By Wilfredo Gomez | With thanks to NewBlackMan (in Exile)
Monday, February 18,
2013.
“Can't touch the untouchable, break the unbreakable /
Shake the unshakeable (it's Hovi baby) / Can't see the unseeable, reach the
unreachable / Do the impossible (it's Hovi baby)” —Jay-Z “Hovi Baby”
Nas and
Jay-Z were both present at this year Grammy Awards, the premier awards ceremony
in the music industry, which celebrates the yearly accomplishments and
highlights all music genres. The Grammys are to the music industry
what the Oscars are to those in the film industry. And while the
rappers (Nas and Jay-Z) both donned a tuxedo that is where the trajectories of
their respective careers intersect and depart. Nas has been
nominated 18 times for a Grammy and has failed to win one, while Jay-Z further
added to his total by winning in the category for “Best Rap/ Song
Collaboration” for his song “No Church in the Wild” which features guest
appearances by Frank Ocean and The Dream, alongside his “The Throne”
collaborator, Kanye West. While what proceeded was referred to as
the “zinger of the night,” Jay-Z’s rather dismissive comments directed at
singer the Dream demand a closer reading, one that extends beyond his already
substantial, and growing, Grammy collection.
When
responding to a question centering on the differences between Jay-Z and Nas, a
friend of mind offered, “If Jay-Z is the dream, Nas is the
work…” While such a comment offers much food for thought and
critical engagement, the words allude to some of the topics that are taboo and
fraught with tensions within hip-hop culture. At a minimum, it was
suggested, Jay-Z’s music represents the kind of aspirational sensibilities that
is arguably embedded in the American ethos of reform, transformation, and,
ultimately acceptance. It entails a Horatio Alger-like pulling of
oneself up by the bootstraps, in the making and remaking of one’s success and
push towards the mainstream. The latter half of that comment
suggests a kind of blue-collar wisdom and work ethic that is the everyday
experience, complete with thoughts and sentiments about a range of topics that
firmly establishes the everyday person as someone equally invested and
interested in the occurrences and events of the world around them.
The
comment—“I would like to thank the swap meet for his hat”—is precisely a
manifestation of a politics of respectability that seeks in this instance to
monitor, comment, admonish, and draw attention to the kinds of difference that
are socially and culturally constructed and contested as normal and
proper. Here a politics of respectability, as conceived by Evelyn
Brooks Higginbotham, points towards a discourse of assimilation that stresses
the importance of black people’s (public and private) adherence to morals,
manners, and modes of self-presentation consistent with those established and
followed by dominant society. This stance on public reform
effectively ties the actions, behaviors, attitudes, and very disposition of the
individual to the larger collective of the group as a whole. Nowhere it is this
more evident than in the clothing guidelines released by CBS directed to
attendees of the 55th Grammy Awards. While Dean
Obeidallah rightly points out that this dress code requirement is far from
being gender neutral, the mere language and existence of said dress code seeks
to enforce and institutionalize a set of rules that will undoubtedly be
internalized, embodied, and performed by some of the attendees.
The
question of accountability—“who?” as well as “to whom?”—is fertile ground for
critical inquiry. However, the fact(s) of Jay-Z’s dismissal
explicitly and implicitly embody a politics of aspiration inherent in hip-hop,
and perhaps best embodied in the juxtaposition of the Dream’s jewelry vis-à-vis
Jay-Z’s tuxedo. Situating a tuxedo in contrast to jewelry signals
the polished and clean cut, and as a direct consequence, the acceptable, as
opposed to the gleaming, ostentatious showcasing of the material, embodied and
manifested in the attitude, anxiety, and behavior of the Dream. At a
minimum, this communicates to a viewing audience the fluidity and variety of
ways in which the everyday, let alone the artistic, can be presented and
performed in a public setting. It serves as a vivid reminder of the
broad range of representations present in marginalized communities on a
day-to-day basis. Simply put, rappers don’t seem to be shying away
from liking nice things anytime soon. I’d be curious to know if
there is room for a discussion of cost, consumerism, and the material as
evidenced in the possible differences in price between the two “uniforms.” There
is nothing wrong with wearing a tuxedo, or a “suit and tie” for that matter,
but there is a glaring problem when narratives become constructed and projected
such that those who are already marginal, like hip-hop at the Grammys, are
further relegated to the margins. Moreover, what is dangerous and
problematic about this juxtaposition of the tuxedo versus the swap meet hat, is
a reinforcement of beliefs, ideas, and ideology that constrains and overlooks
the complex understanding of self that we naturally embody everyday with
regards to our respective identities. Here, hip-hop is policing
itself and at a minimum imposing a hegemonic narrative on that which is deemed
authentic, and by extension, responsible. One can argue whether or
not this exchange falls under the category of “real recognizing real.”
More to
the point, there is the possibility of framing this brief interaction as
constituting an experience whereby the legibility of Shawn Carter is contrasted
with the illegible body of the Dream. Present, though perhaps, lying
underneath the surface, is a lens-affording context to the generational gaps
within hip-hop. As my colleague Ryan Jobson accurately notes, there is a
distinction to be made “between those who have entered the realm of
respectability and those who remain beholden to the vernacular, sartorial, and
performative code of the street.” A point for further inquiry is an examination
that questions the extent to which the Dream is maintaining and pushing the
disruptive politics of an organic intellectual, whereas Jay-Z has become
normalized in a myriad of ways. This subversive politics
characterizes the Dream’s stance, while Jay-Z's panders to dominant scripts of
normalcy. The illegible here can be thought of as the impossibility imbedded in
discourses of the remarkable, and transcendence as something that is not
readily available to most rappers and/or urban contemporary
artists. In his transition from the corner to the corner office in
the executive suite, Jay-Z has capitalized and transferred his industry acumen
in ways that have not been a possibility for artists like the
Dream. Music industry aside, corporate culture is more rigid by
comparison in its institutionalization and embodied practices that dictate its
own politics of respectability.
Furthermore,
hidden in this acceptance speech is the construction and performance of a
politics of inheritance constituted within a framework of an “anxiety of
influence.” While the literary reference established by Harold Bloom
was not intended for this occasion, it speaks to Jay-Z’s refashioning and
branding as a hustler turned American cultural icon. If we are to
decode and unmask Jay-Z, this is the same person who has offered audiences the
following lines in several of his songs:
“Change Clothes:” “please respect
my/Jiggy/this is probably Purple Label/Or that BBC shit or it's probably
tailored/And y'all niggas actin' way too tough/Throw on a suit, get it tapered
up…”
“So Ghetto:” “Thug nigga til the end, tell a
friend bitch / Won't change for no paper plus I been rich… / We tote guns to
the Grammys, pop bottles on the White House lawn / Guess I'm just the same old
Shawn”
As a
response to Jay-Z’s “So Ghetto” Demetrius Noble points out that:
such defiance and cultural dissidence used to
be hallmarks of a once working-class culture and praxis. But Jay (and others)
have worked very hard to turn hip hop into a class collaborationist space where
such shifts and contradictions are continuously mystified to promote a
nationalist fantasy of solidarity. Jay didn't keep up the facade last night
however as he was speaking to his bourgeois (and mostly) white audiences. To
quote Jay again, "I guess it's only so long fake thugs can pretend."
It is
important to highlight the politics of respectability and shifts in both
preference and tastes as they were manifested in Jay-Z's dismissal of the
Dream. This is very much indicative of the kinds of change Jay-Z has embraced
vis-a-vis audience when his live show downplays those same changes. The presence
and posture of the Dream would and could very well have been Jay-Z circa 1999,
the year he won his first Grammy.
At a
live show, Jay-Z is the lived experience embodied in the creative personae of
Shawn Carter. Actor and Comedian Chris Rock once joked that his
neighborhood was occupied by four exceptionally talented Black
people. Rock and Jay-Z were two of those four exceptional Black
people, Eddie Murphy and Mary J. Blige, being the others. His
neighbor, on the other hand, a white man, was a dentist, and as Rock points
out, it is unknown whether he is a good dentist at that. While this
joke locates black exceptionalism alongside white-collar normalcy, the point is
not lost when thinking about Jay-Z and his sharing the stage with the Dream. Jay-Z’s
pursuit, ascendance, and ownership over the throne exposes a discourse of black
exceptionalism and exclusion within hip-hop: a mode of presentation
distinguishable by dress, posture, presence, and ultimately,
influence. Jay-Z is living the (American) dream, while the Dream,
both literally and metaphorically, resides in another neighborhood…those where
shopping at the swap meet appears pervasive and acceptable.
**
Wilfredo Gomez is a doctoral
student in Anthropology and Education at Teachers College, Columbia
University. He can be reached at gomez.wilfredo@gmail.com or via twitter at BazookaGomez84.