At the crux of his recent resurgence, Nas released Hip Hop is Dead, a strong, surprisingly production-focused record from the rapper attributed as one of the ones responsible for spurring the formation of east-coast rap. To put it simply, he's been around the block, which allowed him to pull off the stale angle. Every year there are rappers who try to make a splash in the rap game by declaring that their art form is dead, but not to worry: They are ready to resurrect it right before our very ears. This has become a novelty motif at a point where artists are having a hard time achieving longevity unless they have a specific angle to lend them credibility—basically drugs, crime, misogyny, rags to riches, etc. However, there is a new reason why this motif is still just that, a motif, and not valid as a declarative. That reason also serves as the newest, massively successful motif in its own right: mixtape prowess.
On the surface, contemporary claims that ""hip hop is dead"" may seem lik an apt assessment with mainstream hip hop spiraling further from reason. And if you look at the diminishing number of record labels willing to keep rappers in the mix, you'll see that old rappers are left at large labels where their names carry irrefutable credibility (Def Jam, Roc-a-Fella, etc.) and underground rappers dabble in specialized labels. Rap-a-lot finds quality southern flavor and Rhymesayers remains dependable, even though their only real rap release this year is Freeway and Jake One's The Stimulus Package. Overall, though, labels are simply not in demand among new rappers looking to get noticed.
Last year said a lot about the state of rap to indicate this shift. Aside from the fact that Mos Def and Raekwon—both old, very reliable artists—released stellar studio albums, mixtapes dominated the landscape both directly and indirectly, effectively taking over the scene. Indirectly, the format was highlighted by Wale's attempt to cross over from his status as master of the mixtape, where he cued impressive thematically cohesive albums such as The Mixtape About Nothing and Back to the Feature, to studio-tamed rapper, which was anything but flattering for a man who has already proven he can spit with the best. Studio conventions, and the over-articulated production that tends to accompany them, usually don't mix with rappers used to the more laidback approach of a mixtape. And with today's technology, mixtape production by no means needs to lack the swagger and style of studio icons from Kanye to RZA.
The ideal example of this comes from last year's most striking direct example of how mixtapes can carry critical weight: Freddie Gibbs. The one-time victim of label politics, Gibbs got back into the game in a big way last year with two mixtapes, The Miseducation of Freddie Gibbs and Midwestgangstaboxframecadillacmuzik, and received recognition from critical sources spanning from Pitchfork to the New Yorker. They represent the potential that personal websites, MySpace and compilers like Datpiff have to spread these releases—which are cheap enough for anybody to partake in—without the assistance of a label or costly marketing. Effectively eliminating costs and hassles over image and crude language, mixtapes are released daily with notable names like Bun B and Lil' Wayne continuing to lend further credibility to the medium.
Declaring rap deceased is, and really always has been, a cry for attention and a cohesive theme, nothing more. And the evidence is stronger than ever—at heart, mixtapes represent very do-it-yourself creative aspect that founded hip-hop culture and its key elements—to support claims of hip hop being more accessible and ingenious through the more direct mixtape medium. Predictably, it turns out it's the claims declaring the industry dead that are failing to advance its cause.
Do you prefer studio albums to mixtapes? Explain why to Justin at jstephani@wisc.edu.
