Reconciling 'The personal is political' within rap music

Listening to rap music as a woman is an internal dilemma. 

Its August 2015, somewhere between the hours of 1- 4am. There is something particularly nostalgic about listening to music from your mid-teens that just doesn’t compare to anything else. The songs screamed in unison at your first house parties, the portable speaker in the park at the peak of summer; the memories that become the soundtrack to your first taste of freedom you are finally given by your parents. Around this time in my life, I came into contact with some hip-hop albums that, at aged fifteen to sixteen, I was convinced were actual masterpieces (however cringey it might seem now). I remember the first time I heard ‘Sucka N*gga’ by A Tribe Called Quest on my family desktop computer whilst I was trying to transfer mp3's unto my iPod Nano, and the first time I listened to ‘Prototype’ by OutKast (another 1- 4am journey) when, at that point, was convinced it was the best love song ever made. 

On one specific excursion, I pressed play on Dr. Dre’s 1999 album, 2001: The Chronic. 2001 has been widely acclaimed as a 'rap classic', one that is loved by the masses and critics alike, and has spawned massive hits like Still D.R.E where he reasserts his domination as one of the founding fathers of g-funk; as well as The Next Episode, with a beat so distinctly recognisable; you can tell exactly what song it is within the first 0.5 seconds. An album filled with faultless production (all by Dre) and impeccable lyricism (none by Dre. Fight me.) There is no way to describe this album without using the thrown around term ‘classic’; as it remains a staple to any discussions on the best hip-hop albums of all time. However, If you are here for a review of 2001, you are in the wrong place. There have been endless pieces written about why this album was so important to the evolution of the genre as a whole, and my contribution would not do justice to the stans that love all things West Coast rap. (Fun fact: Kanye West ripped the drums off the sixth track, ‘Xxplosive’ and landed his first big break on a Jay-Z compilation album called ‘The Dynasty.’)

My thoughts on this album are personal, a reflection of my growth into womanhood after being so obsessed with an album that is so degrading and abusive towards women. This is something I have grappled with a lot as I have gotten older, as being a woman who listens to a lot of rap music can be exhausting. I have found myself subconsciously drifting towards music that isn’t so abjectly objectifying, and without even realising it, I have seen myself cherry picking the songs I can enjoy and also be able to sleep at night without questioning whether they are atrocious abusers and misogynists that I am not only taking pleasure in listening to; but also funding (through my 0000.1p for each stream.)

In a genre of music so globally prevalent and embedded within so many spheres of cultural entertainment, it is a tightrope I walk across every time I hear Hittman sing on the hook of ‘Ackrite’ that “snobby-ass b*tches get slapped out of spite” if they don’t have sex with him. To recite the popular feminist slogan, ‘the personal is political’, and I cannot separate the personal choices I make to listen to certain songs and artists and my political stance as a feminist. (amongst other things) Listening to 2001: The Chronic five years after my obsession was eye-opening, and honestly, horrifying. Not to hear men discuss women in this type of way; as it would be very naïve to be surprised at something so routine as sexual objectification, but at the fact I listened to it so. damn. much. To the point that I now know almost every word to first song, The Watcher. I genuinely loved this album, and it was on repeat all summer of 2015.

Almost every single woman on this album is referred to as ‘bitch’ and there is near to no way in which a woman is discussed without reference to sex. But, what is so blatantly toxic about it is that when sexual advances are rejected, it often leads to violence. (Oh the male ego!) In Light Speed, when Dre makes a joke out of his assault of journalist Dee Barnes, EIGHT YEARS after the incident occurred there is something quite dark about mindlessly rapping along to him making a mockery out of “strangling ho’s”’. Not just because he trivialises a traumatic incident, but because he actually humours the situation. In fact, Dre says that he actually ‘laughs when it is asked about in interviews’. In case you don’t understand the full force of this, Dre is making this joke EIGHT YEARS after the incident in 1991. This gave him eight years to reflect, grow and learn from past mistakes. But instead of doing this, he laughs at the absurdity that people are still talking about it. The fact that he only apologised to the women he has abused in 2015 (ironically the same year I heard the album in full) makes it all the worse.

Misogyny runs deep throughout hip-hop, its roots in both patriarchy and socioeconomic deprivation and its leaves that flourish and extend as masculinity complexes and objectifying lyricism. Violence against black women are the weeds that are uprooted and disregarded, and my cognitive dissonance that allowed me to ignore this fact shocks me to this day. These are social issues that I think about every single day as a black woman, and as I grow older, experience life and read more about universal understandings of black cultural production and responses, I now have a much lower tolerance for casual misogyny and sexism. Basically I mean that the damaging and essentialist binary stereotypes of “you can’t make a ho a housewife” on Housewife frankly just doesn’t hit the way it used to. And as much as I did love (and still really enjoy parts of) this album, it was a moment of realisation for me that I didn’t see coming and has provided me with a mirror to assess my values and morals. As strange as it may seem, 2001 showed me how much more militant and assured I am in what I believe is right and just.

2001: The Chronic holds its own as a ground-breaking album and is still endlessly sampled and referred to. It is reminiscent of a specific time in hip-hop but miraculously hasn’t aged a day. Dr Dre’s production is almost fantastical in its brilliance, and without it, we wouldn’t have so many great female-led songs, such as Let Me Blow Your Mind by Eve, Breathe by Blu Cantrell or the superior Cheeba Sac remix of Bag Lady by Erykah Badu. Not to forget the aforementioned Kanye West fact. I still maintain that this album is worth listening to, even if it doesn’t get your respect. To say this and still assert that I find many of the themes on this album offensive is tricky, and is still something I am trying to get to grips with. This is a wider discussion that demands attention in our digital age and I have found that social media never strikes a balance in acknowledging both. This conversation is far bigger than The Chronic and bigger than hip-hop.

Saying this, the struggle continues; my internal dilemmas with both consuming specific forms of entertainment and my political standpoints live to see another day. And although I thought I knew it all then, I’m just happy I’m no longer fifteen; despite all the comforts that come with being blissfully ignorant. 

Dara Coker.