Tag Archives: hip hop and sexual policing

Ghostfacemas 2020: the conservative discourse of the Ghostface Killah

Some decades ago I began celebrating December 26th as Ghostfacemas – at the time it seemed like a good pun on Boxing day.

But the annual return to the emblematic and lyrically gifted emcee is a good chance to think about Ghostface Killah in the current moment. It seems as though the hip hop of Wu-Tang golden era through the 2000s offered creativity and unlimited opporunities for growth. If you were talented, relentless and willing to match the moment then the world was your oyster. Cue the Wu Wear documentary.

Artists could make a living by spitting aggressive disrespectful bars spotlighted in videos of New York backstreets and bodegas made by friends, cousins and sycophants. I watched the RZA centered Wu-Tang: An American Saga which offers up the early years of the Wu-Tang conglomorate in glacial formation. The series has ended with the crew on the verge of what we know is industry-wide revolution.

In this series the Ghostface character comes across as heartfelt and desperate. A debonaire loyal friend with the need to earn money to support disabled siblings and a drunk mom. For those of us who spent years trying to decode Wu-Tang slang by rewinding the CD, the show was a revelation – background characters and stories come into visibility through memorized Wu-Tang lyrics. And then it all stops.

Amazing emcees with historic catalog of genre-defining tunes who get the veteran musician documentary treatment can still disappear (Ghostface Killah’s most recent album Ghostface Killahs charted at 25 on Billboard top 100, this video has a little more than 100,000 views).

I think that this experience of being squeezed out has guided Ghostface Killah to a more conservative discourse. The rhymes are crisp with clever inventive word choice (“My moms never knew she was nursin’ a wolf/And I wrote this on 9/11 covered in soot”) and the now-pattented rhymeflow that can only be Ghostface Killah (or Action Bronson).

But the subject matter is old. Guns, home invasions, objectification of women, liquor brands, fashion label, and the relentless juxtaposition of upper class symbiology brought to lower class contexts. I loved this from Ghostface Killah in the 1990s, but today it seems nostalgic and out-of-date. The fact that Ghostface created some of the most significant home-invasion fables of all hip hop history probably leads him to lean on this genre when it comes to 2019 recordings, but I find myself longing for a little more from Ghostface.

The other part that seems old is the use of the anti-gay slur “faggot” in a 2019 record. The last 30 years have been a significant period of culture change in hip hop. Hateful language and insulting slurs were the norm in hip hop and over the course of a few decades things have changed. The genre itself has opened, and the artists who record hip hop music select from a wider genre of symbols and narratives. There are quite a few hip hop artists who present a kind of repudiation of the traditional masculinity of hip hop (Lil Yaghty, Future, Young Thug).

The battle for the soul of hip hop can be understood as attempts of gender policing (Sean Price’s anger at emcees wearing tight pants). The small symbols and language of inclusion (and lessening of hateful language) should be understood as a genre discussing teaching, evolving and learning from itself. Careful observers of hip hop can map lyrical choices of emcees to understand how the discourse of the genre evolves over time.

Conservative hip hop vocalists might veer back into the gender policing of men in hip hop in order to dip into the well of hip hop authenticity. This is a tactic to identify who is real and who isn’t. But the cost is too great – the community of those who are comfortable with hateful slurs isn’t real hip hop – it is casual gate-keeping to create an artifical community that nurtures bigotry.

To understand the multiplicity of Ghostface Killer discourse should be a semester-long university course. The contributions of an artist who should be honored and critiqued in equal measure. Which is how we move forward into Ghostfacemas this year – critical, optimistic and savvy about the possibility that the next year might disappoint.

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Filed under academics, art, capitalism, communication, critique, disability, documentary, fashion, Gay, gender, hip hop, human rights, music, representation, rhetoric, sexism

Michael Kimmel and ‘No Homo’

I spent some time last semester talking about the phrase “no homo” as gender policing.  My argument is that it verbalized patterns of behavior that were not generally sexualized.  Quite often bringing sexual attention to something that was previously mundane. Consider rap intellectual Dallas Penn’s use of “no homo” to ensure heterosexuality is mapped when getting a compliment about his Polo scarf.

