Dance To My Ministry: Exploring Hip-Hop Spirituality [1 ed.] 9783666604546, 9783525604540

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Research in Contemporary Religion

Edited by Hans-Günter Heimbrock, Stefanie Knauss, Jens Kreinath Daria Pezzoli-Olgiati, Hans-Joachim Sander and Trygve Wyller In co-operation with Hanan Alexander (Haifa), Carla Danani (Macerata), Wanda Deifelt (Decorah), Siebren Miedema (Amsterdam), Bonnie J. Miller-McLemore (Nashville), Garbi Schmidt (Roskilde), Claire Wolfteich (Boston) Volume 19

Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht

Carl Petter Opsahl

Dance To My Ministry Exploring Hip-Hop Spirituality

Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht

This Publication has been funded by the Norwegian Research Council

With 62 colored figures Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data available online: http://dnb.d-nb.de. ISSN 2197-1145 ISBN 978-3-666-60454-6

You can find alternative editions of this book and additional material on our Website: www.v-r.de  2016, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht GmbH & Co. KG, Theaterstraße 13, D-37073 Gçttingen/ Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht LLC, Bristol, CT, U.S.A. www.v-r.de All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publisher.

Typesetting by Konrad Triltsch, Ochsenfurt

Contents PART ONE 1. Microphone Check. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 Situating my project . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.1 Mapping the field . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.1.1 Hip-hop and theology . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.1.2 Finding religion in hip-hop . . . . . . . . 1.1.1.3 Ethnographic studies . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.1.4 Hip-hop and religion studies . . . . . . . . 1.1.2 Engaging with the field . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.2.1 Christian theology and hip-hop . . . . . . 1.1.2.2 Studies in hip-hop and religion . . . . . . 1.1.2.3 Religion, hip-hop and structures of power 1.1.2.4 How I look and listen . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.3 The structure of my book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.3.1 Some words on terminology and language

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2. Peace, Unity, Love, and Having Fun. Exploring spirituality in a hip-hop context. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 Spirituality and hybridity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.1 Understanding Spirituality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.1.1 Mapping spirituality . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.1.2 Spirituality and Liberation Theology . . . . 2.1.2 Hybrid spirituality and contexts of struggle . . . . . 2.1.2.1 Race and gender . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.2.2 Hybridity and subversive spirituality . . . . 2.2 Hip-Hop Esthetics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.1 Community . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.1.1 The borders of hip-hop culture . . . . . . . 2.2.2 The power of the letter: writing . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.2.1 Elements of writing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.3 Wheels of Steel: DJing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.3.1 DJing and producing . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.3.2 Manipulating time with hands . . . . . . . . 2.2.4 Physical Graffiti: Breaking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.5 The Art of Rhyming: MCing . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.5.1 The poetics of rap . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Contents

2.3 The Fifth Element: Knowledge . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3.1 Afrika Bambaataa and the Universal Zulu Nation 2.3.1.1 The Beliefs of the Universal Zulu Nation 2.3.2 KRS One and the Temple of Hip Hop . . . . . . 2.3.2.1 The Hip Hop Declaration of Peace . . . . 2.3.2.2 The Gospel of Hip Hop . . . . . . . . . .

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65 65 67 72 72 74

3. Black God. Nation of Islam and Nation of Gods and Earths . . . . 3.1 Mainstream Islam in the USA and popular culture . . . . . . 3.2 The Nation of Islam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.1 Black nationalism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.2 Moorish Science Temple of America . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.3 The formation of the Nation of Islam . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.3.1 Elijah Muhammad, the Messenger . . . . . . . . 3.2.3.2 Malcolm X . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.3.3 A turn towards mainstream Islam: Warith Deen Mohammed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.3.4 Renewal. Louis Farrakhan . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.4 Theology of the Nation of Islam . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.4.1 Christianity, Islam and scripture . . . . . . . . . 3.2.4.2 Creation. The Original Man . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.4.3 Eschatology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.4.4 The Saviour . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3 The Nation of Gods and Earths . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3.1 The formation of the Nation of Gods and Earths . . . . 3.3.2 The Supreme Mathematics and Supreme Alphabet . . . 3.3.2.1 Christianity, scripture and Islam . . . . . . . . .

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78 78 80 81 82 83 84 85

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PART TWO 4. Walls of Memory. Graffiti as shared memory 4.1 Looking at Walls . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.1.1 Art Crimes . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2 Culture on the wall . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2.1 Walls celebrating ethnic culture . 4.2.1.1 The People’s Wall . . . . . 4.2.1.2 Zapatismo Chiapas . . . . 4.2.1.3 Hijos de Borik n . . . . . 4.2.2 Walls celebrating hip-hop culture 4.2.2.1 Females Hip Hop . . . . . 4.2.2.2 Babes in Boyland . . . . . 4.2.2.3 Harlem World . . . . . . . 4.2.2.4 City scene with rappers . .

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Contents

4.3 Walls of grief . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.1 Memorial graffiti and spontaneous memorials 4.3.1.1 Memorial graffiti in New York . . . . . 4.3.1.2 Princess Ruby – In memory of a baby . 4.3.1.3 Memorials for Willy and Carela . . . . 4.3.1.4 Two memorials by TRACY 168 . . . . . 4.3.2 Music celebrities – and a pope . . . . . . . . . 4.3.2.1 Jam Master Jay and Big Pun . . . . . . 4.3.2.2 Tito Puente – and 9/11 . . . . . . . . . 4.3.2.3 …and a pope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.3 9/11 memorials . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.3.1 New York New York . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.3.2 Liberty in Tears . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.3.3 An allegory of love . . . . . . . . . . . Chapter Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5. Black Jesuz. Rap and Christianity . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.1 The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill . . . . . . . . . . 5.1.1 Autobiography, love and hip-hop . . . . . . . 5.1.2 A scholar on the subject called theology . . . 5.2 2Pac and Thug Theology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.1 Life and death of 2Pac . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.2 Thug life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.3 Thug philosophy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.4 Towards a Thug Theology . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.4.1 Visions of Heaven . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.4.2 Black Jesuz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3 “Pump the Volume For Christ:” Christian Rap . . . 5.3.1 Free At Last: dc Talk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3.1.1 Decent Christian Talk . . . . . . . . . 5.3.1.2 Love, sex and marriage . . . . . . . . 5.3.1.3 Time and the World . . . . . . . . . . 5.3.2 Grits and the Art of Translation . . . . . . . 5.3.2.1 Hip-hop is a God inspired art form . 5.3.2.2 It Takes Love – marriage and broken relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3.2.3 Spiritual Struggle . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3.2.4 The End . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3.3 The Continued Mission of MC Ge Gee . . . . 5.3.3.1 A continued mission . . . . . . . . . 5.3.3.2 Praise, love and trust . . . . . . . . . 5.3.4 Femcee representative of Christ: Elle R.O.C . 5.3.4.1 Breathing holy hip-hop every day . . 5.3.4.2 Faith, love and relations . . . . . . .

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Contents

5.3.4.3 Transformation through Christ . . . . . . . 5.3.5 Hip-hop Church . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3.5.1 HipHopEMass and the Hip Hop Prayer Book Chapter Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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6. Allah U Akbar. Rap and Islam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1 Walking with Farrakhan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.1 Fear of a Black Planet: Public Enemy . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.1.1 Welcome to the Terrordome: Facing racism . . . . 6.1.1.2 She Watch Channel Zero: Sexist stereotypes . . . 6.1.1.3 Message to a Blackman: Public Enemy and the Nation of Islam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2 Five Percenter Rap . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.1 In God We Trust: Brand Nubian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.1.1 Concerto In X Minor: White racism and black nationalism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.1.2 Always is a Queen: Gender roles and sexism . . . 6.2.1.3 Ain’t No Mystery. Five Percenter teachings . . . . 6.2.2 Enter the Wu-Tang: Wu-Tang Clan . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.2.1 Wu-Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3 Women rappers and Islam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.1 Welcome to the Pow Wow: Queen Yonasda . . . . . . . . 6.3.1.1 God, love and music . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.2 Baduizm: Erykah Badu . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.2.1 Food for thought . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.2.2 A New Amerykah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.2.3 Hip-hop as healing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4 Rap and mainstream Islam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4.1 The Ecstatic Mos Def . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4.1.1 Black on Both Sides – different meanings of black 6.4.1.2 Hip-hop, spirituality and Islam . . . . . . . . . . Chapter summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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PART THREE 7. Remix . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1 Mapping hip-hop spirituality . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1.1 Types of hip-hop spirituality . . . . . . . . . . 7.1.2 Hip-hop spirituality as spirituality of liberation 7.2 Hybrid strategies for spiritual resistance . . . . . . . 7.2.1 Doctrinal strategies of resistance . . . . . . . . 7.2.1.1 Survival in this world . . . . . . . . . . 7.2.1.2 Survival from this world . . . . . . . . 7.2.2 Cultural strategies of resistance . . . . . . . . .

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Contents

7.2.3 Experiential strategies of resistance . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3 Bring the Noise. Subversive esthetic practices and spirituality 7.3.1 Subversion, noise, repetition and break . . . . . . . . . 7.3.1.1 Subversive uses of technology . . . . . . . . . . 7.3.1.2 Noise . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3.1.3 Repetition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3.1.4 The break . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.4 …and having fun. Outro . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Acknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 278 Sources . . . CD’s . . . Literature Websites . Video . . .

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Colorplates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 297 List of illustrations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 297 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 317

PART ONE

1. Microphone Check. Introduction I want to be a scholar on the subject called theology. Lauryn Hill

I think of theology as a creative form of art. Like all creative forms of art, it needs to have its ears and eyes on the street, checking the pulse, engaging in dialogues. In theology, as in other art forms, there are different attitudes and approaches, ranging from the strictly doctrinal to the explorative and experimental. Whereas the doctrinal is popularly associated with theology, it is certainly present in other art forms as well. In the history of music, painting, dance, theatre, literature and so on, schools have evolved demanding strict artistic discipline among their adherents. The example of Dutch painter Piet Mondrian comes to mind, breaking with de Stijl when fellow painter and de Stijl founder Theo van Doesburg introduced a diagonal in his painting (Stoichita: 1979, 5). On the other hand, the explorative and experimental aspect of theology is often underemphasized and overlooked despite the fact that it has a history as long as theology itself. In the context of Western Christian theology, I could point to various traditions of mystic theology transcending the limits of doctrinal language. Or why not Hildegard of Bingen, who in text, paintings, music and dance explored spiritual as well as worldly knowledge (see Bingen: 1988). The DJing, MCing (rapping), writing (graffiti) and b-boying/b-girling (breaking) of hip-hop culture are, like theology, creative forms of art. And like theology, these art forms might be ways of making sense, building community and giving form to something spiritual. The spiritualities of hip-hop culture come in all shades of the spectrum, from doctrinal teachings to experimental explorations reaching far beyond rational logic. They are mostly shaped outside academic and religious institutions, but reflect intellectual traditions from the ancient to the present. And they come with a beat, a flow, a rhyme, with colors, shapes and movements. The juxtaposition of “hip-hop” with categories such as “theology,” “religion” and “spirituality” might not seem obvious, as hip-hop often is framed as deviant culture, “a cultural art form riding and challenging the moral peripheries of society” (Miller: 2013, 26). On the other hand, there is in hip-hop culture also an abundance of references to scripture, religious imagery and concepts such as “God,” The Almighty,” “Allah” and so on (Zanfagna: 2015). Thus, hip-hop spiritualities might be ambiguous, polyvalent, incoherent and at times at odds with hegemonic structures of religion. What I set out to do in this work is to explore hip-hop spirituality as lived, embodied spirituality. As hip-hop and its spiritualities often are shaped in

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urban contexts of struggle and oppression, I employ a theoretical framework of hybrid spirituality informed by thinking on race, gender and intersectionality. Hybrid spirituality is spirituality of the third space, the in-betweens, where hegemonic structures are challenged and power negotiated, allowing for subversive spiritual strategies where institutional religion often has been an instrument of oppression. There are a growing number of academic writings on hip-hop in theology and religious studies. In the following, I will situate my work in the contexts of these fields and then lay out the structure of this book. I guess, then, this introduction works in a fashion similar to the ritual of checking the microphone before beginning a performance: you check your voice, your equipment, your audience and “who’s in the house,” make sure your audience is comfortable and prepare them for what’s coming up.

1.1 Situating my project As a theological enterprise engaging with spirituality and popular culture, this work is interdisciplinary by nature and can be framed in a number of ways. For more than 25 years academics from a variety of disciplines have studied the hip-hop’s relation to religion, applying a multitude of methods and approaches. Along the way there have also been attempts at field construction, identifying inquiries of interest and theoretical concerns. To better situate my project, I will very briefly survey some of the existing work along four lines: 1) theological and pastoral engagement with hip-hop culture, 2) identifying religious elements in hip-hop culture and relating them to religious or spiritual traditions, 3) ethnographic studies of musical and religious practices and 4) developing critical theory interrogating the relation between religion and hip-hop. I will then engage more deeply with some of the works and suggest what my project brings to the table. Obviously, there are overlaps between these lines, and others might construct different categories. I still think, however, that some kind of mapping is helpful in navigating a complex and continuously growing academic landscape.

1.1.1 Mapping the field 1.1.1.1 Hip-hop and theology Generally, theological and pastoral engagement with hip-hop culture continues a long tradition of black theology and black church dialoguing with black popular culture. Thus, thinkers such as James H. Cone influenced

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this field by understanding black popular culture as sources for black liberation theology (Cone: [1972] 1991; [1975] 1997). Cornell West contributed as early as 1982 with “On Afro-American Music: From Bebop to Rap” (West: 1999).1 West places rap in the context of prophetic, revolutionary African American musical tradition, “a countercultural practice with deep roots in modes of religious transcendence and political opposition” (ibid., 474). Yet, he sees rap also as a “crucial break,” as “black rap music is principally a class-specific form of the Afro-American spiritual-blues impulse that mutes, and often eliminates, the utopian dimension of this impulse.” While “surely grounded in the Afro-American spiritual-blues impulse,” certain versions of black rap music “radically call into question the roots of this impulse, the roots of transcendence and opposition” (ibid., 482 f). As a founder and editor of the journal Black Sacred Music, Jon Michael Spencer helped spark a broader theological engagement with hip-hop with the special issue The Emergency of Black and the Emergence of Rap (1991a). With contributions from Spencer, Michael Eric Dyson, William Eric Perkins, C. Eric Lincoln and Angela Spence Nelson, the issue addresses such topics as the influence of Nation of Islam on Public Enemy, the theology of Public Enemy and Kool Moe Dee and hip-hop as protest and prophesy. Spencer coined the term “theomusicology” to denote the intersection of theology and musicology: Theomusicology is musicology as a theologically informed discipline. This theologically informed musicology, which especially borrows thought and method from anthropology, sociology, psychology, and philosophy, has as its subject the myriad cultural worlds of ethical, religious, and mythological belief (Spencer: 1991b, xi).

This definition gives a glimpse of the variety of approaches to theological engagement with music in general, but also the study of hip-hop and religion. Building on Augustine’s City of God, Spencer developed an interpretational model distinguishing between sacred, secular and profane spheres of cultural production (Spencer: 1991a, 3–46), which also later theologians has put to use in understanding hip-hop (see Hodge: 2010). Michael Eric Dyson is a prolific writer, whose work on hip-hop accounts for only a small fragment of his extensive output. His works include Between God and Gangsta Rap (1996) and Holler if You Hear Me. Searching for Tupac Shakur (2001). Especially the latter offers engaging theological reflections on God, suffering and compassion in rap and hip-hop culture. Pastoral approaches to hip-hop are mostly contextualized in black urban church life, attempting to understand and dialogue with the culture of black youth and their contexts. Examples include Efrem Smith and Phil Jackson, The Hip-Hop Church (2005), Daniel White Hodge, The Soul of Hip Hop (2010) – 1 The article appeared first in the journal Semiotexte 1982, an extended version appeared in Le Monde Diplomatique in 1983 and has later been reprinted in Prophetic Fragments (1988) and The Cornel West Reader (West: 1999).

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both of which I will return to shortly – and Ralph B. Watkins’ Hip-Hop Redemption: Finding God in the Rhythm and the Rhyme (2011).

1.1.1.2 Finding religion in hip-hop With the rise of “nation conscious rap” in the late 1980s, scholars became increasingly aware of the influence of Nation and Islam and Nation of Gods and Earths on hip-hop culture. Both Nation of Islam and Nation of Gods and Earths emerged in African American urban areas. Their teachings were secret and virtually unknown to outsiders prior to their dispersion in rap lyrics. Early contributions from James G. Spady, Angela Spence Nelson, William E. Perkins and Ernest Allen, jr. identified such impulses and contextualized them within a broader tradition of black nationalism (Spady/Eure: 1991; Spady/Lee/ Alim: 1999; Perkins: 1991; Nelson: 1991; Allen, jr. 1996). The most thorough analysis of the Nation of Gods and Earths’ influence on hip-hop to date is Felicia M. Miyakawa’s groundbreaking Five Percenter Rap (2005). Through in-depth analysis of lyrics, music, sampling and album covers, she details how rappers creatively engage with the teachings of Nation and Gods and Earths. The influence of mainstream Islam on hip-hop is so far less explored, as Sami Alim points to (Alim: 2005). He also underlines how a global perspective is much needed: researchers are needed to study the trilingual (Arabic, Hebrew, and English) rappers in Palestine as they rail against what they perceive to be the tyranny of the Israeli State, to explore the struggles of Muslim rappers in Algeria as they wage against war on what they believe are corrupt regimes … and to examine how Muslim artists in South Africa are critiquing what they perceive as the hypocrisy of their nation’s “new democracy” (ibid., 272).

In her book, Gaza Graffiti. Messages of Love and Politics, Mia Gröndahl documents graffiti’s relation to different calligraphic styles and how it is used as a vital outlet for political and spiritual struggle in Palestine (Gröndahl: 2009). Hip Hop Africa offers a wide scope of approaches to such vibrant hiphop scenes as Ghana, South Africa, Senegal and Mali (Charry, ed.: 2012). However, religion is given only cursory treatment. The important role of religion in Senegalese hip-hop, for instance, can be glimpsed in Jay Rutledge’s liner notes to the compilation Africa Raps: 90 % of all rappers are Muslims. Religion plays a very important role in daily life … Many of the rappers grew up in modern urban Dakar and have a far better education than the average population, which have also changed their outlook on religion. One of the differences between Islamic nations and western democracies is the question

Mapping the field

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‘who has to lead the country: the politician or the Imam?’… Islam is seen as a kind of moral counterweight to the corrupt Senegalese society (Rutledge:2001).

More research is done on Islam and hip-hop in Europe, where hip-hop has provided a means to perform attractive, urban Muslim identities for African or Asian immigrant youth (Malik: 2009; Drissel: 2009; Swedenburg: 2001). Hip-hoppers also engage with other religions and spiritual traditions. Noise and Spirit collects essays on not only Islam and Christianity, but also Rastafarian and humanist impulses in hip-hop (Pinn, ed.: 2003). Raquel Cepeda explores the impact of African and African Caribbean spiritualities on hip-hop, as does Ivor L. Miller in relation to writing (Cepeda: 2006; Milller: 2002, 92–5). Judah Cohen surveys Jewish hip-hop scenes in the US (Cohen: 2009).

1.1.1.3 Ethnographic studies While most of the work cited above has been concerned with hip-hop music, and especially lyrics, emerging ethnographic approaches significantly open the field of hip-hop and religion studies by exploring how hip-hop and spirituality is lived, practiced and makes space for meaning making. The pioneering study of the late Greg Dimitriatis, for instance, provides insight into how young people at a Community center connect to the life, death and resurrection myths of 2Pac (Dimitriadis: 2001). Christina Zanfagna interviews and observes Christian rappers in the Los Angeles area (Zanfagna: 2011). Her study demonstrates how these rappers perform space as they move from church sites to street corners and secular hip-hop venues. Interestingly, she observes how their spatial practices exist at the intersections of multiple fields of power, juxtaposing and integrating hip hop space, church space and city space in experimental, conjunctural, and everchanging ways. …[These spaces] fall between the cracks of the classic binary of the church and the streets and are an example of some of the new hybrid performance experiences… (ibid., 153).

