How To Sell Soul

So when Don Imus uttered those nasty words earlier this year on his radio show and all hell broke loose, suddenly we found ourselves leapfrogging past the discussion of whether what he said was wrong, illegal, or punishable. Suddenly black people found themselves in the uncomfortable position of having to defend their own use of the “n” word. A word white people created to describe us as the lowliest of the low, and one that, for better or worse has been appropriated by black culture. And now we’re told because we call each other that word, everyone is allowed to use it. I'll weigh in on the black use of the word in a future entry. But for now there is one hardcore rule that will never change.

Read this carefully because I want you to be clear on how I stand on this: White people are never allowed to use that word in conversation, or out of historical context. Ever. Ever.

Much of the finger pointing from mainstream society—and I say mainstream because many black people are doing the pointing, too—was at rap and hip-hop artists today. And in this case, I can’t argue. Many so-called artists have checked their intelligence and integrity at the door, peppering their lyrics with glocks and AKs, bling and skeet-skeet, derogatory and degrading references to women, and, of course, the n-word. Until recently, it sold. Not so much now.

This got me thinking about what happened to all the consciousness rap that started in the 1960s with the Last Poets and Gil Scott Heron, but was reignited in the 1980s and thrived until it was squashed by the music business, whose CEOs seem to want to sell "ghetto". That led me to wondering what Public Enemy had been up to. So I typed in their name, found their Web site, and learned that they just released a new album for their twentieth anniversary —How You Sell Soul to a Soulless People Who Sold Their Soul? I downloaded it, and I’m proclaiming it a good one. A great one actually. I listened to every song carefully and except for the occasional “nigga” spouted by Flava Flav (whose turn on his modern-day minstrel “reality” show really begs explanation. How can you be a part of one of the most seminal moments in music history—and he's terrific on the new album—and then ruin it all by acting like a true ass?), it was devoid of any of the facile hip-hop vocabulary. What it was full of is intelligent lyrics that shine a 1,000 watt light on society today.

Thinkin’ you need
rings and things rims and timbs
that ain’t rap that’s bein’ slaves again
Pretendin’
Hip hop says you can be what you wanna be
as long as you ain't f-a-k-e

Here’s not f-a-k-e for you: In 2004 The Library of Congress named "Fear Of A Black Planet" as one of the 50 selected recorded works to be enshrined for preservation. Take a peek at the list; it’s worth looking at.

I'll leave you these few words of Chuck D.'s from a March 2007 interview in the Austin Chronicle:

“Americans are poor on understanding time, history, and geography. We try to be strong on all those points. Around the world, PE resonates. America needs to get with it. We never fell off. America did.”