Stakes Is High is 20Years Old & Thangs is Worst

I can’t speak for anyone else but I’m no fan of rappers imitating (or waxing poetic) about 90s rap. Which makes me strange.

The debate is always which era was THE golden era: 86–89 or 94–97. I have to go with the former. In fact, I wrote an early Hip Hop obituary for my Understanding Modern Media class the Spring of ‘93 and my brother, King Esseen made a statement, that to this day, haunts me.

“The fact that we’re even talking about rap shows how far it’s fallen” (or something to that effect)

Hip-Hop, as I’ve previously stated, has become a spectator sport — but who benefits? We’ll look at what led up to “Stakes Is High,” but most important for this writing, we’ll look at the WHY behind the change in rap — it’s lyrics, it’s culture, and where the real money is.

We’ll discuss how the real lament had nothing to do with the art, but the motivation. That motivation was fed by the parasitic music industry. An industry that lifts artist up, throws money at them which vanishes quickly alongside whatever fame they had with it.

It wasn’t always like that. Rap used to make sense.

Making Dollars & Sense

We’re not even going to go all the way back to the beginning of Hip-Hop (we’ll save that for the book, Coming Soon). Instead we will start with what many consider to be the so-called Golden Age; roughly 1986 to 1991 (and I’m being liberal with that end date).

We’ve already discussed in great detail the factors that lead to the growth of the music (Dance, Music Videos, Magazines, etc.) in previous articles. So what we will be discussing here is one thing: the money.

What better example than EPMD — Eric and Parish Making Dollars, the group who have the word ‘Business’ in every title of their seven album discography. What did that “making dollars” translate to in terms of material items? EPMD were originally known for their fisherman hats — their shoes, Nike, at best, cost $99 at the time, their cars — Mercedes 560SL and a Camero IROC-Z (sticker prices $48,000 and $11,000 respectively).

On sight, it looks like “making dollars” was merely a middle class life; a life attainable by any person who worked hard, put money aside, whatever. Save enough money working at the grocery store, you could have an IROC. You may have had to graduate high school and get a halfway decent job to cop that Mercedes 560SL — but it was possible.

And they were not alone in their modest (for now) choices. The go-to car for many o’ rapper was the Volkswagen Jetta GLI 16V — a car that tipped the scales at $28,000.

“You got this bad Jetta here and you want to take the subway?!?”

Some rappers, like KRS One chose the Jeep Wrangler…

Which started at a base price of $8,995.

All told, the most expensive aspirational pieces of the rap artist, the hard to obtain items were the artists’ clothing — often from Dapper Dan, and the ever-present fat, gold ropes — that kept getting bigger and bigger — they weighed down rappers for at least $25,000 (and were the source of much violence).

But those were violent times. Crack was flowing and so was the money from the drug. The dealers were the one’s with the money. Not rappers.

Enter De La Soul

They were not the first.

That distinction belongs to the Jungle Brothers in this writer’s estimation, but for my memory, De La Soul were the first to have an open commentary on the current state (fads) of Hip-Hop.

Jungle Brothers definitely made being Afrocentric, avoiding trends, and being unapologetically Black cool. But De La did something revolutionary — they portrayed the current trends as wack.

Take it off

Take those Converse off

Take it off

And those Gazelles too Take it off

Take that Kangol off

Take it off

Take that Jordache off Take it off

Take that afro off

Take it off

Take that jhericurl off Take it off

Take that Le Tigre off

Take it off Take those acid-washed jeans

Bell-bottomed, designed by your mama off

Please? Please

And they weren’t pulling punches. Check the “Me, Myself, & I” video.

Later on, Masta Ace expanded on the concept of teaching students how to be proper rap fans and wear the banner of all of the modern trends. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

De La Soul, the Jungle Brothers, and later A Tribe Called Quest tapped into the zeitgeist of what is now called conscious thought and over the next few years (89–91), rap lyrics became more introspective — the clothes became more African-centred — and if not African-centred, conservative.

I wonder what will be the next small incident That will cause one of them to pull out And spray bullets recklessly in every direction Will my grandmother be on her way to the store For a loaf of bread and a TV Guide at that very moment

That excerpt is from the opening track, “A Walk Thru The Valley,” on Masta Ace’s May 1993 release, Slaughtahouse. Critics often say that it’s a commentary on the encroaching influence of so-called gangsta rap — it’s anything but.

