"Go Shawty, its yo birthday, we gon' party like it's yo birthday/we gon' sip baccardi like it's yo birthday/and we don't even give a fuck it's not your birthday!"
The hit song by 50 Cent, In Da Club, embodies all of the negative stereotypes associated with hip hop culture. The song glamorizes being violent, throwing money around, gangs, collecting hoes like they were gardening supplies---there is nothing poetic about this song, and the lyrics are vacuous. heck, even 50 sounds like he's not into the song at times. It's a terrible excuse for a rap song, yet I play it repeatedly, until the beat drills itself back inside my brain. Kevin Coval, a poet I admire, said that 50 Cent himself is a negative stereotype of rappers, and I agree with that, while still blasting some more of 50's rhymes through my radio. Another rapper I listen to is Self proclaimed "Queen of the South" Trina, a woman who degrades herself in her own songs, and uses the word 'bitch' to punctuate phrases in her raps. That didn't stop me from buying her albums, though. I respect her as an artist more than 50 Cent, as I only like a few of his songs, yet her lyrics, no matter how catchy, are just as vapid.
Bad rappers, no matter how often I declare my hatred for them, will always have a place in my heart, and on my CD shelf. I feel like I'm as shallow as the artist after listening to a hip-pop song, or that I'm a hypocrite when I detest suburban kids for pretending to be rap fans while autotune is dominating the track they leave on repeat. I feel as dirty as a middle aged woman with a secret love for tabloids and gossip, after looking back in disgust at what I just listened to for 10 times straight, but while the song is on, I'm in the moment, nodding my head to the beat, tapping my fingers as the pounding techno beat bursts through the air like cannon fire. I will lose myself in the music, the moment, own it, then snap back to reality and remind myself that I was not listening to 'Lose Yourself', and that 'In Da Club' is still blaring at glass-breaking volume. I tell myself that Soulja Boy can't touch Nas, and Missy is the rightful queen of the south. If hip hop was all about autotune, bland melodies and disney star cameos, it would be pop, and a platinum present would become the Flo-Rida future---right?
We still need those sucker MCs to brighten our dance floors and set the mood for that friday night when the party is wild, and we feel invincible. There's no need to battle---not while that song I heard on the radio, like, a week ago is turned up so loud it's making my body swing in time to the rhythm and now I'm a queen looking down on those fools below me with no taste in music at all----Oh, wait, why was I listening to that song again?
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