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Grown man status
Justin Mitchell   8 August 2008

“Never thought I’d see twenty-one. Look—I’m grown now.”
—Scarface, Made

It is not uncommon, I think, for people in their twenties and thirties, who grew up on rap music, to feel as though rap music failed to grow up with them. Rap, unlike other musical genres, feels distinctly adolescent once you’ve reached a certain age. There are, of course, a few important exceptions: Me Against the World, Illmatic, Reasonable Doubt, and Southern­playalisticadillacmuzik. My old friend from high school, James Pants, recently put me on to his theory that moments of great social unrest often yield great artistic achievements. This theory works well enough for that generation of rappers who came of age during the crack era. Those guys grew up fast and you can hear the desperation in their voices. 2pac had already left an indelible mark on the consciousness of his generation by the time he was twenty-five. Lord knows James’ theory works to explain the enduring resonance and power of black American music in general. James is probably right to some extent. Good times pose a distinct challenge for artists who suddenly find themselves comfortable and unable to produce art with any sense of immediacy. Some guys fade (see Eminem), others enjoy flash-in-the-pan success by unwittingly parodying their predecessors (Kanye West, Lil Wayne, 50 Cent). Jay-Z “can’t rhyme no more about crime no more” so he starts talking about how bitter-sweet it is to join the ranks of the super-rich. He probably knows he’s become a bore. Rappers have never figured out how to navigate the world of success and remain relevant, how to grow old. After all, failure is what created rap in the first place.

But a challenge is a challenge. Some people can do a lot under such circumstances. Proof of this surfaced late last year with the arrival of Scarface’s eighth album, Made. I am ashamed to admit that I only bothered to listen to the album in full last month. I was especially impressed by two cuts: “Girl You Know” and “Go.” Both songs deal with relationships. The first is about what happens when passion (not love) dies in a romantic relationship. “Can you imagine,” Face rhymes, “you on lock with one breeze for life, wakin’ up in the morning layin’ down at night? With the same face looking at you all the time, realizin’ now that happiness is hard to find.” That moment of realization that something has gone irreparably wrong is the horror of the first verse. All of a sudden, the “sex ain’t great” and “she’s always mad.” You’re forced to “find something new,” but that alone doesn’t mean that you’re not in love anymore exactly. “Girl, you know how I love you,” Lenny Williams interjects on the hook. That four letter word gets turned around though. The second verse is about how those moments of escape might be mistaken for real intimacy by a woman you see on the side or casually. Her profession of love represents a breach in the unwritten code of casual relations. In the likely event that the feelings are not reciprocated Face, who seems to have assumed the role of spokesman for the everyday black man, offers her these soothing words: “You cannot get mad, I am not your man.” Spoken like a true sweetback. The last verse is the most despairing. Marriage is unthinkable not for its monotony but for its demand that two people be eternally compatible. To hell with it, Face muses, I’d rather be alone than deal with the vagaries of romantic love.

The commentary gets more subtle as Face raps about just what exactly the vagaries of romantic love are. So “Go” finds him exploring the conflict between his need for solitude and his need for sex. First he’s “chilling at the crib on some solo shit. I love peace and when it’s quiet I don’t want no bitch. I don’t wanna look at Lifetime, I’m fine wit Fuse. Fuck Entertainment Weekly, bitch, find some news. I like Keyshia [Cole], but I need some blues. You steady hollerin’ ‘bout some time, bitch, I need some room.” By the end of the song, however, he rhymes: “I’m rollin’ late night with my buzz on, leavin’ out the strip club and wantin’ my fuck on.” He sees a missed call on his phone from his girlfriend, who wants to know if he’s coming over. “Shit, naw,” he says. “I’d rather go t bed with a hard dick than spend a whole night full of fucking and arguin’.” He continues, rhyming to himself, “This bitch a lunatic, fuck a nigga high off? I wish it was a way I could hit and just ride off.” Of course, with sex comes emotion and he’s not feeling that at the moment. So he goes home and watches Girls Gone Wild. But he’s not feeling that either and before the night’s over his desires get the best of him and he’s “putting on his flip flops” (love that image) to go over to his girlfriend’s house and “scope.”

The rest of Made contains much of the usual braggadocio, some of it astoundingly silly in comparison to those two mature, subtle efforts. Can I really find Face in my hood “pumping monster crack?” Seriously, people. This is getting ridiculous. Nevertheless, discovering “Girl You Know” and “Go” was a heartening experience. An expansion of subject matter would do rap, and popular music in general, a helluva lotta good. Why can’t rappers talk about what it’s like to be married? Why can’t they talk about what it’s like to fail or succeed as fathers? Why can’t they talk about what it means to be alone or lonely? Why can’t they talk about what it’s like to lose faith in God? I think it’s possible to do these things without sounding like Atmosphere, Kanye West, or Common. I think it’s possible to make music that examines adult themes without pouring your heart out and sounding sentimental. What I like about “Go” and “Girl You Know” is that they are unsentimental and frank. Face’s perspective is unapologetically male (by the way, I would absolutely love to hear female rappers flip the script and write about their lives and their sex in the same way), but it’s also rendered in a voice that reflects a range of emotions or mental states: exasperation, self-doubt, anger, regret, yearning, etc. Face’s gruff voice sounds older, wiser, even a little defeated at times. As such it avoids the trappings of what might be called the male perspective touted in other rap songs. Perhaps its what separates the boys from the men.