Slaughtahouse deals with the rise in violence in the Black community and the affect that has on it’s residents.

As I walk through the valley at night I’m thinkin, “I don’t know that brother walkin across the street in the black hoodie, so he may be a threat to me” He’s thinkin, “I don’t know that brother walkin across the street in the blue hoodie, so he may be a threat to me

That mentality was something that anyone familiar with life in the so-called ghetto could easily relate to — that was and is our everyday existence. That thought process fueled the anger and aggressiveness that was suddenly becoming en vogue in rap.

As any Black person who has ever really been around Black people will tell you — you appear soft or weak, you will most certainly be someone’s victim. So posturing is as second nature as throwing on our phone voice around white folk.

Not wanting to be soft, rappers began murdering people (on wax).

Then something strange happened…that began to sell records. At least it was strange to us at the time. In retrospect it makes perfect sense. Those album sells were being racked up by white people…or so the myth goes.

Although the 80% white audience claim has rarely been challenged, Davy D, a Hip-Hop historian and writer, took on that assertion in a 2006 article entitled, “Is Hip Hop’s Audience Really 80% White?”

Davy D’s first attack on that so-called fact was there was no true metric for determining that number. But most importantly for this writing, He unspooled how that claim was really about advertising dollars.

I won’t go into the specifics. I do want you to click on the title and let the hyperlink take you to that article but suffice it to say, Top 40 radio and record labels began to recognize that young white kids enjoyed the safari-like experience of listening to what many called “the new rock and roll.”

Translation: it was rebellion music. For them. Rock and Roll was once rebellion music for the same reason — it was Black music.

For Black people, the music was all too real. Although the popularity of crack (and one’s ability to become rich dealing it) cooled down, the insensitivity that was born out of that time persisted. Murder rates continued to grow and the music reflected that.

It quickly became apparent that many of the rappers who claimed this type of life, so-called gangster rappers, were not that all. That in fact, many of them were actually good kids, and people who really lived on bullet-riddled blocks and had to negotiate gang populated neighborhoods; people who lost family and friends to gun violence and lived in constant terror, took offense.

You claim you got beef on the streets, so what ya Gonna do when real niggas roll up on you And you don’t got your crew Pull your Glock but you don’t got the heart You was webbed straight from the start Bought a tool and didn’t learn how to use it Got lost in Brooklyn so you had to lose it Just for fronting you got that ass whipped.

Jeru the Damaga was one of the first to address this rising phenomenon in his breakthrough hit, “Come Clean” (93) and this theme would be explored further by OC with the still relevant, “Time’s Up” (94):

So why you pushin it? Why you lyin for? I know where you live I know your folks, you was a sucka as a kid Your persona’s drama, that you acquired in high school in actin class Your whole aura is plexi-glass What’s-her-face told me you shot this kid last week in the park That’s a lie, you was in church with your moms

But it became clear that no commentary could stop the onslaught of gunplay on wax. It’s what began to move units and soon became the only commercial form of rap, which OC also pointed out in “Time’s Up” saying, “everybody’s either crime related or sexual.” The tides had turned and this is what people began to call Hip Hop.

Metaphoric Murder

I was never checking for Common. “Take it EZ,” “Breaker 1–9,” none of that stuff moved me but his September ‘94 release was one of the first songs to eulogize Hip Hop and the first song of his that I ever listened to. That song was “I Used to Love H. E. R.”

For anyone unfamiliar with the song, “I Used to Love H.E.R.” uses a woman who goes from innocent to degraded as an analogy for Hip Hop’s shift from supposed purity to gangster. I would suggest a quick listen, even if you’re familiar. Lord knows, my brother, Bashir did more than a quick listen — that was all he played for weeks.

The song earned Common respect from many fans of so-called East coast Hip-Hop (this was during the overly hyped East Coast/West Coast beef era) but found himself on the other end of Ice Cube’s lyrical gun:

All you suckas want to dis the pacific But you buster niggas never get specific Used to love her mad cause we fucked Her pussy whipped bitch with no common sense Hip Hop started in the west Ice Cube bailin’ through the east without a vest

Unlike Masta Ace who used his album to evaluate the Black Community or OC and Jeru who singled out “fake” gangsters, Common singled out the West which allowed them to turn a deaf ear to the actual message.

Hip-Hop indeed had been sullied, but not by the West Coast. No. Hip-Hop had been taken over by an exploitative pimp — the Music Industry.

