What’s Up With Hip-Hop?: The Rhythm and Poetry of the 1990s

In a decade where a plethora of genres were unearthed by amateur and aspiring musicians, one genre dominated household stereos like no other. As the late eighties transitioned to the early nineties, the roots of r&b and several elements of poetic justice pushed forward a newfound area of musicianship: hip-hop.

Mainstream media and the general public viewed hip-hop, and subsequently rap music including lyrics deemed ‘violent,’ as a more unexpected turn of popular music following decades of rock and adjacent genres. Within the shift of genre popularity, the commercial success of “gangsta rap” quickly rose through the ranks, popularizing lyrics describing subjects of fairly taboo nature, including but not limited to, sex, graphic violence, anger, and explicit language: of which the ‘parental advisory’ label was created, the first of its kind being assigned to the 1990 album Banned in the U.S.A. by rap group 2 Live Crew.

The voluntary warning, something conceived after the explicit reference to masturbation on Prince’s “Darling Nikki” in 1984, was produced in a collaborative effort between the non-profit Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) and the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA). Both organizations saw to it the sticker be placed, whether the content was violent, sexual, or contained strong language, and the parental advisory label became a meager compromise in lieu of far worse censorship practices. Come May of 1992, more than 225 records had been marked with the black and white identifier.

With crude lyrics and references to unsavory activity, gangsta rap “conveyed a sense of moral outrage and panic,” according to timely media. Many music critics, riding the wave of eighties pop and new wave, initially found rap music morally abhorrent and a way of inciting mass violence among impressionable listeners.

American music critic J.D. Considine, in an impressive display of critical range as past work maintained focus in the eighties metal scene, wrote of the nationwide fear and apprehension towards early rap in his 1992 article “Fear of a Rap Planet.”

“But fear? Who could possibly be afraid of rap?” said Considine. Many of his colleagues at this time in history expressed a great fear and social disrupt for the idea of rap music making its way into the minds of the suggestable youth.

Considine continued, making blatant references to the Chicago Tribune’s own Bob Greene, who attached a recent mugging story in New York to the influence of rap music on local teens. He wrote of their love for violent rap music videos, and attributed their violent behavior to that of the media they consumed on a regular basis. “If you really want a sense of how deep this fear of a rap planet goes, however, check out the mass media, for whom rap seems to be a never-ending source of scare stories.”

In exclusive interviews with rap artists Ice Cube, Public Enemy’s Chuck D, and even solidified artists within other genres, such as Ozzy Osbourne and guitarist Al Di Meola, Considine draws connections between the two contrasting opinions. Whereas rap artists described themselves as “not musicians, and don’t claim to be- which makes it easier to be around them,” former rock artists had a much different outlook: “It’s not their instrument [on the record], so it’s not music.” Considine, offering both opinions of the time, painted a vivid picture of rap music’s cultural impact and characterized his interviewees in a more human approach.

Where gangsta rap thrived, laying to waste the vast amount of criticism and public concern, new and prolific artists began to cement themselves as future legends within the hip-hop genre. It is from circumstances like these where music creates artists like Snoop Dogg, the Notorious B.I.G. aka Biggie Smalls, and 2Pak.

In a 1993 The New York Times article, American writer Touré sat across from rap legend Snoop Dogg in an exclusive tell-all interview, in “Snoop Dogg’s Gentle Hip-Hop Growl.” Where the description of his persona amplifies some downtrodden American stereotypes, like his recent release on a criminal charge of murder, or even his affinity for flaunting expensive belongings, his musical talent spoke for itself: Billboard no.1 chart topping debut album Doggystyle, a practically unheard-of record for a debut album at the time.

“Gangster rap is probably hip-hop’s best known subset, but it is no more the definitive expression of hip-hop than fusion is of jazz,” said Touré. Snoop’s own genre, characterized by urban living and its many violent challenges, was slow, smooth, and a much softer approach than those who predated him.

“It’s a basic conversation. I don’t rap, I just talk. I don’t like to get all pumped up and rap fast ‘cause that ain’t me,” said Snoop when asked about his writing process. “I want to be able to relax and conversate with my people.”

Touré, although predominately occupied with the words and insights of Snoop Dogg himself, offered generous insight as to the difficult conversations involving hip-hop. What are they writing about? Where does it come from? By answering these questions, and especially with one-on-one interview material from a ground source, the reader is able to draw their own conclusion about the nature of early rap music, without the cynical music critic talking in their ear.

Unfortunately, in maintaining affiliations with violence and personal enemies, the rap scene and its implications soon became a reality. With the initial murder of Tupac “2Pac” Shakur in September 1996, and the following murder of Biggie Smalls in March 1997, the West Coast-East Coast feud ultimately silenced some of hip-hops biggest stars of the time.

Several different articles published between the years 1996-97 take a brutal stance within the realm of reality, as it had become clear that competing rap artists, rival hip-hop labels, and gang violence posed a threat upon those within the genre. In an interview with multiple rap artists close to both Biggie and 2Pac, writer Natasha Stovall said it best, “The fact that Biggie’s and Tupac’s deaths were just larger manifestations of the staggering number of black men under 30 who are murdered each year loomed large in the minds of Brooklyn residents.”

With the passing of artists like this, gangsta rap had officially run its course. But, with the shedding of imagery involving gang violence, flaunting of wealth, and material success, came an entire new wave of rap artists. In a 1999 article simply titled “Hip-Hop Nation,” American journalist Christopher John Farley celebrated and brought forward the imminent success of female rap artists, with a sharp focus on the rising star Lauryn Hill.

“…she feels too connected to hip-hop to do a movie or TV role that compromises the message in her music,” said Farley. His full-spectrum analysis of the evolution of nineties hip-hop offers an introspective look as just how rap attitude changed, from the initial flaunting of violence and expletives, to the maintaining of a persona, in the case of Lauryn Hill.

Where rap music focused on the attack of white racism, the description of violent and neglectful homelife, and the outward violence of street life, music critics of the time saw it as a blatant attack on peaceful living and moral grandstanding. Although these stereotypes still have the tendency to persist, even now, public opinion has seen an uptick of overall support, as hip-hop and rap music continue to garner masterful critical opinion and award recognition.

Even in a genre that triumphed a completely different set of American values and ideals, the early beginnings of hip-hop set fire to young artists and listeners alike, for decades to come.