Not as bad as you think

By Donnell McLachlan

Photos by Donnell McLachlan

Lincoln Park High School

Daily fights in the morning. The recurring shots of gunfire in the evening. The sound of sirens reverberating through the night.

This is what life is like for senior Richard Gustave, 18, of Sullivan High School. Gang violence has become as much a part of his life as breathing. With his future, and his very life at risk on a daily basis, how does he stay out of trouble? By creating rap music.

You see, Gustave isn’t your ordinary African-American male. He happens to be an aspiring rapper who writes, records and produces his own music. His group, Them MCs, features Gustave and several other teenage African-American musicians (including this reporter).

“This is the only way I keep sane, man,” says Gustave. “Rapping has kept me out of a lot of trouble.”

Gustave has considered rap music, in a way, a savior from the harsh reality that is his life.

Group members, Rohan McLachlan (the brother of this reporter) and Brian Morgan also attest to the many great things they say rap music does for them.

McLachlan, 18, also a senior at Sullivan High School, says writing rap music helps him to relieve anger.

“When certain situations happen, and I want to retaliate in a physical way, I just write lyrics, and it helps me calm down,” McLachlan says. “I can’t explain how.”

So why does this music retain such a bad reputation? Why does this music seem to be the scapegoat for the negative behavior of African-American teens?

Hip-hop began as a rejuvenating music that positively revitalized the poverty-stricken streets of the Bronx in the 1970s, and since then, many would argue it’s taken a turn for the worst. What caused this change of direction?

Jeffery Sweeton is the manager of the recording studio at the Howard Area Community Center’s Computer Clubhouse Arts and Technology Center in Rogers Park. He gives under-served youth, including members of Them MCs, a chance to express their artistry. Exposed to this music daily, he believes that the media, including radio stations and TV channels such as BET and MTV, are the reason for the terrible connotation of rap music.

“There have been unfortunate marketing choices that have been made with hip-hop . . . where [rap music] has been able to have been sold and made popular by record companies by having a negative connotation in the music,” he says. “There is a lot of hyper-sexuality [in rap music videos].”

Sweeton is referring to the misogynistic ways of many rap videos: women in bikinis, leaning over luxurious vehicles, observed by the rapper who’s trying to “get with” them. Degradation of women in videos almost seems like a second-nature thing for most rappers—just as second-nature as violence, foul language and drug consumption are in the lyrics of the music.

In his 2009 hit single, “Love That Gun Sound,” mainstream rap artist Waka Flocka Flame raps:

“Light-skinned Rasta, move like the mobster

I’ll rob yo’ a** for ganja, so give it up partner

I hang with the killers, go ape like gorillas

First we gone rob you, then we might kill ya’.”

“…Quite frankly, it scares a lot of people,” Sweeton says, “…because nobody likes violence.”

So can the actions of African-American males really be attributed to the message in most rap music?

Dr. Nathan Bakkum, a professor at Columbia College Chicago, teaches courses in music history and popular music. He believes that rap’s power is simply too relevant to be ignored.

“Hip-hop's power comes from how thoroughly listeners can relate to it and take ownership of it,” Bakkum says. “Teenagers are particularly focused on social concerns—feeling like part of a group, etc.—and hip-hop becomes a way of connecting to other people, both locally and virtually, and forming a community.”

McLachlan can attest to this power. “If (Grammy Award-winning rapper) Lil Wayne wore his hat upside down, then everyone would wear their hats upside down,” he says.

District Elder Winston D. Thompson, pastor of Ebenezer House of Prayer on the South Side, believes that it’s a mind thing.

“Rap music gets into the subconscious mind of the listener, and messes with their emotions, causing them to re-enact what they hear,” says Thompson, whose church is located in the city’s crime-plagued Englewood neighborhood.

How can rap’s negative connotation change for the better?

Local Chicago MCs such as Lupe Fiasco and Common have built successful careers by making positive music, yet they still aren’t as highly marketed as rappers with more negative messages. In Common’s song, “Changes,” he continues to see hip-hop as a way of spiritually uplifting the people, as was its original purpose in the Bronx of the 1970s:

Welcome children, welcome me

You sentiments is felt in me

I see the future and the walking path

Don’t let these fools take you off your path

So laugh if you need to, laugh if you need to

Life’s a long trip, ride long and proceed to

Try and believe, too. Do what you wanna do

Remember that you’re all Kings and Queens...

Rapper Rohan McLachlan believes the solution is very simple: “Speak the truth.”

Recording studio manager Sweeton also agrees with him.

“An authentic voice is very crucial. The more positive [the voice], the more serious the message,“ says Sweeton.

Them MCs rapper Brian Morgan struck a positive tone in the song “MC Exhibit”:

“African kids are gettin’ killed to make watches in America

So you can get the fame, make people stop and stare at ya

Analyze ya character, then they start comparing ya

But I don’t need mass bling to cause mass hysteria.”

Sweeton thinks that positivity is an amazingly effective force that seems to be missing from most rap music.

“That’s why I feel it’s a great thing for a positive artist to get his message out, “Sweeton says. “It helps them get a more serious message heard that isn’t as marketed, but probably should be.”