Similarly, John O’Brien studies how Muslim group Legendz through specific musical practices performs “a cool piety” in Mosque as well as secular hip-hop venues (O’Brien: 2013). He identifies three such practices, First, by applying religious guidelines to their music listening, The Legendz work to enjoy the pleasures of secular hip hop while remaining “good Muslims.” Second, by collaboratively locating Islamic symbols of piety nested within otherwise secular hip hop songs, the boys work to experience a potent religiosity through culturally youthful means. Third, by making constant, fleeting references to hip hop’s unIslamic elements, the Legendz work to briefly pivot away from religious orthodoxy, and suggest a secular worldliness to complicate their religious identity (ibid., 106).

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Studies like these give valuable insight in lived hip-hop spirituality and the hybridity of it nature. 1.1.1.4 Hip-hop and religion studies As the scholarship and academic literature on hip-hop and religion is growing in scope and variety of approaches, some scholars have recently sought to define this work as a field of study. Thus, this work becomes more visible in academia; scholars might find new areas of dialogue and engaged discussions, and it helps teachers designing curricula for their classes. Since 2011, the American Academy of Religion features a “Critical Approaches to Hip-Hop and Religion Group” with the aim to “provide a space for interdisciplinary, sustained, scholarly reflection and intellectual advancements at the intersections of religion and hip-hop culture.” Anthony B. Pinn and Monica R. Miller have done much work to define the field of hip-hop and religion studies with books like The Hip Hop and Religion Reader (Pinn/Miller (eds.): 2015), Religion In Hip Hop. Mapping the New Terrain in the US (Miller/Pinn/Freeman (eds.): 2015) and Miller’s Religion and Hip Hop (Miller: 2013). The first volume collects existing writing and features sections on hip-hop and Christianity, Islam, Judaism and Eastern religions as well as theoretical approaches to the relationship between hip-hop and religion, the religious aesthetics of hip-hop and how hip-hop itself can be understood as “religious.” The second features newly written material on such themes as hip-hop and religion in cyberspace, spatiality in southern hip-hop and hip-hop, religion and humanism. Miller’s volume offers theoretical angles to religious studies approaches to hip-hop as well as valuable chapters on spiritual biographies of hip-hop artists and the contemporary dance form krunk. 1.1.2 Engaging with the field I am obviously indebted to these works. My exploration can be placed in either category, with the exception of ethnographic studies. However, as theology is my point of departure, possibly also my point of arrival – and as I set out to refine theoretical approaches to the study of hip-hop and spirituality – I will engage more closely with some of the theological and religious studies approaches to further situate my work. 1.1.2.1 Christian theology and hip-hop Efrem Smith, Phil Jackson and Daniel White Hodge are among several theologians who have felt the significance of hip-hop in a theological sense. In

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their book, Smith and Jackson acknowledge all music as being spiritual. By highlighting rap’s roots in African American preaching, they point to many similarities between the gospel of Jesus and the social concerns of many rappers (Smith/Jackson: 2005, 115–28). They agree on Michael Eric Dyson’s definition of spirituality, as “sustaining one’s sanity in the midst of cultural conflict while pressing toward a moral goal that is highly unachievable yet still possible in order to sustain one’s spirituality, creating a social balance to live another day” (ibid., 116). Still, hip-hop in itself is not spiritually sustainable, they claim: The spirituality hip-hop offers is attractive but can’t provide consistent, holistic solutions – internal peace and sustainable life change. Like all other musical styles, hip-hop is spiritual by nature; however, its influence depends on the artist and his or her interpretation of life. It would be putting too much weight on hip-hop to expect it to meet all the spiritual needs of its people (ibid.).

While they assert that the church has much to learn from hip-hop, especially its critique of the church, their primary goal seems to be to understand hiphop culture in order to better understand and preach to young people. Daniel White Hodge underlines that hip-hop is too complex to be readily evangelized, but seems more inclined than Smith and Jackson to find a sustainable spirituality in hip-hop. “Hip-hop explores a basic theology of life,” he contends (Hodge: 2010, 22). He outlines five areas in which theology has much insight to gain from hip-hop: 1) a theology of suffering, 2) a theology of community, 3) a theology of the “hip hop Jesuz,” 4) a theology of social action and 5) a theology of the profane. Suffering is a central theme in hip-hop as well as in the Bible, Hodge states, referring to the books of Jeremiah, Job and Psalms as well as 2Pac and other rappers. “If Job had been a rapper, he would have gone platinum after his triumphal return to the stage,” he argues, as Job “had all the riches… his baby mama leaves him… Job lives in the ghetto and complains about it” (ibid., 89). Hodge also draws parallels between many hip-hop lives and the life of Jesus, who knew pain and suffered on the cross. Jesus was also born and raised by a baby mama, an “unmarried woman with child could only mean one thing – someone’s been dippin’ in the field!” – and got into trouble with the authorities just like many rappers and hip-hop youths (ibid., 95 f). On a theology of community, Hodge first demonstrates that community is a central concern of hip-hop, with its emphasis on place and crews, before exploring the same themes in scripture and theology. He quotes the German theologian Jürgen Moltmann, underlining the social relationships of Jesus: Jesus lived in mutual relationships with the poor and the sick, and the men and women who had been thrust out of society… We have to look more closely at his life in the context of these social relationships, for we can only understand the lifehistories of men and women in the light of their relations with other people, and the communities to which they belong (ibid, 118).

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Hodge then shows how Jesus builds community through his disciples and how hip-hop is a spiritual community. Hodge’s “hip-hop Jesuz” is clearly inspired by both James Cone and 2Pac’s “Black Jesuz” which we will explore further in chapter 5. He underlines that hip-hop Jesuz is multi-ethnic, pointing both to the list of Jesus’ ancestors and his engagement with peoples of different ethnicities such as the Samaritan woman (ibid., 125–40). The spelling of Jesuz is significant, Hodge states: “the z represents a Jesuz who is both ‘above,’ in terms of theological inquiry, but also ‘below,’ in terms of access.” He goes on to write that the Black Jesuz of 2Pac opposes the dogmatic Christ of early creeds and is suspicious of interpretations of Scripture that do not take context, history and language into consideration. It reconstructs the life of Jesus from the Gospels so that the community can both participate in and find their own story in Jesus’ narrative (ibid., 127).

Thus, hip-hop has a likeness to Jesuz, and “hip-hop embraces many Christological paradigms” such as his emphasis on justice (ibid., 131). Hodge’s development of a theology of justice and social action is inspired by what he calls 2Pac’s “Nit Grit ‘Hood Gospel.” He points to how 2Pac’s ideas were formed by the Black Panthers and Black Power thinking in speaking out against racism and social injustice (ibid., 141–56). Finally, in a theology of the profane, Hodge points to how profanity and offensive language are not the sole property of hip-hop and street life, they also occur in the Bible, and both the acts and words of Jesus could be considered offensive. Thus, a hip-hop theology must not be afraid of the profane, but understand that hip-hoppers are far more likely to encounter the sacred in the profane than in the sacred areas of life (ibid., 160). As evinced by this short outline, Daniel White Hodge develops a hip-hop theology by the method of likeness, by finding parallels between rap lyrics and biblical scripture, between the lives of hip-hoppers and the life of Jesus and other biblical figures, between the concerns and action of the hip-hop community and the gospel of Jesus. And like Efrem Smith and Phil Jackson, he is engaged in a missionary project, understanding and interpreting hip-hop culture to better reach urban youth. While Smith and Jackson are positive about hip-hop but liberate it from prophetic powers, Hodge Christianizes hiphop to an extent that hip-hop becomes what church should be. The projects of both Smith and Jackson and Hodge offer profound theological insights and make solid arguments for exploring hip-hop Christian theological context. And that’s what they set out to do. However, it is necessary – also for Christian theologians I will contend – to reflect on the presence of other religions and spiritual traditions in hip-hop. Also, by hip-hop they refer only to rap music and lyrics. A theological exploration of hip-hop culture will also benefit from studying writing (graffiti) and b-boying/b-girling.

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1.1.2.2 Studies in hip-hop and religion Both Monica R. Miller and Anthony B. Pinn’s The Hip Hop and Religion Reader (Pinn/Miller (ed.): 2015) and Monica R. Miller’s Religion and Hip Hop (Miller: 2013) has a wider scope. Miller and Pinn’s volume includes essays on Christian, Islamic, Jewish, Eastern and indigenous spiritual influences in hip-hop. There are also sections on the religious esthetics of hip-hop and hip-hop as religion, allowing for a wider understanding of religious dimensions in hip-hop culture. Margarita L. Simon Guillory’s essay explores “the erotic as religion” in the works of Missy Elliott (Guillory: 2015). “The erotic is a connective force,” she states, and continues, “the subject, in order to move towards a type of erotically driven unification with other entities of the world, is oriented” (ibid., 103) She builds on historian of religion Charles H. Long’s understanding of “religion as orientation.” Especially helpful is Elonda Clay’s essay “Two turntables and a Microphone: Turntablism, Ritual and Implicit Religion,” as it highlights the ritual dimension of hip-hop aesthetic practices (Clay: 2015). Building on the concepts of ritual theorists Ronald Grimes and Cathrine Bell, she approaches DJ battling as a ritualizing process, a “strategy for the construction of certain types of power relationships effective within particular social organizations,” revealing the “political and social implications of battling in hip hop (ibid., 117). Analyzing two televised DJ battles, she then looks for “implicit religion.” As defined by Edward Bailey, implicit religion is constituted by three elements: personal commitment, suggesting “a concern with human intentionality,” integrating processes and “intensive concerns with extensive effects” (ibid., 121). She summarizes the religious aspects of battles as (1) the individual and collective commitments to hip hop culture and the art of turntablism, (2) the integrating foci of music, dance, energy exchange, consuming and play, and (3) memorable experiences of battling and other hip hop happenings connected to wider social spheres… (ibid., 125).

DJ battling is “part of the wider corpus of hip hop practices,” she asserts, and “can constitute a religious form and practice. Rituals, such as battling and DJ battles, are key experiential opportunities that assist in the development and continuity of hip hop religiosity” (ibid., 127). With contributions from many scholars from a diversity of fields, there are understandably several different understandings of religion in The Hip Hop and Religion Reader. In addition to “implicit religion” and “religion as orientation,” there is also Pinn’s notion of “religion as complex subjectivity.” In the words of Pinn, “complex subjectivity” refers to religion’s basic structure, embedded in history, is a general quest for complex subjectivity in the face of terror and dread associated with life within a historical

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context marked by dehumanization, objectification, abuse, intolerance, and captured most forcefully in the sign/symbol of the ghetto (in Winters: 2015, 80).

A complex subjectivity “refuses closure or a final destination” and acknowledges the “open-ended quality of human existence, the multiple layers and edges of our social worlds, life’s dissonant notes and prospects of ongoing transformation” (ibid.). Thus, Pinn articulates a “religious humanism,” a “religious orientation that stresses human accountability and the potential for individual and social transformation without an appeal to a supernatural source” (ibid.). In addition, Miller and Pinn make a distinction between religion and/in hip-hop and hip-hop as religion. The first denotes the complex relationship between established religious systems and hip-hop, as religious institutions engage with hip-hop or religious elements found in hip-hop cultural expressions. The latter addresses the way hip-hop can be understood as a religious system or practice, as well as how some hip-hop artists take on the role of religious figures or make claims of hiphop culture as being a religious system. Hip-hop culture can be understood as a contemporary development of African and African-American spiritual traditions, (Perkinson: 2015; Sylvan: 2015). Rappers can take on the role or might be interpreted as modern day prophets, griots and Messiahs (Sylvan: 2015; Dube: 2015). Or, as exemplified by KRS One and The Gospel of Hiphop which I will discuss in the following chapter, hip-hop culture can be understood as a religious system in itself. Throughout the book, “religion” and “spirituality” is used interchangeably, which clouds the perspective. Acknowledging that our contexts are different, I still think a clearer distinction between the two would have been useful, for instance between “spirituality” as personal, lived experience and “religion” as institutional, as system of thought and orally and written traditions of prescribed teachings and practices. Nor is there much focus on gender in this book. With the exception of Guillory’s essay on Missy Elliott, there are only a few scattered passages, mostly on masculinity. An intersectional approach would flesh out and strengthen the concept of “complex subjectivity,” and would better grasp gender and power structures. In Religion and Hip Hop, Monica R. Miller contributes to the field of hiphop and religion with a critical examination of “religion.” Most scholarship on hip-hop and religion has been constrained by “confessional, theological and hermeneutical approaches to cultural data,” she states (Miller: 2013: 11). These approaches are erroneously occupied with preserving truth claims of what counts as religious among hip-hop source material… There is an apologetic assumption (grounded in the phenomenological tradition) within the larger field of religion and theology regarding the construction of religion as something experienced in the world rather than manufactured in the interests of other social and cultural dimensions of life (ibid., 12).

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Miller understands religion as a social construct, “an interpretive category given meaning through the human privileging of certain human activities. As a social construction it cannot, and does not ‘do’ anything outside of human activity” (ibid., 11). Thus, she sets out to “hold up to a postmodern gaze the various manifestations of popular culture – in starting, that is, from the source material of culture itself rather than from prefabricated units of religious meaning,” hoping to give “a fresh rendering of human processes, and a series of possibilities for redefining what we have categorized as religion” (ibid., 12). She criticizes previous academic explorations into hip-hop and religion for either privileging “religion” over “hip-hop,” producing at least four problematic effects: 1) Religion has been configured as a dominant tool of surveillance used to “sanitize” hip-hop culture as “deviant,” 2) Hip-hop’s cultural significance has been over-determined as “religious,” 3) The “gritty edges of hip-hop” have been used to “enable democratic possibilities vis- -vis prophetic Christian rhetoric situated within a context of black struggle,” and 4) some of the research seems to maintain “sue generis framings of religion in hip-hop culture to enable the persistence of religion (ibid., 73).

1.1.2.3 Religion, hip-hop and structures of power Miller’s contribution is especially interesting because she addresses the issue of power relations between “religion” and “hip-hop.” Judging from the works I have looked into, the writings of both Hodge and Smith and Jackson both privilege Christian faith over hip-hop, as they interpret and value hip-hop through their respective pastoral or theological lenses. They also explore “the gritty edges of hip-hop” in order to dialogue with “prophetic Christian rhetoric” contextualized in black struggle. The “religion in/and hip-hop” distinction of the Hip Hop and Religion Reader has critical potential for analyzing power relations, but it is only sporadically applied. Miller herself, on the other hand, employs a “critical hermeneutic” of religion where the relevance of religion ultimately evaporates. As she concludes, what we as scholars have come to call the religious, really ain’t so religious after all. Rather, religion is a taxonomical way by which a particular discipline picks and chooses what human behavior and social activity should come to be understood as ‘uniquely’ religious. The category of religion, most often left un-interrogated, is used in various ways to accomplish particular social, political, and religious interests on behalf of the scholars themselves… (Miller: 2013, 177).

I am not fully convinced by this conclusion. I acknowledge that by studying “religion” or “spirituality” in whatever cultural form, there is no direct access to a divine reality, a world of spirits or even religious and spiritual experiences. However, “hip-hop” is also a social construct. Even as social constructs, it should

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be possible to discern “religion”, “spirituality” and “hip-hop” as meaningful categories. What I hope to accomplish with a theoretical framework of hybrid spirituality, is to better understand the power plays of the in-betweens, not only between “religion” and “hip-hop” but also between institutional religion and lived spirituality, between external and internal authority, between pleasure and commitment – and many other possible in-betweens. I will not leave “religion” un-interrogated, but argue for a distinction between spirituality and religion. Taking my cue from recent scholarship, I will understand spirituality as centered on individual experience that might or might not relate to religion or a divine reality. Religion will be understood as referring to systems of doctrine, institutional structures of meaning, power and tradition related to a divine reality. Thus I hope to engage the critical potential of hip-hop spirituality and its subversive possibilities in decentering and “othering” hegemonic structures of religion. My approach of hybrid spirituality will be further outlined in the following chapter. In what remains of this chapter, I want to offer a few words on how I look and listen before I outline the structure of my work.

1.1.2.4 How I look and listen I engage with materialized cultural expressions, “works of art,” more specifically graffiti murals and recorded rap tunes on commercially released CD’s. The brief references to the works of Zanfagna and O’Brien above exemplify how fruitful ethnographic approaches are to the study of lived hiphop spirituality. However, I believe that it is also necessary to study the cultural expressions of hip-hop culture. The rhymes, the beats, the moves, the pieces on the wall are integral to what hip-hop is about and what draws people to hip-hop. Limitations have prevented me from studying b-boying/b-girling (breaking), but a section on this art form is included in chapter 2. I focus on hip-hop in the USA, with much of the material originating in New York, even if a global scope would have enriched my perspectives on especially Islam and hip-hop. I was generously granted an opportunity to work as a guest researcher at Union Theological Seminary in New York. That enabled me to explore the hip-hop scene in New York first hand, attending concerts and hiphop related events as well as crisscrossing parts of the city in search of graffiti. All of the graffiti studied is from New York, based on a selection of my own photographs taken between 2002–2013.2 Most of the artists featured are well known and respected in the community of writing, and many of the works 2 Some of the photographs were taken during my stay as a visiting scholar at Union Theological Seminary in 2002–03, but most stems from five subsequent trips in summer 2004, fall 2004, summer 2005, spring 2012 and fall 2013.

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were found in places designated to preserve and cultivate graffiti, such as Graffiti Hall of Fame in Harlem and the now defunct 5 Pointz in Queens. My approach has been explorative, treating the material without preconceived ideas about what I expected to find and without a well-defined thesis to be proven or disproven. As the work proceeded, some themes of interest began to materialize and the material was organized in loose categories. These categories revolve around themes of faith and religion, construction of ethnic identity and critique of racism, gender and how hip-hop culture is understood. However, these categories do not apply to all the artists studied. My method of interpretation very much reflects my theological background as an exegete. Just as biblical exegetes look at words and concepts in a given scriptural text, searching for their origin and meaning, I have followed words, sounds, symbols, styles and shapes searching for possible origins and interpretations. Some works or parts of works are studied in detail, others summarized. My goal is not to confine the art works inside rigid, fixed interpretations and perceived meanings. Rather, I want to open up, unlock interpretational possibilities. Thus, an intertextual approach has helped in exploring layers of meaning; samples, quotes, visual references, and in drawing in other “texts” from hip-hop culture, African American heritage and sacred texts, as well as advertisements and commercial television. The artworks are organized in loose thematic categories, in Chapters 5 and 6, also by artist. They are studied one by one in an attempt to make a close and “thick” reading. This approach has its shortcomings, especially as it makes the text more difficult to read. However, I hope, it will also enable the richness, variety and range, inconsistencies and contradictions in hip-hop culture and its cultural expressions to be seen. Although the lyrics remain the focus in my study of rap (as is the case with most works on hip-hop), I strongly disagree with Alexs Pate, who stresses the separation of words from the beats in his interpretation of rap/poetry. “The music that provides a home to the words is quite interchangeable and thus less essential than many think,” he argues (Pate: 2010, 38). On the contrary, the music is integral to the understanding and perception of rap lyrics, and is in itself rich with references, adding new layers of meaning. Analysis of hip-hop music is a complex issue. As Kyle Adams points out, Hip-hop music resists traditional modes of musical analysis more than almost any other genre. The techniques developed for the analysis of Western art music, even when they can provide accurate descriptions of some of hip-hop’s surface phenomena, often leave the analyst without a deeper sense of how hip-hop operates and why it seems to communicate so effectively with such a broad audience (Adams: 2015, 118).

