The Rap on Congress

I was hoping to go to bed this evening having tasted a good laugh for dessert.

My wish has come true. I'll be turning in, in a few minutes. But first, I was thrilled to find updated news reports about a U.S. Congressional committee holding hearings on scary, scary rap music lyrics.

That's right. These numbnuts whom we elected to administer the law, measure the effectiveness of law, when necessary write new law, defend the citizenry, preserve our good legal traditions, adjust or eliminate our bad ones, and preserve our basic freedoms, are holding hearings on sexism, racism, and violence in rap music lyrics.

Here's the thing: go back and read the past year-and-a-half's worth of archives. You'll find at least a half dozen posts in which I blasted gangsta rappers, and bling rappers for making violent or plain old stupid tunes with no substance and helping to pollute mushy minds. But the way to fix the "problem" of violent, vile, or just plain stupid lyrics is to raise your kids in a way that they understand most professional "pop" musicians are lucky morons who periodically stumble across catchy melodies, not people to take behavior lessons from. Congress can pass don't ask, don't tell. They need to consider don't like, don't buy.

So unless Congress is planning on doing away with the 1st Amendment, they have no business doing anything with rap except bobbing their heads to it or rolling their car windows up when they hear it.

We have citizens compelled to take out second mortgages on their homes in order to supplement half-assed medical insurance, while non-citizens who can't afford insurance can get treatment in many cases without fear of receiving a collections notice in the mail. We have local municipalities laying off police officers, because they can't afford to continue regular garbage pickup and pay for cops too without raising tax levies so high as to force homeowners to flee. We have a war going on in another country that is costing more than $1 billion a month to run. We have troops fighting that war without adequate equipment or supplies. We have such a level of poverty in this country that maintaining the status quo instead of helping people learn to support themselves has become a government industry. We have a municipal and circuit court system in such disarray that three people of identical age, with identical backgrounds, and identical records, can get arrested and charged with identical offenses at the same time under identical circumstances in separate locations and all face drastically different punishments if convicted. We have public schools in some areas that are asking students to share textbooks, because there aren't enough to go around. We have sanctions in place against countries whose governments made our (poop) list, because they treat their citizens badly, but we trade with China, a country that brought us the greatest weight loss plan ever: getting run over by a tank in Tienanmen Square, and whose next built-for-America toy line will likely include shrink-wrapped rusty nails, bags of broken glass, and the hottest new board game -Bobbing for Used Hypodermic Needles. We can send people into space, and we have billion dollar satellites that can zoom in on a license plate from beyond the stars. And yet, we can't find Osama bin Laden.

And - drum roll, please - we have Congressmen admittedly calling prostitution services and allegedly trawling the ho' stroll for companionship. We have wide-stanced Congressmen accidentally, possibly, maybe trying to solicit sex in public bathrooms. We have Congressmen accepting freezers full of cash from undercover federal agents offering fake bribes. We have Congressmen driving drunk, doing drugs, and engaging in sex talk with minors.

Yes, these Titans of honesty, good sense, and morality are here for you, people. On your behalf they intend to find out where exactly you can find "California love," what exactly "ain't nothin' but a G-thang," how exactly "endo" is smoked, whether there are really "hos in different area codes," exactly what cut Congress gets of the "money on (our) minds," and whether or not "fallin' back on that ass with a hellified gangsta lean" is truly similar to "getting funky on the mīc like an old batch of collard greens."

Your tax dollars at work.

Sold out!

OK, I know I was supposed to post next about religion. But I need to carefully frame what I say in that post - more carefully than normal - so I'm putting that one on hold for another day or so.

Anywho, I walked into a drug store earlier today at the precise moment that an employee yelled to a customer about 30 feet away that the store was out of an item. "It's a sell-out," the employee hollered with a sympathetic smile.

I cringed. Seriously. For a black man, hearing those words is like hearing that you've been walking around with your fly open, or with a length of TP stuck to the bottom of your shoe, only not funny like those things.

"Sell out" is the label that for years has been slapped by pundits, community leaders, some of the cool kids, and underachievers on black men who allegedly have turned their backs on other black folks in the name of currying favor with the rich and powerful.

Lately, one of my favorite writers, Jason Whitlock, a sports columnist for the Kansas City Star, has come under fire from pundits, community leaders, and cool kids. Some have called him sell out. And all have been very, very wrong.

Now, Whitlock needs me to defend him the way Jet Li needs Kung Fu lessons. Not.

But he's getting jabbed by people who are angry with him for telling rappers to clean up their acts and for telling some folks to quit taking their cues for behavior from the entertainment industry.

Whitlock is being accused of being too much like Bill Cosby, as if that's a bad thing, for saying he wants to see black children take pride in their school work and black parents telling their kids that "Stop Snitching" is a T-shirt catch phrase being marketed by a group of punks and shouldn't be taken literally by anyone with good sense.

