paran Church, affiliated with the Church of God denomination and led by Senior Pastor Dr. David C. Cooper. With wideranging appeal, charismatic leadership, niche sensitivity, and savvy marketing, these and other megachurches are making their mark on the world, especially in urban areas (Lee and Sinitiere 2009). In my research, I have found that megachurches tend to be nondenominational churches who are more likely to be supportive of Christian hip-hop. This is in part due to their lack of denominational strictures, and also because megachurches are more likely than smaller churches to have the financial, media, and congregational resources and networks to support the music and culture. World Changers Church International and Mount Paran Church are among the churches that lead Atlanta and the nation in incorporating Christian hip-hop into their church cultures and services. World Changers International holds hip-hop music and services, and I recently interviewed a local Atlanta hip-hop artist who performed at this church. Additionally, Pastor Dollar’s son-in-law is the former secular turned Christian hip-hop artist and international ministry leader Ma$e. Mount Paran Church hosts several Christian hip-hop conferences and events, including the 2011 Freestyle Missions’ City Takers Conference, which included workshops on “Strategic Implementation of Unity in Christian Hip-Hop,” “Balancing Family, Ministry and Music,” “Finding Excellence in Music, Ministry, and Marketing,” and “Becoming a Real City Taker,” as well as an Urban Hip-Hop Church Service and a Dove Music Awards after-party. Since 2003, the annual Holy Hip-Hop (HHH) Awards and Showcase have been held in Atlanta, and in 2011, the HHH Awards and Showcase partnered with the Dove Gospel Music Awards, a signal that the music is becoming increasingly more mainstream and accepted among more traditional, conservative audiences and incorporated under the general heading of Christian music. While Atlanta has a largely black population (54 percent black, 38.4 percent white, 3.1 percent Asian), the city of Detroit boasts an even larger one, with 81.6 percent of its residents identifying as black in 2010. The city’s population is larger than Atlanta’s (more than 700,000 residents), but Metro Detroit’s population is smaller, at approximately 4.4 million. Known by its two aliases, “Motor City” (after the automotive industry) and “Motown” (after Berry Gordy’s “Motown Sound” and record label), the city is home to a rich music history and culture, including many music festivals such as the International Jazz Festival and the Electronic Music Festival. While Atlanta’s median household income is $47,464, Detroit’s is $29,526, due partly to recent downturns in the economy, white flight to suburban circles surround-

212

Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum

ing Detroit, and the flux and once-pending bankruptcy of the U.S. automotive industry. Metro Detroit is also home to several megachurches, including Word of Faith International Christian Center, a nondenominational church located in Southfield. Parachurch, or trans- and interdenominational organizations, such as Friendship Productions and The Yuinon (pronounced union) promote and organize Christian hip-hop events, and are prominent throughout the city. Almost every weekend there is a Christian hip-hop concert, performance, CD release party, or other event in the Metro Area. With a strong network of artists, parachurch organizations, and churches, Christian hip-hop artists from all over the country travel to Detroit and Atlanta to perform. As primarily black urban cities with highly visible cultural and religious histories and institutions, both Atlanta and Detroit seem logical hubs for the burgeoning and diverse music and culture of Christian hip-hop. HOLY HIP-HOP’S CIVIL WAR: EXPLICITLY CHRISTIAN CONSERVATIVES AND IMPLICITLY CHRISTIAN ARTISTS On March 3, 2008, a writer by the name of Wut Metaphysical 12 posted an editorial entitled “Holy Hip-Hop’s Civil War” on Rapzilla.com, an online hip-hop music magazine and promotion venue for Christian hip-hop artists founded in 2003 in Brussels, Belgium. 13 The article metaphorically represents holy hip-hop writ-large as a split nation-state; the writer explained that “[t]here are two states under the union of Holy Hip Hop.” The “conservative state,” he argues, believes that the primary purpose of Christian hip-hop “should be to glorify God, to preach, or to proselytize non-believers.” Thus, the music and all elements surrounding the music should have explicit references to Christianity and to Christian faith practice for converting listeners and for centralizing God and biblical scripture. The “more artistic state” argues on the other hand that the primary goal of the music should be for artists to express themselves “regardless of the subject matter.” Consequently, their music is defined as “Christian hip-hop” simply because they happen to be Christians, and not due to any overt religious expression or proselytizing within their music. According to the writer, whereas the “conservative state” believes that if the music does not explicitly reference God or proselytize it as a “misappropriation of the genre’s music,” the “artistic state” believes that music that is trite, formulaic, or simplistic, or music that is poorly produced or unskillfully rapped is “a weaker form of music and therefore inappropriate for the intensely creative nature of hip hop.” The writer declares that “[b]oth states have taken up arms and both have fired,” extending the metaphor of the split nation-state (and U.S. Civil War) even further. The writer arguably positions