Part of the problem, according to Adams, is that the Western art music of the eighteenth and nineteenth century, out of which Western musical analysis is developed, is for the most part linear. Melody, harmony, rhythms, contrasts and timbral qualities are understood as part of musical structure that moves

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from one point to another. The music of hip-hop, by contrast, is cyclical… while many rap songs contain familiar harmonies as part of their underlying beats, those harmonies rarely participate in ‘harmonic progressions’” (ibid., 119).3 Adams makes a similar mistake as Pate when he goes on to say that “other elements–scratches, sampled sounds, synthesizers and so forth – might come and go throughout the song, but they are dispensable; the character of the song would remain intact even if they were removed” (ibid.). Far from it. Scratching, sampled sounds, instrumental sonorities whether from synthesizers or other instruments, are vital elements of a rap song’s character. However, it is as difficult to assign extrinsic, semantic meanings to these elements in hip-hop as in other musics: Pictures have meaning because they refer to something in physical reality, and words have meaning because they refer to concepts and ideas. But to suggest that a piece of music has meaning because of extra-musical reference is, at least, highly contentious (Shepherd: 1990, 13).

Jean-Jacques Nattiez states, “for music, it is paramount not to define meaning solely as a reflection of some linguistic meaning.” He quotes Michel Imberty, “the musical signifier refers to a signified that has no exact verbal signifier… musical meaning, as soon as it is explained in words, loses itself in verbal meanings, too precise, too literal: they betray it” (Nattiez: 1990, 9). In exploring hip-hop spirituality with words, this is frustrating, as possible spiritual dimensions in music more or less evade words, the words “betray it.” When I relate to the music of hip-hop in this work, I do that on two levels. In the last chapter I reflect on a general level on characteristics of hip-hop esthetic practices and implications for spirituality. In the chapters where I do close readings of recorded rap songs, I occasionally relate to specific musical elements attempting to explore how these contribute in interpreting spiritual dimensions of the song. I do so by descriptive words, in subjective interpretations on how I perceive the music or the character of the song. In some instances I track down the original sources of samples, in case the content or context of the sample provides interpretational possibilities. The DJ or producer might choose samples for esthetic reasons only (see Miyakawa: 2005), but as these sounds are in the mix, they are also available for interpretation.

3 However, Hip-hop scholars and practitioners have over time developed tools to analyze characteristic esthetic practices of hip-hop such as flow rythm and rhyme (Adams: 2015, Miyakawa: 2005, 73–99; Krims: 2000), scratching and other DJ practices (Webber: 2008) and sampling and other musical elements (Miyakawa: 2005: 100–23; Schloss: 2004).

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1.1.3 The structure of my book This work is structured in three parts, of which Part II constitutes the main body of the text. Part I consists of three introductory chapters, including this one, while Part III consists of a single chapter with observations and reflections on the material brought forth in Part II. Chapter two, “Peace, Unity, Love, and Having Fun,” develops a thinking on hybrid spirituality combined with intersectional approaches, building on writers like Homi Bhabha, Angela Davis, bell hooks, Patricia Hill Collins and others. As hip-hop spirituality is also creative spirituality expressed through art, a short introduction to hip-hop culture is provided, emphasizing esthetic philosophies guiding graffiti, DJing and rap. The chapter ends with a closer look at two influential movements informing hip-hop spirituality: Afrika Bambaataa’s Universal Zulu Nation and KRS One’s Temple of Hip Hop. Chapter three, “Black God,” outlines central tenets of the Nation of Islam and the Nation of Gods and Earths, two movements that have been very influential in hip-hop culture. These movements are contextualized in a broader perspective of Islam in the USA and black nationalism. Numerous books have been written, especially on the Nation of Islam.4 But as the doctrines of these movements might be unfamiliar to many, this chapter aims to provide necessary background for the exploration of Islamic inspired rap. In outlining their theologies, I have consulted source material as far as possible. The three chapters of Part II can be read as independent explorations, or “journeys,” into different spiritual landscapes of hip-hop. It begins literally with a walk in the city itself, exploring graffiti in chapter four, “Walls of Memory.” So many of the graffiti murals I have encountered seem to evoke memories and remembrances of cultural icons, of distant homelands, of political and spiritual leaders, cultural legacies. It is as if these murals, with portraits of African American icons from Malcolm X to 2Pac, imagery culled from Puerto Rican or Mexican traditions and spiritual and political messages, bid you to remember: remember where you are coming from, remember the wisdom of the great teachers and the cultural heritage created by artists, remember the sufferings and pains of deceased community members and their families, remember to behave and to remain aware. On an esthetic level, the many shapes and styles of graffiti pieces themselves are loaded with memories and history, the remembrance of how, when and by whom a particular style, bubble letters, 3D shapes, wild style and so on were invented or perfected. 4 The most thorough, accountable and detailed work on the Nation of Islam I have read so far, is M. Gardell, (1996). It also has the advantage of the author’s own conversations with Louis Farrakhan. Another recommendable study is E. E. Curtis IV (2006). On the Nation of Gods and Earths, literature is far scarcer, but is the studies by M. M. Knight (2007) and F. M. Miyakawa (2005, 9–37) are highly recommendable.

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Graffiti engages and provokes, interacts with the city and its inhabitants. It operates in a zone between the legal and the illegal, art and destruction, idealism and sly marketing. Thus, I begin the chapter situating the art of writing in the tension between crime and art that it seems to thrive on, before exploring a selection of graffiti pieces. The first group of pieces concerns cultural heritage, celebrating African American, Mexican and Puerto Rican heritage. Pieces celebrating hip-hop culture follow, including women’s contributions to hip-hop and graffiti. Lastly, I look at memorial walls, dealing with memory and remembrance in a more conventional sense. Some walls commemorate deceased people, whether ordinary people from the neighborhood or famous artists; others were decorated in the aftermath of 9/11. These walls are contextualized in the recently evolving research field of spontaneous shrines, and demonstrate how such pieces both draw on traditional Christian religious imagery and interact with recent developments of popular spirituality. The next two chapters are devoted to rap music and the influences of Christianity and Islam. In chapter five, “Black Jesuz,” I explore the influence of Christianity and Christian heritage on hip-hop. The chapter starts with two quite different hip-hop cultural “icons,” Lauryn Hill and 2Pac. The selfaffirming, uplifting message of Lauryn Hill is replete with references to biblical scripture, Christian concepts and hymnology. She carves out a flexible, inquiring theology where she is able to address issues of racism and oppression in institutionalized religion, question dogmas and freely combine elements from a diversity of traditions. By contrast, 2Pac became the epitome of gangsta rap’s misogyny, violence and materialism, deplored by vice presidents and other top politicians. Still, he also created heartfelt songs saluting single mothers and soaring laments for people that have passed away due to the hardships of “street life.” Literally born into the Black Panthers and black political consciousness, he grew up under dire circumstances before attaining rap stardom. Some of his works combine revolutionary thoughts with street smartness, a “thug philosophy” also informing his search for a “Black Jesuz.” The last part of the chapter examines how Christian rappers combine preaching and hip-hop. Here, I study the works of Dc Talk, Grits and female MC’s Elle R.O.C. and MC Ge Gee as well as the HipHopEMass developed at the Trinity Church in the Bronx. The latter exemplifies how hip-hop can be integrated into liturgy. Islamic influences are explored in chapter six, “Allah U Akbar.” Hip-hop, I believe, is the cultural movement within the USA that has provided the most nurturing space for Islamic impulses. In the 1940s through the 1960s, Islam was recognized in some circles through its influence in jazz (see chapter 3), and there are a few Muslim rock musicians and an emerging Muslim punk scene, Taqwacore.5 But in hip-hop, Islam has been a highly visible influence since the 5 This movement is named after Michael Muhammad Knight’s novel, The Taqwacore. Knight is, as

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beginning. Many top-selling rap artists are influenced by Islam and there are underground scenes and networks dedicated to the propagation of Islam through hip-hop. This chapter starts with a section on Public Enemy. Influenced by the teachings of Malcolm X and Minister Louis Farrakhan of the Nation of Islam, they helped revive black nationalist ideas for the hip-hop generation. Then follows a section on two groups influenced by the Nation of Gods and Earths. Brand Nubian, who has provided the title of this book and the chapter, represents a classic way of blending Five Percenter teachings with rap. Wu-Tang Clan also incorporates elements from the martial arts and popular culture. Little is written on female rappers’ contributions to the theologies of the Nation of Islam and the Nation of Gods and Earths. In the section on Erykah Badu and Queen Yonasda, I set out to demonstrate how these rappers not only extend and transcend these theologies, but in the case of Badu, also conceptions of genre. The chapter ends with a section on rap and mainstream Islam, exemplified by the work of popular actor and rapper Mos Def, now known as Yasiin Bey. “Remix” is the sole chapter of Part III. From the detailed, close readings of the three preceding chapters, I here shift to a more reflective mode. Reviewing the material, I want to explore on a general level the nature of hip-hop’s hybrid spirituality, in which ways it enables spiritual strategies of resistance and spiritual dimensions of hip-hop esthetic practices. I begin the chapter by resituating my work in the field of spiritual studies, suggesting what the study of hip-hop spirituality adds to existing models of spirituality. Following is a reflection on three spiritual strategies centering on doctrine, cultural identity or lived experience. As hip-hop spirituality is embodied in esthetic practices, I end my exploration with a meditation on spiritual dimensions of some characteristic esthetic practices in hip-hop, including subversive uses of technology. 1.1.3.1 Some words on terminology and language Within hip-hop culture, there are different uses of terminology and practices of spelling. Hip-hop for instance, can be spelled “hip-hop,” “hip hop” or “hiphop”. Practitioners of breaking refer to themselves as b-boys or b-girls, their dance as b-boying or b-girling and graffiti goes under a lot of names. I have chosen to follow terminology and spelling that is customary in most scholarly works on hip-hop, writing “hip-hop,” “breaking,” and using “graffiti” and “writing” interchangeably. In studying the Nation of Islam and the Nation of Gods and Earths, one does not have to be well schooled in Islamic concepts to understand that these forms of Islam are different from the forms of Islam associated with the sowe will return to in chapter 3, an authority on The Five Percenters. For Islamic influences on rock globally, see M. LeVine (2008).

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called Islamic world. This has led scholars to find terminology that distinguishes between the two. A common distinction is between “orthodox,” or traditional, and “heterodox” Islam, the latter denoting the Nation of Islam and the Nation of Gods and Earths. Implied in this terminology is a notion that one is truer, more ‘right’ (orthodox, meaning right teaching) than the other (which literarily is Other, “hetero”). In the context of the USA, this distinction is problematic, as “traditional Islam” in the 1940s and 1950s was largely represented by Amadiyyah, viewed by many scholars as a heresy. Ernest Allen Jr. suggests the term “proto-Islam,” understanding the Moorish Science Temple and the Nation of Islam to be an intermediate stage, paving the way for African Americans’ conversion to more traditional Sunni Islam in the 1970s (Allen, jr: 1998, 202). But as the Nation of Islam and the Nation of Gods and Earths continues to be a distinctive voice and alternative to other forms of Islam, this term is not useful either. In his study of the Nation of Islam, Dennis Walker coins the term “neo-Muslim,” modeled after similar uses of “neo-,” like “neo-conservatism” and “neo-Platonism.” Presumably value-neutral, it denotes new forms of older traditions: “As a new construct, black neo-Islam radically selects from, and restructures, elements coming from Islam to make them address some new U.S. concerns in distinction from the original ideology from the Middle East” (Walker: 2005, 31). While this observation is quite precise, Walker seems to be unaware of other, more widespread uses of neo-Islam, referring to Islamist and fundamentalist trends in the Arab world. As the Nation of Islam and the Nation of Gods and Earths are quite different, I choose not to lump them together. “Mainstream Islam” will be used in reference to forms of Islam in concordance with the rest of the Islamic world, if I do not refer specifically to Sunni or Ahmadiyyah. Finally, this study contains language one normally would not anticipate finding in a theological work. Curse words and derogatory terms such as “nigga,” “bitch” and so on are reprinted verbatim without any effort to camouflage them. The use and interpretation of such language is multilayered and complex, sometimes subversive, sometimes not.6 It is nevertheless part of the context for the spiritualities explored and should not be omitted. 2Pac makes this point clear in a speech at a banquet in honor of Malcolm X. After repeatedly making excuses to his audience of middle class civil rights elders for his language, he assures his listeners: “I apologize, but check this out, you can’t be no more offended by my cursin’ than what’s really going on [in the streets]. That’s real” (Shakur: 2003).

6 For further study on the use of explicit language in hip-hop, see J.A. Corlett (2005).

2. Peace, Unity, Love, and Having Fun. Exploring spirituality in a hip-hop context. In Lauryn Hill’s music video “Everything is Everything” the city of New York is transformed into a turntable.1 Manhattan revolves like a disc, while a gigantic stylus runs through the streets, reading the grooves of the city. As the stylus passes through different neighborhoods, we see people doing their thing – some are sitting on a bench or doing laundry at the local laundromat, young couples are kissing. One man is being pushed against a wall and frisked. Occasionally a big hand comes down from the sky making scratches like a DJ, juggling Manhattan back and forth and shaking things up. The video offers a compelling metaphor for hip-hop and hip-hop’s relation to the city and its people. Hip-hop is ingrained in the city, its streets, neighborhoods and people. The grooves of the city are the grooves of hip-hop; the lives of the city’s people are the lives of hip-hop. Moreover, as Lauryn Hill states in her song, hip-hop offers guidance to everyone “struggling in their youth,” to those “who won’t accept deception/instead of what is truth.” “I philosophy, possibly speak tongues” she asserts, with the confidence of an “Abyssinian street Baptist.” She is “more powerful than two Cleopatras,” providing a “mixture/where hip hop meets scripture.” In the course of four minutes, Lauryn Hill embodies and gives artistic expression to a lived spirituality – a spirituality contextualized in urban life, in a mixture where contemporary popular culture meets ancient traditions of scripture – a hip-hop spirituality. Hip-hop spirituality, I will contend, is a lived spirituality, an embodied spirituality situated in everyday life in urban environments. Derived from a Latin word for breath, spirituality is intrinsically intertwined with life. Thus, the term “lived spirituality” might seem superfluous. However, it suggests an opposite, something that is abstract, doctrinal and institutional. The study of lived spirituality is not a study of spirituality as prescribed by doctrine or institutional religion, but of individually experienced spirituality. Even if hiphop spirituality, as lived spirituality, might be influenced by established religions to varying degrees – and I will especially study this in Chapters 5 and 6 – it is still individually experienced spirituality, shaped by everyday life in the city and in hip-hop culture. I will begin this chapter by developing a framework for understanding lived spirituality in a hip-hop context. Spirituality is a fluid concept with numerous 1 Lauryn Hill, “Everything is Everything,” from The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (1998). Video directed by Sanji Senaka. See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3_dOWYHS7I (November 5, 2014).

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uses, in fields ranging from the studies of religious traditions ancient and new to business and corporate ideology. I start with a look into some recent thinking on spirituality, before suggesting “hybrid spirituality” as a workable concept for the study of hip-hop spirituality. As hip-hop culture and its spiritualities emerges in a context of oppression and struggle, I will understand spirituality in light of oppressive forces such as gender and race, and argue for an intersectional approach to hip-hop spirituality. The following is a section on the elements of hip-hop culture, the artistic means by which hip-hop spirituality is expressed. Writing (graffiti), DJing, BBoying (breaking) and MCing (rapping) all have their own discourses, but are at the same time core elements of the hip-hop culture. This section will be sketchy, as much is written on this already. My objective is to highlight artistic features that might add to our understanding of hip-hop spirituality. In the final section, we will explore how spirituality and hip- hop come together in two hip-hop movements, Afrika Bambaataa’s Universal Zulu Nation and KRS One’s Temple of Hip-Hop. Drawing from a diversity of spiritual and cultural sources, both movements offer prime examples of hybrid spirituality.

2.1 Spirituality and hybridity 2.1.1 Understanding Spirituality The study of spirituality has developed significantly over the last thirty years or so. Scholars point to “a subjective turn in Western culture” around 1980, with an increased interest in spirituality as something different from traditional religion (Sheldrake: 2007, 2; Jespers: 2011, 98). The word spirituality itself has roots in Christianity, and is related to the Apostle Paul’s use of the Greek pneuma in The New Testament. In Paul’s usage, spirit was not understood as being in opposition to the physical or material, but denoted a way of life: A spiritual life, living in and according to the Spirit of God, as opposed to life in the flesh, life according to the world. Later, in scholastic theology, under the influence of Greek philosophy, “spiritual” was used in reference to intelligent humanity as distinguished from non-rational creation; animals, plants and so on. During the middle ages, spirituality came to denote the clergy, the church, or the clerical state. In the latter half of the 20th century, and especially after the Second Vatican Council in the early 1960s, spirituality became the term for the study of Christian life, replacing older theological terms such as mystical or ascetical theology (Sheldrake: 2007; Jespers: 2011). Today, spirituality is understood in much broader terms, which can sometimes be confusing. As explained in A New Dictionary of Religions, “Some understand the ‘spiritual’ as more diffuse and less institutionalized

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than the ‘religious.’ Others, on the contrary, take spirituality as the very heart and center of religion, denoting encountered particularly religious and mystical experience” (Hinnells: 1995). Recent literature on spirituality seems to suggest an understanding of religion in relation to a social institution and fixed systems of beliefs and commitments, while spirituality is individual and personal (Reker: 2009, Donahue: 2008; Schlosser/Brock-Murray/Hamilton: 2008; Elkins: 2001). In contemporary use, spirituality does not need to relate to religion at all (Ness: 1997; Elkins: 2001). Psychologist Abraham Maslow relates spirituality to what he coins “peak experiences,” experiences that transport us out of ordinary consciousness into a higher dimension of being, providing us with glimpses of a transcendent reality and allowing us to touch ultimate values such as truth, beauty, goodness, and love… (Elkins: 2001).

The practice and study of spirituality covers a broad range of diverse arenas, including environmentalism, peace movements, feminist movements, social action, business and corporate spirituality, health and physical well being, art and music, paths to knowledge and encounter of an ultimate realm, whether it be God or a cosmic entity, inner self or whatever gives meaning and purpose to life. Also, as recent scholarship on spirituality has acknowledged, spirituality and religion are understood differently depending on cultural contexts around the globe. In their introduction to Towards a Theory of Spirituality, Elisabeth Hense and Frans Maas argue for interdisciplinary studies of spirituality. They state, “researchers involved with spirituality are being faced with the learning to understand the phenomenon in all its diversity,” and write: Spirituality is no longer primarily, or even obviously, the subject of theological research. More and more, spirituality has been attracting the attention of the religious studies and, during the past few decades, psychology, sociology, and anthropology have become quite interested in the phenomenon of spirituality (Hense/Maas: 2011, 1).

