There was a time, long ago, when real hip-hop was a thriving industry. Ever since the dawn of the kingdom, hip-hop has existed. The elders took hip-hop and molded it into something worth listening to. It was tangible; it was real – real hip-hop. The elders took real hip-hop and preserved it, never letting outsiders peer their thieving eyes upon it. Under Lord Jamar’s rule the State of Hip-Hop was whole, full of life. The men were real men who wore real men’s clothes and listened to real men’s hip-hop. It was a better time.
This was their real hip-hop and they were the gatekeepers. As time went on and the elders grew older, they knew they were losing control over the real hip-hop. Real hip-hop was beginning to grow with the time, evolving into something much different than real hip-hop’s original intention. The elders knew their time with real hip-hop was coming to an end.
Then they started to infiltrate real hip-hop’s sacred hallows and made it their own. They gentrified hip-hop. They took hip-hop and innovated it, pushing it in new directions never seen before. In fact, they pushed it so far in the opposite direction that the elders of real hip-hop didn’t understand. The elders perceived this new direction of hip-hop as being dangerous and, instead of coming to terms with their ignorance, they colluded to debunk the New Hip-Hop Movement and the insurgent Weirdos.
That lead to the schism. The Weirdos’ progressiveness didn’t align with the Elders’ regressive idea of the State of Hip-Hop and the Weirdos revolted. It was a long, bloody war. The Elders rested on their laurels, never willing to give an inch to the Weirdos. The Weirdos paid no mind to the Elders, focusing instead on creating their own brand of hip-hop – a better brand of hip-hop. The Elders held on as long as they could, grasping for relevance, but the Weirdos won.
It was a warm summer day when real hip-hop died. It was 4:20 p.m on June 9th. I remember being on The Internet™ when I heard the news, because I’m never not on The Internet™. There it was, seared into my eyes as if with a hot iron. As I was staring at the digital landscape, a tear slid down my face. “It’s gone,” I muttered aloud. “Forever.” Everything Lord Jamar worked toward is gone, disappearing like smoke in the night. There was nothing I could do — there was nothing anyone could do.
***
Real hip-hop is dead and we killed it. And thank God we did. Say it with me: real hip-hop is dead. From the jump, the idea of real hip-hop is as asinine as the above story I spent hours of my finite time on this Earth creating. Just sit back and think about the type of person who is actually concerned about the state of hip-hop, as if this isn’t the best hip-hop has been in years. That person also misses the old Kanye and spends their time correcting people on the internet. The Venn diagram of real hip-hop truthers and proud redditors is 99.9%.
If you truly believe there is a hierarchy in hip-hop wherein one version is tangibly more real than another, please close out of this post. After you close out of this post, please delete all forms of social media. After you delete all forms of social media, please break any means you have of accessing the online realm. After you break any means you have of accessing the online realm, please destroy all of your earthly possessions and take an oath of silence and reflect on your poor life choices.
Because the truth is: all hip-hop is simultaneously unreal and real. Unreal in the sense that it is not a human being, not a living, breathing entity. No matter how much adoration you show it, it will not love you back. Not matter how much you opine for its return, it will never come back because it’s not a lost dog. Hip-hop is an ever-changing medium of art, adapting to new trends – one that has been around since the 1970s and is self-sustaining at this point.
In fact, hip-hop is the realest it has ever been in the history of its existence. As Kanye said, rap is the new rock ‘n’ roll and rappers are the new rockstars. Kanye rocks leather kilts, is a Fashion God and yells at the paparazzi. Nicki shows off her ass on her album’s single’s artwork. Kid Cudi wore a billowy half-shirt and jorts at Coachella.
Remy Ma got out of prison and immediately hopped in the booth. Young Thug wears skinny ass pants, dresses as shirts and his hair in little side-buns. Wayne wears zebra stripped pants with no shirt and skateboards. Snoop Dogg paints his nails. Wiz Khalifa is himself. This is the new hip-hop – the new “real” hip-hop.
Because being real isn’t restoring the feeling. Or about adhering the testosterone-ridden, hyper masculine hip-hop culture of old. That’s in the past and it’s time to move on. Being real isn’t being the most lyrical miracle spiritual spherical you can be over boom bap beats. Every lyric Migos raps is the realest shit I’ve ever heard and I don’t understand half of it. Being real is being yourself. Being real is having fun. Being real is not giving a fuck about what people who miss The Old Days of Hip-Hop think, because you know their opinion is irrelevant. Long live the new real hip-hop.
Alex Hancock only listens to hip-hop with a message. He’s on Twitter: @hancxck.