Gentrification, Crossover, and Big Bucks

The Olympics coming to Atlanta was a big deal…and it was used as a reason to start the gentrification of neighborhoods surrounding downtown Atlanta. This meant the destruction of many of the 80+ year old Public Housing Projects — a process that took place all over America’s “inner cities.”

The spiel given to the residents that would be displaced in places like Techwood Homes, was that the Public Housing would be replaced by “mixed-income” housing (translation: the best of the lower income residents and white people). Techwood went from having 1,000 or so units available to only 800 units and in the end only 78 of the original residents remained.

Over the next ten years (95–05) this plan decimated Black communities throughout America, leaving its once residents displaced. Gentrification was going full force and worst off, many of the displaced residents were forced to live in neighborhoods where age-old rivals lived. (Kind of sounds like the European Land Grab…right?)

As we discussed in “Video Birthed The Rap Star,” rap jumped to the forefront of all recorded music in the mid-90s: record labels shelled out more money to sign artists, the Opulent Video Arms Race with huge budget increases began, as did the material appetites of rappers.

What one deemed as successful no longer could be obtained with a regular job. And while clothes, cars, and mansions were often rented, the average viewer rarely took that into consideration.

Most Black people know at least one person that has gone off to college, landed a decent job, settled down in a nice enough home, got married, had the 2.5 kids, and lived a respectable life. But that life would not have you on speed boats and partying on exotic beaches. That life would not have you driving rare cars. And that life would not have you in couture clothing.

To the displaced young Black man and woman, living amidst violence and isolation, that life could only be obtained by one of four ways: the drug game, athletics, stripping, or rap. That was the environment in 1996. And the music reflected it.

Stakes is High

We could tell that Lauryn Hill was about to be a breakout star. She shined on “Fugee-La” the Fugees, Dec 1995 single and rolling into the summer, had a solo feature, “Killing Me Softly,” the thrice (and then some) remake of the Normal Gimbel song.

But for our writing, it was her other Summer of ‘95 anthem that we’re focusing on — “If I Ruled the World” the lead-off track to Nas’ much-anticipated sophomore follow up to Ill-Matic.

Personally, I wasn’t a fan. I knew what the song was about. The video served that to me. Nasir was going after a wider audience. I got it.

And he had the perfect vehicle. It Was Written debuted on July 2, 1996 and two months later was RIAA certified Double Platinum.

Why mention this here? Well — for those of us who lived in that era, we rolled to our choice of record store that Tuesday morning, and, depending on our finances (and tastes) picked up both Nas and the new De La, Stakes is High.

Most people, however, had stopped listening to De La Soul after their first album, having relegated the group to an era and a sound long past. This, despite the fact that De La, with each subsequent album, had moved away from the slapstick zaniness of 3 Feet High & Rising into a more serious, albeit creative, sound. Stake is High was no exception.

Although it’s not one of my favorite De La Soul albums, there are some stand out tracks. But this ain’t no album review. This is about the title track and it’s relevance twenty years later.

First off, I must say for the record, that this was my introduction to Dilla. Filtering was not new to Hip-Hop. The RZA and the Beatminerz did that thing to death. But there was something different about how Dilla did it. It was like he was turning nobs on the effect, playing the filter like an instrument, bringing the bass in and out.

It’s necessary to mention the track because without that, even the most devout fan would have skipped over the poignant message and this song comes long before the deification of Dilla (by new ‘fans’)

(This piece could easily be just a reprinting of the lyrics with the note: “think about it”)

Greater than all the above mentioned songs, Pos and Trugoy not only make every line count, they dissect the problems of our people in a critical but non-judgmental way.

Pos introduces the song with typical rhyming conventions, letting the listener know who’s rhyming. He also provides a quick bit of commentary on how things have escalated from the days of throwing punches to pulling out guns. Pos ends the verse saying his words are important enough, and of enough value to be studied in the once highly acclaimed Source Magazine feature, “Hip-Hop Quotables.”

This is the most inconsequential part of the whole song because each following verse raises the bar.

Trugoy speaks to the heart of many people who viewed the current landscape and found it exhausting. In a return to 3 Feet’s “Take it Off,” Trugoy lists the things that he’s sick of: exploitation of women, glorifying of weed, expensive sunglasses, people creating slang, award shows, drug sells, gun violence, etc.

I don’t think Pos’ next lines qualify as a verse, but I do know the line, “Life can get all up in your ass, Brother you better work it out,” has resonated and come to mind in many o’ tight situations. But Pos next verse…we can hang the paper on that one.

