Minority Black Artist, Majority White Audience? Reflections on the JID x Smino History Concert (#6)
As white fans of hip-hop, how can we do better in spaces created by Black artists for Black audiences?
I want to preface this article by saying I still have a lot to learn about Black history, hip-hop as a cultural expression in that history, and the thought processes that inform my own thinking in regard to race, culture, and music. Not to mention actually spending more time with members of the Black community.
But even I, in all my inexperience, feel something amis in pop culture.
So, when the arms of the audience were flung up to Stars by JID, I saw a lot of white hands that looked like mine. And at the time, I thought nothing of it.
But the reality is, many of hip-hop’s music sales, concert tickets, and merchandise are bought by white-middle-class people like myself. Yet, without diving into the meaning and consequences of that relationship, is my relationship with hip-hop actually toxic?
And as I faced questions about my relationship with hip-hop and its artists, I began to think deeper about myself. My experiences with hip-hop, my experiences with the Black community, my suburban upbringing, and my whiteness all have an effect on how I listen and engage with this art form.
Don’t feel bad if you can’t sing along
Just be glad you got the whole wide world
This us
This shit is from us
Some shit you can’t touch
Solange, F.U.B.U
An insightful video by FD Signifier on “White Existential Dread” dove deeper into the dynamics between white and Black American cultures. Hip-Hop has transformed into a global phenomenon, topping the charts and dominating playlists. But it’s being repackaged as “American” culture by white America. Appropriation is the name of the game here.
When I listen to hip-hop, I’m not necessarily keeping this in mind. Instead of thinking about my shifting place in the cultural landscape, I have been guilty of assuming the cultural landscape has to shift with me. My thought processes point towards hip-hop being an art form for me, whether its not recognizing the presence of a majority white audience or not going into the history of hip-hop as a genre as deeply as I could. Just listening to hip-hop music is not enough to make me a ally of the Black community.
One result of appropriation is hip-hop culture moves further away from its Black roots and into whiteness. Questlove (drummer of the Roots) put forward a great example of this. Brands that were once endorsed by hip-hop, such as Adidas, were financially accessible to most members of Black communities. But now, some hip-hop artists are signed to brands like Bugatti and Mayback; who do you think those brands are marketed towards? The upper-middle class white folks who listen to hip-hop and are able to buy the products. No matter what white people try to do or say to be anti-racist, the fact of the matter is: hip-hop is a commodity for white people.
In the words of Greg Tate, it’s the “everything but the burden phenomenon”. Everything about Black culture is given and presented as American, without white America recognizing the burden of Blackness that comes with this art.
Not all cultural appropriation is negative, in fact it can be very positive for a society, inevitable in an era of globalization. Whether its Fortnite taking dances without due credit or TikTok stars like the D’Amelios taking dances without credit, or Elvis Presley using Little Walters “flow” without credit, examples of white appropriation of Black American culture are riff when you look closely.
Not recognizing the past and giving due credit, not honoring diversity and equity, gets in the way of the original goal of hip-hop.
Hip-Hop as a music genre has a deep history of Black nationalist thought, anti-racist movements, and political mobilization in inter-city communities. For example, one of the pioneers of hip hop, Afrika Bambaata, promoted the Zulu Nation, a nationalist conduit for Black inner-city communities (Henderson, Black Nationalism and Rap Music). They organized dance, music, and cultural events, bringing members of the community away from unhealthy expressions of aggression (crime) towards healthier, communal events that foster a positive identity. Hip-hop was the vehicle to foster that positive Black identity for youth, and give them tools to succeed in a world designed for them to fail.
Hip-hop by its very nature is political, but in the process of being appropriated into a majority white culture, it becomes the “site of the new cultural disco”, in Questlove’s words.
Across the board, one of the major problems is the lack of acknowledgement of Black culture in White-majority America. Despite the ease of self-promotion in the era of the internet, contemporary Black art remains under a “condition of racial hierarchy and white supremacy”, in a struggle over the popular. In fact, in this popular culture and media, negative depictions and the degradation of Black culture are rife. Think of how many fights WorldStarHipHop has displayed, making a spectacle out of violence in the Black community. All for our viewing “pleasure”. Despite reference to television, the same can be applied to hip-hop and music; the absence of “clenched fists and signs in Black subjects going about their day reminds us the hegemony works in making the oppressed accept the domination of the ruling group.” (80)
But when credit is given, the way white people operate in the hip-hop space becomes more informed, knowledgeable, and equitable. The story of Dark Marc, a white Scandanavian break-dancer in the 90s, is a representative of this theme. On the one hand, he was a really good break-dancer. On the other, his name evoked controversy as did his race in the breaking scene. But Dark Marc was the son of drummer. His father had a extensive record collection, going back to artists such as Tony Williams and Elvin Jones. Dark Marc acknowleged these Black artists as the inspiration for his moves, and fostered a desire to learn the history behind his moves. In his words, it allowed him “to do the moves better and authentically.”
