Bling and blessings: thoughts on the intersections of rap music and religious meaning.

There is a long relationship between music and religious concerns, the former often serving as a vehicle for the articulation of the latter. What is more, one need not sing explicitly about heaven and hell in order for one's music to wrestle with deeply religious themes and concerns. Equating religious concern to traditional categories of theological investigation such as heaven and hell, or to think strictly in terms of easily identified institutional forms of expression, is to miss subtle and pervasive signs, symbols, and questions. With this statement, I am simply suggesting that the questions and concerns regarding human existence and meaning are played out in many "secular" modes of expression, including music, and that attention to this mode of cultural expression is vital. Scholars and other interested parties have recognized the truth of this assertion with respect to musical forms such as the blues; yet, rap music, an infamous (or famous, depending on one's perspective) modes of cultural expression has not been embraced so readily as part of the study of religion.

There should be no wondering about the birth of rap music as a vital-and often troubled and troubling-mode of musical expression. Critic George Nelson notes: "In retrospect, rap or something like it should have been predicted. Each decade since World War II has seen the emergence of some new approach to black dance music [and more I suspect]. The 1940s brought forth rhythm & blues, the 1950s rock & roll, the 1960s soul, the 1970s funk and disco. Something was due in the 1980s...." (1) This "something due" expressed in clear terms the hybridization of music through a bold and creative manipulation of established genres. It brought together without apology jazz, disco, rhythm & blues, and so on; and in the process, through high-tech conjuration, presented musical ancestors within a new context.

The lyrical wing of a larger movement, referred to as hip hop culture (which includes dance, the visual arts, and an aesthetic displayed through creative clothing choices), rap would grow and multiple into a variety of styles, with a complex typology-progressive, gangsta, and so on. Many assumed it was a fade, a stylistic virus easily contained and ended; but instead rap artists have grown in stature, developing production companies, record labels, and have moved into other areas of popular culture. These artists have used technological advances to signify the American vision of life and labor, and in so doing captured the imagination and dollars of an eager public.

As pop artists such as Andy Warhol produced work that raised philosophical questions concerning the nature of the visual arts, rap music raised a host of questions concerning the form and content of musical expression. Some, like the abstract expressionists with pop art, lamented the substitution of "music" for "noise," while more insightful listeners recognized the musical creativity and compelling (though often troubling) presentation of socio-historical and psychological realities and fantasies of life in the post-civil rights years. At its best, rap music provided and continues to provide listeners with critical insights "as energetically productive as those manned by our most celebrated black critics and award-winning writers." (2) But we must also acknowledge that when not at its best, rap music provides a celebration of radical individualism and nihilism over community and hope.

As one might imagine, reviews on rap music have been mixed. Some like Rev. Calvin Butts thought it so foul that only a steamroller could adequately deal with the "music." There's no doubt that the music is raw, but is not it possible that these rap artists are modern griots, as Houston Baker and Michael Dyson argue, in keeping with the earlier traditions of the spirituals and the blues? Is not it possible that these artists are continuing a tradition of social critique using an "organic" vocabulary? Hence, at its best, perhaps it is a continuation of the "style" of making meaning of the world, forging a sense of self and community in a rather hostile environment.

In early years, "back in tha day," this stylized depiction of life's meaning was rapped in the grab and poetry of Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five, KRS-One, Public Enemy, and others who looked at the world and expressed it in "black." Rap music has changed since those days, when I first began listening to it. And, like many others, I lament some of its current lyrical and visual twists (think about the more objectifying videos). But I see glimmers of the quest for meaning, a stylized defense of subjectivity, an aesthetic that serves to harness and interpret human interaction and the world in which it takes place.

Continuation and experimentation with black orality is the hallmark of rap, taking the themes and sensibilities housed in musical expression for centuries and giving them a post-industrial twist. That is to say, as Michael Dyson notes, rap music explored "grammatical creativity, verbal wizardry, and linguistic innovation in refining the art of oral communication." (3) Yet, what is most significant about rap for the purposes of this essay is expressed not simply in terms of the process of fusion-grammatical, verbal and linguistic manipulations-but through the morphing of content. Turning again to Dyson, "the rap artist appeals to the rhetorical practices eloquently honed in African-American religious experiences and the cultural potency of black singing/musical traditions to produce an engaging hybrid." (4) Dyson points to an interesting interaction, a stylization of self and community, addressing ultimate meaning within the context of a musically significant "process of repetition and recontextualization," deserving greater attention. (5)

The implicit claim here must be made explicit: One of the major and documented functions of musical production such as rap has been the articulation of responses to the "ultimate" questions of life. In this sense, it has engaged religious traditions and religious issues in both explicit and implicit ways. There are explicit examples of this such as efforts to foreground Nation of Islam and Nation of Earths and Gods theologies within the music of Queen Mother Rage, Eric B. & Rakim, Isis, Paris, Public Enemy, and Poor Righteous Teachers among others. While one may question the consistency, sophistication, and 'thickness' of the presentation, references to Islam abound within rap music. And, according to some, the educational process such rap music seeks has had benefit. According to Sister Souljah, "hip-hop is a blessing because the [Poor] Righteous Teachers, Brand Nubian and KRS-One have actually been the educational system for Black kids, in place of the so-called educational system that is entirely financed by the American government. And in the absence of the voice of young people in hip-hop, we would have even more chaos than we have today." (6)