In the Church, In the Streets

213

himself as a documenter and not an instigator of this war, but also presents a simplistic, binary representation of Christian hip-hop music and culture that formulates an ongoing, central debate about the music and culture: to what degree should artists foreground their faith in this music? In addition, is Christian hip-hop music that presents a passion for Jesus Christ, but a lack of high-quality execution and artistic originality, acceptable and worthy of transmission? For months after this article was published, artists all over the world posted comments in response that ranged from straightforward agreement to intense dissent. Despite the hyperbolic nature of representing two factions within hip-hop as Civil War soldiers, artists and fans erupted into a highly combative debate. Using personal experiences, biblical scripture, and musical examples, the responses to the article distilled not only the factions within Christian hip-hop communities, but also the tensions between the sacred and the secular that characterize boundaries set up between creative communities in African-American cultures. 14 Is hip-hop, a musical form and culture that has been classified as secular, and to some, an organized religion in itself, 15 relevant to and appropriate for the context of Christianity and sacred church services, praise, and worship? Although tensions between the sacred/secular persist in black popular and religious cultures, what perpetrators of these controversies and divides fail to acknowledge are the spiritual and religious roots of hip-hop that make the music and culture neither purely sacred nor purely secular in its core past and present. The online debate ignited by the article crystallized the reality that most artists indeed do not identify with one “state” or the other. Their responses formed a rebuttal to the very binary premise of the article, illustrating that their creative oeuvre is often a mixture of (1) songs and poems that explicitly reference their faith practice and ask others to consider their perspectives on and experiences with religion and spirituality, and (2) works that express their outlooks on life or commonalities in the human condition that are not explicitly religious and are relatable to wider audiences. One such artist is Amena Brown, a Christian performance poet from Atlanta, Georgia, who does not market herself explicitly as a Christian artist, but performs to a variety of audiences worldwide. AMENA BROWN: NONCONFORMIST PERFORMANCE POET On a crisp fall night in October 2010, Amena Brown performed her first solo show in Atlanta, “Amena Brown Live.” The event was held at Blue Mark Studios, which, perhaps unbeknownst to invited audience members, was really a converted church auditorium in West Midtown Atlanta, a performance space with blue lighting, a non-alcoholic drink and snack bar, and a

214

Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum

ticket booth at the entrance. Several local artists performed before and after Amena took center stage, including DJ Opdiggy, whose turntables and sound system were set up on the church platform, not too far from the former altar. In between poems, Amena Brown presented a stand-up comedy routine, and played a game of “Name that Song” with the DJ spinning old school hip-hop from the 1990s. Vibrant, witty, and affecting, Amena connected well with her audience. Most of the poetry that Amena performed would be categorized as inspirational or positive, but definitely not explicitly Christian. It was not until toward the end of her poetry sequence that Amena mentioned her faith in God as a reason why she is abstaining from sex until she marries “a good man.” The audience members were in their thirties and forties primarily, and the vibe of the event was similar to poetry slams at cafés made more visible and popularized by movies such as Love Jones. The other local artists who performed, including, Chantae Cann, J. Winston, and others, did not reference God or Christianity at all during their performances, but could be classified as neo-soul artists with an Atlanta-specific flair: a southern, urban twist with musical and poetic references to city sights. Amena’s performance translated the once-sacred space of the converted church auditorium into a more ambiguous one. Amena Brown graduated from Spelman College with a degree in English. Although she would consider herself a Christian artist if asked, she believes the poetry that she writes and performs extends beyond faith, many of her pieces addressing day-to-day life and the challenges young adults face when coming of age. As a poet, speaker, and journalist, Amena is in her earlythirties, is a self-described nonconformist, and has performed in front of audiences as small as fifty, and as large as twenty-thousand. She is the author of a poetry chapbook and two spoken word CDs, and regularly travels all over the country to perform and to give presentations to diverse religious audiences, and to audiences who are not explicitly religious. She has given presentations to youth, women, and high school and college students on topics such as creativity, singleness, and building the artistic community. 16 In my interview with her, she credits her mother, an avid reader, as an early source of inspiration. She also describes the development of her craft as a performance poet: So even as a little girl I always knew that I would be a writer when I grew up in some regard. And I wanted to do that. So I majored in English when I was in school. I figured actually that I'd write novels. I don't think I thought that I'd have a career in poetry; I didn't realize people did that. So you know I knew about Nikki Giovanni and Sonia Sanchez, but their careers were more so [that] they were professors, as well as being writers. So, I really didn't get into spoken word performance poetry until I moved here to Atlanta to go to Spelman. First of all that's when I met a lot of poets that were just good at what they did, and a couple poets that were doing poetry full time. 17

In the Church, In the Streets

215

A few years after college, Amena became a full-time touring poet, after she fortuitously gained national exposure when performing for thousands at a broadcasted Christian event. Although Amena Brown would not consider herself a hip-hop artist, she is part of the urban Christian hip-hop culture and part of the Atlanta urban hip-hop scene more generally, as she maintains friendships and collaborates with a wide array of artists. She believes that spoken word poetry is effective because “[i]t's on the line between what we love about hearing a person speak and what we love about music. It incorporates rhyme and rhythm, but also the passion of whoever is doing the work—a dramatic interpretation of the written word. I've seen it transcend culture and generation, and anybody can engage with it” (Christianity Today). Amena incorporates hip-hop music in several of her performances, often being accompanied by a DJ, and also includes hip-hop music interludes in her poetry performances, illustrating the cross-pollination between performance poets and hip-hop artists, and poets of diverse spiritual and religious leanings and perspectives. She is currently working on a CD with a DJ, setting some of her pieces to a musical background. In Christian-based settings, Amena will recite poems titled “Resurrection,” “He Is Here,” “Masterpiece,” and “In the Beginning.” In more secular settings such as an open-mic poetry slam, she will perform pieces with titles such as “First Crush,” “Stupid Girl,” and “A Few Good Men” (Christianity Today). However, in some secular contexts, such as the venue described above she will incorporate some works with minimal Christian themes toward the end of her performance. Amena is representative of Christian hiphop and spoken word artists who, although unapologetically Christian, believe in the universal appeal of good music and great art. While she varies the pieces that she will perform in various contexts, generally her poetry appeals to wide audiences, and she does not believe in proselytizing or “shaming” supposed sinners with her poetry. Her goal is to unify her audience, to make them feel at home, and to make a connection with them that transcends age, background, race, and religion (ibid.). MAHOGANY JONES: HIP-HOP ARTIST, POET-TEACHER On February 20, 2008, Christian hip-hop artist Mahogany Jones hosted a rap lyric writing workshop at the International Institute in Detroit, Michigan. She taught her audience about metaphor, allegory, analogy, and rhyme, and the importance of using these literary devices in creating vivid music that paints a story for one’s listener. She worked with the participating youth and adults to utilize these writing devices in crafting an impromptu Christian rap song with a catchy hook. The participants then performed the song in a cipher