He didn’t introduce himself as a rapper, a graff artist or anything spectacular. All he did was compliment me on the ‘Lo scarf I was rocking. No homo, of course.

via dallaspenn.com » Blog Archive » MEYHEM LAUREN IS REALITY….

I have traditionally argued that “no homo” is simply gender policing.  Making sure that people around you know that it is not acceptable for your version of a man to compliment another man on a scarf for instance.  It seems like this is an extension of pathological homophobia.  Not just fear of gay sex, but fear that non-sexual acts would be read as the precursor for gay attraction.

It seems like an interesting subject because it makes an easy map to see the boundary lines for modern masculinity.  The rules for men-to-be-real-men are seldom as explicitly verbalized as with “no homo.”

I’m a fan of Michael Kimmel.  I think he is a smart man who gets a lot of the power dynamics of gender. In the case of “no homo” he argues that this is a kind of linguistic development which marks a loosening of the boundaries of new heterosexual masculinity.

I think we’re a little less homophobic. There’s good evidence that young men are less homophobic than older men are. And I illustrate this often by the difference between “that’s so gay” and “no homo.” Because “that’s so gay” is a way of policing other guys, saying don’t do that, that’s gay. But “no homo” says “you can do it, no homo.” Or “I love you, no homo.” It gives us permission to say something but then back away from it. That’s really different than not being able to do it at all. It’s a small step. The next step is to be able to say it and then not back away from it at all. I think it’s a little bit progressive, not a lot bit progressive.

via An Interview with Michael Kimmel | fbomb.

I think this is quite interesting.  It seems as though the “permission-with-commentary” may come with substantial linguistic homophobic baggage.

 

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Filed under communication, feminism, homophobia, representation

Pusha T vs. Lil Wayne: thinking about homophobia and sexual assault

Last week a simmering dislike erupted into a battle of words between Pusha T and Lil Wayne.  Pusha T is fifty percent of the Clipse, a Virginia Beach rap group whose hallmark is ridiculously hard lyrics and a cozy relationship with hit-maker Pharrell.  Lil’ Wayne is the impish high energy pop rapper with a legendary work ethic who sells a lot of ring tones.

The themes of this “beef” could have been foretold.  Pusha T was likely to argue that he was more real, having sold crack more recently than Lil Wayne (and since his former manager Anthony Gonzales, was recently sent to prison for 32 years for drug trafficking).  Wayne is likely to argue that his sales numbers put him out of the reach of a little guy like Pusha T.  Pusha was going to have some exceptionally clever jokes about neon fashion.  Both of the rappers would insult each other’s masculinity, intelligence, and strength.  They would both go after the other emcees they are affiliated with. (In fact they had almost this exact beef seven years ago.)

Here is Lil Wayne following the insult script including calling Pusha T “softer than a motherfucking nerf ball.”

The topic of this conflict that I would have forgotten about is the kiss.  In 2006 Birdman, the CEO of Cash Money Records and Lil’ Wayne smooched.

Turns out they’ve been doing it for years!  (There is no way to read sarcasm through the internet, so I’ll just tell you – I’m not bothered by two men kissing. )  Here is a video from years back of the Big Tymers, Mannie Fresh and Birdman on Rap City.  When Wayne shows up he drops a quick kiss on Birdman’s lips.

Birdman explains that he basically raised Wayne from the age of a young kid and considers him his actual child. In family relationships kissing each other isn’t uncommon.

In a recent interview, Baby, who calls Wayne his son, discusses/justifies the kiss. “That’s my son, ya heard me,” he explains. “If he was right here, I’d kiss him again. I kiss my daughter, my other son, I mean, you have children? Well, if you did you’d understand what I meant with it. I just think people took that too far man. That’s my son. I’ll do it again tomorrow, I’ll kill for him. Ride and die for him.”

via Birdman Defends Lil Wayne Kiss, Says He’d Do It Again – The Boombox.