From the more nebulous celebrations of Malcolm X to the more explicit and focused attention to the teachings of the Honorable Elijah Muhammad and Minister Louis Farrakhan, rappers highlight the more commonly recognizable elements of the Nation of Islam's faith such as the importance of self knowledge as the key to all other developments. Others, moving from the early days of Africa Baambaata to more recent figures, point to the teachings of the Nation of Earths and Gods (also known as the Five Percent Nation), highlighting the cosmic value and importance of blacks. Yet, "orthodox" Islam represents one of the fasting growing religious groups in the United States among African Americans, and it too is represented in rap music.

As Mos Def, a Sunni Muslim, notes in projects such as "Black on Both Sides (1999)," individual fulfillment and communal development are dependent upon spiritual awareness, recognition of God, a devotion to prayer. In his words: "I really believe that none of our efforts are gonna work until we turn our attention to the Creator ... and really start to have a spiritual program, as opposed to a political program. To even have a spiritual program, first, you have to be attentive to what's in us, before we can say, 'Okay, this is how we can affect public policy.' We gotta be going inside first, and then come out ... There's a Creator of all this and for me, and this is true for everyone, that when you focus your attention on trying to be as close, or as cognizant or as mindful of that presence, then all those other things fall into place." (7)

Not every artist presents religious sensitivities and theological vocabulary in such a straightforward manner. Nuwine, for example, argues that his music is not necessarily "religious" (in the strict sense). Rather, it is his attempt to discuss the events of his life that eventually lead him to the Church. During various interviews Nuwine, who records on boxer Evander Holyfield's label, talks about his early childhood. As a preteen he dropped out of school and became involved in gang activity. In 1990 this activity resulted in gunfire: "I was shaking hands with a guy when a rival gang saw us, and started shooting. They got me with the first shot." This experience did not stop the activities that eventually took him before a judge. At that point, while awaiting his court appearance: "I noticed a white guy across the room staring at me. After a while, he boldly interrupted me. 'You don't know me,' he said, 'but God loves you, man. God forgives you and has a purpose for you.' Suddenly my whole macho attitude caved in. I fell on my knees and cried." (8) After this conversion experience, Nuwine began using his rap abilities to spread the story of his transformed life. Beginning with CDs sold from his trunk, to a record deal, Nuwine produces music that moves beyond the mere nihilism present in some rap to a modest optimism based on the Christian faith. Nuwine argues that his music may be a little "hard" but that is appropriate because it speaks to people who are in need. In his words: "That's what ministry is about. Reachin' out to those who don't know God. Reachin' out to the sick, the rebellious, the angry, the hurting. That's what it's for. Jesus did it. He spent very little time in the synagogue. Why do the well people need a physician? It's the sick people that need a physician." (9) In another interview he elaborates on this point by clarifying the meaning behind the title of his most recent CD "Ghetto Mission." He says: "The meaning speaks for itself. Look at the world-the world is a ghetto. You have problems in suburbs and the cities, and that problem is people are hurting, man. People want answers; they want to know why they're here, why they're broke, why people are killing each other. So mission is like a mission statement. I'm reaching out to the ghettos, you know, and saying that God loves you." (10)

For some, there is a paradox at work, a form of existential slippage between stated commitments to a particular religious vision and the system of ethics expressed in the music. Take for example, Snoop Dogg whose lyrics often portray an image not necessarily in keeping with the religious sensibilities claimed for his personal life: "I've got a responsibility to God. He put me here. He'll take me down in a heartbeat the minute I start tripping on myself and how great I must be because of all the people telling me all the time ... I tried to keep it real, never to sell the truth, but always to tell the truth. And if there's one reason why you know the name Snoop Dogg and I don't know yours, it's because telling the truth has given me the props I need to carry out God's purpose and plan." (11) One might wonder about the nature and meaning of central terms here: Truth? Providence? What is the doctrine of God represented here? And, what are the ramifications with respect to ethics, even if we dismiss, as we should, warped puritanical ethics? Yet, regardless of one's take on such matters, as vital as they are, there remains here an important tension, a type of wrestling between existential realities and religious sensibilities. We may not find the resolution offered by artists appealing, when such sensibilities do not raise a critique concerning oppressive attitudes and behaviors. Nonetheless, this should not mean a lack of attention to the nature of confrontation with the "religious" expressed in their work.