They also point out that lived spirituality is interwoven with everyday reality and the spiritual forms so diverse that it makes it impossible to formulate a universal, unifying definition of spirituality. What can be done, however, “is to inventory the countless forms of spirituality in terms of their family resemblances, and to describe how they are entwined with everyday reality” (ibid.; Hense: 2011, 5–14). 2.1.1.1 Mapping spirituality There are several ways to “inventory the countless forms of spirituality in terms of their family resemblances,” from long lists of highly specific categories to models with only two basic categories. Kees Waaijman operates with 54 forms organized in three main categories, Lay spirituality, Schools of spirituality and counter-movements (Waaijman: 2002, 18–303). Lay spiritu-

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ality refers to spirituality as it takes shape in one’s personal life history, while schools of spirituality refers to spirituality as it is lived in church and monastic contexts, unfolded in liturgy and spiritual exercises. Counter-movements take place outside of established patterns, “drawn outside of the cadres of the prevailing cultural and religious consensus. Their intense passion then challenges the established order. Their ‘counter-game’ deregulates dominance” (ibid., 212). Liberation and feminist spirituality is placed within this category. Linda Woodhead and Paul Helaas, scholars advocating the distinction between religion and spirituality with their groundbreaking study The Spiritual Revolution. Why religion is giving way to spirituality (Woodhead/ Helaas: 2005), suggest in an earlier work a model with three types of spirituality: religions of difference, religions of humanity and spiritualities of life (Woodhead/Helaas: 2000). They make clear that these types are not confined to specific religions, but might be found both inside and outside the scope of the major world religions. In addition, they are not internally exclusive, as there are overlaps between the three. Religions of difference make a sharp distinction between God and nature, emphasizing the transcendent. God is outside of this world. This type tends to be authoritative, valuing obedience more than freedom. Good and bad are divinely prescribed and are not up to human judgment. There is also a tendency to stress the duality between the sinfulness, weakness and incompleteness of human nature in contrast to the goodness and completeness of God. They point to conservative Roman Catholicism, fundamentalist Protestantism and varieties of fundamentalist Islam as examples of this type. In religions of humanity, more authority is given to the human, which is perceived as godlike. The deity is thought of as being approachable, tolerant and compassionate. Religious institutions, scripture and tradition are met with suspicion and historical scrutiny. Action is valued over doctrine and dogma; human reason is the measure of truth. Liberal Christianity and spirituality rooted in the values of the Enlightenment are cited as examples. Lastly, spiritualities of life locate the divine within the human and nature, stressing the fundamental unity between the human, nature and the sacred. Some spiritualities of life are centered on individual healing and liberation, often emphasizing the duality of a higher self, “the inner spirituality” that has to be liberated from a lower self, often seen as formed by outer institutions such as family, school, religious institutions or capitalism. Other varieties reach outwards and are at work in environmentalism, education, the women’s movement, arts and crafts and so on. “New Age” movements are listed as examples, as is paganism, theosophy and various Eastern-influenced spiritualities. Comparing the three in relation to time, it seems as though religions of difference are tuned in to the past, emphasizing tradition and ancient wisdom as guiding lines valid today, while religions of humanity are focused on creating a better future by working for ethical reforms in the present. Spiritualities of life, on the other hand, are

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geared towards the here and now, focusing on spiritual experience. Woodhead and Haas point to two notable combinations of types, experiential religion of difference and experiential religion of humanity, both sharing elements characteristic of spiritualities of life. The first category includes evangelicalcharismatic Christianity and emphasizes the individual experience of God while stressing the authority of scripture. Experiential religions of humanity combine a focus on a humanistic ethic with the authority of individual spiritual experience. Examples of this type include the teachings of the Dalai Lama and theologian Paul Tillich, as well as the spirituality of Princess Diana, which Woodhead coins “religion of the heart” (ibid, 159–61). In his study of popular western spirituality, Frans Jespers operates with a provisional typology comprising six categories (Jespers: 2011, 110). Classical engaged spirituality within established religions, such as religious orders within Christianity, Islam and Buddhism. 2) Classical folk spirituality within established religions, such as devotions of saints, ancestors, spirits and pilgrimages. 3) Holistic engaged spirituality, such as neo-paganism, deep ecology and esoteric groups such as theosophy. These are in general quite religious, Jespers states, holistic and about the sacred. 4) Holistic ordinary spirituality, of which holistic health, astrology and wellness are examples. According to Jespers, some of these functions in a religious way, others in a secular way. 5) Inner-worldly secular spiritual practices using religious symbols. This spirituality can be of an engaged type such as environmental, feminist and gay movements, and in a human potential variety, as in business and management spirituality and Scientology. Finally, 6) Spiritual fragments, such as temporal devotions like silent marches or separate religious symbols in films and “pop music.” I find both these models useful in mapping spiritualities in relation to institutional religion and scriptural authority. They also help visualize how spirituality comes in many shapes. Jespers’ last category is promising for the purpose of my work, as it includes popular music. However, it is unsatisfactory, as he postulates a fragmentary and isolated nature of religious symbols in popular culture. If they are fragmented and separate, it is difficult to see how they can relate to spirituality as a lived phenomenon, although one might be able to trace a spiritual or religious origin of these symbols. Nevertheless, as already shown by others (Miyakawa: 2005; Cone: 1997), spirituality does not necessarily consist of fragments in “pop music,” but may indeed be integral to popular cultural expressions. However, both models seem to be rooted in a European or Anglo American frameset. While Woodheads and Helaas include the main world religions in their overview, there are no references to African, African American or socalled indigenous spiritualities. Unfortunately, much writing on spirituality seems to be written from a white, Western perspective. Kees Waaijman, in his nearly 1000-page-long volume on spirituality, spends one third of a page on black spirituality (Waaijman: 2002, 218). Even in Helaas’s impressive four-

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volume anthology on spirituality, Spirituality in the Modern World, there are only two articles of a total of 92 relating to spirituality in Africa (Helaas: 2012). Five articles relate to art, but none to popular culture. This reminds us that “spirituality” is a Western construct with a leaning towards “classical” European and Eastern traditions.

2.1.1.2 Spirituality and Liberation Theology Thinking on spirituality concerned with oppressive forces, resistance and survival is probably most developed in various strands of liberation theology. Latin American liberation theologians like Leonardo Boff and Gustavo Guti rrez criticize traditional notions of spirituality while at the same time they emphasize that spirituality is integral to true liberation for the poor (Sheldrake: 2010, 99–103). Black Theology of Liberation combines a spirituality rooted in black church and cultural heritage with a theological commitment to expose and fight racism. Jon Sobrino, writing in a Latin-American context, understands spirituality as “the spirit of a subject – an individual or a group – in its relationship with the whole of reality” (Sobrino: 1988, 13). He warns against a certain tendency in framing spirituality to “leave reality to itself,” creating “an alienating parallelism in which the spiritual life and historical activity never meet” (ibid.). He thus suggests three prerequisites for a spirituality of liberation: honesty about the real, fidelity to the real and a willingness to be swept along by ‘the more’ of the real (ibid., 14, 19). Relating to the first, Sobrino states that if one is not honest about the real, things are deprived from their proper meaning, including their “capacity to function as sacraments of transcendence, and their capacity to release history” (ibid., 15). In practice, this also means a denial of God. For instance, he criticizes the tendency of “the First World” to speak in universal terms, such as “humankind” or “modern humankind,” without acknowledging that the vast majority of human beings today are suffering. “Humanity today,” he asserts, “is the victim of poverty and institutionalized violence. Often enough this means death, slow or sudden. In theological terms: God’s creation is being assaulted and vitiated” (ibid., 15). Reality itself poses both a “no” and a “yes.” A “no to its own negation, lack, absence, annihilation,” which in Biblical terms means “a no to Cain and fratricide, no to oppression in Egypt, the prophets’ no to the sale of the just one for a pair of sandals.” The yes is a yes to life, to the restoration of life and the bestowal of life (ibid., 16). A spirituality that is honest about the real, then, gives priority to love as practice, a practice directed to the bestowal of life on the majorities … in the concrete, spirituality will have to establish and maintain that form of love for which the greater part of reality calls out: justice (ibid.).

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Fidelity to the real means acting upon the real, both denying its negation and fostering its positivity through “thick and thin.” As Sobrino points out, historical experience tells us that “a correct response to the real – love in all its forms, above all in the form of justice – does not always succeed in its aims” (ibid., 17). Those being faithful to the real often have to give up parts or all of their life, as many Latin American martyrs are examples of. Fidelity to the real, Sobrino states, “is simply and solely perseverance in our original honesty, however we may be burdened with, yes, engulfed in, the negative element in history” (ibid., 18). But, he continues, there is more to reality than negativity and destruction. Reality also contains hope and promise. “Reality itself, despite its long history of failure and suffering, challenges us ever and ever again, and instills in us the hope of plenitude… Hope and love are the ways we correspond to the ‘more’ of reality,” the third prerequisite of spirituality (ibid., 19). Sobrino’s insistence on “the real” resonates well with hip-hop’s ethos of “bein’ real,” where reality is narrated in grim detail. Many hip-hoppers experience the same reality he describes, being victims of “poverty and institutionalized violence,” surrounded by “death, slow or sudden.” Being true and faithful to reality, not resorting to an “escapist” spirituality, even committing oneself to the “more” of reality, seems to be very fruitful approaches to spirituality in a hip-hop context. However, Sobrino does not adresss oppressive forces such as racism, sexism and misogyny, very much part of “the real” facing urban youths of USA. A theme that remains undeveloped in his book is how the “more” of reality can be expressed through art, music, social events and so on. James H. Cone writes from the perspective of systematic theology, theoretically outlining a theology of black liberation and does not specifically deal with spirituality as such. Still, one can deduce a spirituality from his thinking, as it is rooted in lived black experience and cultural heritage: “There can be no black theology which not take seriously the black experience – a life of humiliation and suffering… the black experience is existence in a system of white racism” (Cone: 1990, 23 f). However, black experience is not only suffering, it is also the power to love oneself precisely because one is black…It is the sound of James Brown singing, I’m Black and I’m Proud and Aretha Franklin demanding “respect.” The black experience is catching the spirit of blackness and loving it. It is hearing black preachers speak of God’s love in spite of the filthy ghetto, and black congregations responding Amen, which means that they realize that ghetto existence is not the result of divine decree but of white inhumanity (ibid., 25).

The source of Black theology of liberation is the black experience in dialectical tension with scripture. Thus, the Bible is one source while other sources include “sacred documents of the African American experience – such as speeches of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr., the writings of Zora Neal Hurston and Toni Morrison, the music of the blues, jazz and rap [sic]” (Cone:

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1997, xi). The influence of Malcolm X makes Cone’s thinking especially relevant in the context of hip-hop spirituality. In his preface to Martin & Malcolm & America, he sums up the relevance of Malcolm X in relation to Martin Luther King, I am an African-American theologian whose perspective on the Christian religion was shaped by Martin King and whose black consciousness was defined by Malcolm X … I have been attempting to relate Malcolm X and Martin King to Christian living in America, seeking to show that justice and blackness are essential ingredients in the identity of the Christian faith for African-Americans (Cone: 1991, x).

Later, he states, “I do not think that anyone can be a real Christian in America today, or perhaps anywhere else, without incorporating Malcolm’s race critique into his or her practice of and thinking about the religion of Jesus” (ibid., 296). His application of black popular culture and music is also relevant. The “function of the song is to sing the truth as it is lived by the people” Cone writes, and continues, As with the sermon and prayer, the spirituals and gospel songs reveal that the truth of black religion is not limited to the literal meaning of the words. Truth is also disclosed in the movement of the language and the passion created when a song is sung in the right pitch and tonal quality. Truth is found in shout, hum, and moan as these expressions move the people closer to their being. The moan, the shout, and the rhythmic bodily responses to prayer, song, are artistic projections of the pain and joy experienced in the struggle of freedom (Cone: 1997, 20 f).

Note how Cone emphasizes not only traditional categories such as melody, harmony and text, but also tonal quality, moan, shout, hum and “rhythmic bodily responses.” Understood in spiritual categories, Cone’s spirituality is rooted in Christian faith and black experience. Thus it is a lived spirituality, a spirituality of survival. Relating his theology to black experience and thinkers such as Malcolm X, he draws from intellectual and spiritual heritage also nurturing hip-hop and artists like Public Enemy and Brand Nubian. 2.1.2 Hybrid spirituality and contexts of struggle In various theoretical approaches to spirituality, one can sense an underlying hierarchical approach, where established religious systems are favored over “individualistic” spirituality. As mentioned, some commentators see the contemporary interest in spirituality as the result of a “subjective turn in contemporary Western culture.” According to some scholars, these new spiritualities tend “to focus either on self realization or on some kind of inwardness,” leading to a “consumerist ‘life-style spirituality’” emphasizing fitness and personal well-being (Sheldrake 2007). Religious leaders and

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commentators turn to terms like “shopping religion” and “supermarket spirituality” creating an image of a spirituality that shops from whatever religious or spiritual tradition available, making one’s own, privatized religion. The commercial aspect of some contemporary spiritualities are emphasized in the book Selling Spirituality: There has been an explosion of interest and popular literature on mind, body and “personal development.” Spirituality as a cultural trope has also been appropriated by corporate bodies and management consultants to promote efficiency, extend markets and maintain a leading edge in fast moving information economy (J. Carrette/R. King: 2004, ix).

In the immediate context of hip-hop culture as it evolved in contested inner city areas, as well as in the historical context of slavery and continued racial oppression, concepts such as “shopping,” “supermarket” and “consumerism” are highly out of place, suggesting an abundance of resources and available choices that were not there. On the contrary, the dominant religious resource available, Christianity, had a long history of being used as a tool for oppression, interpreted in ways that gave arguments for slavery, racism and sexism. During the era of slavery, religious and spiritual resources brought from Africa had to be denounced, or at best practiced in secret or masked as Christianity. Thus, we are instead looking at a “spirituality of survival” or “a spirituality of resistance.” To avoid notions of hierarchic relations of spiritualities, where some forms of spirituality are understood as more “original,” or “purer” than others, I will suggest the term hybrid spirituality. “Hybridity” as a theoretical concept developed by post-colonial thinkers such as Homi Bhabha, is contextualized in a situation of struggle, destabilizing hierarchic structures of power and privilege. Homi Bhabha writes: Hybridity is the sign of the productivity of colonial power, its shifting forces and fixities: it is the name for the strategic reversal of the process of domination through disavowal (that is, the production of discriminatory identities that secure the ’pure’ and original identity of authority). Hybridity is the revaluation of the assumption of colonial identity through the repetition of discriminatory identity effects. It displays the necessary deformation and displacement of all sites of discrimination and dominion (Bhabha: 2004, 159).

Bhabha challenges liberal Western notions of cultural diversity, as these “doesn’t generally recognise the universalist and normative stance from which it constructs its cultural and political judgements.” (Bhabha: 1990, 209). Instead, he emphasizes cultural difference, as the “difference of cultures cannot be something that can be accommodated within a universalist framework” (ibid.). Hybridity then, Bhabha argues, can be understood as a “third space”: [T]he notion of hybridity comes from … the genealogy of difference and the idea of translation, because if … the act of cultural translation (both as representation and as

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reproduction) denies the essentialism of a prior given original or originary culture, then we see that all forms of culture are continually in a process of hybridity. But for me the importance of hybridity is not to be able to trace two original moments from which the third emerges, rather hybridity to me is the ‘third space’ which enables other positions to emerge. This third displaces the histories that constitute it, and sets up new structures of authority, new political initiatives, which are inadequately understood through received wisdom (Bhabha: 1990, 211).

Interestingly, I have found the concept of hybrid spirituality most developed in scholarly writings on Chicana feminist art and literature, (Delgadillo: 1998; M. Messmer: 2008; L. E. Perez: 2008). Theresa Delgadillo sees a connection between hybrid spirituality and Latin American liberation theology, as it is a spirituality that “makes concrete the connection between the spiritual and the material, and between the personal and public.” However, she continues, “the radical nature of this hybrid spirituality’s challenge to the status quo arises not from a reinterpretation of Christianity, but from its embrace of both indigenous and Christian elements” (Delgadillo: 1998, 889 f). Hybrid spirituality differs from syncretism, as Delgadillo underlines. For while syncretism “emphasizes the reconciliation of diverse beliefs, systems, or practices in a new form,” practitioners of hybrid spirituality “accept multiple forms and systems of knowledge, including the intuitive, mythical, native, psychic, folkloric, spiritual, material and rational, as well as traditional practices and ceremonies,” and “recognizes the heterogeneity and ongoing negotiations that constitute culture in general” (Delgadillo: 1998, 891ff). Hybrid spirituality is a “politicizing spirituality,” writes Laura E. Perez, a spirituality that emphasizes embodiment – that is, spiritual consciousness that is manifest in identifiable, socially mappable bodies and practices, rather than in vague, binary, and abstract notions of goodness, sin, s/Spirit(s), and spirituality … it is the day-to-day practices of spiritual consciousness and its material effects, rather than identification with the dogma and ritual practices of traditional religious institutions… (Perez: 2008, 338 f).

Writing from a Western, Judeo-Christian perspective, I would like to stress that the process of hybridization is at the very center of Christianity, as can be witnessed in its first centuries (see Boyarin/Burrus: 2005). Also, I would argue, the process of hybridization is not confined to the outskirts of institutionalized religion, but is a process that is very much at work within hierarchical power structures of religions. Basically, I think spirituality without hybridization is impossible. Philip Sheldrake points to this, as he states, “spiritual traditions have never been pure in the sense of entirely original, self-contained and free from a process of borrowing ideas and practices from beyond their boundaries.” He continues, “spiritual traditions grew from the actual practice of the Christian life rather than out of intellectual concepts conceived in isolation from experience” (Sheldrake: 2011, 38).

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2.1.2.1 Race and gender As a spirituality of survival and resistance, rooted in experience, hip-hop spirituality needs to be contextualized within the oppressive forces shaping it. Hip-hop, like jazz before it, is generally understood as being African American, a culture informed and shaped by black experience. Thus, a significant contribution of hip-hop to the field of spirituality would be a reflection on how concepts of race affect spirituality. “Race,” however, is a concept that must be clarified. It is, as Steve Fenton points out, closely linked with “ethnicity” and “nation.” “Ethnic group, race and nation are all viewed, by themselves or by observers, as peoples who have or lay claim to shared antecedents” (Fenton: 2010, 12).” From the late 1700s to the early 1900s, “race” became a concept of difference rooted in biology, “the key term in a whole science of classifying the divisions of humankind by physically defined races which were also widely believed to be the basis of differences in ability and temperament in a global racial hierarchy.” (ibid., 17). While racism is undeniably much older than that, racism by then had its “scientific” foundation. Hip-hop, as we shall see, carries the memory of slavery and centuries of racial oppression. However, to understand the complex effects of racism and oppression, one needs to go beyond simplistic constructions of black and white. Juan Flores critiques how the contributions of Puerto Ricans to hip-hop are overlooked by either construing hip-hop (and especially rap) as a “black thing,” generalizing it as a multicultural “youth thing” or breaking it into a diversity of sub-categories such as message rap, gangsta rap and Latino rap. As he points out, a term such as “Latino rap” blurs ethnic differences, missing the specific “Puerto Rican” flavor. Puerto Ricans were among the pioneers of hiphop, greatly influencing graffiti and breaking, as well as rap and DJing (Flores: 1994, 90; Rivera: 2003). As noted earlier, rap is often perceived to be a musical genre marked by sexism and misogyny. In addition, until quite recently, the contributions of female hip-hop artists were often overlooked or dismissed. Nelson George, for instance, writes in his influential book Hip Hop America, “Hip-hop has produced no Bessie Smith, no Billie Holiday or Aretha Franklin … for artistic impact Queen Latifah doesn’t compare to the Queen of Soul.” In his opinion, neither are Salt-n-Pepa, with their “two MCs or their beautiful DJ Spinderella ever gonna be Diana Ross.” Listing the achievements of several female rappers, George goes on to conclude, “if none of these female artists had ever made a record, hip-hop’s development would have been no different” (George: 1998, 184). Hopefully, the present work will balance this perception by presenting a fuller picture, including a study of works by a number of female graffiti artists and rappers. We will no doubt find misogynistic and sexist notions in some of the material, for instance in rap inspired by black nationalism, studied in chapter 6. Charise L. Cheney explores in depth the phallocentric aspects of

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black nationalist movements of the 19th and 20th century and how nationalist rappers and rap activists – or “raptivists” – revive their ideals. Simply put, as race gets priority over gender, the role of women is confined to supporting the black man’s fight for equality and being mothers and wives. The liberation of black women must wait until the black man is fully liberated. In Cheney’s analysis, a central theme of black nationalism is about manhood, a process of liberation from the emasculating effects of slavery and continuing racist structure to becoming a free black man, a process described by some NGE rappers as a transformation from being “niggaz” to becoming “gods” (Cheney: 2005, 27–62) Cheney points out that even female “raptivists” in general seems to support such notions (ibid., 10–5). For many young black women, feminism has become the new derogatory “F-word,” as demonstrated by hip-hop feminist Joan Morgan: Feminists on our New England campus came in two flavas – both variations of vanilla. The most visible were the braless, butch-cut, anti-babes, who seemed to think the solution to sexism was reviling all things male (except, oddly enough, their clothing and mannerism) and sleeping with each other … The others – straight and more femme – were all for the liberation of women as long as it did not infringe on their sense of entitlement. They felt their men should share the power to oppress (Morgan: 1999, 35).

In other words, feminism is perceived to be for white women, whom Morgan casts in either lesbian stereotypes denying their femininity or as privileged middle class women – “more femme” but as oppressive as any white man. In struggling with both sexism within the civil rights and black nationalist movements and with classism and inherent racism in feminist thinking as defined by the context of white middle or upper class women, black feminism has critically explored the intersecting oppressive powers of racism, gender and class. Angela Y. Davis sees how these triple forces of oppression have affected black women from slavery to the present time. She provides historic arguments for why black women were reluctant to support central issues of the feminist movement such as liberation from domestic work combined with equal rights in the workforce, and abortion rights. Black women, ever since slavery, have always been working outside their homes without experiencing it as liberating, she argues. They have “thus carried the double burden of wage labor and housework – a double burden which always demands that working women possess the persevering powers of Sisyphus” (Davis: 1983, 231). On the issue of abortion Davis argues that “the progressive potential of birth control remains indisputable,” but the campaigns supporting it failed to take into account the exploitation of class and race connected with historical attempts to control the population of blacks and poor people (ibid., 202–3). Similarly, bell hooks critiques the narrow and class-centered scope of feminist thinking as formulated by white middle class women in the 1960s and 1970s:

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Past feminist refusal to draw attention to and attack racial hierarchies suppressed the link between race and class. Yet class structure in American society has been shaped by the racial politic of white supremacy; it is only by analyzing racism and its function in capitalist society that a thorough understanding of class relationships can emerge. Class struggle is inextricably bound to the struggle to end racism (hooks: 2000, 3).

Defining a feminism not limited to the needs of any particular group, but as a “movement to end sexist oppression,” hooks argues, will direct “our attention to systems of domination and the interrelatedness of sex, race and class oppression” (ibid., 33). Many black women were alienated from feminist movements because of the one-dimensional depiction of males as suppressors, she continues, and as “with other issues, the insistence on a ‘woman only’ feminist movement and a virulent anti-male stance reflected the race and class background of participants” (ibid., 68). As Patricia Hill Collins points out, the black youth of the hip-hop generation came of age after the decline of the civil rights and black power movements of the 1950s and 1960s, “growing up during a period of initial promise, profound change, and, for far too many, heart wrenching disappointment,” as a new “colorblind racism claimed not to see race yet managed to replicate racial hierarchy as effectively as the racial segregation of old” (Collins: 2006, 3). Building on intersectional paradigms to examine not only race, gender and class, but also sexuality, ethnicity and age as mutually constructing systems of power, Collins explores how black young women coming of age during the hip-hop era carved out new feminist strategies. She acknowledges that much feminist thinking takes place within the walls of academia and similar institutions where poor women of color have limited access. In addition, the feminist texts presented here seldom reflect their life experiences and hardly acknowledge the feminist strategies young women of color learn from their mothers, aunties and other women in their neighborhoods. One of her many quotes illustrates this: “My first real understanding of feminism came through the women who looked like me and who spoke to me culturally and politically” (E. G. Martinez, in Collins 2006: 188). Collins notes how many women of the hip-hop generation, such as Joan Morgan and women in the hip-hop industry find areas outside academia to express their forms of feminism. She argues for developing the connections between trends within hip-hop feminism and the extensive need for developing new grassroots feminist organizations within African American communities and infusing churches, recreational activities, and civil rights organizations of Black civil society with a feminist sensibility. There is a need to make the links between the types of community work that builds institutions and the inroads made by Black women within popular culture (Collins: 2006, 193).

Young black women of the hip-hop generation struggle with sexist and sexually charged stereotypes of gender roles inherited from centuries of racist

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oppression, sometimes filtered through black nationalism and presently nurtured in popular culture and mass media. Women in hip-hop, whether writers, poets or rappers, critique, challenge and subvert these notions in various ways. While they might abstain from the “feminist” label, female rappers also engage in “grass roots activism” on issues affecting women. Many have even formed their own organizations and are engaged as speakers at rallies, in schools and community meetings. 2.1.2.2 Hybridity and subversive spirituality As noted in the beginning, hip-hop is popularly perceived as a deviant culture, a culture of subversion, of opposition to authority. Spirituality on the other hand, is popularly associated with submission – surrender and obedience to a higher power but also to the power structures of religious institutions (see Waijman: 2002: 162, 330 f, 347 f). To aim for spiritual perfection is “by its very nature” to aim for “complete surrender without any remaining trace of curving back upon oneself” (ibid., 330). But when images of God and Savior look like the oppressors and not like you, when racist and sexist oppression are embedded in dogma and social structures of church, such a “complete surrender” without being “curved back” to yourself is difficult. Hip-hop facilitates subversive spiritual strategies challenging oppressive, racist, sexist structures of power in society and established religion. In a sense, subversive strategies are in fact integral to spirituality. Waijman identifies what he terms “spiritual counter-movements” among some of the prophets of the Old Testament, in traditions of devotion, in “holy fools, clowns, dissidents, anchorites and exiles” and in feminist and liberation theology as they “challenge the established order” and “deregulate dominance” (ibid., 212 f). He continues: Counter-movements in spirituality are found outside the sphere of power structures and established relations: outside of their concepts, their spatial orders, their time period, their hierarchies, their great narratives. But they do not let themselves be locked up in this “outside” state. They swim against the current (ibid., 213 f).

However, these counter-movements might still acknowledge and reinforce the structures of symbolic power in their respective traditions of faith, even if reinterpreted. Emerging in the third space, – displacing the “histories that constitute it” and setting up “new structures of authority” to use the words of Bhabha – hip-hop spirituality allows for subversive strategies that also challenges hegemonic structures of symbolic power. Hip-Hop spirituality does not have to be “religious,” but it is not necessarily in opposition to religion either. But even as we will find elements from major religious traditions such as Christianity and Islam, these elements do not necessarily make a certain spiritual expression “Christian” or “Muslim”. Rather, dichotomies and hierarchical structures are constantly challenged.

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To sum up my theoretical approach, then, I explore hip-hop spirituality as hybrid spirituality, as lived spirituality in a context of oppression and struggle. As hip-hop spirituality is shaped facing multiple oppressive forces, this concept of hybrid spirituality is informed by theories of intersectionality, emphasizing race and gender. Also, hip-hop spirituality is embodied in hiphop culture and esthetic practices; in writing, moves, beats, and rhymes. Thus, a basic introduction to hip-hop culture and its esthetic practices is needed.

2.2 Hip-Hop Esthetics Hip-hop spirituality can be summed up with the slogan of one of hip-hop culture’s early anthems, “Peace, Unity, Love and Having Fun.” Here hip-hop pioneer Afrika Bambaataa and funk legend James Brown address a number of social ills afflicting society today, including violence, drugs, crime and spiritual confusion. “Is this the world we want to live in?” asks Bambaataa, in a world that is “anti-God, anti-life, anti-religion, anti what’s right, anti-you and anti-me?” A call for peace, unity and love probably fits well with most conceptions of spirituality. What stands out is the “…and having fun” part. Spirituality is serious stuff, concerning the deepest grounds and highest aspirations of human beings. Where does the fun fit in? I will reserve reflections on “fun” as a much-overlooked theological category for the final chapter. For now I suggest that it also connotes the esthetic dimension of hip-hop culture and hip-hop spirituality – the beats and rhymes, the moves, the body, the colors and shapes of writing, the excitement and thrill of hip-hop jams, in “getting up,” in the planning, meditation and performing of new styles, in the constant push for always exceeding the limits of your imagination and what is artistically possible.

2.2.1 Community While “all forms of culture are continually in a process of hybridity” according to Bhabha, hybridity is made explicit in hip-hop culture. Since its early days, hip-hop has been a culture of innovation, re-contextualization of contemporary as well as traditional elements and imaginative uses of technology, opening up a third space for difference and translation. The emergence of hiphop culture can be plotted fairly precisely in place and time to have occurred in the Bronx in the early 1970s; the elements of its roots can be traced back to ancient times, and its impact can be followed globally. This particular place and time in history became a focal point where age-old practices met new technology, where local cultural expressions eventually made way for a worldwide culture. This is even more amazing considering this was a culture

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originally created by kids as an esthetic response to often harsh living conditions in decaying urban surroundings. Hip-hop has evolved into a dynamic, complex and multifaceted cultural phenomenon, holding together contradictions and tensions, being both underground and mainstream, a “voice for the voiceless” and a multi-million dollar industry, giving way to authentic, local expressions while also being a global (not necessarily less authentic) youth culture. At various times and in various places, hip-hop has offered paradigms of community transcending ethnicity, class, gender and religion, even though there are also plenty of examples of expressions that lend a voice to racial tensions, excessive materialism and sexism.

2.2.1.1 The borders of hip-hop culture The meaning and borders of the hip-hop culture are continually renegotiated and challenged, even its terminology. Afrika Bambaataa reportedly borrowed the syllables “hip hop” from DJ Lovebug Starski and applied it to his “hip hop jams.” But the oldest term for the culture used among its practitioners seems to be b-boying, later associated only with the dance. DXT (or DS.T), a DJ who started out with Afrika Bambaataa and the Zulu Nation and later became famous through his contribution on Herbie Hancock’s 1983 influential hit “Rock It,” gives several explanations for this term: People have this misconception of b-boys. All of us were b-boys. Kool Herc was a bboy. The dance was just a small part of it. The b also stood for breaking, or boogie boy or from the Bronx. Breaking also referred to people who would show up for parties and knock people out… we never called it hip-hop; we called it b-beat music (Fricke/ Ahearn: 2002, 12).

Even the spelling of “hip-hop” is debated. In mainstream media and scholarly articles, “hip-hop” or “hip hop” is common. Rapper KRS One underlines the significance of spelling: Most corporate exploiters, showing Hiphop no cultural respect, spell Hiphop – “hiphop.” True Hiphoppas are advised to spell Hiphop with a capital “H”, as it is the name of our collective consciousness, and our kulture. Hiphop, spelled “hip-hop” means (hip) trendy, (hop) jump or dance. We are not just a “trendy dance” however, those that spell Hiphop like this (hip-hop) usually approach Hiphop like a trendy dance or style of music with no regard for its existance as a kulture. In addition, Hiphop’s kultural unity and linguistic authority is established by spelling Hiphop as one word, “Hiphop”, unless the term “Hiphop” is being displayed as art, or in public advertisement. Those that mis-spell Hiphop, “hip-hop” are undermining Hiphop’s kultural unity and demeaning the importance of what Hiphop really is. They are

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participating in Hiphop’s corporate enslavement by reducing our kulture and way of life to a product (KRS ONE: 2002).2

The bringing together of the four elements of hip-hop – writing (graffiti), DJing, breaking and rap – is attributed to DJ Kool Herc and Afrika Bambaataa. As both a writer and a DJ, Herc “brought it all together” – “he did graffiti, he brought the music and his crew did the dancing” (Tony Tone in Israel: 2002). Afrika Bambaataa imbued hip-hop with a communal and spiritual sensibility, organizing writers, DJs, rappers and breakers in what was to become known as the Universal Zulu Nation. The notion of hip-hop as a culture with four elements was further popularized by films such as Wild Style, Style Wars and Beat Street. These films were also instrumental in bringing hip-hop out of New York and around the globe.3 As hip-hop continued to expand, some include other elements within hip-hop culture, such as fashion, hip-hop films, hip-hop theatre and so on. KRS One of the Temple of Hiphop operates with nine elements, including “street fashion,” “street knowledge,” “street entrepreneurialism,” “beatboxing” and “street language” in addition to the other four (KRS ONE: 2003, 179–80).A holistic view of hip-hop emphasizing the four (or more) elements is often expressed as a critique of commercialized representations of hip-hop by mass media and the entertainment industry. It is important to recognize, however, especially in the case of writing, that each of the elements also has a discourse distinct from hip-hop. Writing evolved before the other elements, before the concepts of hip-hop culture were evolved. As PHASE 2 explains: The so-called elements that supposedly complete the cycle that “create” Hip Hop as a whole (Writing, Breaking, Beats, MC–ing, Scratch DJ-ing) have always existed on separate, yet without a doubt, related plateaux, with neither being imperative to the other and/or were birthed at different times (in Austin: 2001, 201).

LADY PINK argues that some writers don’t even see themselves or their art as being part of hip-hop culture: “I’ve never liked rap music to begin with, and many of my friends don’t either. I like rock’n roll, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, we put images of that nature in our work and it’s totally overlooked” Also, if the writers were doing other things on the side, like breaking or rapping, she states, they were not “full time, blood writers” (in Miller: 2002, 17). But as Afrika Bambaataa, KRS One and other pioneering hip-hoppers include graffiti 2 The spelling of culture with “k” seems to be due to an emphasis on phonetic spelling. 3 The documentary Style Wars and the semi-documentary Wild Style featured some of the major writers, DJs, rappers and breakers of its time. Beat Street on the other hand, produced by Harry Belafonte, relied on actors in the main roles and is by some considered as a less authentic representation of hip-hop culture. Still, it featured many of the prominent hip-hoppers at the time, including Afrika Bambaataa, Kool Herc, Sha-Rock, Melle Mel and the hilarious “Santa’s Rap” by The Treacherous Three. Also, it was instrumental in bringing hip-hop to other parts of the world. For instance, the premiere screening of Beat Street in Oslo featured the New York City Breakers and is cited as the starting point of hip-hop in Norway. See Holen (2004, 15–27).

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in hip-hop culture, such a view cannot be dismissed as an outsider’s perspective, as one author seems to suggest (Snyder: 2009, 26–30). In addition, there are many graffiti artists that do include graffiti as part of hip-hop and do so in their artworks, as we will see examples of in chapter 4. It is possible to understand both graffiti and the other elements as part of hip-hop culture while still acknowledging their separate discourses. 2.2.2 The power of the letter: writing Graffiti (derived from the Greek, grapho¯, to scratch, engrave, write) as the practice of writing inscriptions on walls has a long history.4 Some hip-hop historians find parallels in Egyptian hieroglyphics and European cave paintings. However, considering function and execution, graffiti scholars make a distinction between paintings and carvings done within the framework of organized ritual and graffiti done mostly as an “idle pastime in empty hours” with “speedy execution” (Blindheim: 1985, 11). That doesn’t necessarily make its history much shorter, as such graffiti was found in the ruins of Pompeii, the catacombs of Rome and in churches all over Europe during the Middle Ages (Blindheim: 1985, 11; Phillips: 1999, 17 f). Graffiti is also known to have a long history in the Arabic world, as evidenced by a collection of travelers’ graffiti made as early as the 10th century (Crone/ Moreh: 1999). The impulse to scratch and scribble on public surfaces seems to be timeless, and researchers have found a variety of different categories of graffiti through the ages.5 In an attempt to grasp the very nature of graffiti, Armando T. Silva offers a definition emphasizing seven elements: marginality, anonymity, spontaneity, elements of the setting (space, design and color) speed, precariousness (the use of cheap and easily obtainable materials) and what can be termed as ephemerality – the work might be present for only a short period of time (Phillips: 1999, 29 f). The kind of graffiti that became part of hip-hop might share many similarities with other, older kinds of graffiti, but it also represented something new and gave way to numerous stylistic inventions. To see hiphop graffiti as just another chapter in the long history of graffiti would be misleading. As Joe Austin points out, such a “universalist framework” will miss this new art form’s relations to important “other cultural and historical practices” and specific political and social contexts (Austin: 2001, 38–46). PHASE 2 makes this clear: 4 For an overview of the use of “graffiti” and other terms, see S A. Phillips (1999, xixf, 15 f), See also S. Jacobson (1996, 10–14). 5 The Institut für Graffiti-Forschung, IFG operate with a multivariable model, classifying graffiti according to 23 variables, such as content (political graffiti, sexual graffiti), geographical origin, place (latrinalia, toilet graffiti), whether it is legal or not, styles and different aesthetic aspects. See N. Siegl (2013).

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It’s the twentieth century and at this point, what aerosol writing has developed into, and the massively amazing things being done with letters and spraypaint, no one in ancient Rome, no one in ancient Greece, no one in ancient Egypt, no one in ancient Arabia, no one, shall I say, in “no where” ancient or any where else for that matter, has ever done anything quite like it before (Style: 1996, 8).

To distinguish this form from traditional kinds of graffiti, several terms are used. The oldest term among practitioners seems to be “getting around,” “getting over” eventually leading to “getting up,” referring to the fundamental principle of getting one’s name up on the wall (Castleman: 1982, 19). As the New York transit system was the main target during this new style’s formative period and first heyday, some use “subway graffiti” or “subway art” (Cooper/ Chalfant: 1984). “Spraycan Art,” Aerosol art” and “TTP”-graffiti (Tags, Throw ups and Pieces) reflect the use of spraycan paint and the basic forms, while “Hip-hop Graffiti” emphasizes it’s connection to a wider culture (Chalfant/ Prigoff: 1987). Some artists even invent their own terms reflecting philosophical, esthetical and spiritual aspects of their particular art. RAMM-ELL-ZEE describes his work as “ikonoclastic-panzerism” or “Gothic Futurism” (RAMM-ELL-ZEE: 2003). PHASE 2 connects to ancient Egypt, calling his letters “higherglyphics” (Miller: 2002, 85). The late DONDI simply referred to his art as DONDISM, emphasizing the individuality of style: I never was a graffiti artist/writer even when I was active in the subway yards. I was a subway painter, a subway writer. Now that I do work on canvas, the work consists of “high tech letters with ghetto based images.” They are not graffiti paintings. If you must title my work it can only go under one title “Dondism” which is the state of DONDI, the composer of Dondism (Witten/White: 2001, iv).

While the general public and popular media still favor “graffiti,” it seems as though practitioners and many scholars prefer “writing.” The immediate roots of writing can be traced to areas outside of New York and the Bronx. “Cholo” graffiti of LA gangs dates back to probably as early as the 1930s (Phillips: 1999, 37; Grody: 2007, 12). Before the 1950s and the use of spray cans, gang graffiti was painted with brushes. Tags could also be made with tar sticks or burned with Zippo lighters (Phillips, 1999: 37). Charles “CHAZ” Bojourquez, an acknowledged artist with a background in graffiti, explains the “cholo” style this way: Los Angeles graffiti has its own visual presentation. It is a public announcement. L.A. gang graffiti writings are called ‘Placas’ (plaques, symbols of territorial street boundaries), and are pledges of allegiance to your neighborhood. Its letter face has always been called ‘Old English’ and is always printed in upper case capital letters. This squarish, prestigious typeface was meant to present to the public a formal document, encouraging gang strength, and creating an aura of exclusivity. The Placa is written in a contemporary high advertising format, with a headline, body copy, and a logo (Bojourquez: 1997).

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The “Old English” letter type is still found in contemporary writing, especially in Los Angeles. Another feature of “cholo” graffiti that found its way into writing was the “roll call,” a list of crew members that accompany a piece. Some scholars also cite “hobo graffiti” as a precursor to writing – graffiti made by homeless people to mark friendly houses where they were offered food, money or work (Gastman/Neelon: 2010; Phillips: 1999, 49 f). The emergence of writing as we know it today is linked to the so-called “loners,” individual artists predominantly unaffiliated with gangs. Instead of marking territory, as was the main purpose of gang graffiti, the loners “followed the main transport arteries of the city and had only one intention: to get their name out” (Stewart: 2009, 14). This development can be traced to Philadelphia, perhaps as early as the late 1950’s. Among the pioneering writers from Philadelphia was CORNBREAD, who by the end of the 1960s was putting his signature everywhere he could to attract the attention of the girl he was in love with (ibid, 12–16). TAKI 183 from Washington Heights in upper Manhattan was the first writer to get media attention. In the summer of 1970, he wrote his signature on ice cream trucks around his neighborhood. The following summer he worked as a messenger, which thereby enabled him to place his signature on the subways and all over New York. His tags caught the attention of a New York Times journalist, who published a story on him. The article inspired others and helped popularize the art of writing. To write a tag on as many places as possible, but also on places considered impossible to reach, was the main focus of the first writers. That did not exclude esthetic considerations, as different lettering styles, signs and arrows were introduced. Numerous stylistic inventions appeared in the years that followed, as writing gradually expanded from tags to complex masterpieces (Cooper: 2008). The tag was blown up, highlighted with an outline, colors were introduced, bubble letters, 3D letters, characters, backgrounds and so on. Writers experimented with different spray paints, made adaptations to the cap on the spray can to get different textures and thickness. By the mid–1970s, writing was flowering in a variety of styles and entered into what many consider to be its “golden era.” The preferred surfaces for writers were the trains and subway cars, reflected in the taxonomy of pieces. Categories like “Top To Bottoms” (T-to-B), “End to Ends,” “Whole Car” and “Whole Train” (or “worms”) all refer to how a piece covers the train surface.

2.2.2.1 Elements of writing The fundamental element of writing is the execution of letters, with emphasis on style, bravery and quantity. The style masters are constantly challenging the alphabet, exploring the letter and letter combinations and ways to twist them. As told about DONDI:

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For DONDI, mastery of lettering was not only an art form but a science as well. Mastering the Roman alphabet – or more accurately, reinventing it – became his primary occupation. He painstakingly dissected the letter forms and manipulated them (Witten/White: 2001, 18).

Others have been more concerned about quantity and bravery – not necessarily excluding style – to place a tag on as many and unlikely places as possible. Some went on to become kings of an entire subway line, even king of all lines (Austin: 2001, 118). The tag is the basic form of writing, the writer’s signature. In the earliest days of writing, a tag was composed of a writer’s first name or nickname and a number indicating their street address, like JULIO 204, BARBARA 62 and TAKI 183 (ibid., 42–6). Soon, writers found one or more aliases for their signature. Ivor L. Miller traces this practice of self-naming to various African and African American traditions, including the Nation of Islam (Miller: 2002, 51–60). As we shall see, the use of aliases is common among rappers, DJs and breakers as well. Writers identify as strongly with their signature name as they do with their given name, as PHASE 2 points out: “Names, were dynamic and often reflective, as they should be, of you” (Style: 1996, 33). Or, in the words of DURO: “Being from a poor family growing up, I lived that hard life, and that’s the person I became, DURO! I became the whole persona of DURO, the whole meaning of it” (Miller: 2002, 62). A name is chosen for a variety of reasons, after practical, esthetical and spiritual considerations. As the tag is often made under stressful situations, some writers might find a combination of letters that are easy to execute. Others look for combinations that look good together or words that have a nice sound. Many names are inspired by popular culture. LEE explains that his signature is derived from his middle name Louis, but also inspired by martial arts actor Bruce Lee: “He was a very serious person – his discipline, his attitude towards his art – that came down with me into the subways” (ibid., 61). FUTURA 2000 for a long time had been interested in the future, in what would become of science and society, and he took his name from Stanley Kubrick’s film 2001. A Space Odyssey. He also wanted to be the first with a four-digit number (ibid., 63). Several writers have a spiritual explanation for their name. Like VULCAN: … I went through a few different names, but nothing that I wrote steadily for any amount of time. I chose the name for style, mostly. The way the words went together. That is, until I came across VULCAN, because the letters don’t really fit together, but I liked the word as a whole, and I liked the meaning. VULCAN has a lot more substance. There weren’t many writers with Vs in their names. Vulcan is the Roman god of fire, arts, and craftmanship. He made armor for all the other gods and the human heroes in Roman mythology (ibid.).

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PHASE 2 explains that his name is “A title, it’s an essence” designating a state of mind in forward motion. He continues: “My name is a derivative of my mind, a name I gave myself, that I created from not knowing my real name, my African name” (ibid., 68 f). James TOP’s first alias was JEE 2, which stood for Justice Equality, Equality, relating to the Five Percenters (the Nation of Gods and Earths): I took that name and gave it this meaning because of the Five Percenter influence in my area. Five Percenters created names for themselves based on acronyms that can be broken down. Like my name James, broken down in Five Percenter terms, is “Justice Allah Master Equality Savior” (ibid., 59).

Also RAMM-ELL-ZEE, sometimes spelled RDLLSLLZSS, took his name from the Five Percenters. He offers a complex and layered interpretation: RDLL’ is Raamses, the son of the Egyptian sun god; is Raham in the Black Muslim community; is ram, meaning to batter, to be in forward motion, also the straight arrows of wild-style lettering. ‘SLL’ is leverage, elevation, promotion. If you are ramming something and it’s elevating, that means it’s flying. ‘ZSS’ [if you trace the sign of a “Z”] is the pattern of the way we read a page (ibid, 59).

The system of the Roman alphabet is challenged by the Greek letters which open RAMM-ELL-ZEE’s name up for even new layers of interpretation, as D not only looks like an “A”, but also a pyramid, complete knowledge (RAMMELL-ZEE: 2003). The tag can be ornamented with arrows and other lines to add motion and rhythm. Some add a symbol to their tag, for instance a crown, stars or faces. The crown might signify status as “king,” a title earned by writers who are especially prolific or have outstanding style. STAY HIGH 149 adds the characteristic symbol of “the Saint” from the popular TV-series. When a group of writers team together, they also make a tag for their crew. MTA (Mad Transit Artists), TDS (The Death Squad), 3YB (Three Yard Boys), TSF (The Spanish Five), UA (The United Artists or Unbeatable Army) and FC (First Class) are some examples (Castleman: 1982, 114; Murray/Murray: 2002). Throw ups, often characterized as something between a tag and a piece, is a way to enlarge the tag as the tag is “thrown up” on the wall with quick execution. It is often done with a single outline in rounded, bubbly letters, usually filled with a different color. The focus of the throw up is not so much on style as it is on bombing, being visible in quantity. Masterpieces, or pieces, are traditionally focused on letters, emphasizing style. As writers have constantly searched for new ways to shape letters, the letter designs are often unreadable to the untrained eye. Letters are twisted, interwoven, transformed and manipulated into complex, almost abstract images, thus the term “wild-style,” according to famed writers LEE and VULCAN:

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Wild-style is the metamorphosis that writers took upon themselves as they changed the alphabet into a wild, rambunctious, erratic thing. Seemingly out of control because it’s unreadable… wanting to make their names more powerful through movement dynamism – that’s the power of the letter (LEE in Miller: 2002, 85). The whole meaning behind the art is that it’s a communication language… My main thing is taking letters and distorting them, changing them, mutating them. It’s about evolving the alphabet. Just because somebody said this is the way it’s supposed to be, it doesn’t mean it has to be. You can individualize the alphabet. You can make it your own (VULCAN, ibid., 79).

Wild-style pieces reflect rhythm and motion, and writers often compare it to dance, as LEE explains: “The styles that evolved, like wild style, was another form of dancing, body language. It was very three-dimensional. Those letters became sculptures of our life, our family structure” (in Silver/Chalfant: 2003, bonus material). In a video interview, DOZE demonstrates with his body the similarity between breaking and letters, as he explains that wild-style is “geometric art and dance hand in hand, making the characters go through the elements” (ibid.).6 DOZE also points to the social and political dimension of the distortion of the letters: I have to work hard to understand and figure out dominant society. Like those legal documents that poor people are handed down by landlords or the police. They don’t understand what the hell they are talking about, yet that obscure language impacts their lives. Graff is my ghetto defense. It is my weapon against my sense of helplessness. It is a code that is for us, for other graffiti artists to understand (Miller: 2002, 83).

A piece can consist of only letters, but elaborate murals might display other elements as well, backgrounds, characters, messages and dedications in styles ranging from the abstract to photographic realism. Some are explicitly political or spiritual; others depict urban landscapes and scenes from city life. Artists draw on a variety of impulses, from comics, films and TV shows to art history, science fiction and cultural and ethnic traditions. Within writing culture one finds such a variety of expressions, aesthetical and spiritual approaches, social and political attitudes, sometimes making it hard to draw sharp lines between different forms of writing and other kinds of street art, like sticker art, stencil art, mural paintings and so on. Also, writing has long since become a global art form, with a diversity of styles and approaches found in most cities of the world (see Ganz: 2004; 2006; Gröndahl: 2009).

6 Interestingly, breaking is on the other hand sometimes called “Physical Graffiti.” See below.

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2.2.3 Wheels of Steel: DJing The architects of hip-hop were DJs, masterminds at “the wheels of steel.” They brought people together, whether they were writers, dancers, gang members or just regular kids and youths looking for fun and excitement. For a few hours the DJs created community on the dance floor, moving the crowd to their preferred beats. Along the way, they introduced new technology and used it creatively in previously unimagined ways. As the art of DJing (also spelled “dee jay,” from “disc jockey”) is intrinsically intertwined with recording technology, one cannot claim links to ancient practices, as sometimes is done with writing, rapping and even breaking. Still, DJing goes back to the first decades of the twentieth century, especially to the early years of local and national radio in the late 1920s. From the 1930s and increasingly after the World War II, DJs became popular radio personalities and instrumental in promoting new records, also playing a major role in presenting African American music genres to white audiences. As DJs began to appear live at parties, clubs and “discotheques” providing music for dancing, their role changed from merely presenting records to performing them, developing skills to interpret and respond to the needs of the dancing audience. The disco DJs of the 1970s were known for making the transitions between the records as smooth as possible, finding tracks with matching beats and feelings in order to keep the dancers on their feet. This ability of the disco DJ to move a crowd inspired pioneering hip-hop DJs (Brewster/Broughton: 2000, 31ff). The Jamaican DJs, operating mobile “sound systems” for outdoor dancing, were another influence. Pioneers like URoy and King Tubby evolved the practice of “dubbing” – taking the original vocals and other melodic contents out of a track, sometimes replacing it with new vocals (Fernando: 1994, 31–58). This way of making new music out of old records was refined by hip-hop DJs, who from the beginning made new sounds using already recorded music. Jamaican born DJ Kool Herc came to New York in 1967 and arranged in- and outdoor parties with his sound system, two turntables and powerful speakers dubbed “the Herculoids.” While DJing, he also noticed that some dancers would turn loose on certain parts of the records: the “breaks,” where all attention was given to the rhythm section. The dancing audience would form circles around particularly good dancers responding to these breaks. Kool Herc started looking for records with good break parts, known as “break beats.” By joining the break parts from two copies of the same record, he found a way to extend the breaks, a technique he called “merry go round.” Afrika Bambaataa earned the title “Master of Records” due to his enormous record collection and his open-minded way of combining disparate musical genres like punk, funk and classical music. In 1982, Bambaataa and The Soul Sonic Force released “Planet Rock,” based in part on “Trans Europe Express” by German electronica pioneers Kraftwerk. Its combination of rap and

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futuristic electronic sound became highly influential in the world of DJing, inspiring other dance music genres such as house (Brewster/Broughton: 2000, 242). Over the course of his career, Bambaataa’s musical openness has resulted in collaborations with a diversity of artists including James Brown, Bill Laswell, Boy George and George Clinton. Much of what is now considered the basic repertoire of techniques in hiphop DJing was developed and refined by Grandmaster Flash. Originally intending to become an electrician, Grandmaster Flash used his knowledge of technology to explore his equipment. Through intense studies and experimentation, he developed a series of techniques and theories, such as the “Quick Mix Theory,” the “Clock Theory” and the “Phone Dial Theory” (ibid., 213ff). Emphasizing beat and tempo, he developed his skills in finding, combining, extending and manipulating beats at a quick speed. Later on, he connected a drum machine to his equipment, enabling him to add further percussive elements to the musical mix. He also introduced “body tricks,” such as operating the turntables behind his back, mixing with his foot or scratching with his knee. With his crew, The Furious Five, he released early hip-hop classics such as “The Message,” “Adventures of Grandmaster Flash on the Wheels of Steel” and “White Lines.” A member of his crew, Grand Wizard Theodore, is credited with the invention of scratching: the moving of a record back and forth on the turntable to make rhythmic patterns. 2.2.3.1 DJing and producing The early DJs and rappers produced cassette tapes distributed at parties, passed on by friends, played in uptown taxies and other underground networks outside the reach of the music industry. Believing hip-hop was just another “fad” that would soon disappear; it took a long time before record labels became interested in this new kind of music. The idea of making a record of a DJ playing other records seemed strange. As Grandmaster Flash put it: “Who would want to hear a record which I was spinning rerecorded with MCing over it?” (Brewster/Broughton: 2000, 238). Actually, several of the first rap records were made with live bands trying to recreate what the DJ was doing. Sugar Hill Records, who released “Rappers’ Delight” and many other early rap classics, had a house band with experienced session musicians. Also Kurtis Blow, the first rapper to sign a major label, used live musicians on his recordings. Grandmaster Flash finally captured the art of DJing on vinyl with “Adventures Of Grandmaster Flash On the Wheels of Steel” (1981). Here, the foundation of the cut and mix aesthetic of hip-hop production was laid out. The characteristic bass-line that runs through “Rappers Delight” was taken from “Good Times,” a hit by the influential disco band Chic. Later, the English rock group Queen used the same bass line on “Another One Bites The Dust.” Grandmaster Flash combines all these versions and also scratches its

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rhythmical figure. In the words of hip-hop chronicler David Toop: “Where other releases translated hip hop, ‘Adventures’ was as close as any record would ever come to being hip hop” (Toop: 2000, 107). As rappers entered the studio, DJs took on the role of producers, providing the music tracks. The DJ used techniques developed in live situations, combining tracks from different sources of pre-recorded sounds, adding scratches and beats from a drum machine. Furthermore, as new technology became available, they were ready to exploit it. The digital sampler was introduced in the mid–1980s and revolutionized the way hip-hop producers made music. Originally, the sampler was seen as an extension of a synthesizer, adding organic, “live” material that could be played chromatically on the keyboard. A drum synthesizer could make rhythm patterns using the sounds of sampled live drums in place of the synthesized drum sounds. But instead of sampling their own drumming, hip-hop producers would sample drum breaks from other records, capturing not only the sound of a live drum, but also the particular sound of a specific drummer on a specific record. In addition to simplifying the process of extending breaks in loops, the sampler also made it possible to combine several loops (Schloss: 2004, 34ff; George: 1998, 88–96; Rose: 1994, 73–80). The musical texture could be made as thick and dense as the producers imagined, putting layers and layers of samples on top of each other. A track like Public Enemy’s “Night of the Living Baseheads” (It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back, 1988), produced by the Bomb Squad team, uses about 45 different samples in addition to the basic rhythm track (Rose: 1994, 80). Other elements were sampled as well: vocal parts, a riff played by a horn section, characteristic sighs and groans of performers, parts of speeches by famous orators such as Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr., even recognizable parts of melodies that would be re-contextualized in the hip-hop tune. With the advent of hip-hop records and a growing hip-hop industry, rappers took the center stage of hip-hop music. The DJs stepped into the background as producers; many rappers did not even feature DJs in their live shows, relying on pre-recorded musical backgrounds. But the art of DJing survived and evolved into new forms. Organized DJ battles became a new arena for further exploring and expanding the possibilities of the art form. Some DJs began producing music without contributions from rappers, like the Incredible Scratchpiklz, The XEcutioners and The Beat Junkies. The resurgence of DJing as an art form is often referred to as “turntablism,” a term originally coined by DJ Babu of the Beat Junkies: “My definition of a turntablist is a person who uses the turntables not to play music, but to manipulate sound and create music” (DJ Prince/Christo/Doc Rice/Bevan Jee: 1997). The turntablist movement claims early hip-hop as part of their history, but also experimental composers such as John Cage and Pierre Schaeffer, envisioning music entirely composed by turntables as early as the 1930s and ‘40s (ibid.). Based on my own observations, attending rap concerts over the past two decades or so, the role of the DJ in rap performances today seems to be revived. Many rappers feature a DJ in their live performances, either as part of a band or as

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the sole provider of musical tracks. It is also customary to feature a DJ as a warm up act. 2.2.3.2 Manipulating time with hands The esthetics of hip-hop DJing seems to be at odds with the values of both traditional Western classical music and jazz. The idea of making music from already recorded music confronts the idea of individual authorship. As noted, the sampler was intended as a substitute for “the real thing,” live instruments, and the use of samples regarded as less authentic than having live musicians in the studio. Hip-hop DJs and producers think differently. For some, the use of records and samples defines the sound of hip-hop, and they regard live instruments as less authentic: Hip-hop is based on a deejay. Some groups that would call themselves hip-hop groups, that use live instruments, I wouldn’t call that hip-hop. It’s rap. They’re rapping. But hip-hop is a deejay and an MC …In general, I think of true hip-hop as samples, a deejay, records, beats, digging (Schloss: 2004, 75).

Playing the turntable as an instrument, not to mention touching the vinyl records with your fingertips are approaches contrary to traditional uses. As Numark and Cut Chemist of Jurassic Five puts it: Numark: Turntables were originally something you walked away from, when you put a record on, you know. You would never thought to sit and look at it thinking: “What can I do with this?” Cut Chemist: You’re never supposed to touch it. Your parents: “Don’t touch it, don’t touch the record, you’d gonna ruin it.” (in Pray: 2002).

An integral part of the hip-hop DJs work ethos is “digging the crates,” looking for rare records. Joseph Schloss captures the practice and ethos of digging in his solid study on hip-hop DJing, Making Beats: The process of acquiring rare, usually out-of-print, vinyl records for sampling purposes has become a highly developed skill and is referred to by the term “digging in the crates” (“digging” for short). Evoking images of a devoted collector spending hours sorting through milk crates full of records in used record stores, garages and thrift shop, the term carries with it a sense of valor and symbolizes an unending quest for the next record (Schloss: 2004, 79 f).

In Scratch, the excellent documentary on hip-hop DJing, there is a spiritually charged sequence, capturing DJ Shadow in the basement of his favorite used record shop: This is just my little Nirvana… just an incredible archive of music culture. There is the promise in these stacks of finding something you gonna use… It has almost the karmic element of, like, you know, I was meant to find this on top or I was meant to

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pull this out because it works so well with this, so… Just being in here is a humbling experience to me, because you are looking through all these records and it’s sort of like a big pile of broken dreams, in a way. Almost none of these artists still have a career, really. So you kind of have to respect that, in a way. If you are making records, and you are DJing and putting out releases, whether its mixtapes or whatever, you are sort of adding to this pile… Keep that in mind when you start thinking, “I’m invincible” or “I’m the world’s best” or whatever, because, that’s what all these cats thought (Pray: 2002).

“Digging the crates” signifies seriousness and dedication, a quest for unusual sounds, funky grooves that are not yet exploited, sound clips that add exotic flavor. Serious digging enables the DJ to display a vast knowledge of music as well as combining samples from a variety of genres in creative ways. Samples work on several levels in hip-hop composition. Samples might be chosen for aesthetic reasons, but they can also add to the interpretation (Williams: 2013, 1–46; Schloss: 2004, 35–68; Miyakawa: 2005, 100–22). In making the rhythmic structure, a DJ or producer will look for samples that fit a particular groove, or structure the composition on the groove of one or more particular samples. Melodic and harmonic elements might be added to build up a hook, a catch phrase. Other samples add texture and timbral qualities. Hip-hop scholar Tricia Rose points out how many hip-hop producers have a predilection for distorted sounds and heavy bass. She describes this production esthetic as “working in the red,” referring to the red zone on the sound meter which indicates distortion (Rose: 1994, 74 f). She quotes Eric “Vietnam” Sadler’s (of Public Enemy) production team, the Bomb Squad: “Turn it all the way up so it’s totally distorted and pan it over to the right so you really can’t even hear it… it’s just like a noise on the side” (ibid.). There is also a semantic, interpretative level, where samples interact with the lyrics. Samples of gunshots, call to prayer, police sirens, locking of jail doors, news reports and so on add a documentary effect, a sense of reality (cf. Danielsen: 2008). Melodic samples of exotic instruments and “romantic” saxophone solos contribute to the mood of the track, while surface noise from LPs might carry a connotation of old school or musical authenticity. Samples of specific genres or earlier periods of popular music might evoke sentiments associated with that particular music. Sometimes samples correspond directly with the lyrics, as in NWA’s “Express Yourself,” built on a sample of “Express Yourself” by Charles Wright and the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band. Rap music is not always based on samples. Certain genres such as the Gfunk variety of gangsta rap are often based on live instrumentation. In the context of gangsta rap, the use of live instrumentation is often associated with being commercial. But in other genres, it might be associated with sophistication, musicianship and genuine love of music.

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2.2.4 Physical Graffiti: Breaking Breaking, it seems, is the element of hip-hop hardest to represent in text. Rigid letters are poor witnesses of physical movement performed in the moment. In the scholarly and journalistic field of hip-hop, little has been written on breaking, especially in comparison with rap and writing.7 Also, breaking originated as a recreational activity, as fun, as something done in leisure time by kids and youths in parts of New York City that were far outside the scope of mainstream media and documentary filmmakers. Although evolving in the time of television and recording technology, the nascence of breaking is narrated through the oral accounts of those who were there – much like the beginning of jazz some 80 years earlier. Joseph Schloss points to the specific difficulties in the historiography of breaking (Schloss: 2009, 125–54). As the dance evolved among poor black and Latino teenagers in neighborhoods mostly abandoned by governmental institutions, there were few around to document it. The kids themselves were more engaged in practicing new moves than archiving their achievements. Some collected flyers and snapshots from dancing events. But photographs were rare, as b-boy Trac 2 explains: “People say. ‘Oh, why don’t you got pictures?’ Come on. Nobody had cameras. If you had a camera or video recorder, you was rich! And you wasn’t living in my neighborhood!” (ibid., 126). Also, as Schloss stresses, the most prominent scholars of the dance and its history, are dancers themselves, often involved in the events they document. They are concerned with doing justice to the individuals and their contribution to the dance and thus critical, even hostile towards broad historical narratives by outsiders. In the orally transmitted history among dancers, Schloss sees a tendency to make a “meticulous list of names” including every b-boy and b-girl who might have contributed to the dance form. Thus, if you “do not include someone on your list, you are effectively writing them out of history. And if they worked years to achieve their historical status, they would tend to take that very seriously” (ibid., 129). However, the beginning of breaking is commonly traced to the Bronx or Harlem in the early to mid–1970s, and the coining of “b-boy” credited to DJ Kool Herc. Kool Herc, as noted earlier, found a way to prolong the breaks, and he would call the dancers showing off on these breaks “b-boys.” The meaning of “b-boy” is contested, however. Trac 2 explains, “there is only three terminologies I would accept. ‘Bronx-boy,’ because that’s where we come from. ‘Battle-boy,’ because that’s what we were. Or a ‘beat-boy,’ because that’s what moved us” (ibid., 59). In a later interview, Kool Herc refers to the term 7 The best study on breaking so far is J.G. Schloss (2009).A pioneering work, placing breaking in a context of contemporary dance, is S. Barnes (1994, 121–68). C. Stallington (2007) is full of theoretical input, but surprisingly lacking in references to actual dancing.

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coming from street slang, meaning someone going berserk, close to the breaking point: “b-boys meant boys that break, they break it, they’re getting off, they hit another level of energy … it didn’t come from the break on the record.” (Israel (dir.): 2002). In explaining the formation of breaking, Jorge “Fabel” Pabon – dancer with the Rock Steady Crew and hip-hop lecturer – reminds us of the dance forms developed outside of New York that were later integrated into breaking: In order to properly report the history of hip-hop dance forms, one must journey both inside and outside of New York City. Although dance forms associated with hiphop did develop in New York City, half of them (i. e. popping and locking) originated and developed on the west coast as part of a different cultural movement. Much of the media coverage in the 1980s grouped these dance forms together with New York’s native dance forms (b-boying/b-girling and uprocking), labeling them all “breakdancing.” As a result, the West Coast “funk” culture and movement were overlooked and underrated as the public ignorantly credited hip-hop as the father of the funk dance forms (Pabon: 2006, 18 f).

Dance historian Katrina Hazzard-Donald points to the cyclic nature of African American popular dance forms: particular dances become popular, fade away and then reappear some twenty years later. In hip-hop dancing, she thus recognizes elements from earlier dance forms (Hazzard-Donald: 1996). Breakers cite earlier as well as contemporary influences, from the Lindy Hop of the 1920s and 30s, the Nicholas Brothers popularizing their mix of tap and acrobatics in films from the 1930s and onwards, Don “Campbellock” Campbell, the creator of locking, performing regularly with The Lockers on the popular TV show Soul Train, and popular artists who combined dancing with singing, such as Sammy Davis, Jr., James Brown and Michael Jackson. Other influences include martial arts and Kung Fu movies, the movements of basketball players and gang culture (Israel: 2002; Schloss: 2009, 79–83, 136 f). Hip-hop dancing is not limited to breaking. “Hip-Hop dance” as taught at dance studios and featured in hip-hop videos often has more in common with “jazz dance” and other kinds of dance featured in popular music than breaking, and is generally perceived to be more commercial (Hazzard-Donald: 1996, 227–31). Among the earliest b-boy crews were the Zulu Kings, featuring some of the early legends of b-boying. Latinos made considerable contributions early on such as legendary Spy – known as the “man with the thousand moves” – and the all Latino Salsoul Crew. While breaking was considered to be a “guy thing,” girls were involved from the beginning. Alien Ness of the Zulu Kings remembers Headspin Janet: “Headspin Janet was THE first real b-girl. She was the first girl I saw coming in the cyphers. She was real fluid” (Cooper: 2005, 12). Another pioneering b-girl was Baby Love of the Rock Steady Crew, featured on their video “Hey You.” The Rock Steady Crew was formed in 1977 and was instrumental in preserving breaking as it began losing ground to disco. Breaking remained

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unnoticed by mass media until 1981, when photographer Martha Cooper and dance professor Sally Banes wrote an article in the Village Voice (Cooper/ Banes: 2004). In August, Henry Chalfant staged a b-boy battle between the Rock Steady Crew and the Dynamic Rockers outside Lincoln Center, an event that was covered by The New York Times and a host of national TV stations. A period of high media exposure and international recognition followed. Films such as Wild Style, Style Wars and Beat Street popularized breaking. Kids were breaking everywhere, on street corners, in parks and shopping malls in cities all over the world. Articles on breaking, featuring glossaries and “how to” sections appeared in newspapers and magazines; breaking was featured in advertisements and music videos and a host of “breaking products” from cardboards, sneakers and clothes to instructional books and videos were on offer. For a while, breaking seemed to be the most commercialized element of hip-hop. But breaking was also perceived as a problem, police were chasing breakers from the streets and shopping malls closed their doors to breaking crews. Soon, newspapers ran articles on the dangers and physical risks of breaking, reporting of breakers with head and back injuries. By the late 1980s, as rap music became more and more popular, mass media was more or less finished with breaking, and many crews broke up. Breaking was never “just a fad” that eventually died out. In 1991, the Rock Steady Crew revitalized and became instrumental in reviving b-boying and bgirling. Each year, in July, the Rock Steady Crew celebrates its anniversary with performances and battles. Its members, such as Crazy Legs, Ken Swift, Jorge “Fabel” Pabon are now the respected elders of the global b-boy community, teaching “the foundation” of b-boying and appearing at battles worldwide.

2.2.5 The Art of Rhyming: MCing Originally a function of the DJ, shouting one-liners to the dancing crowd to make them feel good, MCing soon took center stage and rap is today the element of hiphop culture getting the most media attention. Unlike breaking and writing, rap had a product to sell – records – and the larger-than-life personas of the rappers overshadowed the DJ. To some, the most commercialized forms of rap are excluded from being part of hip-hop, perceived to be more authentic (Krims: 2000, 10).8 And, as is true with graffiti, rap also has a discourse on its own and can be appreciated and understood apart from hip-hop (ibid., 11). Rap, or MCing (“Master of Ceremonies,” “Mic Controller”), just like DJing, has its immediate precursors in radio DJing, disco and Jamaican dub culture. 8 It is my impression, however, that there is also an opposite usage of rap and hip-hop, where rap is considered to be a “pure,” “authentic” or “hardcore” musical genre, while “hip-hop music” is perceived to be watered down, more commercial and consumer-friendly, closer to contemporary r&b and soul.

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DJs like Lovebug Starski and DJ Hollywood would introduce their selections with spoken introductions such as “Hollywood, I’m doing good, I hope you are feeling fine” (Fricke/Ahearn: 2002, 79). The dubbing of Jamaican toasters, who stripped records of vocals and placed their own vocals over the beats, was also influential, as was the combination of politically charged poetry and music exemplified by Gil Scott-Heron, the Last Poets and the Watts Poets and performing poets such as Amiri Baraka, Sonia Sanchez and Nikki Giovanni (Perkins: 1996b, 2–5). As an oral art form not necessarily dependent on technology, rap is rooted in the long and rich heritage of African American oral traditions. Scholars point to parallels of rhetorical and poetical forms in oral practices such as “the toasts,” “the dozens,” “signifying” and even children’s rhymes with their use of rhyme, hyperbole, inversions and double meanings (J. Onwucheckwa: 2003). There are also links to the flowing and charged characters of preachers and orators. Some, like Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr. are also frequently sampled in hip-hop. 2.2.5.1 The poetics of rap Rap shares a number of esthetic values with hip-hop culture in general. For instance, the explicit valorization of individual style, the employing of noms de plume (artistic names) enabling the artist to form an alternative, imagined identity and a highly competitive element. The latter is evident in formal battles and so called “dis” raps. Compared to other musical genres, rap music obviously differs insomuch as lyrics are recited, not sung. There are exceptions, as rappers might include sung choruses or other parts. There are also singing hip-hop artists that either do not rap at all, like Mary J Blige and Erykah Badu, or combine singing and rapping, such as Wyclef Jean and Lauryn Hill. On the textual level, one finds a prevalence of tropes, topics, metaphors and linguistic practices rarely found elsewhere in popular music – or any other music for that matter. Self-expression and individuality is an integral part of any artistic activity, but is seldom made a topic of the artwork itself. In rap, the self is expressed in a dynamic between individual identity and personal style in relation to a group identity, community or culture. Being both an individual and a part of “a crew,” “posse,” or “hood,” a community, real or imagined, is equally important in giving expression to one’s identity. In rap performance, the individual self is implicitly expressed in body language, with hands rhythmically moving from pointing inwards to the rapper and outwards to the audience. Elements of a rapper’s style are imaginative use of words, metaphors, rhymes and vocal delivery, or flow. While songwriters might occasionally consult a rhyme dictionary, rappers eat dictionaries for breakfast and learn them by heart, thus having a large vocabulary of unusual words and word-combinations at their disposal. The regular sense of meter is often

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challenged as syllables are crowded and spat out at such a pace that it seems impossible to make them conform to a melody. Rappers customarily boast their own skills in vivid imagery. Ice-T, for instance, describes his own rap as “brainstorm microphone napalm, this is it, words from a timebomb,” concluding: “You think I’m crazy? You ain’t seen shit yet, ‘cause I love to kill and kill for fun, the microphone goes off like a handgun” (“Mic Contract,” O. G. Original Gangster, 1991). Rakim claims cosmic skills: “I was always the flow-er, I made waves for Noah. From a compound, to the anatomy, to the breakdown of a atom. Some of my rap patterns still surround Saturn,” asserting that his rhymes date back to ancient hieroglyphics as well as the Qur’an (“18th Letter (Always and Forever)” The 18th Letter, 1997). References to a certain community or neighborhood underline the artist’s authenticity or “realness.” The rapper is not just coming from anywhere, he or she is coming from a specific place and represents a specific group of people, whether it is a named part of a city like New York’s South Bronx or Compton in Los Angeles, or more generic concepts such as “the ghetto” or “the streets.” Such references, especially those that are geographically specific, might have layered meanings. South Bronx, for instance, is laden with symbolic weight as the mythic birthplace of hip-hop and gives the rapper a certain authority, while Compton infers gangsta authenticity (Forman: 2002). A characteristic of rap lyrics is the use of double meanings, which in the context of African American oral tradition is referred to as “signifyin.”9 The “real” meaning of the lyrics is hidden or only hinted at, a practice well-rooted in the blues tradition. When blues pianist Roosevelt Sykes sings about his baby’s ice cream freezer and how he longs for taking a scoop of her delicious ice cream, he is not really singing about ice cream (“Ice Cream Freezer,” The Honeydripper’s Duke’s Mixture Barclay, 1971). As exemplified by Ice-T, guns and weaponry can signify verbal skills, but also refer to sexual prowess, such as in this clever example by Salt-n-Pepa: “If looks could kill you would be an uzi/ You’re a shotgun – bang! What’s up with that thang?/I wanna know how does it hang?” (“Shoop” Very Necessary, 1993). Other kinds of wordplay include acronyms and homophones. When Killah Priest raps on the Bible, he deals with “Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth” (“B.I.B.L.E,” Heavy Mental, 1998). Wu-Tang’s “C.R.E.A.M” is not about dairy products, but a synonym as well as an acronym for money, “Cash Rules Everything Around Me “ (Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), 1993). Pete Rock and CL Smooth apply homophones in breaking down the true meaning of library and television, “Li-braries; broken down as lies buried … Television; tell-a-lie-vision” (“Anger in the Nation,” Mecca and the Soulbrother, 1992). 9 An influential theory of signifying is developed in H.L. Gates, Jr. (1988). Alexs Pate refers to this practice as “coding” or “coded language,” and identifies metaphor, metonymy, synecdoche, simile and hyperbole as essential elements of the rapper’s repertoire (Pate: 2010, 51ff).

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Also, lyrical improvisation is a valued feature of rap performance, once again showing rap’s debt to African American oral tradition and aesthetic practices. While many rappers prefer to write their rhymes, others specialize in verbal improvisation without written preparation, so called freestyling. Freestyle is especially popular in underground rap scenes (see Fitzgerald (dir.): 2002). Probably the most important and discussed parameter of rapping is flow. No matter how eloquent the rhymes might be in other ways, if a rapper doesn’t flow, she or he isn’t worth listening to. Somewhat similar to the concept of “sound” in defining the style of individual jazz musicians, flow characterizes the individual style of a rapper (cf. Berendt: 1992, 149ff). Adam Krims notes a profound change in flow occurring at the beginning of 1990s, discerning contemporary rappers from old schoolers (Krims: 2000, 48–92).10 Old school rap typically flows with a rhythmic style resembling that of song, following simple rhythmic patterns and end-rhymes occurring on the fourth beat. At the beginning of 1990s, more complex and faster rhythmic styles evolved, with internal rhymes, markedly faster delivery and complicated rhythmic patterns often violating the sense of meter. This observation leads Krims to discern three different rhythmic styles of flow, a sung style, a percussion-effusive style and a speech-effusive style (ibid., 48ff). The sung style, as noted, resembles the rhythmic flow of song and characterizes old school. The percussion-effusive style is not necessarily any faster than the sung style, but flows in distinctive and generally more complicated rhythmic patterns similar to a percussion instrument. The more recent speech-effusive style tends to be fast, with irregular rhythms emulating the flow of “natural” speech. As Krims points out, these styles coexist in contemporary rap; the sung style is not “dead” but highly popular. Also, a rapper is not bound to any one style, but might change styles, even in the span of one performance. We have now looked at the four “core” elements of hip-hop, while cognizant of the fact that there are other elements and that hip-hop has made its mark on other artistic formats including poetry (or spoken word), theatre, fashion, cinema and so on.11 This brief survey hopefully provides a basic understanding of the history, esthetics and community of hip-hop culture. Thus, we have in a sense already been dealing with hip-hop’s “fifth element,” knowledge. More specifically, we have dealt with the element of knowledge concerning hip-hop culture in itself. But, there is another aspect of the fifth element, concerning knowledge of self, of ancestry and spirituality, which we will turn to now. 10 For other examples of musicological analysis of rap esthetics, see R. Walser (1995), C. Keyes (2002, Chapter 5) and F.M. Miyakawa (2005, Chapters 4 and 5). 11 For anthologies of hip-hop inspired poetry, see T. Medina/L.R, Rivera, (ed.) (2001) and Z. Anglesey (1999). J. Chang (ed.) (2006) offers insights in hip-hop and other art forms, such as theatre, film and photography. For an interesting study on hip-hop and fashion, see M.A. Morgado (2007).

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2.3 The Fifth Element: Knowledge Afrika Bambaataa and KRS One stand out as the founding teachers of hip-hop culture. In addition to their artistic output, they have both devoted themselves to exploring the spiritual possibilities of hip-hop. By organizing and engaging the hip-hop community, formulating aesthetic, moral and spiritual principles and insisting on the awareness and appreciation of the contributions of hiphop’s named and unnamed pioneers, they have envisioned a divine dimension of hip-hop culture. Thus, the fifth element becomes a spiritual path, a key to understanding the mystery of being. Afrika Bambaataa’s Universal Zulu Nation is a highly influential movement in hip-hop, guarding and encouraging what they perceive to be the original spirit and core values of the culture and its elements. Founded in 1973, it is the oldest and longest running organization in hip-hop.12 KRS One has been involved in a variety of organizational activities throughout his career, from the “Stop The Violence” movement in the late 1980s to the present “Temple of Hip Hop.” In this section I will study the teachings of Africa Bambaataa’s Universal Zulu Nation mainly as they are expressed in various documents posted on their website. KRS One has published a number of pamphlets and books, in addition to numerous recordings. Both draw on a variety of sources, including a diversity of cultural and religious traditions as well as popular culture. On some points Bambaataa and KRS One converge, especially when it comes to their understanding of hip-hop culture and in creating a radically ecumenical attitude towards religion. There are also significant differences, however, which I will discuss at the end of this chapter.

2.3.1 Afrika Bambaataa and the Universal Zulu Nation During the 1960s, Afrika Bambaataa was involved with gang activity, as a member of the Black Spades operating in the Bronx borough of New York. By the early 1970s, the gangs were starting to fade out, as, according to Bambaataa, a lot of the women was getting tired of all the gang banging and drugs that were coming into the community. You had the police crack down on gangs, and you also had religious organizations and Black leaders trying to speak to the gangs, trying to bring down the gang activity. Hearing the teachings of the Nation of Islam made a lot of people get up and try to get the drugs out of their community…(in Fricke/Ahearn: 2002, 44)

12 For the early stages of Zulu Nation, see J. Chang (2005, 89–107).

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Bambaataa first started a performing group called Bronx River Organization, later just the Organization, which eventually became Zulu Nation.13 With the slogan “Peace, Unity, Love and Having Fun,” the Zulu Nation offered an alternative to the violence of gangs, organizing writers, rappers, breakers and DJs. They arranged parties and DJ-battles, but were also involved with education, as Zulu member Lucky Strike reports: There was a guy who was running chapter Two (of the Zulu Nation); his name was Trouble. What he talked to me about in the Zulu Nation was finding yourself, who you are. I got to see what they were all about when I went to one of their meetings in Bronx River. I met a lot of people that day. Everybody was really cool. They were teaching me things about my own culture that I never knew and things I never learned in school (ibid., 52).

Afrika Bambaataa negotiated between gangs and campaigned against drugs. Former MC Richard Sisco points out that the Zulu Nation might have maintained some of the street behavior of the Black Spades in the earlier stages, but that it contributed to education of kids and that the organization grew in a positive direction: I think the first division, it was like a lot of street justice involved in the Nation. But it was good for those wild kids that don’t have no direction. Bam gave them good direction and gave them some self-respect… Everything seemed to be geared toward an education, college-wise, and there’s a lot of other things, like being a master of your own history and being a master of yourself (ibid., 55).

Universal Zulu Nation is today an international organization with chapters all over the world, including Romania, Brazil, Japan and South Africa. Among its activities is the annual celebration of “Hip Hop History Month” in the middle of November. These celebrations are open to the public and give a glimpse of the spiritual aspects of Universal Zulu Nation. The elements of hip-hop are honored with seminars and roundtable discussions on issues concerning the hip-hop community as well as concerts featuring DJs, rappers, writers and breakers.14

13 The name was inspired by the movie Zulu (1964), directed by Stanley Baker. The movie narrates the Anglo-Zulu War and the siege of Rorkes Drift in Natal in 1879. 14 Afrika Bambaataa have inspired youths all over the world with his work, also my thinking on spirituality. As I prepared this book for printing, I learned that Bambaataa has been accused of child abuse, news that have chocked the hip-hop community. Investigations of accusations where still in its early stages and there was no time to rewrite, so this footnote is only a clumsy way to say that my prayers and thoughts go out to all victims of child abuse. See http:// atlantablackstar.com/2016/05/09/afrika-bambaataa-steps-down-as-zulu-nation-leader-amidreports-of-child-sexual-assault/ (May 19, 2016).

