Chris Riser here. Family man, student, future teacher, hip hop head.

I’ve been doing a lot of (over)thinking about hip hop, current events, and the broader culture. For my next trick, I’m going to try putting some of these cogitations down. Here.

Music reviews, book reviews, close readings on oral texts, interviews, cultural and political commentary, something like that.

Here’s my thing: I look at hip hop culture (read: djing, graffiti writing, b-boying/ girling, emceeing, and the extension of these into the contemporary arts) as a megaphone and a magnet for those who have been pushed aside. It’s reached all the way from the burning Bronx of the 1970s to the failed state of Somalia on the Horn of Africa; to the Brazilian favelas and back to the pale hipster enclaves of Portland’s East Side. Hip hop is a force to be reckoned with, and its historical components weave a beautiful tapestry of struggle, improvisation, voice, and agency. I firmly believe that, as a tool in the hands of the people, it is and can continue to be a catalyst for progress around the planet.

On the flip side, hip hop as music has been turned into a cheap, efficient product (not unlike crack) aiding in the dehumanization of the urban poor, as ‘rap’ gets scapegoated for the destruction of black life. The same interests that threaten everything from the food supply to the full functioning of a democratic society (you guessed it, the Corporations), have strangled and revived an undead (per)version of Black and Latino music that is as consumable–and as valuable–as a candy bar. Thanks to the mp3 this aural junk food can be sold at the price of a Snickers. The only difference is that, with the possibility of selling infinite numbers of digital copies online, every download lowers the overall cost of making each “copy” of the song. Not only so, but the message in the music is a chocolate-coated rendition of the capitalist motto. 50 Cent: Get Rich Or Die Tryin’. Kenneth Lay: Get richer. Died trying.

Some purists differentiate this particular brand of refined-sugar rhyme as ‘rap’ and label the independent, underground, or conscious rhymes as ‘true’ hip hop. For them, this distinction constitutes a clear line between the sacred and the profane. But, I’ve asked myself just where that line sits between the two, and I end up sounding a lot like Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart on porn, “I know it when I see it.” Well, sorry, but that just doesn’t do it for me the way it used to. The difference between genuine music and vain garbage concerns both the artist and the influence of corporations. Sometimes, what sounds like the hyper-masculine free-market speak ends up as a break down of the same. And much of what passes as conscious by virtue of corporate independence is just as worthless as Tip Drill. It’s gotta be on a case by case basis, and when looking at the work of artists in this field, that’s where I’m gonna try and take it.

That’s my lens, I guess (subjecttochangewithoutnotice*ding*). With that, I’ll sign off, and hope folks read and respond to this and future posts. Peace.