I don’t think that Birdman and Lil’ Wayne have to justify kissing each other.  The framing that Birdman has used to help viewers interpret the kisses have been particularly masculine and patriarchal.  One spin has been that the kiss is a mafia symbol of closeness.  Another positions Birdman as a literal father of Wayne.

We need to be really careful here because Birdman is not Wayne’s parent or guardian.  Birdman AKA Bryan Williams was a rap star and label head when Wayne was onstage in grade school plays.

Lil Wayne was born Dwayne Michael Carter, Jr. and grew up in the Hollygrove neighborhood of New Orleans, Louisiana.[3] Carter was born when his mother, a chef, was 19 years old. His parents were divorced when he was 2, and his father permanently abandoned the family. Carter enrolled in the gifted program of Lafayette Elementary School and in the drama club of Eleanor McMain Secondary School.[4]

He wrote his first rap song at age eight.[5] In the summer of 1991, he met Bryan Williams, rapper and owner of Cash Money Records. Carter recorded freestyle raps on Williams’s answering machine, leading him to mentor the young Carter and include him in Cash Money-distributed songs. He also recorded his first ever collaboration album True Story with rapper B.G.. At the time, Carter was 11, and B.G. was 14, and was billed as “The B.G.’z”.[6] When he was 12, he played the part of the Tin Man in his middle school drama club’s production of The Wiz.[7] At age 13, he accidentally shot himself with a 9 mm handgun, and off-duty police officer Robert Hoobler drove him to the hospital.[8] At McMain Magnet School, Carter was an honor student, but he dropped out at the age of 14 to focus on a musical career.[9]

via Lil Wayne – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

If you’ve seen The Carter documentary on Lil Wayne then you’ve seen the disturbing scene where Wayne describes being raped as a kid.

In the middle of The Carter, an obviously high Lil Wayne jokes openly about being raped at the age of 11 with the encouragement of his surrogate father, Baby—and informs Lil Twist, a 15-year-old member of Wayne’s record label Young Money, that Wayne is going to help him get raped, too.

via Lil Wayne Jokes About His Own Rape – The Sexist.

This gives some insight into the relationship between Wayne and Baby Birdman.  I’ve been thinking about using parts of this clip and the Jimmy Kimmel interview referenced in Amanda Hess’s Washington City Paper essay to talk about male sexual assault.  In particular the idea that because men are socialized to be sexual all-the-time, then any predatory sexual attacks against men are okay.  This terrible notion is essentially the idea that anyone who says “no” is really saying “yes,” and that men are saying “yes” all the time.

I wonder if kissing Birdman isn’t a power thing?  A move of control?  A sign of closeness?  I don’t think it quite counts as parental given the exploitative sexual history between the two.   The kisses don’t seem particularly sexual or erotic.  Perhaps Wayne and Birdman are lovers.  I don’t know and honestly it seems a little bit junior-high for a person with a Ph.D. to spend so much time writing about two grown ups kissing.

But then again, I’m not the only person fixated on this kiss.

The song Exodus 23:1, Pusha T’s diss track is actually fairly generic.  Pusha T had to explain that the song was about Lil Wayne.  Wayne confirmed it by tweeting: “Fuk pusha T and anyone who love em.”

This morning No Malice, the non-violent, higher road-taking, reinvigorated Christian half of the Clipse tweeted his opinion about the Pusha T/Lil Wayne beef.

“Well I LOVE Pusha! That’s my blood and I ain’t never kiss em.”

Obviously beef sells records, but I think that Pusha T chose Lil Wayne because he thinks that the kiss gives him some annihilating ammunition against him.   You might call it a Ronald Reagan electoral strategy of fear.  Making your arguments based on the assumption of prejudice in the general population.   At the heart of the attacks on Lil Wayne so far is simply homophobia — and a particularly twisted desire to police male sexuality.

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Filed under hip hop, homophobia, music, representation, Surveillance