The frustration of today’s Hip Hop music is not merely the circus sellout mutations that succeed over the greats of this era. It’s also the chart dominance of MCs that are levels far below the most talented with complacent and acceptable messages, diluted intensity and a non-threatening boring approach. J Cole is a poster boy for the diluted MC, the subculture MC versus the powerful, challenging and more talented countercultural MC–the best of Hip Hop music breeds largely unseen today. Hip Hop today is an NBA where Niggas Be Average scoring a mere 15 points a game where viewers are excited over MCs who can merely dribble the rhyme straight, hit some story jumpers and dunk basic metaphors. All the while the greats are left behind to Westbrook through with no support scoring all the supreme albums, assisting all of their own promotion and rebounding from all the bullshit. Napoleon Da Legend bombing up J. Cole is directly in line with his ideals where even in diss there are jewels that can’t be missed.
So all praise due the little big brother knowing his worth–a worth I’ve proven to be essential (see writings below)–and challenged the corporate funded, consciously acceptable rapper whose deepest messages are towards pop rappers that are in his cipher. See, J. Cole wrote as a fan scorned by his heroes but the problem is that those misguided heroes like Kanye, the Nigga Maguire [HERE], are now his colleagues. We are often masqueraded a narrative of direct relation when the MC is nowhere near that perspective anymore. The realness of the MC is in sharing his actual perspective not merely embracing an assumed one and feeding us the vantage points we’d love to hear. We need to hear what our people think and their innovative ideas not be offered all we’d like to hear. More importantly, it’s time we embrace a brutality of righteousness, where we don’t celebrate an MC because they are an acceptable convention, because they didn’t offend or challenge us, because they are completely stale and boring as if that is the formula for Hip Hop music. Genres are lost this way just as we all enjoyed the well sung Marc Anthony dilute what a Sonero is where now, Salsa is nearly mute and no one knows what a true Sonero is. And even deeper how our struggles are compromised where our Black diaspora is now led by activists funded by protestors funded by the 1 percent themselves with an agenda that dilutes the universal flag of man, woman and child [HERE]. So brutality ought to strike not just the fake rapper, but the weak MC, the good one all up on stage who can’t fucking write, rhyme about all things profound and cleverly astound on the unimaginable. If not our own identity will be missing in action and we’ll be excited over fake men, youth missing action that sounded like what we thought we our MCs used to sound like. It’ll all be too late. We won’t know what a real MC is after all the time goes by and trans-real niggas keep winning.
In these post-Dark Ages (2000’s), the Invisible Renaissance, that is the 2010’s, we Writers, our MCs, our Hip Hop creative thinkers and builders ought to share our shown and proven reality and dare to not merely package what we think the people want. That pre-marketing makes an absentee landlord of the devilish industry, the man that trump tales us to sleep. So Salute my brother Napoleon Da Legend, with the requisite as the better MC, with the audacity to be ill and reveal a spotlight on the higher standard he’s set his whole career.
The NDL writings by SUNEZ: