Rhyming taboo: a new generation of female rappers are working to change the image of the hip-hop industry.

On a soggy Friday night, the dimly lit room began to fill up. On the small stage set against a vibrant mural, Cristalle Bowen pressed the microphone to her lips, rhyming at first to a tempered beat. A heavy bass vibrated through the wooden floor as her voice bellowed above the noisy chatter of young couples ordering drinks and the rumble of the Green Line trains roaring past the back windows.

Bowen then picked up the pace. "I'm a bald-eagle female rhymer--the rare species," she rapped. "You never knew it, but I'm aiming for your neck, still developing my angle while I'm gaining my respect." The audience, ranging from dreadlocked hip-hop heads to middle-aged couples, clapped along, bobbing their heads to her deliberate and spry tempo.

Bowen's late-night HotHouse performance represents the work of a new breed of hip-hop artists--a handful of female rappers who are gaining clout in the male-dominated industry by taking on subjects long considered taboo: gender, race and politics.

Since Bowen's solo debut in 2002, her music, and its message, have been attracting audiences beyond the traditional hip-hop crowd. In April, for instance, she was invited by the University of Chicago to perform at the "Feminism and Hip Hop" conference.

Born in Edgewater and raised in Englewood, the 25-year-old African American emcee says she found hip hop and lyrical writing as an outlet to overcome her shyness. She lists mainstream rap artists like Run DMC, Common, A Tribe Called Quest, Queen Latifah and Da Brat as her influences, but she honed her skills primarily by frequenting Promontory Point in the South Side's Hyde Park neighborhood. During the '90s, the Point, as it is known, was a legendary gathering place for young hip-hop artists. Each week, hundreds gathered there and immersed themselves in hip-hop culture: breakdancing, freestyle rap sessions, spoken word, record spinning, sharing art and graffiti books, and ciphering. More recognized artists, such as J.U.I.C.E., O Type Star, Pugslee Atomz and Common, also visited the grounds. "That was the thing to do every week," Bowen recalls. "That was where I went to get my fix."

In 2002, after graduating from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign with a chemistry degree, she briefly worked as a chemist at a food safety laboratory. But she continued to perform as a member of a local hip-hop collective called Nacrobats.

She eventually recorded her first album, "All Ways," in 2002 with four other members of Nacrobats. This year, Bowen signed with a label called Rhymesayers Entertainment in Minneapolis to record three albums, the first of which, "The Death of Frequent Flyer," will follow her recently released album, "Bio: Chemistry II," a remastered version of the earlier album, "Bio: Chemistry."

Bowen recently sat down with The Chicago Reporter to talk about her music.

What do you rap about?

I rap a lot about my life and things I see in the environment around me. I talk about drugs, sex, anonymity and androgyny. I talk about being a tomboy, being straight, being gay. It is all part of who I am or what is around me. I talk a lot about what people think about sex and try to put a twist on it in order to avoid the boredom that is seen with very masculine or gratuitous sexual language.

Culturally and politically, I rapped about 9/11 and my experiences growing up in Englewood. I have a new song coming out on my next album that talks about how my mom got robbed one night on the steps of our house, and I slept through it. I became very withdrawn after that. I wrote another song about riding a bus to school every day through the South Side neighborhoods. There are so many things I learned living there that I wouldn't trade for anything.

Everything that I write comes from the heart, and I don't want to be afraid to rap about what others are too afraid to say out loud. I think male tappers won't touch the subject of homosexuality, for instance, because they are afraid about what it will do to their record sales and image. As a female, a lot of times, if you are not scantily clad, you get mistaken for a lesbian. I like it that way, though.

I think positive messages can change the commercial world, and I am trying to help that change. It might be a lost cause, but I don't want to hear that right now. I want my message to always be to continue to learn about yourself and not be afraid of who you are. I don't have a huge political agenda, either. I think, if you don't preach, you can convey the same message and even get more respect for it.

What obstacles did you encounter while breaking into the industry?

It was a struggle to find a certain balance between retaining an acceptable level of femininity and holding onto my own style. In hip hop, women are too easily stereotyped as either a slut or as hypermasculine. I don't like either image. When I was growing up, I was a minority, being one of a few girl tappers. Sometimes people would listen extra hard so they could critique you more than anyone else. Sometimes people won't give you a chance because you're a female, and, if they do, it's in a sexual way. Also, a lot of times, it's expected that, if you're a minority, you must stand up for everybody. Or, if I'm a woman, I have to be this man-hating feminist and I'm not that.

What do you think of the messages portrayed in hip hop today?

I won't say there is a lack of positivity, but I will say that sex, drugs and the objectification of women are what you see the most on television. Growing up I had a better opportunity to see and differentiate between an array of artists, since there was more artistic diversity. I think hip hop today is still fun, but it takes itself way too seriously, especially since it's been grossly commercialized.

How are today's youth influenced by those messages?

Kids who grow up in the suburbs and wealthier areas are more apt to distinguish between reality and the music. They are not exposed to the same environment many rappers will sing about, such as street crime or living in a poor neighborhood. On the other hand, when kids who live in inner-city neighborhoods like Englewood hear Jadakiss rapping about the ghetto or referring to women as bitches on television, they will go outside and see it in reality. They are surrounded by that negativity when they walk down the street and see a man demoralizing a woman or notice someone getting beaten up. Kids in the inner city see rap as a reality, just without the flash. They think to themselves, 'That's the way it is, and it can't get better.'

In the future, a kid who grows up listening to today's mainstream or commercial rap will have an ear for quality-sounding music but will be getting some very one-sided messages. They might be apt to disrespect women, do drugs, or to think that these things are cool and accepted as the norm. Young ladies might feel they must know how to work a pole or look and dress a certain way because it's the only way they may know how to get noticed.

How should hip hop change in order to have a more positive influence?

Someone needs to open the door for new messages to be heard to a wider audience. Also, there needs to be more outlets for kids to express themselves creatively and productively. At the Point, kids got the opportunity to be part of the local hip-hop culture by brushing up on their skills. Them would be huge hip-hop "conferences" every weekend where kids who really loved hip hop would go to become more skilled. That's what was cool about it because, even if you didn't think you were talented or were afraid, you could still try it out on kids there. Also, rappers need to lead by example. If you see more successful rappers helping the community in some way, there would be more positive change. We need to have more fearless rappers.

Cristalle Bowen, a Chicago-based hip-hop artist, is not afraid to take on the subjects often avoided by other artists. Photo by Jason Reblando.