I've read many books on hip-hop, rap, race, and justice, but nothing quite like this book, which reads like a monograph on how rap lyrics work—or don't work, rather—as evidence in a criminal court of law.
The book effectively charges the fact that black persons—almost solely males—are very likely to receive extremely long prison sentences if rap lyrics are found in their possession when they are investigated for crime. It could be a minor offence, it could be otherwise, but the fact remains that no other music genres are persecuted like this, and the darker your skin colour is, the more likely you are to be hounded.
The book states that music isn't on trial; only rap is on trial.
There are steadfast examples of these types of witch trials throughout the book:
Or consider Michael Brown, whose interest in rap caused him to be demonized in the news media. In the early morning hours of August 9, 2014, eighteen-year-old Brown was shot and killed by white police officer Darren Wilson. Shortly after, on the day of Brown’s funeral, a New York Times article about Brown painted a picture of him as a troubled youth and referred to him as “no angel.”
The article chronicled Brown’s alleged criminal history, drug and alcohol use, and even his residence in “a community that had rough patches.” To complete the picture of Brown’s problems, the article described his interest in rap music. Brown reportedly “had taken to rapping in recent months, producing lyrics that were by turns contemplative and vulgar.”
The article then quoted one of Brown’s lyrics: “My favorite part is when the bodies hit the ground.” Of course, there were softer lyrics in which Brown complained of deadbeat dads and doted on his stepmother. But those didn’t reinforce the narrative of Brown as a monster. After the article was published, criticism came swiftly, and the author subsequently expressed regret over his choice of words. While this particular article may have struck a nerve, this was nothing new in the media or, it turns out, the courtroom.
Another court case makes the matter out with more clarity:
Andrea first encountered this issue in the early 2000s when she worked as an assistant federal public defender, representing indigent clients charged with federal crimes. Another attorney in the office had a client who was an aspiring rapper. The client had been charged with homicide, and songs he had recorded were among the pieces of evidence against him.
That case was resolved with the songs playing little role in the outcome, but it signaled something alarming to Andrea. Fast-forward to 2006, when she was a new law professor at the University of Kentucky in Lexington. A colleague mentioned that the Taquan Neblett capital trial was ongoing in a local courthouse. Neblett was charged with murdering a music store clerk during a 2004 robbery, and he was facing the death penalty.
The prosecutor sought to rely on lyrics purportedly written by Neblett on the day of his arrest, weeks after the killing: So any nigga in the path to the flow of my cash Will find that breathing is a privilege when taking your last At trial, the prosecutor argued that the graphic and violent nature of the lyrics was a “reflection” of Neblett’s “soul” and should be admitted to prove Neblett’s guilt. The court rejected the argument and refused to admit the lyrics. After the jury convicted Neblett, however, the court admitted the lyrics during the capital sentencing phase.
There the prosecutor argued to the jury, “Just because you write lyrics doesn’t mean they have true meaning. Johnny Cash was never really in Folsom Prison and didn’t shoot his old lady down. But the defendant is living his lyrics.” The jury recommended a death sentence.
Because of juror misconduct during the trial, however, the court sentenced Neblett to life without the possibility of parole for twenty-five years.
This book reminded me of Sarah Churchwell's astounding book Behold, America, which also highlighted racism and xenophobia as controlled from a white and male view, a.k.a. patriarchy.
Surely, other musical genres spawn the same reactions? I hear you think. No, they do not:
Social science confirms the bias against rap in comparison to country music, which has many of the same themes. In a 1999 study, for example, participants were divided into two groups and then given song lyrics that contained depictions of violence (they were from a folk song).
Both groups were given the exact same lyrics, but one group was told that they came from a country song, while the other group was told they came from a rap song. The group that believed the lyrics were from a rap song rated them as more dangerous and in need of regulation than the group that was told the lyrics were from a country song.
The researcher posited that the differences were rooted in racial stereotypes; rap music primes negative stereotypes about urban blacks, while country music, in which white artists predominate, does not. In 2016, this study was replicated by researchers from the University of California–Irvine, who found the same bias against rap.
The book also brings up the fact that internet doesn't mean people who write lyrics are more safe:
Today, the majority of music is consumed via downloading or streaming from the internet. YouTube, Spotify, Snapchat, SoundCloud—all of these digital platforms serve as sources for police and prosecutors to find rap evidence.
The book frames the advent and growth of rap in a very laudable way, and makes sure to display the many ways that law enforcement have tried to ruin the forces of rap.
It’s important to note that, like Ice Cube, Ice-T intended for his song to serve as social and political commentary. He had no intention of killing police. During the controversy over “Cop Killer,” he made that clear, saying, “I’m singing in the first person as a character who is fed up with police brutality. I ain’t never killed no cop. . . . If you believe that I’m a cop killer, you believe David Bowie is an astronaut” (a reference to Bowie’s song “Space Oddity”).
In fact, it’s worth noting that he went on to play NYPD sergeant Fin Tutuola in Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, a role he has held for nearly twenty years, likely due in large part to the visibility and success his career as a rapper lent him.
This is also very tonal:
In a 2017 tweet, David Simon, creator of the award-winning series The Wire, used this rhythmic structure as the basis for an insult aimed at prosecutors in Baltimore who were trying to use rap music as evidence in a criminal case:
“In all my years covering crime, I never met a federal prosecutor who didn’t clap on the one and the three. Fuck their music criticism.”
Put more diplomatically, Simon is saying that prosecutors are so bad at understanding music that they don’t even get the basic rhythm, so they clap at precisely the wrong time. Without that basic understanding, Simon is suggesting, their analysis of the music is suspect. No argument here.
Altogether, this book is sorely needed and a good example of what some investigating can do. To note cons, it's slightly repetitive—not only because of how normalised racism and structural patriarchy is—and very dense. The book is easy to read and is most worth it.
Posted from my blog with SteemPress : https://niklasblog.com/?p=23319