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When news broke of Eminem and Royce Da 5’9” teaming up again for the first time in a decade, old rap nerds (like myself) were ecstatic. Here were two reigning masters of electric wordplay and demented imagery ready to recapture the playful battle raps they honed in the ’90s. First single “Fastlane” certainly didn’t disappoint. The pair slaps policemen, fantasizes about Nicki Minaj, digs up Jack Kevorkian’s bones and explores levels of pyrotechnic assonance that would make Earl Sweatshirt’s eyes water (“Graduated from master debater-slash-massive masturbator/to Michael Jackson’s activator, meaning I’m on fire”—wtf!). If you’re into syllable torture and toying with taboos, this is your jam of the year.
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So you can imagine my disappointment in hearing second single “Lighters.” With its soaring Bruno Mars chorus, it’s less a rap song and more redolent of this new wave of histrionic pop where triumphant, melodramatic choruses are occasionally broken up by rapping: Jay-Z’s “Empire State Of Mind,” B.o.B’s “Airplanes,” Lupe Fiasco’s “Words I Never Said,” Diddy’s “Coming Home” and Eminem’s own “Love The Way You Lie.” Usually Skylar Grey is involved. Naturally, the sappy “Lighters” debuted at 17 on Billboard this week, handily clearing “Fastlane”’s peak. Village Voice music editor Maura Johnston calls this stuff “Glee rap,” which is fairly accurate—turning modern rap music into this mushy wash of Hallmark-special emotion, treacly sentiment and soap opera woosh. It’s safe to say that this stuff is not my thing. But when I look at it more subjectively, it’s hard to make a solid argument that chart-rap is actually bad for the art form itself. In fact, I actually think I’m gonna have to come to terms with the stuff.
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For starters, it’s impossible to complain about something that’s finally allowing some of hip-hop’s most talented people to write the biggest checks of their careers. After a solid 20 years of grinding, Jay-Z had his first Number One single with the syrupy “Empire.” The perennially slept-on Royce Da 5’9” had his first Number One album of his life. Even Dr. Dre had his second biggest hit as a solo artist with the rapper-to-rapper valentine “I Need A Doctor.” These guys already made Jaws, why should we be mad when they make E.T?
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I once saw NYU professor Jason King make the astute point that Lady Gaga will have a hard time being a “legacy artist” because her refusal to ballads doesn’t allow her to explore the full spectrum of human emotion. In the exact same vein, note that it was only after Jay-Z dropped “Empire” and Em dropped the double shot of “Not Afraid” and “Love The Way You Lie,” that people started talking about them like the first rappers able to stand alongside of U2, Springsteen or Sinatra. These songs show our favorite rappers as dudes who possess range and can maintain a spotlight over three decades. See you in Vegas in 20 years, guys!
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The whole thing opens up a very basic argument on what hip-hop means. If you think hip-hop is about self-expression and uplifting yourself, then, hey, there’s no better way to do both than by recording a gooey, confessional ballad that will push a million digital copies. However, if you subscribe to the old Raekwon ideal of “keep it real, get your own shit and be original,” then that’s where old cranks like me get bent out of shape. Upon hearing Dre’s “I Need A Doctor,” my first thought was, “Why does this have to sound like Eminem’s Recovery?” Remember when the gist of every Dre song was “motherfucker I’m Dre” and “Who you think brought you Eazy-E’s, Ice Cube’s, and D.O.C’s, The Snoop D-O-double-G’s.” Even years after The Chronic, he could simply live off the fact that he was untouchable, a pioneer, a perennial leader. Why should his big comeback single sound like the biggest rap trend of the year?
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Well, because clearly he’s got a better sense of his audience then me. Dr. Dre (as well as Em and Jay) aren’t simply just coasting on the twenty-, thirty-, and forty-somethings that grew up on them. So many great rappers have nearly untouchable discographies that revolve around keeping their core base happy: EPMD, E-40, Rakim, DJ Quik, 8Ball, Scarface—and when was the last time you’ve seen them on the Billboard Singles Chart? Every year, Dre, Jay and Em refresh with a new set of teenage fans. And Dre knowd that to an 18-year-old, rap music has always been pop music; so there’s no shame in simply acting like pop music. “Glee rap” is just the hip-hop version of the power ballad—the stuff that would give ostensibly “heavy metal” artists like Poison, Warrant and Extreme their biggest hits in the late ’80s and early ’90s. This isn’t some sudden shock like LL Cool J dropping the syrupy “I Need Love” in 1987, this is rap having been a pop commodity so long that it’s just blurring the lines of where one ends and the other begins. It’s the exact same thing the Black Eyed Peas are doing with a higher BPM.
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But, rejoice, old-timers. The days of people just going in and rapping their asses off isn’t totally done either—Billboard is currently charting new albums from underground grinder Tech N9ne, mile-a-minute supergroup Random Axe, noisy shock-rapper Tyler, The Creator and the 44-week reign of Rick Ross’s Teflon Don. Let’s just hope the two sides can keep each other balanced.