216

Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum

circle, in which each person was designated either to rap the lyrics or the hook, create percussion through beatboxing, or to play instruments such as the tambourine. Through focusing on strong poetic technique, what she considered the foundation of good music, Mahogany Jones instituted a communal writing event and performance showcase that centered the linguistic and performance strengths of the participants while foregrounding the literary foundation of hip-hop. Raised in Mt. Vernon, New York, Mahogany Jones (Charyse Bailey) moved to Michigan in 2006 to pursue her music ministry. She started out writing poems at the age of thirteen, became a spoken word performance poet in college, and then a rap artist a few years thereafter. She is a part-time teacher at Westside Christian Academy 18 where she teaches ninth-grade World History, seventh- and eighth-grade English, and tenth-grade Speech. Mahogany has also devised course curricula for teaching Black Studies, which she teaches to eleventh-grade students. She also teaches Hip Hop 101: Rhyme and Reason, an eight-week program in which she partners with other instructors and artists to instruct youth in hip-hop music and culture by offering theater, vocal, dance, and movement lessons as well as sessions on health and nutrition and one-on-one consultations with students about the core of their musical messages. In this program, Mahogany also covers the history of hip-hop music and the music business side of hip-hop. On Sundays, she works with youth in her home church, Evangel Ministries, a nondenominational church and ministry in Detroit that includes “two Christian Academies, a Bible College, Job Training and Placement, missionary programs, food and charitable outreaches, radio/television/audiotape ministries, prison outreaches, and new building development specifically for reaching the heart of the men of Detroit.” 19 When I interviewed Mahogany Jones, she discussed her work and the absence of perspectives on relationships in Christian and Christian hip-hop music: Holy hip hop, it's so funny, Christian music as a whole; you would think it's androgynous. We never talk about love and God. That's one of the greatest institutions that God has put among us, . . . marriage. But it just seems in gospel music we never [discuss marriage and love]. Yes, it's important to praise God, but you know music is good because it helps people to know about life, and get in touch with life or relate to things and it just seems like we rarely write music about love. 20

For Mahogany Jones, it is important for Christian music to engage a fuller picture of Christian life, which includes perspectives on love, marriage, and relationships. On Mahogany Jones’s first solo album Morphed (2008), she includes two songs about relationships, and a host of songs that do not reference Christianity overtly or very subtly. Her song “Star,” for example,

In the Church, In the Streets

217

states that no one needs Hollywood to be a star; each person is unique and should avoid commercialism and celebrity culture in an attempt to validate their uniqueness. The album also includes dramatic skit interludes like “Red Carpet” and “The Interview,” referencing stardom and the job search respectively. “Throw it Up” is an upbeat hip-hop worship song and “Lose Control” is a love song to God. The album as a whole includes polished, witty lyrics and a variety of music styles from techno, to disco, to other genres of music that are appealing to wide audiences (dasouth.com). 21 When asked about her goal in writing music, Mahogany replied: My goal is to make life and heart music. I listen to tracks that make me move, that move my heart and see what comes on the page. I want to say and express for others what they feel but may not know how to communicate. When I write music, I pray and ask that I compose melodic solutions to life issues, music that lets my listeners know, I feel you. 22

Her life and heart music, or “melodic solutions,” are diverse, appealing to Christian and non-religious audiences alike. Through her music, Mahogany Jones endeavors to capture a spectrum of life’s emotions: human thoughts, feelings, and doubts with a clearly Christian perspective. LECRAE: KRUNK HIP-HOP MINISTRY Christian hip-hop artists Lecrae and The Ambassador were the headlining artists at the “From Milk to Meat” Christian Hip-Hop Conference and Concert at the Silver Garden Center in Southfield, Michigan, on December 20, 2008. Despite a severe snowstorm, over eight hundred youth and young adult Christian hip-hop fans, youth leaders, music producers, and church ministers attended. Publicized as a “historical concert” and the ultimate “double bill” that could potentially serve as the “tipping point for the [Christian hip-hop] genre as a whole,” 23 the concert was preceded by a conference in which several key figures within the local Southeast Michigan and national Christian hip-hop industries and ministries made presentations on the practical aspects of evangelizing as members of the Holy Hip-Hop movement. The event coordinators, inspired by Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, called holy hip-hop fans to the next level of spiritual growth and ministry: beyond Christian hip-hop music and performance and into a deeper relationship with God and with the predominately youth and young adult communities that they serve. They took the following scripture as their thematic guide, where the Apostle Paul speaks: “I have fed you with milk, and not with meat: for hitherto ye were not able to bear it, neither yet now are ye able” (1 Corinthians 3:2, King James Version). “From Milk to Meat” served as a clarion call to the HHH generation to be deliberate about sharing the

218

Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum

gospel, to seek the biblical truths behind the appealing lyrics that emcees create, and to realize that being “down” with God is more than being down with holy hip-hop. Rather than focusing on the music itself, whether explicitly or implicitly Christian, artistic or unskilled, original or hackneyed, the event coordinators set out to put the music aside for a moment and to focus on the depth of biblical scripture and the Christian faith practice itself. The succeeding concert began with a performance by Mahogany Jones and a few other local Detroit artists, and was followed by a duet with The Ambassador, considered one of Christian hip-hop’s founding fathers, and Lecrae, a relatively new artist at the time, who has achieved global popularity and success. Once Lecrae took over the stage, the audience went wild, singing along and mirroring his intense, Christian-resignifed krunk, or “high off of Christ” energy: jumping, screaming, and highly deliberate vocals. If it were not for some of the slower songs with ostensibly Christian lyrics, or for the sermonic interludes in between songs, the concert could’ve been mistaken for a secular or mainstream hip-hop concert. His and his audience’s dress, mannerisms, and dances held little relation to traditional gospel Christian performance styles. In 2005, at the age of nineteen, Lecrae Moore co-founded ReachLife Ministries, a non-profit organization that partners with other organizations “to equip local leaders with culturally relevant tools and media projects designed to strengthen communities with the word of God” (reachlife.com). LeCrae is a graduate of University of North Texas, lives in Atlanta, Georgia, and is married with children. Lecrae's first solo album Rebel (2008) is the first Christian Rap CD ever to sit in the number one position on Billboard's Top Gospel Charts. Once released, Rebel also claimed the number three position on the iTunes Rap chart. In discussing what prompted the Rebel album, Lecrae stated: The inspiration for the album was largely realizing my own need for a biblical worldview. As I would navigate through arts, economics, politics, media, and culture as a whole I'd wrestle with a dichotomy between sacred and secular all the time. I'd either embrace aspects of secularism or [at] the other extreme be very separatist in my views. I began [to] read and listen to stuff by D. A. Carson, Mark Driscoll, Tim Keller, and Francis Schaeffer 24 and taking another look at Genesis, Daniel, and Romans and I found a better grid to see the world through. Over time I've worked to see Urban culture through a biblical lens and it's really helped. So I wanted to share with the listener the need to take a stand for Christ in culture yet still be a blessing and cultivator for the culture. 25

While Lecrae’s music is overtly Christian and at times proselytizing, his embodied performance style identifies heavily with what are considered popular hip-hop stylizations. This may be due in part to his hip-hop musical

In the Church, In the Streets

219

influences prior to conversion, and to his own preferences for musical and performance styles. Lecrae seems as much invested in the artistry of the music as he is in its evangelical purpose, which is to bring listeners an awareness of Christ and Christian lifestyles. JAY AND JAY SOUL: GOSPEL OVER HOLY HIP-HOP At the beginning of their first music video for the track “Bible 2,” Jay and Jay SOUL state that they wrote this song because they “got tired of people using the Bible as an excuse to sin,” undoubtedly pointing to the hypocrisy in the church as one motivating reason. Utilizing the dramatic setting of a live news report, they state to the news reporter that they are not afraid of the controversy that will result from the song because Jesus himself was historically a controversial figure, raising the dead and healing the sick in what were considered inappropriate contexts according to doctrine. In Jay and Jay SOUL’s case and throughout Christian hip-hop music and culture, Christian hip-hop artists identify with the image of Jesus as a rebel warrior: someone who challenges dogma and unfounded ritual heals people of ailments regardless of time, space, or appearance, and who ultimately “gave his life for the sins of the world.” This rebellious martyr Jesus figure, as opposed to the humble, composed Jesus figure is central to many Christian hip-hop artists’ formulations of community and identity, as they challenge the status quo of the church, intend for their music to reach the “saved” and the “unsaved,” and constantly state that their music is not about garnering fans but about bringing souls to Christ. Their Jesus is not primarily the one who prays to God in silence and humility, the one who says, “of my own self I can do nothing,” but the young Jesus who conversed with religious scholars in the temple, being “about his father’s business,” and the angry, adult Jesus who turned over the money changers’ tables in the temple. On June 5, 2008, I interviewed Jay and Jay SOUL at the Detroit Public Library on Woodward Avenue. Jay and Jay SOUL, a Christian music duo who performs a hybrid mixture of musical forms, R&B, gospel, hip-hop and soul, hails from Detroit, Michigan. The “SOUL” in their name stands for “Serving Only You Lord.” Jermaine Johnson and W. Jermaine “J. Wil” James, the two men who make up the musical duet, grew up and attended grade school on the Eastside of the city. In the interview they both described similar backgrounds: growing up in single-parent homes with their mothers, attending the same high school in Detroit, and turning to music as a form of cathartic release from stress and the pressures of adolescent life. In my interview with them, they gave almost equal attention to their similarities and their stark differences: J. Wil, born in 1983, is the oldest of nine children while Jermaine “Jay” Johnson, born in 1985, is the youngest child in his

220

Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum

family. While they share the same first name, they have very different personalities. J. Wil is a self-described loner while Jermaine “Jay” Johnson’s outgoing and sociable personality comes through clearly in many of their musical co-creations. Jay and Jay SOUL’s collaborative relationship is marked by a philosophical conflict over the acceptable uses of hip-hop music components in Christian music, but this conflict has now evolved into a subtler one. They also challenge mainstream notions of a fixed division between sacred and secular worlds, a division that is highlighted in moments of crossing but functions as an assumed truth during moments when challenges to this divide do not exist. Moreover, the fact that neither of them is completely embraced by the black gospel community, while they continue to distance themselves from Christian hip-hop or the Christian hip-hop movement, speaks volumes. As composers and performers who write and perform what they consider both hiphop- and gospel-style Christian songs, they make their work and perspectives a bountiful space for teasing out cultural contradictions and categorical conundrums that shape discourse around the sacred/secular divide. 26 Finally, Jay and Jay SOUL are partly invested in maintaining boundaries between secular hip-hop music and religious (gospel) music; despite producing rap music that is clearly Christian, they refuse categorization into any musical genre, and especially reject being classified as Christian hip-hop artists due to the music’s proximity, actual or assumed, to secular hip-hop culture. Their viewpoints contrast with those of other artists presented in this chapter, who generally align themselves with Christian hip-hop music and culture. Jay and Jay SOUL’s viewpoints illustrate that there are cases in which artists may produce works that one could classify as one genre (in this case, Christian hip-hop), but who do not necessarily identify artistically with that genre of music. CONCLUSION: MUSIC AND MINISTRY Debates surrounding the “mixture” of secular and sacred are often predicated on controversies about to what degree Christian artists utilize Christian themes and recognizable Christian genres and lyrics in their work. Opening up our definitions of Christian artistic expression to include a spectrum of religious articulations helps move us beyond binary, conservative evangelical vs. liberal artistic debates and into a more realistic and representative picture of the diversity of artistic expression in black urban cultures. Artistic expression in Christian hip-hop and spoken word ranges from Amena Brown, a nonconformist performance poet, to Mahogany Jones, a hip-hop artist and poet-teacher, to Lecrae, a Southern, urban hip-hop artist, to Jay and Jay SOUL, a duet who utilize hip-hop elements but who challenge the idea of

In the Church, In the Streets

221

Christian hip-hop as a distinct genre. These variations, while representative of a larger spectrum than outlined by the “Holy Hip-Hop Civil War” article, still capture only a fraction of the many ideologies, philosophies, and artistic goals of Christian hip-hop and spoken word artists. This spectrum of black musical expression has existed even prior to the dispersal of urban blues and gospel in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. These controversies, musical components, and critiques of artistic craft are remixed into the holy hip-hop present with new media, technologies, and the benefits and burdens of globalization. NOTES 1. Mableton is approximately thirty minutes outside of Atlanta, Georgia. The city is located in Cobb County and has a population of just fewer than 30,000 according to the 2000 U.S. Census. In contrast to Atlanta which has a majority black population, Mableton is mostly white: 62.39 percent White, 29.26 percent African-American. 2. InSpirit Truth Center was founded in 2003 after a member of Hillside Truth Center, Minister Djehuty, left to begin his own church. 3. New Thought is a spiritual movement in the U.S. that took shape in the late nineteenth century. It emphasizes metaphysics, or the fundamental nature of existence and of the world. Positive thinking, the law of attraction, and creative visualization are trademarks of New Thought systems, organizations, and writings. The three main New Thought Denominations are Religious Science, Unity Church, and the Church of Divine Science. For more on Blacks in New Thought Denominations, see Darnise C. Martin, Beyond Christianity: African-Americans in a New Thought Church (New York: NYU Press, 2005). 4. The New Age movement developed during the second half of the twentieth century and most often draws on Eastern and Western spiritual traditions, creating a conglomerate of strategies and techniques for self-help, motivational psychology, and holistic health. See Nevill Drury, The New Age: The History of a Movement (New York: Thames & Hudson, Inc., 2004). 5. Conscious hip-hop music is often considered underground or alternative hip-hop music, music that is not overly compromised by corporate investment and interests and that incorporates a historical and politically aware sensibility. Common, previously known as Common Sense, is a hip-hop artist and actor born in Chicago, Illinois. “G.O.D. (Gaining One’s Definition)” is a song on Common’s album One Day It’ll All Make Sense (1997), released by the label Relativity. 6. Exceptions are youth church services and evangelical events meant to draw hip-hop fans to church and/or salvation. Generally from my research I have found that non-denominational Christian churches tend to be the most supportive religious institutions who embrace Christian hip-hop. 7. This was also evidenced by the minister who later mentioned that he worked with KRSOne and the Temple of Hip-Hop, and his concept of urban hip-hop inspirational metaphysics, or an urban, hip-hop-specific metaphysical outlook on life and creation with an encouraging, inspirational component. 8. One notable exception is Deborah Smith Pollard’s When the Church Becomes Your Party: Contemporary Gospel Music (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2008), which includes a chapter on Christian hip-hop. 9. Please note that I interviewed all of the artists featured in this piece except for Lecrae. After several attempts, I was not able to secure an interview with him prior to completing this publication. In this case, I rely on interview data reported by others, and in a few other key places in this piece I draw on interviews conducted by other writers or researchers to buttress the analysis from my interviews with the other three artists.

