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Commentary: Hip-hop is no longer an art form

Christian Orozco, Sports Editor

Christian Orozco, Sports Editor

The 1970s gave us many things to be proud of. Things like beanbag chairs and Farrah Fawcett. A couple things people from the 1970s are not too proud of were their bell-bottoms and their love for disco music.

In 2012 we have an equivalent to bell bottoms and disco, and that is mainstream hip-hop and snapbacks.

The hip hop industry has taken a turn for the worst and the mainstream is now full of misogyny, materialism and fake people who couldn’t say a fly rhyme if one was right under their noses.

“Pop That” by French Montana, which also features Rick Ross, Drake and Lil Wayne, starts off with Ross saying “Drop that pussy, bitch.”

“Pop That” currently has the second most airplay for a hip hop song on the radio. Luckily for Montana and his gang Ross’ intro is not played on the airways.

The song goes on, with Montana somewhat rapping over an overproduced beat that has no musical instruments, besides the keyboard, which seems to be a hip-hop producer’s best friend these days. Mainstream hip hop is missing three key element that makes hip hop so great, jazz, soul and funk. Guitar, bass and drums are instruments that need to be implemented back into the beat.

In 1979 metal legends KISS sold out and released a disco album called “Dynasty.” In 2012 hip-hop mastermind Kanye West sold out and presented “Good Music Cruel Summer.” On this album West showed that he had given in and released the biggest load of crap in his career, the prime example being the first single off of the album, “Mercy.”

On the track “Mercy” listeners get taken to a faraway land where lyrical talent does not matter and beats can sound like shit but still work.

Big Sean starts the song off telling listeners things he can do with a really big ass, like build a house on it and roll his weed on it. He even gives a shout out to those “White girls politicking, that’s that Sarah Palin,” according to Sean.

If none of this has made sense to you so far it is because these songs make no sense at all.

Hip-hop artists have also made it a point to put emphasis on one word at the end of rhyme to make it seem like they are rhyming.

In “Mercy” Pusha T chooses to put the word “Ho” at the end of his lines and in “Pop That” Montana elects to use the phrase “twerkin with” and then tries to rhyme that with “twerkin with.”

In any era of hip-hop, besides this one, that would be consider a wack rhyme. You can’t rhyme “with” with “with,” that is not how rhymes work.

Another issue that the hip-hop industry has is the identity crisis of the disc jockey.

Today the word DJ is synonymous with techno and dubstep music, but believe it or not DJs actually used to exist in hip-hop music.

DJs are the beat conductors of a hip-hop track. A real DJ is someone like Terminator X, DJ Premier or Madlib. Today, the closest thing we get to a real DJ in mainstream music is DJ Killmore.

If you’re not familiar with DJ Killmore, he is the DJ for Incubus; they are not a hip-hop group.

Artists in the hip-hop industry are fakes. Whether it’s the correctional officer, William Roberts, changing his name to Rick Ross and stealing the identity of the infamous drug trafficker “Freeway” Rick Ross or the Canadian Jewish child actor Aubrey Graham dropping his first name and using his middle name, Drake.

The biggest fake of them all is Lil Wayne.

He steps on stage and brings up a guitar and pretends to solo, but in reality he is just sliding up and down on his E string. He’s not a rock star and he’s not a skater, all he does is Ollie.

I look up to rappers like Guru, Chuck D and Andre 3000, artists who can educate, entertain, be real and give you something to bob your head to without exploiting women.

It kills me to see rappers in the limelight that are blatantly disrespecting a whole gender: the female gender, the one that gave birth to you and me.

Christian Orozco, a junior journalism major, is sports editor for the Campus Times. He can be reached by email at christian.orozco@laverne.edu.

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