I'm a Lil' Mad At Cha

I’ve been listening to 2pac recently. His ties to the Death Row crew always made me hesitant to get into his albums, since I can only take so much of their G-Funk sounds and their violence-as-pornography philosophy. But I can’t deny his talent as a performer, especially his commanding delivery. Most MCs use a producer’s beats to accentuate the force or emotional sentiment of their raps, which is usually true for 2pac as well. But his style also has the effect of accentuating the power of his backing tracks, making an otherwise forgettable beat into something intensely rhythmic, almost tribal.

Add to this a reflective, sensitive side to provide some interesting internal conflicts and contradictions, not to mention a high-profile death—which, along with the shooting of rival Notorious B.I.G., ushered the end of a long reign of hardcore gangsta rap—and you have the makings of music legend.

I’m not surprised that he has such passionate fans and followers (though I’m a bigger fan of Biggie’s work), but I can’t help feeling that he also established a trend in rap superstars that’s less admirable: that of the narcissist thug.

He wasn’t the first, of course. Chuck D’s paranoid, insular rants likely set a significant precedent, and Ice Cube’s solo work is perhaps just as conflicted, just as polarizing, and just as self-righteous in its wounded ego stroking as 2pac’s albums. But 2pac was so huge in the mid 90’s, arguably a bigger star than Ice Cube ever was, and his legacy has now exploded into the realm of myth. He is considered a poet, a philosopher, a saint to contemplate and adore. His ego-centric navel gazing just seems much more powerful a symbol than any previous candidate.

I also realize that megalomania and martyr complexes are not unique to rap stars; from Elvis to Axl to Fred Durst, these poisonous traits have long been part of the rock world. A key difference to me, though (and perhaps I’m wrong on this) is that most idiots who rock out to G’n’R or Limp Bizkit don’t obsess over the personas of their favorite frontmen; they just like the catchy, aggressive music. This is quite different for rap stars: it almost seems as if the artists’ overblown regard for themselves is a large part of their appeal. Think about the big rap stars of the past 15 years: Jay-Z, DMX, Eminem, Kanye West, Lil’ Wayne. Each successive star seems as if they’re trying to outdo each other in their narcissism. Each of these artists frames the trials of their life as moments as grand and massive as Moby Dick.

What is the appeal? I realize that braggadocio has been an important component of hip hop culture since its very beginning, but this is an ugly mutation of that tradition. To me, it seems much closer to the cult leaders who command their devoted followers through the sheer force of their charisma and sense of grandiosity. Biggie over-romanticized violence as well, but at least he knew the merits of humor and self-deprecation. He comes off as charmingly human, while these other artists, talented though they may be, can’t help but seem like cartoons by comparison.

I like some of Kanye’s songs (and some of his antics are unintentional comedic gems), but I can’t sit through a whole album of his prima donna bullshit. Simply telling me that you’re God doesn’t make it so (though it seems that a large portion of the world begs to differ). And Eminem may just be the “Bob Dylan of Hip Hop” (whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean), but he’s also a bitter, whiny asshole; an eternal victim who wants to tell you why it’s not his fault he’s an asshole. Some people may like an artist wanking all over them like that, but I like at least a little foreplay before I commit to that kind of relationship.

So while I tip my 40 to the memory of Mr. Shakur and his undeniable talents, I take the rest of that shit to my head, to drown out the cries of the shrill, privileged martyrs he’s unleashed upon the world.