222

Shanesha R. F. Brooks-Tatum

10. The Holy Hip-Hop Movement is a movement of artists within Christian hip-hop culture worldwide. 11. 2010 U.S. Census Data. http://2010.census.gov/2010census/data/. 12. Wut Metaphysical is the penname of a writer at Rapzilla.com. 13. “Holy Hip-Hop’s Civil War” http://www.rapzilla.com/rz/features/story/727-holy-hiphops-civil-war. 14. For more on this sacred/secular debate and tensions, please see works by C. Eric Lincoln, Teresa Reed, and several other “black” music scholars. 15. See, for example, Elder G. Craige Lewis’s DVD series, The Truth About Hip-Hop, which is an exposé of the supposed demonic nature of hip-hop music. This debate and dilemma is explored in more detail in my book in progress, The Holy Hip-Hop Movement: Performance, Identity, and the Rise of E-Spirituality, which is based on my dissertation, Poetics With a Promise: Performances of Faith and Gender in Christian Hip-Hop (University of Michigan, 2010). 16. “Biography,” http://www.amenabrown.com/index.html, accessed January 3, 2011. 17. Interview with Amena Brown, 8 October 2010, Atlanta, Georgia. 18. “Westside Christian Academy is a non-denominational school that offers a strong academic curriculum and a firm Christian perspective for life. Our goal is to provide a nurturing atmosphere that will permit each child to develop at his/her maximum potential. We are equipped to educate the total child so that each individual will develop academically, socially and emotionally.” “About Us,” http://www.westsideca.org/aboutus.htm, accessed January 14, 2010. 19. “Church History,” http://www.evangelministries.org/ChurchHistory.htm, accessed January 12, 2010. Evangel Ministries was formerly known as Faith Temple Church (1955–1964) and then as Evangel Church (1964–1990s) before becoming Evangel Ministries in the 1990s. EM also has a radio broadcast “The Equipped for Life radio broadcast [that] reaches more than five-million people daily, broadcasting throughout southeastern Michigan; northern Ohio; Ontario, Canada; as well as extending to the African nations of Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda.” 20. Interview with Mahogany Jones, February 26, 2008, Detroit, Michigan. 21. http://www.dasouth.com/reviews/353-review-morphed-by-mahogany-jones. 22. http://sexy-never-left.blogspot.com/2009/10/interview-special-mahogany-jones.html. 23. These details are taken from the event’s press release. 24. These are evangelical Christian authors. 25. http://theresurgence.com/2008/09/30/interview-with-hip-hop-artist-lecrae. 26. Jay and Jay Soul, Personal Interview, June 4, 2008, Detroit, Michigan.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Interviews Brown, Amena. Personal Interview. October 8, 2010. Atlanta, Georgia. Drury, Nevill. The New Age: The History of a Movement. New York: Thames & Hudson, Inc., 2004. Focus Group. Personal interview. August 10, 2008. Oakland, California. Jay and Jay Soul. Personal interview. June 4, 2008. Detroit, Michigan. Jones, Mahogany. Personal interview. February 26, 2008. Detroit, Michigan. Jones, Mahogany. Personal interview. September 20, 2008. Detroit, Michigan. “2010 U.S. Census Data.” Accessed April 20, 2011. http://2010.census.gov/2010census/data. Anderson, Mike. “Interview with Hip-Hop Artist: Lecrae.” The Resurgence. September 30, 2008. Accessed May 8, 2011. http://theresurgence.com/2008/09/30/interview-with-hip-hopartist-lecrae. Brooks-Tatum, Shanesha. Poetics With a Promise: Performances of Faith and Gender in Christian Hip-Hop. Diss., University of Michigan, 2010.

In the Church, In the Streets

223

——— . “Spirituality and Religion in Christian Hip-Hop Literature and Culture.” In The Encyclopedia of Hip-Hop Literature, edited by Tarshia Stanley. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2008. Common. “G.O.D. (Gaining One’s Definition).” One Day It’ll All Make Sense. New York: Relativity Records, 2007. Dillard, Angela D. Faith in the City: Preaching Radical Social Change in Detroit. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007. Duggan, Cheryl Kirk and Marlon Hall. Wake Up: Hip Hop Christianity and the Black Church. Nashville, 2011. Dyson, Michael Eric. Between God and Gangsta Rap: Bearing Witness to Black Culture. New York: Oxford, 1996. Jones, Mahogany. Morphed. Detroit: The Yuinon, 2008. Kelly, Robin D. G. Freedom Dreams: The Black Radical Imagination. New York: Beacon Press, 2003. Kitwana, Bakari. The Hip-Hop Generation: Young Blacks and the Crisis in African American Culture. New York: Basic Books, 2002. Knight, Michael Muhammad. The Five Percenters: Islam, Hip Hop and the Gods of New York. Oxford: Oneworld, 2007. Kyllonen, Tommy. Unorthodox: Church, Hip Hop, and Culture. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2007. Lee, Shayne and Philip Luke Sinitiere, eds. Holy Mavericks: Evangelical Innovators and the Spiritual Marketplace. New York: NYU Press, 2009. Martin, Darnise C. Beyond Christianity: African-Americans in a New Thought Church. New York: NYU Press, 2005. Miyakawa, Felicia M. Five Percenter Rap: God Hop’s Music, Message, and Black Muslim Mission. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005. Moring, Mark. “Poet Amena Brown Speaks the Truth in Rhythm and Rhymes.” Christianity Today. April 19, 2011. Accessed May 5, 2011. http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2011/ april/rhymereason.html. Pinn, Anthony B. Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music. New York: NYU Press, 2003. Reed, Teresa. The Holy Profane: Religion in Black Popular Music. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2003. Sexy Never Left. “Interview Special: Mahogany Jones.” October 9, 2009. Accessed May 5, 2011. http://sexy-never-left.blogspot.com/2009/10/interview-special-mahogany-jones.html. Smith, Efrem and Phil Jackson. The Hip Hop Church: Connecting with the Movement Shaping Our Culture. Downers Grove: IVP, 2005. Smith Pollard, Deborah. Whenthe Church Becomes Your Party: Contemporary Gospel Music. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2008. Spencer, Jon Michael, ed. The Emergency of Black and the Emergence of Rap. Durham: Duke University Press, 1991. ——— . The Theology of American Popular Music: The Journal of Black Sacred Music 3:2. Durham: Duke University Press, 1989. Swedenburg, Ted. “Islam in the Mix: Lessons of the Five Percent.” University of Arknsas, 1997. http://comp.uark.edu/~tsweden/5per.html. Sylvan, Robin. Traces of the Spirit: Religious Dimensions of Popular Music. New York: New York University Press, 2002. Watkins, Ralph. The Gospel Remix: Reaching the Hip Hop Generation. Valley Forge: Judson Press, 2007. ——— . Hip Hop Redemption: Finding God in the Rhythm and the Rhyme. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2011. Wut Metaphysical. “Holy Hip-Hop’s Civil War.” April 10, 2011. http://www.rapzilla.com/rz/ features/story/727-holy-hip-hops-civil-war.

