New York Times arts journalist Kelefa Sanneh penned a piece of interest in today's New York Times, entitled "Imagining a Summer With a True Hip-Hop Hit." Kudos to him and the Times for giving a shit, right? Anyway, he calls to mind summers of yesteryear - or perhaps yesterdecade - when summer had an anthem, and the anthem was squarely within the parameters of hip-hop. Yes, strictly hip-hop as opposed to pop with a rapper on the hook or some other transgenre collabo, e.g., Shakira w/Wyclef, Nelly Furtado w/Timbaland, Eve w/ Gwen Stefani, Gwen Stefani w/ Pharrel.
Will Smith and Rakim made the first summer rap hit that we can remember, and aptly named it "Summertime," so as to make their intention clear. But it was really Bad Boy that perfected the art of the summer hit, ruling the airwaves during the summers of the late 90's. It was one or two ridiculously infectious songs that you could not escape for two or three sultry months. Every time you turned on the radio, there it was. Every party you went to, they played it twice, for an ecstatic frenzied crowd. Granted, payola was a huge component in the blueprint, but that's really not our business is it? The point is that they made hits, and marketed them to death. Alas, we have reached a time when the hitmaking is secondary to the marketing. Bad Boy is finished, as nothing lasts forever, but there is no replacement in the market. No one.
Rap music officially sucks. Its not so much that southern rap sucks, as it is that the entire country has permitted it to dominate the industry. "Bounce and roll your butt in the club, shake it shake it, what you got back there, I want to shake it and bounce it and roll it in a blunt and smoke it between my ice grill, in the club." I cannot name one "hit" song of the last two years that does not prominently feature one of these themes. I cannot name one rap song made in the last two years that has been remotely interesting. I cannot name one album heralded as the shit. Or one artist who has lived up to the promo and marketing hype.
We are at the mercy of aging moguls and entitled upstarts who do not speak or understand English well enough to bastardize it creatively. Every great empire falls, and this may just be the end of hip-hop as we know it. Boo.
