In a few weeks students from around the country will arrive at Yale for the Black Solidarity Conference. Not only will they be greeted with keynote speakers and roundtable discussions, but also with the musical stylings of Lupe Fiasco.

By Steve Whittaker

At some point I had a theory. A theory that people—irrespective of color, creed or origin—who listened closely enough to rap music could actually learn a lot about life from Hip Hop culture. But for a while now, I’ve not been so sure. Not since materialism and misogyny have so saturated Hip Hop that the genre melted and was made into a Rorschach inkblot, the most direct associations sounding out like a child playing “I-Spy” on the set of a rap music video: “…with my little eye, someone on a Maybach, $20 bill in G-string. It’s a video vixen!” And what of those who are not so ill-inclined with their lyrics? Well, amidst the short, unheard histories, unofficial biographies and unsubstantiated dates hanging from the lips of the more “conscious rappers,” I began to see gaps in what I once imbibed as “censored knowledge.” In fact, it seemed that whenever I took the time to check references made by learned artistes, whole chunks of important details and relevant information came up missing from the songs I thought were teaching me so much. And sadly, more often than not, the details invalidated the claims and theories put forth in the music.

And then came “THE COOL,” by Lupe Fiasco.

Where some lyricists push dates and names that are a basically hit-or-miss, according to one’s knowledge base, Mr. Lupin the 3rd takes a more effective and blanketed approach to sharing and comparing black history and sociology. He pulls the rap sheet back down to ground level, where listeners can walk among Hip Hop roots, tracing the steps of social commentary that are too shallow and too short with typical rappers. Surpassing Slick Rick, who is lauded for having brought the art of storytelling to Hip-Hop, Fiasco expands the focus and fits epics into four or five minutes.

Although assuming the personas of fictional characters, Fiasco takes listeners to truths on urban street corners where he refuses to “Dumb it Down,” along red carpets with “Superstar” Matthew Santos, and into the warpaths of child soldiers whom he dubs “Little Weapons.” Arguably the strongest competitors for tracks that make the LP are “Intruder Alert,” featuring Sarah Green, and “Hip Hop Saved My Life,” with songstress Nikki Jean. Both have choruses driven by amazing female vocalists and are significantly more personal than all other entries. Whereas he invites listeners to observe the struggle of an up-and-coming artist in “Hip Hop Saved My Life,” Fiasco canvases the traumas of rape victims, drug abusers and immigrants in “Intruder Alert.” Interestingly, in neither of the two does the feel of music perfectly mesh with the content; rather the weight of the words continues to hit one’s consciousness deeply and uncompromised. They are both that real!

Not without levity, Fiasco caricatures himself at times: slightly in “Gold Watch,” but more so during “Go-Go Gadget Flow,” in which he sells himself AND the Midwest in a uniquely furious and unapologetic fashion. Eclectic tastes and styles come in the form of Contemporary Rock music influences easily observed on tracks “Hello/Goodbye” and “Streets on Fire.” Both entries, though different, do not detract too much from the spirit of the LP, still remaining socially relevant with references to the futilities of life and AIDS, respectively.

The Lesson?

Hip Hop as a genre pulls the attention, yet fails to mention important details that would complete the lessons that we squeezed between the lyrics. And so we as listeners are blessed to hear, but cursed to heed, the words as far as we understand the story. The mechanics of Fiasco’s music use much heavier references than those of the average rapper that help us come to being knowledgeable. But still I concede that the story is not entirely complete. Hip Hop music is teasing the people—leading the witness as an unscrupulous attorney might do to the unsuspecting. Rappers are hanging a carrot on a stick, reeling listeners in to get them to where the story wants them to be—albeit this is a convenient truth, as opposed to a larger and more objective one. The onus is on the consumer to fill in the gaps and to augment what is present in music lyrics. It might not be the best thing to do—seeking knowledge sparked from a line in a Rap song—but if one is listening to Hip Hop anyway, I am sure it would be “THE COOL” type of thing to do.

8.5 Stars Out of 10

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