Another example would be Mac Miller. Because of his success, he gave other artists such as the Internet a platform to reach audiences. He took Vince Staples on tour with him. He gave back to the Black people and culture he took part in, as well as acknowledging his place in the history of hip-hop.
These are role models for us white people participating in Black spaces, with Black people, and how we listen to Black music.
He [Mac Miller] saw Matt [Martians] and I kinda fanning out over this plug-in called Omnisphere. It’s a synth plug-in. He saw me and Matt kinda staring at it. We couldn’t really afford it, so we were just staring at it [laughs] like, “When we get this, it’s gon’ be a wrap!” And he saw us talking about it, and when we got back to his house, he pulled it out of a bag like, “Here, I got this for you guys” [laughs].” — Story from Syd on Mac Miller’s support for the band’s instrumental tastes
How do white hip-hop fans fit into concert spaces that are created by Black artists?
Well, not well at all. Especially in the past 10 years.
When Kendrick Lamar chastised a white woman on stage for singing it, when Ameer Van took a moment to make it clear to white fans they couldn’t say it, when Noname took a break from hip-hop because she couldn’t stand performing anymore for white people who exercised their power and racism through the word to her face; all of these incidents have deeper context in the world of hip-hop, and in Western society.
Black creators are creating Black music, a reflection of Black thought and artistic expression. To have majority white people occupy the audience, appropriate the culture, and scream historically hateful words at Black faces is what defines us as “bad fans” in the best lighting, and unthoughtful and uncaring people on the other hand.
We are experiencing an inevitable collission between white cultural appropriation and Black oppressed culture, and far from being destructive, this collision will cause us to get a real good look at each other. And at ourselves.
A lot of white-alt right crap is pushed out there in the world. One is time-honoured, racist medium of the “white-mans burden”. Essentially, us white men are the only ones in the entire history of human civilization that spanned the entire globe that know how to run a society properly. Well, I propose a new definition of this “burden”.
The white man’s burden is to become historically literate, to become more empathetic, more compassionate, and more caring for a people apart from ourselves. Part of that is not to say the n-word, to recognize the harm it does to others, to the artists we supposedly love, and to recognize where we are. To think deeply about ourselves and how we relate to the world, including the music we listen to; this is the burden everyone carries.
And for a long time, we white men haven’t touched it. The weight is new to our fragile arms. But it’s time to carry our share in the society we all share.
’Cause that’s exactly what’s expected when your skin black
They wanna see you dab, they wanna see you pop a pill
They wanna see you tatted from your face to your heels
And somewhere deep down, fuck it, I gotta keep it real
They wanna be black and think your song is how it feels — J Cole, 1985
These Black Creators, Artists, and most importantly, the people in my life, got me reading and thinking about what it means to be a white hip-hop fan. And to all of them I say here,
I couldn’t, wouldn’t have recognized my mistakes without you. And I will still make mistakes, but you inspire me to do better and pick up the weight of self-reflection. It is a priviledge to walk with you to a better place. But priviledges can be taken away. And I can only hope my mistakes do not harm you, and when they have, I am sorry.
Now, this is not any new information. The Greg Tate book was published in 2003. But following 2020, as our society moves forward, it’s important to think about racism and really get into the real life examples of where racism rears its head. That is why I believe it’s important to revist these texts and find new ones to inform my thinking.
And I don’t want to capitalize on this and make “WatchMojo Top 10s” on hip-hop, debate which rappers are better(but with my friends, fair game), or in general start profiting off Black culture as a white writer. That’s not the point of this blog post.
And I’m certainly not saying that white people should stop supporting this medium — not by any means. But this is an opportunity for us, as white people, to look at what we are and what we are doing, and better connect with Black people and their experiences that create the hip-hop we care about.
Bibliography
Are You Entertained? Black Popular Culture in the Twenty-First Century — ed. Simone C. Drake and Dwan K. Henderson, 2020.
Everything But the Burden: What White People are Taking from Black Culture — Greg Tate. 2003
Black Nationalism and Rap Music — Errol A. Henderson, Journal of Black Studies, Vol. 26, issue 3–1996.
Further Reading (add some more reading in the comments below!)
The Norton Anthology of African America Literature, ed. Henry Louis Gates Jr., Valerie Smith, et al. 2014.
What is This ‘Black’ in Black Popular Culture? — Stuart Hall. Social Justice, Vol 20. №1/2 Rethinking Race. 1993
Language, Rhythm, and Sound: Black Popular Cultures into the Twenty-first Century. ed. Joseph K. Adjaye, Adrianne R. Andrews. 1997