The line between religious belief and life practice is often blurred. That is to say, the lyrical content with its expressed religious vision often creates a paradox. But this is not a problem that wipes out the value or vitality of the religious imagination within rap music. Rather it might point to the linguistic "playfulness" within the music, drawn from vernacular practices within black oral and aesthetic traditions. In other words, it is quite likely that much of what is expressed in rap music is not meant to be taken literally in the same manner in which numerous biblical stories are quite troubling if taken literally. (12)

The sexism expressed by Saint Paul and other biblical figures, the homophobia that marks both testaments has not resulted in a huge theological backlash requiring the destruction of the Bible as a viable "sacred" text. Why not exercise the same hermeneutic of multiple meanings to rap lyrics and their creators? This is not to say these artists should not be held accountable, should not be critiqued with regard to behavior and opinions. It simply means recognizing the often problematic relationship between theological pronouncements and arguments and practice that plagues the history of religion in and outside hip hop culture. Recognizing the great difficulty with which humans exercise and explain the religious, explicit theological or religious pronouncements in rap music are worth time and attention not because of perfection of practice but because of what they say about the musically expressed encounter with questions of meaning, those with great existential and ontological weight. Such consideration fosters, for the benefit of those in religious studies, cultural studies, etc., an opportunity to follow the "flow" of the religious within cultural production, and in this way to better recognize and analyze both religiosity (themes, practices, etc.) and an important cultural ethos marking our new century.

In addition to explicit moments that reflect a type of hip hop evangelicalism and proselytizing, there are also more "shadowed" engagements with the religious themes and religious traditions in rap music, often lyrically fused in metaphor, signs, and symbols. Perhaps this approach is what Big Boi of OutKast has in mind when discussing the need to address pressing issues and themes within the music: "We feel that-just like KRS-One said-when you get on this microphone, you have to educate as well as entertain. We feel that responsibility, but not in a preachy way. We're gonna party with y'all and slip something in there every now and then--maybe a word or a phrase or a question. And you might be like, 'Damn, I wonder why they said that?'" (13) The rapper Common, I believe, speaks to a similar sensibility, one that moves from self-consciousness outward.

Those who fail to identify this starting point may at times speak in refreshing ways about important topics, but it is usually lost in a sea of troubling attitudes and actions. Rap music often fails in this effort because artists forget their work must begin with self-consciousness. Otherwise, what is the lesson being taught to others? How does one decipher and recognize this message? For the student of rap music and hip hop culture, wondering "why" often points to religious sensibilities and themes within rap music that are not limited to Christianity and Islam, one most also be mindful of the meaning of Buddhism and Humanism, for example, within the lives of particular artists. This is certainly the case with the Beastie Boys' Adam Yauch's conversion from Judaism to Tibetan Buddhism and underground artist Sage Francis' apparent embrace of free thought (or Humanism). It is worth noting that the influence of religiosity on rap music and hip hop culture in more general terms is not limited to those at the microphone. Pioneers such as Russell Simmons recognize the importance of spiritual practice. (He uses the term spiritual as opposed to religion to connote the non-institutional basis of his practice.) In his autobiography, Life and Def: Sex, Durgs, Money, + God, he speaks to the importance of yoga for a sense of centeredness. In his words, "... the practice of yoga changed my life. Over the past six years I've been practicing yoga, and in that time found a spiritual center to my life. My spiritual sense is stronger than ever, so the teachings of all the great religions sound good to me. The yoga practice of quieting the mind through asana practice, as well as meditation, is about clearing the mind of fluctuation so that you can one day know your true self ... My experiences with yoga have taught me the practice of finding God everywhere-especially within myself." (14)

From the early pioneers, to its internationally known entrepreneurs, rap music has transversed the worlds of materiality and ultimate concern, marking along the way outpost for seekers and converts. While some hear rap lyrics and wonder about their significance, others hear a call for introspection and the forging of deep meaning-and the latter respond with a resounding "Amen."

Notes

1. Nelson George, The Death of Rhythm & Blues (New York: Pantheon Books, 1988), 188.

2. Houston A. Baker, Jr., Rap, Black Studies, and the Academy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), 59-60.

3. Michael Eric Dyson, Reflecting Black: African-American Cultural Criticism (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993), 12.

4. Ibid.

5. Tricia Rose, Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America (Hanover: Wesleyan University Press/University Press of New England, 1994), 73.6

6. Quoted in Ernest Allen, Jr., "Making the Strong Survive: The Contours and Contradictions of Message Rap." In William Eric Perkins, editor. Droppin' Science: Critical Essays on Rap Music and Hip Hop Culture (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1996), 182.

7. Interview of Mos Def. Found on: http://www.poundmag.com/magazine/features/articles/mighty/mosdef.html

8. http://search.netscape.com/google.tmpl?search=nuwine

9. Manhunt.com. Manhunt features: Interview by s2.

10. Nuwine Chat, February 1, 2000. Twec.com.

11. Snoop Dogg, with Davin Seay, The Doggfather: The Times, Trials, and Hardcore Truths of Snoop Dogg (New York: William Morrow and Company, Inc., 1999), 2-3.

12. Robin D. G. Kelley, Yo' Mama's Disfunktional!: Fighting the Culture Wars in Urban America (Boston: Beacon Press, 1997), 38-39.

13. Sacha Jenkins, "The End of the Ice Age?" SPIN Magazine (March 2001), 85.

14. Russell Simmons, with Nelson George, Life and Def: Sex, Drugs, Money, + God (New York: Crown Publishers, 2001), 217-218.