I've recently written an article on hip-hop culture for the Commission for Racial Equality's magazine, Catalyst. Here's a link to it online:
http://www.catalystmagazine.org/Default.aspx.LocID-0hgnew0qe.RefLocID-0hg01b001006009.Lang-EN.htm
I've pasted the text of the article in below. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the themes discussed, so get at me!
Love, peace and elbow grease...
YG
Why Should I Be Embarrassed?
British rapper Yungun looks at contemporary perceptions of hip hop culture
Like many British people I'm essentially quite reserved. I have a regular office job and although I work in a friendly atmosphere I like to keep my personal life and my working life at a comfortable distance.
Every now and then, however, a colleague will catch wind of my 'extra-curricular' activities and probe me on an area of popular culture with which they are unfamiliar. Thus, I repeatedly find myself a reluctant spokesperson for hip hop culture in Britain. This reluctance, I am almost ashamed to say, stems from embarrassment.
COLLEAGUE: What's this I hear about you being a DJ in your spare time?!
ME: Well, I'm not a DJ actually but I do make music.
C: Really? What kind of music?
ME: hip hop.
C: No way? Seriously? What do you do then?
ME: I do the lyrics. I write songs, perform them, release records. I'm an MC, a rapper.
C: Wow! What, like 50 Cent? Where's all your bitches then?! Where's your chain?! You're not a gangsta! Are you from 'Da Hood' then, eh?! Ha ha!
Should I force him to take me seriously by listing the far-away countries I've toured in, the accolades I've received from critics and the radio stations I've appeared on? Should I try to show that there's more to hip hop than these tired stereotypes? Should I explain that actually what I do is more similar to artists like Mos Def, Talib Kweli and others labeled as 'conscious' rappers? Or should I just accept that the only other rapper he's heard of is Eminem, offer a half-hearted laugh and go about my business? But the most burning question of all is: why do I feel so embarrassed?
Although it amounts to little more than innocent curiosity or harmless office banter, this awkward exchange tells us something about the common perception of hip hop in 2007. My colleague's reaction is entirely predictable.
I was born in 1980 into a middle-class family in an affluent area of North London. The son of a black Nigerian man and a white English woman, I received an expensive private education and went on to study law at a red-brick university before starting working life as a trainee solicitor in a city law firm.
It would be an understatement to say that this is not an average background for a rapper. But rap's influence has long extended far beyond the black ghettos of America where it began some thirty years ago.
Anybody who grew up in London as teenager in the 1990s could only have missed the rapid surge in the popularity of hip hop music by hiding under a rock. It should come as no surprise, then, that a man of my age should be a fan. So is it really that strange that I like making hip hop music? My colleague's reaction suggests that, for some reason, it is.
Perhaps that reason has something to do with the public image of hip hop. The successful modern rap star is often marketed as young, black and dangerous. To be described as 'ghetto' is to be hailed as authentic. John McWhorter has convincingly argued that 'the nastiest rap sells best', and indeed, every time we turn on a television we are presented with the familiar hip hop stereotypes: aggressive scowls and macho posturing.
Much has been made of the inappropriateness of 'thug' rappers as role models, the glorification of violence, misogyny and homophobia and the resulting self-perpetuated alienation of black people from mainstream society. To pursue an education and work a nine-to-five job has become uncool compared to the seductive glamour of a life of crime.
Everybody sang along with 50 Cent when he proclaimed "I'm a mother****ing P.I.M.P.", but if his initials of choice were G.P. or Q.C, it's unlikely he would have dominated the charts like he did. So perhaps it is understandable that the 'thug' image springs to mind when we hear the words 'hip hop'.
But this is an oversimplified view. It does not take into account the huge commercial success and cultural influence of artists who have never sought to market themselves as 'thugs', such as the Black Eyed Peas, Will Smith, Outkast and more recently Kanye West.
And while 50 Cent's story of being shot nine times formed part of his marketing campaign, rap mogul Sean 'P Diddy' Combs went as far as changing his name in order to distance himself from the negative attention surrounding his legal battles over gun charges.
Rap's biggest star, Shawn 'Jay-Z' Carter, has origins that may at first cast him as another poor role model, but it is his unparalleled business savvy that has made him the hero of millions of young fans and the darling of corporate America, with leading brands such as Hewlett-Packard, Budweiser and Coca-Cola falling over themselves to be associated with him.
Violence can no longer compete with the all-conquering lure of materialism as the dominating theme in rap music. A glance at popular hip hop based shows Cribs and Pimp My Ride instantly demonstrates that it is money, not violence, that rules the rap world.
So we could argue that, rather than leading young black people towards the margins of society, hip hop music is in fact encouraging them to align their goals with those of the white middle-classes: the so-called 'American Dream'. Certainly, in my own experience, it is the most 'ghetto' of hip hop fans that have praised me the most for embarking on a career in the legal profession.
Moreover, although the ability of hip hop music to educate or empower young black people has often been treated with suspicion, the stars of rap are among the most prominent icons of the black community.
When black people were outraged at the lack of support for the sufferers of hurricane Katrina, the words of Kanye West (who said that George Bush 'doesn't care' about black people) resonated the loudest. Through the megaphone of rap music, the voice of the black 'ghetto' seems to drown out that of the black middle class.
Perhaps black doctors, teachers, businesspeople and lawyers have felt an embarrassment similar to mine. Perhaps they struggle to relate to the image of blackness that entertainers have made most prominent and have sought to distance themselves from it.
But the danger of this approach is that in distancing themselves from the 'rock-stars' of the black community, they risk alienating themselves from the young people who are inevitably in awe of that glamour.
The worrying conclusion is that mainstream culture has become more comfortable with a distorted perception of blackness. It is difficult to tell whether this belies some form of institutionalised racism or whether it is simply the result of over-exposure to a single limited and essentially flawed perception of blackness.
I should not be embarrassed to proclaim in the same breath that I am both a young, black lawyer and also a hip hop artist. I should, rather, be proud that I am in the unique position to be able to challenge preconceptions of what either of those should be. The fact that I have encountered difficulty when displaying that pride is an embarrassment to us all.