Index

50 Cent, 29, 97, 144, 163, 181 Afrika Bambaataa, 171, 172 Akan, 192, 193, 194, 197, 200, 203n23 Ali, Muhammad, xiii, 137, 138 Asante, Molefi, 58, 59, 60, 61, 63n13–63n14, 63n8, 64, 118, 133, 153, 168 Authenticity, xii, 25, 30, 32, 52, 125, 126, 132, 177 B. B. Jay, 173, 181, 183 Beloved Community. See Community BET, 120, 201, 204n44 Black Nationalism, 92, 135, 138 Black Jesuz, 30 Black Power, 5, 49, 72, 89, 161, 201, 203n26, 204n46, 205 Black Theology, 6, 31, 46–48, 48–50, 52n6, 53, 177 Blow, Kurtis, 57, 61, 63n10, 64n37, 119, 120, 123, 173 Blues, viii, xiii, 59, 73, 75, 77, 78–79, 79, 82, 85–93n31 Brown, Amena, 209, 213–214, 215, 220, 222, 222n16–222n17, 223 Buber, Martin, 128, 133 Catholic, xiii, 5, 46, 117–133n2, 194, 197, 210

Christianity, x, xiii, 2–3, 4, 22, 32, 69, 75, 76, 77, 89, 118, 119, 131, 173, 189, 194, 196, 203n23, 208, 208–209, 212, 213, 216 Common (Rapper), 96, 118, 119, 123, 128, 208, 221n5 Communitas, 56–57, 62 Community, 3, 5, 7, 10, 13, 17, 18n3, 23, 27, 129, 130, 131, 132, 136, 143, 144, 214, 219, 220 Cone, James, 7, 39, 46–48, 48–50, 52n6, 52n7–53n13, 53, 72, 82n10, 83, 89, 90, 93n28, 94 Crouch, Andre, 176, 182, 185n21, 186 D.C. Talk, 173, 174, 174–175, 175–176, 186 Dead Prez, 44, 96, 119, 123 Dollar, Creflo, 177, 180–181, 186n31, 210–211 DuBois, W. E. B., 21, 33n1, 35, 56, 89, 93n28 Dyson, Michael Eric, ix, xivn1, xvn4, 11, 12, 13, 18, 80, 83n36, 84, 86, 87, 88, 91, 92n2, 93n20, 93n25, 93n3, 93n31, 93n5, 93n8, 179, 209, 223 Ethos, 17, 25–26, 180, 184, 186, 196 Evangelical, xiv, 1–18n5, 172, 173, 175, 177, 179, 220, 222n24 225

226

Index

Falwell, Jerry, 172, 173, 174, 177, 178, 185n13, 186 Farrakhan, Louis, xiii, 135, 148n40 Five Percenter, x, 33n6, 33n8, 118, 201, 204, 204n42, 209, 223 Franklin, Kirk, 2, 181–182, 182, 183, 186, 186n37 Ghanaian Hip Hop, 189–204n46 Gospel Gangstaz, 97, 109n17, 112, 183 Graham, Billy, 171–172, 173, 177, 181 Hill, Lauryn, 90–91, 93n17, 93n30, 94, 96, 97, 109n26, 113, 123, 138 Hip Hop Prayer Book, 97, 109n20–109n21, 112, 113, 119, 134 Hip Hop Revolution, 157, 158, 159, 160–161, 161, 163 Hip-Life. See Ghanaian Hip Hop Hodge, Daniel, xi, 34n34, 35, 56, 65, 209 Holder, Timothy, 97, 109n20, 112, 119, 134 Holy Hip Hop (Christian Hip Hop), xiv, 119, 207–222n26 Ice Cube, 135, 137, 139, 141, 142, 147n23, 149 Islam, xiii, 96, 118, 135–148n40, 172, 189, 201, 204, 204n42, 204n43, 208, 209, 223 Jackson, Jessie, 61, 139, 140, 147n2, 148, 149, 175, 177 Jakes, T. D., 177, 180, 181–182, 186n31 Ja Rule, 32, 92, 118, 135, 144 Jay and Jay Soul, 209, 219–220, 220 Jay Z, 15, 123, 222, 222n26 Jazz, 6, 10, 37, 75, 80, 85, 87, 88, 96, 211 Jesus (Christ), 3, 10, 21, 24, 25, 26, 29, 31, 32, 46, 50, 51, 72, 88, 90, 193, 194, 199–201, 212, 219 Jesus Music (Movement), 174, 176 Jones, Mahogany, 209, 210, 215–216, 216, 217, 218, 220, 222, 222n20–222n22, 223 Kenya, 151, 152, 154–156, 157, 160, 160–161, 161, 163, 164, 165, 166