Yo, it’s about love for cars, love for funds

Loving to love mad sex, loving to love guns

Love for opposite, love for fame and wealth

Love for the fact of no longer loving yourself, kid

These four lines alone sum up the problem of the modern Black man and woman. And, despite critics ploy that this song was a swipe at the direction that rap music was going in, this author thinks it’s much deeper than that.

We living in them days of the man-made ways

Where every aspect is vivid,

these brothers no longer talk shit

Hey yo, these niggas live it

Again, this could be applied to the now. Pull up 90% of the rap videos from coast to coast and you will find gun waving, pill-popping, lean drinking, over-sexed, money throwing Black men.

‘Bout to give it to you 24/7 on the microphone

Plug One translating the zone

No offense to a player, but yo, I don’t play

And if you take offense, fuck it, got to be that way

J.D. Dove, show your love, what you got to say?

Pos was on some grown man shit when he ended that verse. The misconception when De La Soul first came out was that they were soft because they talked about peace…and that earned several provocateurs a black eye or two. This is a reminder.

I’ll pull a few more lines from Dave (Trugoy) and we’ll wrap this up.

Whether it’s “investing in fantasies and not God,” or “I think that smiling in public is against the law, ‘Cause love don’t get you through life no more,” Dave’s lines have almost become an unspoken mantra and the behavior exhibited in the displaced Black communities across America bear witness to this.

Where We Stand

Although Black awareness has increased over the past few years, Black on Black crime persists. And, unfortunately many of the ills spoken of in “Stakes..” not only exist but they’re amplified.

When gen x’rs or millennials wax nostalgic about when rap “meant something,” they tend to return to the mid-90s as the “good ole days.” But just like when white folk call the 50's the “good ole days,” one has to deconstruct what that means.

At best, there was still an inkling of variety in the mid-90s, in terms of voice and sound, if not subject matter. However, enough of it was the same for there to be a rising chorus of rap’s decline.

Personally, I can say my peak with Hip-Hop was 1994 and until lately, it was a downward trajectory. My rap consumption dwindled from four to six albums a month to maybe one every two months.

I was a part of a dying minority that left a thing as it became mainstream. But rap is a big business. And big business tends to go for the sure thing. This is what gives us superhero sequels out the wazoo and the never-ending rehashing of old sneakers. It’s a sure thing.

But this mentality only hurts the displaced Black community. It robs us of the voice of originality that fueled the creation of the music in the first place. Worst still, the motivation is no longer a decent lifestyle nor is the desire to be different. The desire now is to plug oneself into one of the few formulas and churn out a indistinguishable song/mixtape/album with hopes of getting big money.

Sadly, the big money isn’t with the artist. Look at the company formerly known as Rap Genius, now, established as THE authority on rap lyrics, simply known as Genius. The company started in 2009, raised $15 million three years later — then, in 2014, rounded up another $40 million. And all they do is annotate rap…excuse me, all they have done is set up a wiki like site that allows others to annotate rap.

Scour the bookshelves and you’ll find book after book written about Hip-Hop, and I’m sure there’s no surprise, very few are by rappers or even Black folk. Most of these books are written by white fans who have made a career for themselves writing about rap.

None of the recent movies, or the upcoming Netflix show based in the early days of Hip-Hop are written or produced by rappers…or Black people for that matter. Yet these whites are able to make careers or in the director of the Netflix series case, find a new audience, by their exploitation of Hip-Hop.

It’s hard to be on the planet without hearing someone talk about the 1% — the percentage of people who control the worlds wealth. Well, that number is also applicable to the amount of rappers who will actually see any level of success and longevity.

And I don’t know where the has-been rapper goes. Most will have no job skills, very little education, and few prospects for advancement. He or she will have no real community to go to having been displaced and priced out of their old neighborhoods, they’ll be pushed to the margins. They won’t have any desire for anything practical and will have no means or methods to obtain the luxury items that they covet.

Yo, it’s about love for cars, love for funds Loving to love mad sex, loving to love guns Love for opposite, love for fame and wealth Love for the fact of no longer loving yourself, kid

De La Soul saw where this was going 20 years ago. Modern day prophets who I’m sure, wish they were wrong. But in 2016, twenty years since those words were written, Stake is (still) High…and this form of rap music won’t save us it will only continue to lead to our destruction.