The anger is misplaced. Whitlock isn't the problem. He's smart enough to know that rowdy hip-hoppers (not all hip-hoppers) and their fans have fallen for the okey-doke. They have bought into the hype that says saggy trousers, shiny teeth, and a practiced snarl make you a man, a tough man to be feared. Whitlock knows that when these kids reach a certain age they won't be "cute" anymore. They'll get tsk-tsked by everyone - black, white, Asian, and Latino - around them. He knows that there isn't a fine line, there is a huuuuuuuuge gap between coming off as cool and coming off as shiftless. And he knows that American society, as a whole, while perfectly content with being entertained by pretend thugs is not yet ready to embrace pretend thugs as everyday people. Whitlock knows that carrying oneself with a little pride and dignity and straight-backed carriage is not a bad thing and has nothing to do with fakin' the funk or losing sight of "who we are."

The real sell outs here are the people - black, white, Asian, and Latino - who are giving mush-headed kids the impression that acting like a knucklehead is synonymous with keepin' it "real." The sell outs are the people who have accepted thug rappers (not all rappers) as icons and elevated them to hero status, while ignoring or scoffing at the young black man who starts a business, or earns a Ph.D, or becomes a teacher, or maybe he does rap or play pro sports, but does so without drama.

You know that line, "I am Spartacus?" Well, this ain't that dramatic. I won't pretend it is. But next time someone wants to call out the Jason Whitlocks of the world for simply saying act right and prioritize, then add me to the list of Whitlocks. It's called buying in, investing in future, not selling out.

The Say Whatever the Hell You Want Club: Meeting Two

I motion we begin this meeting. And I second that motion.

So here's the deal: tonight we're booing the recent announcement by hip-hop mogul Russell Simmons that he's seeking the ban of three words in the clean/radio versions of rap albums: the N-word, bitch, and ho.

The words are bad, sure. But a ban will not fix anything. And to the pundits who applaud Simmons for being brave, you guys are gullible, and I'd like to sell you a bridge....and a swamp....I mean a hot tub.

This move, if it happens will not clean up rap lyrics. It will give consumers and radio stations the option to buy/play so-called radio edits that don't contain those three words. Correct me if I'm wrong though, but those three words have been self-censored by radio stations for years now. As far back as the early '90s I recall hearing the N-word and all manner of swears bleeped out during radio play. Nobody wants to be hassled by the FCC. So few stations are stupid enough to let those words slip onto the air. Again, it's been that way for years. This new proposed ban is helpful how?

Asking that three words get banned isn't brave. Sorta brave would be asking the artists to stop using the words in their lyrics. But that's a hollow request. It's like asking Saddam to show us his weapon(s) of mass destruction. Sounds great in a speech, but if he'd had the weapon(s) he would never have shown 'em voluntarily.

Besides, if these guys insist that they're simply telling the story of the streets on which they were raised, then maybe they really did see lots of hos and drug dealing and death and destruction. If that's the fact-based fiction you want to listen to, knock yourself out. Even Ann Coulter suggested that a rapper's use of "ho" probably really is in reference to the woman shopping her wares on the corner opposite the drug dealer, not, say, the college basketball player. But I digress.

Brave would be raising kids to have self respect so they wouldn't want to use certain words to describe themselves and their peers.

Brave would also be asking the parents of the kids buying this music and attending the concerts to grow a set and tell their kids "no!" No, you're not buying that album. No, you can't listen to it in your room. No, you're not going to that concert. No!

I was a teenager. I realize that just saying no can be futile. It damned sure didn't work to curb drug use in the '80s (and neither did those this-fried-egg-is-your-brain-on-drugs commercials). But let's see a little effort, and let's put the burden for these words where it squarely belongs: on the consumers who eat it up.

Yeah, yeah, artists/performers/celebrities all have responsibility, roll models, yadda yadda, to whom much is given, etc., etc.

But the truth is in this country the market takes what the market can bear. For example, we all gripe about the obscene salaries pro athletes make, but then we pack out arenas and stadiums and pay big bucks for tickets and pinkie-sized hotdogs and $6 thimble-sized beers. When we all get tired of it and stop paying, sporting event prices will fall, and athlete salaries will drop....and we'll still be miserable with our daily routines. But that's another story.

As for music with naughty words, when we figure out a way to convince young'ns that it isn't cool they'll stop listening. When they stop listening record labels will stop paying top dollar for it. Advertisers will stop sponsoring concert tours.

But I got news for ya: that'll never happen! Your great great grandparents couldn't stop your great grandparents from listening to whatever was bad in their day. Your great grandparents couldn't stop your grandparents from listening to whatever was bad in their day. Your grandparents couldn't stop your parents from listening to rock'n'roll, and so on and so forth.

Best you can do is teach your kids some good sense, some good manners, some good morals, and some taste. And if a couple of those things stick, they'll probably find profane music distasteful all on their own. I listened to it in spite of my parents' best efforts. I thought stupid songs about the lore of the streets were cool. I mostly bobbed my head to the beats. And then I grew up. Occasionally I still bob my head to those beats. But I'm grown now. That music means nothing.

Banning words in rap is a very, very bad idea.

If you like that idea, don't be smug. Any of you into porn? That's rhetorical. I don't really want to know. But if you are, how would you like to find out that a small group of anti-porn activists will now limit you to viewing "clean" versions of your favorite skin flick?

Do not support word bans!

Now, let's bring this meeting to a close. Please excuse me, while I go pour some gin and juice and ponder why big pimpin' requires spendin' cheese.