King, Martin Luther, 24, 28, 29, 33n14, 35, 45, 109n28, 113, 119 KRS-ONE, 24, 29, 85, 119, 123, 221n7 LL Cool J, 61, 64n45, 65, 120, 123, 179 Latino(a), 11, 37, 38, 41, 42, 44, 48, 50, 51, 86, 122, 123 LeCrae, 209, 210, 217, 218, 220, 221n9, 222 Lewis, G. Craige, xvn3, 120, 121, 134, 222n15 Libations, 195, 197 Liberation (Theology), 14, 27, 33, 37–53n12, 69, 72–73, 73 Lil’ Shaker, 192–193, 193, 194–195, 201, 203n18, 203n20 Lil’ Wayne, xiii, 95–111n64, 123 Liminal, 69, 73 Logos, 3, 25, 26 Long, Eddie, 177, 181 Malcolm X, xiii, 136, 137, 138 Ma$e (Mason Druell Betha), 180–181, 183, 186n32–186n33 Mau Mau Hip Hop, xiv, 151–166n6 Mau Mau Revolution, 156, 161 MC Hammer, 97, 118, 177, 182, 185n22, 187 Million Man March, 135, 143, 144 Miyawaka, Felicia, x, 209, 223 MTV, 17, 108n2, 114, 119, 120, 134, 138 Muhammad, Connie, 135, 146 Muhammad, Elijah, 136, 145, 201 Muhammad, Jabriel, 145, 146, 148, 148n33 Muhammad, (The Prophet), 192, 194, 195 Nation of Islam (NOI) See also Islam, xiii, 135–148n40, 201 Naughty By Nature, 59, 60, 61, 63n19, 64n26–64n27, 65 Nkasei, 199–200, 203n38 Nkrumah, Kwame, 195–197, 197, 198, 203n27–203n31, 203n36, 204, 205 Non-Being, 67, 69, 70, 71, 71–72, 72–73, 77, 80, 81, 82 Obrafour, 195, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 203n36

Index Ogbar, Jeffrey O. G., 108n4, 113, 161, 167n41, 204n46, 205 P. Diddy (Puffy Sean Combs), 97, 119, 120, 138–139, 181 Pathos, 3, 5, 25, 26 Pentecostal, 5, 120, 177, 180, 184 Pinn, Anthony, vii, x, xi, 34n17, 35, 56, 65, 73, 75, 78, 79, 82n1, 83n13, 83n17, 83n18, 83n29, 83n32, 84, 97, 109n22, 109n23, 109n25, 113, 209, 223 Popular Culture, xiii, 55, 63n1, 83n35, 84, 95, 96, 106, 137, 172 Prophecy, xii, 4, 18, 118 Prophetic, xii, xiii, 17, 25, 29, 76, 77, 88, 89, 96–97, 119, 126, 127, 178, 195 Public Enemy, 42, 62, 64n41, 64n50–64n52, 65, 88, 134, 137, 138, 141, 147n8, 148, 179 Queen Latifah, 60, 62, 64n31, 64n48–64n49, 65 Radical Ontology, 69, 73, 82 Rastafarian(ism), 189, 194, 201, 203n22 Repertoire, 55, 56, 57, 62, 190 Rhetoric (Rhetorical), 12, 24, 26, 27, 28, 58, 60, 85, 86, 87–88, 89, 90, 91, 109n17, 110n43, 111, 112, 141, 197, 203n31, 204 Roberson, Pat, 172, 178 Rockstone, Reggie, 189, 190, 191, 192, 199, 200–201 Rose, Tricia, ix, 11, 12–13, 16, 18n5, 19, 80, 83n34, 84, 86, 93n6, 93n7, 94, 96, 108n4, 108n8, 109n27, 113, 114, 119, 120, 134, 169, 172, 175, 184, 185n17, 186n43, 187 Run-DMC, 175, 179 Simmons, Russell, 120, 139, 143, 144, 148, 148n28, 179

227

Sister Soulja, 135, 139, 140, 147n17, 148 Snoop Dogg (Lion), 94, 123, 135, 138–139, 143, 145, 146, 147n26, 149, 163 Sorett, Josef, 97, 108n3, 109n11, 109n16, 109n24, 118, 121, 131, 133, 134 Spencer, Jon Michael, 11, 13, 18, 19, 56, 63n20, 63n3, 63n6, 65, 88, 92n1, 93n21, 93n8, 94, 177, 185n23, 187, 209, 223 Spoken Word (Poetry), 6, 10, 87, 153, 154, 161, 165, 195, 207–222n26 Sugar Hill Gang, 57, 61, 63n10, 64n40, 64n42, 65 Taylor, Mark Lewis, 56, 65, 68, 68–69, 73, 82n1, 84 Tillich, Paul, xiii, 56, 63n3, 66, 69, 70, 71, 72, 80–81, 82n4, 82n8, 84 Tupac, xivn1, 12, 18, 30–31, 80–81, 83n40, 84, 96, 97, 109n26, 113, 123, 138, 147n12, 148, 163 Ukoo Fulani, 152, 154, 158, 163, 163–164, 165 Urban, 10, 13, 17, 18n3, 21, 23–24, 29, 31, 32, 33, 34n19, 34n36, 35, 56, 64, 69–70, 72, 73, 75, 76, 82, 86, 86–87, 119, 120, 121, 122, 131, 133, 136, 137, 157, 171–186n43, 191, 194, 199, 201, 209, 210–211, 212, 213, 215, 218, 220, 221n7 Watkins, Ralph, x, xvn5, 34n17, 34n20, 34n32, 34n37, 34n38, 35, 169, 209 West, Cornel, xiii, 69, 73, 74, 75–76, 83n15, 84, 92n1, 96, 109n14, 119, 126 West, Kanye, 97, 118, 123, 144 Wiley, Stephen, 171, 173, 184n1, 185n22, 185n7, 186, 210 Zulu Nation, 172