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TIME: Almanac 1993
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TIME Almanac 1993.iso
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1992-08-28
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MUSIC, Page 71Not for Men Only
Women rappers are breaking the mold with a message of their own
By DAVID E. THIGPEN
From its start in the cauldron of New York City's
underclass, rap music's jolting energy and angry messages have
been hostile to many outsiders, but to none more so than women.
In too many rap lyrics, women are cast as pliant toys or
conniving Delilahs. The male rappers who weave this image --
among them Ice Cube, Ice-T, Too Short and the Geto Boys -- spin
exaggerated tales of salaciousness and violence, portraying
themselves as potent, swashbuckling urban heroes. Since a macho
image is a proven formula for success, rap producers were
reluctant to sign female rappers. The music moguls were also
fearful of challenging the form's rigid orthodoxies: in rap, as
in heavy metal, feminine voices do not always supply the
requisite loudness and abrasiveness.
Then came the surprise success of the New York City female
rap trio Salt-N-Pepa, whose 1986 debut album, Hot, Cool &
Vicious, sold more than 1 million copies. Spurred by visions of
a new way to capitalize on rap's mainstream acceptance, record
labels have been hurrying to develop other promising female
rappers. Now a wave of female performers is giving male rappers
a run for their platinum. Says Russell Simmons, the rap
impresario whose Def Jam label recently signed a sharp young
rapper named Nikki D: "There are more women buying rap records
who would like to relate to women as artists, and there are more
guys who want to hear a woman's point of view."
The new female rappers are creating buoyant messages that
transcend the inert boasting so common in male rap. Salt-N-Pepa
may have found the most satisfying and successful musical
formula yet. Salt (Cheryl James), Pepa (Sandy Denton) and
Spinderella (Dee Dee Roper), who met while working in a Sears
department store in 1985, punctuate soul-tinged R.-and-B.
melodies with teasing, street-savvy raps about maturity,
independence from men and sexual responsibility. In 1988
Salt-N-Pepa, one of the first rap groups to cross over into pop
radio, released a single, Push It, that sold more than 1 million
copies, as did their second album, A Salt with a Deadly Pepa;
Blacks Magic, their third album, has sold more than 500,000.
One of rap's more precocious stars is newcomer Monie Love
(Simone Johnson), 19, a British import whose crisp diction,
smart rhyming and clear, light voice have given her a hit
single, It's a Shame. Love entered college in London with the
intention of becoming a kindergarten teacher, but then began
singing poetry she had written over tapes her cousins sent from
America. Her debut album, Down to Earth, sends a message to
women about trust, reconciliation and relationships -- all with
an ease and restraint that might not have been possible in rap
just a few years ago. "I don't try to be too heavy in my
messages," says Love. "Too many rappers are too serious." In a
radical break with rap tradition, Love actually smiles in her
album photo.
In a more politically sophisticated manner, Queen Latifah
(Dana Owens) has staked out a high ground in rap. "Guys have
this macho thing where they always have to be tough -- it's
peer pressure, " she says. "I'm trying to show people another
point of view." Latifah, an electrifying performer who favors
jodhpurs and large hats, delivers a spiritual message that rises
above the petty issues in the war of the sexes. In Ladies First
she raps about optimism and pride: "We are the ones to give
birth/ To the new generation of prophets."
A few rappers are giving voice to a vengeful brand of
radical black feminism. In a snarling, hard-core style, BWP
(Bytches with Problems) bluster about date rape, male egos and
police brutality -- all with a fluent vulgarity. Their leather
jackets and cold stares add to their image. In Comin' Back
Strapped, the opener on their debut album, BWP avenge a sexual
slur against them by returning with a loaded gun and dispatching
the bigmouth. In We Want Money, a bottom-line guide to personal
relationships, they exhort their girlfriends to take from their
boyfriends all they can get: "Marry you? Don't make me laugh/
Don't you know all I want is half?" Says Lyndah McAskill, who,
along with Michelle Morgan, makes up BWP: "We're not men-haters.
We're just saying a lot of kids lack self-respect because guys
have put them down."
But a whole new crew is coming up fast, including Yo-Yo
(Yolanda Whitaker), 19, a sharp Los Angeleno whose You Can't
Play with My Yo-Yo may be the most clever and forceful attack
on misogyny in rap so far. What these young artists have
achieved, beyond commercial recognition, is the broadening of
rap's audience and a role in rap's development as an art form.
Besides just offering a different attitude, women have shown
that rap can be far more significant and flexible than its
critics have admitted. And that makes it all the more difficult
to categorize, ghettoize or otherwise dismiss.