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2.3.1.1 The Beliefs of the Universal Zulu Nation Today, the Universal Zulu Nation (UZN) presents itself as an “International Hip Hop Awareness Movement,” with the purpose of “Overcoming the Negative to the Positive.” They emphasize values like “Knowledge, Wisdom, Understanding, Freedom, Justice, Equality, Peace, Unity, Love, Respect, Work, Fun.”15 The Universal Zulu Nation acknowledges the Zulus of South Africa, “The Zulu Nation is a great South African tribe that became as empire under the leadership of Shaka Zulu, one of the greatest Zulu Chieftains.” The meaning of “Zulu” they say, is “the Heavens” and “Strength in Numbers” and “Amazulu” means “the People of Heaven.”16 The Universal Zulu Nation’ logo, a black mask, is borrowed from and pays homage to a different “tribe” of Zulus, the Zulu Krewe – the first black Mardi Gras crew of New Orleans.17 UZN welcomes members of all races and religions, describing themselves as neither a cult nor a religion. They “gather positive information from all sources whether religious or historical.” Thus, “ALL walks of life are part of Zulu Nation. ALL religions are a part of Zulu Nation.”18 Posted on their extensive website are dietary suggestions, advice on how to deal with the police, presentations of philosophical and religious traditions and various scientific and historical facts. The teachings of UZN exist as an ongoing process, constantly evolving, drawing from such available sources as kemetology (Egyptology), the Nation of Islam and the Five Percenters, the Bible, ufology and so on. The core elements of UZN’s teachings are expressed in the fifteen paragraphs of “The Beliefs of the Universal Zulu Nation” and the accompanying “The Wisdom and Understandings of the Fifteen Beliefs of the Universal Zulu Nation.”19 The Beliefs offer a holistic worldview, where all human beings are equal regardless of religion, race and cultural background, and all are in a relation to nature and the Creator. They are inter-religious in nature, acknowledging the variety of different beliefs and the holy books of the world religions, as expressed in Belief 1: We believe in one God, who is called by many names-Allah, Jehovah, Yahweh, RA, Eloahim, Jah, God, The Most High, The Creator, The Supreme One. We believe as 15 As they present themselves on their homepage, “The Universal Zulu Nation,” http://www.zulunation.com (December 28, 2010). 16 “Infinity Lessons” http://www.zulunation.com/infinity.html (December 28, 2010). 17 For an account of this important cultural institution of New Orleans, established in 1909, see http://www.kreweofzulu.com/history/ (September 20, 2010). A summary of Zulu Krewe’s history is included in UZN’s “Infinity Lessons.” 18 “Myths and Misconceptions of the Universal Zulu Nation,” http://www.zulunation.com.au/ 2010/06/myths-and-misconceptions-of-universal.html (December 28, 2010). 19 Hereafter referred to as “Belief” and “Wisdom and Understanding,” both found at http:// www.zulunation.com/beliefs.html (Nov 12 2002).

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Amazulu, we will not fight or kill other human beings over which proper name to call God. We will recognize them all to be the same one God. We believe God will come to be seen to the human eye and will straighten out the problems that Human Beings brought upon this planet so-called Earth.

Its Wisdom and Understanding stresses the monotheistic character of the UZN’s belief system; they do not believe in pagan gods like “the God of the Sun, Wind, Fire, Earth, Water, Ice, or hundreds of Gods but only in one God who is called by many names.” Those who are going to war in the name of God, are actually fighting in the name of the evil. When referring to “God,” the Beliefs goes to great length not to limit the conception of what that means, employing various names from many religious traditions and concepts like “the force”. Neither is the gender of “God” limited, as “God” is referred to as “he, she, whatever.” Accordingly, UZN holds all holy books sacred, as stated in Belief 2 – the Bible, the Qur’an, the scriptures of all the prophets of God and the teachings of the prophets of God that are not found in any scriptures. But, as Belief 3 makes clear, the Bible has been tampered with and should be read critically. As explained in its Wisdom and Understanding, white people teaching white supremacy have altered the Bible, making Jesus, the angels and the prophets white. Like any other people of color, white people have as much right and blessing to rule as another, but if you “do not rule in justice, and rule in superiority because of color… then you become an evil or Satan, the Devil Him or Herself.” Belief 4 points to how white supremacist theories have distorted what is taught in history books and schools: We believe that through white supremacy many of the history books which are used to teach around the world in schools, colleges and other places of learning have been distorted, are full of lies and foster hate when teaching about other races in the human family.

As elaborated in the Wisdom and Understanding, this has led to “hundreds of lies” widespread in the educational systems. Some examples of these lies are the notion that Christopher Columbus discovered America, that Greece is the mother of civilization, that Native Americans, Africans, Asians and Indians are savages and that Jesus Christ and God are white. Such lies, and books that carry them, should be destroyed. For, as it is underlined in Belief 5, the UZN “believe in truth, whatever or where ever it is,” and ideals and statements should be backed up with “Facts, Knowledge, Wisdom and Understanding.” At its best, religion has a positive function, as stated in Belief 6, “religion or faith should uplift you as a Human being.” It should not be racist or oppressive. On the contrary, religion should be a “fighter for Freedom, Justice, and Equality for all Human Beings as well as for anything of life that God has given to this planet so-called Earth.” Nor should religion make you a religious slave or zombie, but encourage you to think for yourself and seek the truth. Therefore, one should not be impressed by titles such as Professor, Minister,

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Imam, Doctor, President, Father or Mother, especially when people bearing such titles are not able to explain themselves. As stated in Belief 7, “Racism and Hate are trying to rule the lives of Human Beings,” and only “belief in the Supreme One and Truth will destroy this disease called Racism and Hate.” The divide between human beings and the rest of creation has to be healed and Belief 8 encourages an ecological awareness: “Human beings have caused harm to Mother Earth.” Damage caused by human beings has affected the water and the air, sea life and animals on land, not to mention what they have wrought on other human beings with drugs, wars, hate and racism. Thus, only “Human Beings with the help of God can change the future.” Belief 9 to 11 are more specific on the characteristics of the UZN’s metaphysics, somewhat contradicting the open and all-encompassing nature of Belief 1. “We believe in the mental resurrection of the dead”, reads Belief 9, while Belief 10 states that “life, creation, everything is based on mathematics.” Because, as laid out in the Wisdom and Understanding, “God the Almighty used mathematics to create everything in six (6) days,” which may mean “6 days, 6 thousand days or 6 periods in God’s time (whatever that is) and on the 7th day, He ended His work which He had made.” But, “who is truly the Author of Mathematics? Humans or God (The Force) Him/She/Whatever self ?” Mathematics is reflected in every aspect of creation, from the heartbeat to the way planets evolve around in the solar system. “To know God is to know mathematics.” Belief 11 emphasizes that the Zulu nation believes in the seen as well as in the unseen. The unseen refers to everything that is not yet a fact, that which belongs to the future, and to God, the force. The next three beliefs concern the values that should govern human interaction. Belief 12 emphasizes that human beings are due equal justice, while Belief 13 emphasizes peace and respect, but also the obligation to respond to oppression: “We, Amazulu, are a people of Peace who wish not to be in confrontations with anyone.” However, the Wisdom and Understanding, explains that when attacked by an aggressor or oppressor… we believe and are taught that we should fight in the Name of Allah, Jah, Eloahim, The Creator, The Most High Supreme One, God… If you want Peace with the Universal Zulu Nation, then be at Peace with Us, but if you want War with Zulus then so it shall be, So shall it be done!

Belief 14 argues for a distribution and use of power that does not oppress. “We believe in Power – not the Power to rule or oppress other Humans … but the Power to control our own destiny.” The Wisdom and Understanding understand power to include the Power of Freedom for Us and for all, Power of Justice and Equality, the Power to work for ourselves and for Humans (man/womankind), the Power for the people to uplift themselves out of the gutters of the world to overcome the negative with the positive, real, Just Power. We want Mind Power with no locks or chains on the Mind or Body.

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The Beliefs are summarized in the concluding Belief 15, The Universal Zulu Nation stands for: KNOWLEDGE, WISDOM, UNDERSTANDING, FREEDOM, JUSTICE, EQUALITY, PEACE, UNITY LOVE, RESPECT, WORK, FUN, OVERCOMING THE NEGATIVE TO THE POSITIVE, ECONOMICS, MATHEMATICS, SCIENCE, LIFE, TRUTH, FACTS, FAITH, AND THE ONENESS OF GOD.

A new introduction to the Beliefs states that the UZN is now moving from Beliefs to “factology.” King Tone, president of the UZN chapter in Japan, states that the Beliefs “sum up as a whole what Zulu Nation stands for,” but underlines that “the word ‘belief’ is used here for lack of a better term. Beliefs by their very nature can be misleading and detrimental to free thought.” He also adds that Bambaataa has introduced many of the members to “Sacred Geometry”: While this may be a difficult subject for many to grasp, it is through the study and overstanding of sacred geometry that all other things can be understood, regardless of the religious source, because Sacred Geometry deals with the spiritual world without the burden of dogma (Zulu King Tone: 2004).

In performance, Bambaataa and the Soulsonic Force dressed up in vivid costumes looking like Roman rulers, pharaohs, space cowboys, Vikings, Mardi Gras Indians and space travelers (Afrika Bambaataa: Zulu Nation, 2002). One of his earlier albums, interestingly called Shango Funk Theology, features a cover with allusions to West African Yoruba tradition. In the words of hip-hop journalist Raquel Cepeda, an Ice Man, an abstracted orisha Ob t l , hovers over Earth and emits, from his hands, a deep freeze, chilling out the planet. Afrika himself postures above in the shape of double-headed ax, an oshe, emanating fire, synchronizing himself with the thunder god, Chango (Cepeda: 2006, 272).

On the cover of a later CD, Afrika Bambaataa and the Millennium of the Gods: Dark Matter Moving at the Speed of Light (2004), he is dressed like an Egyptian pharaoh, against a background of the universe, combining the ancient with the other-worldly. Afrika Bambaataa’s Universal Zulu Nation’s eclectic mix of ancient traditions, world religions and myths from contemporary popular culture are both highly original and part of a long tradition of appropriation, recombination and subversive interpretational strategies found in African American cultural practice. For instance, the combination of ancient Egyptian and African mythology with science fiction-inspired myths of outer space is representative of a cultural strain that has been termed “Afro-futurism.” Among pioneers of Afro-futurism is jazz musician Sun Ra and his Arkestra. While in Chicago in the 1950s, Ra was part of a reading circle, Thmei Research, interested in mystic and occult traditions as well as in new technologies and scientific ideas, ideas that poured into his music as well as his writings. At the same time, he and his band began performing in costumes inspired by space

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costumes as well as Egyptian and African attire. His highly original combination of music and mythology are documented in the semidocumentary Space Is the Place (Coney: 2003) as well as in his collected pamphlets (Corbett/Elms/Kapsalis (ed.): 2006). Later performers associated with “Afro-futurism” include George Clinton and his Parliament Funkadelic with releases such as Mothership Connection (1975). Reinventing himself as Dr. Funkenstein, he and his band had spectacular scenic shows, landing on the stage with the Mothership Connection Spaceship. Under the slogan “One Nation Under a Groove,” Clinton and his band mates reformulated ideas from Afro-centrism, mythology and cosmology in funky music (Vincent: 1996, 253–64). Echoing Sun Ra, Clinton envisions a utopian place for black people, free of oppressive powers, stating “I knew I had to find another place for black people to be. And space was that place” (Danielsen: 2006, 114). There are several similarities with the teachings of the Nation of Islam and the Nation of Gods and Earths. The claim that many in the human race are “blind, deaf and dumb” resonates with the teaching of the 85 percent. A striking feature of UZN’s teachings is the emphasis throughout on facts, knowledge and mathematics. The emphasis on facts and historical truths might partly be seen in the light of racist and a Eurocentric educational system that has long suppressed knowledge about African and African American culture and history. In a society marked with racism, oppression and exploitation, true knowledge and wisdom are necessary for self-esteem and survival. Both the Nation of Islam and the Nation of Gods and Earths emphasize scientific facts and mathematics, where mathematics appears to be both an exact science, but also an occult science to reveal hidden truths. There is a correspondence between Belief 15 of the UZN and the Supreme Mathematics of the Nation of Gods and Earth (see next chapter), as the first four and the sixth word are identical to the numbers 1–4 and 6 of the Supreme Mathematics. Also, if the Beliefs represent “Knowledge,” (1) the corresponding “Wisdom” (2) and “Understanding” (3) complete the foundation of (hip-hop) culture (4). There are some significant differences, however. Basically, the Beliefs of the UZN express a radical ecumenism where all religions are accepted as long as they are monotheistic. Also, all humans, regardless of race, religion and occupation are welcomed in the UZN, and their equality is emphasized. While being clear on the destructive effects of white supremacy, whites are not excluded. The Beliefs and other texts of the UZN are generally written in a gender inclusive language. “History” is completed with “Herstory.” God transcends gender as exemplified by the notion of God as “he, she, whatever.” This is even true for evil, as the UZN, in an original twist on the “white man as devil”-doctrine, refer to “Devil Him or Herself.” It is evident that the UZN makes efforts to transcend and break down any kind of categorization and barrier, encouraging intellectual openness and environmental consciousness. The UZN envisions a different kind of “nation” and nationalism, a truly universal nation not based on religion, race, gender or nationality, but on hip-

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hop culture where – to put it simply – the groove is the unifying element. Young people all over the world have the possibility of overcoming divides and differences set up by others, whether they be on ethnic, religious, political or economic grounds, and come together in hip-hop.

2.3.2 KRS One and the Temple of Hip Hop KRS One dubs himself “philosopher” and “tha teacha.” Together with Afrika Bambaataa he is probably the most persistent spokesperson of hip-hop culture, its history, philosophy and spirituality. Having been homeless during most of his teens, KRS One educated himself through the public library system and as a volunteer for a Hare Krishna organization, earning him the nickname KRSNA. That was later changed to KRS One – Knowledge Reigns Supreme Over Nearly Everyone (Coleman: 2007; Fernando, Jr.: 1994, 19–24). In addition to using his rhyming skills to teach and educate, he is a sought-after speaker and prolific writer whose thinking has evolved considerably over the more than 20 years of his career. He has been involved with several movements and organizational projects. Among them was the “Stop the Violence” movement, releasing the influential song “Self Destruction, “ and the H.E.A.L movement that produced the booklet H.E.A.L Human Education Against All Lies. In 1996 KRS One established The Temple of Hip Hop. It presents itself as “a hip hop preservation society designed for the upliftment and promotion of hip hop.” The Temple of Hip Hop celebrates the annual “Hip Hop Appreciation Week” the third week of May. On May 16, 2001, KRS One and other prominent members of hip-hop culture such as Kool Herc, Chuck D and Grandmaster Caz gathered at the United Nation headquarters in New York and presented a draft for “The Hip Hop Declaration of Peace,” later presented to UNESCO and other institutions. Much of KRS One’s teachings are collected in his books Ruminations and The Gospel of Hip Hop: First Instrument (2003; 2009). Here, I will look into some tenets of “The Hip Hop Declaration of Peace,” and The Gospel of Hip Hop.

2.3.2.1 The Hip Hop Declaration of Peace The “Hip Hop Declaration of Peace” is a document that sets out to define hip-hop culture, its elements and its spirituality through 18 principles.20 that will guide Hiphop Kulture toward freedom from violence, and establishes advice and protection for the existence and development of the international Hiphop community. Through the principles of this Hip Hop Declaration of Peace we, Hiphop Kulture, establish a 20 “The Hiphop Declaration of Peace” is reprinted several places, with smaller variations. In the following I refer to the version reprinted in KRS One (2009, 552–7).

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foundation of Health, Love, Awareness, Wealth, peace, and prosperity for ourselves, our children, and their children’s children, forever KRS One.

The First and Eighth Principle define nine elements of hip-hop in condensed form. The Fourth Principle describes Hip-hop as “a conscious way of life”: Hip-hop culture “encourages womanhood, manhood, sisterhood, brotherhood, childhood and family” and is “conscious not to bring any intentional disrespect that jeopardizes the dignity and reputation of our children, elders, and ancestors.” The Eleventh Principle defines hip-hop as an inclusive and global culture that “provides all races, tribes religions and styles of people a foundation of their best ideas and works.” It is “united as one multi-skilled, multi-cultural, multi-faith, multi-racial people committed to the establishment and the development of peace.” Several of the principles concern proper ways of conduct. Hip-hop culture is presented as basically non-violent with some reservations (Thirteenth Principle) and as a culture that neither intentionally nor voluntarily participates “in any form of hate, deceit, prejudice or theft at any time” (Twelfth Principle). On the contrary, members of hip-hop culture are encouraged to build lasting relationships based on love, equality, trust and respect (Tenth Principle). In addition, “hiphoppas” are encouraged to actively fight and heal the social ills of this world, as expressed in the Fourteenth Principle, to eliminate poverty, speak out against injustice and shape a more caring society and a more peaceful world. Hiphop Kulture supports a dialogue and action that heals divisions in society, addresses the legitimate concerns of humankind and advances the cause of peace (KRS One: 2009, 556).

Finally, hip-hop is defined as a culture that fosters ecological awareness. “Hiphop Kulture respects the dignity and sanctity of life without discrimination or prejudice, states the Second Principle, while the Fifteenth Principle admonishes hiphoppas to respect and learn from the ways of Nature, regardless of where we are on this planet… This planet, commonly known as Earth, is our nurturing parent and Hiphoppas are encouraged to respect Nature and all creations and inhabitants of Nature (ibid., 557).

“Hip Hop Declaration of Peace” echoes the Beliefs of the Universal Zulu Nation Belief in many ways. The language is inclusive with respect to gender, age, race and religion. Hip-hop is defined not only through its expressive elements, but also through principles of peace, love, equality and respect. There is a similar ecological understanding. But, even though the Principles acknowledge different religions, they do not deal explicitly with specific religious traditions or the nature of God. Nor do they criticize educational or religious institutions or any part of society at large as the UZN Beliefs do. Thus, the “Hip Hop Declaration of Peace” might provide a common ground for hip-hoppers

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coming from a diversity of traditions, but it does not pretend to offer analytical tools for a better understanding of self, society and spirituality. 2.3.2.2 The Gospel of Hip Hop Over the years, KRS One has drawn on a diversity of religious traditions and spiritual resources, creating his own spiritual universe. At times, he has been critical of Christianity, at least as it has been expressed through religious institutions. With his CD Spiritual Minded (2002) he seemed to embrace Christianity and Jesus, collaborating with Christian rappers such as BB Jay and T-Bone. One example is “Tears”: Pray in the day and the night Be prepared for the fight, not scared of the fight He’s the way, the truth AND the light J to the E to the S to the U to the S

In The Gospel of Hip Hop, though, he appears to have moved from teaching Christianity through the language of hip-hop to preaching hip-hop through the language of the Gospel: hip-hop is the gospel, hip-hop is God, hip-hop is Love. The book, 830 pages long, is structured as a holy text, divided into chapters and verses like the Bible. Each chapter – 18 in total – deals with an “Overstanding” on themes such as “The Real Hip Hop,” “The Freestyles,” “The Hip Hop activist” and so on. “Overstanding” is a subversion of “understanding,” commonly used among Rastafarians to signify both a total grasp of the subject matter and a process of separation from ideology imbedded in Western use of language. KRS One declares God as the author of hip-hop and asks his readers to make a new covenant with hip-hop. Making this covenant, one will learn that “Hip Hop is the name of the Love that rescued us from oppression,” it is the “term given to the inner force that inspires us to selfcreate” (Krs One: 2009, 26). He continues: We respect the experiences older civilizations have had with GOD, but no it is time we experience GOD for ourselves. We no longer need an interpreter, OUR CULTURE IS OUR RELIGION AND OUR RELIGION IS OUR CULTURE! … ALL PRAISE. GLORY AND WORSHIP BE TO GOD – the Love that has made us Hip Hop! (ibid., 29).

Hip-hop is the “promised land” envisioned by Martin Luther King, Jr. in his famous “I have a Dream” speech; hip-hop is the continuation of King’s work and a manifestation of his vision. Kings speech is reprinted and thoroughly commented by KRS One (ibid., 39–47). In exploring the deeper meaning of hip hop, KRS One’s predilection for wordplay, acronyms and etymology is evident (ibid., 71–5). Hip-hop is understood as “Holy Integrated People Having Omnipresent Power,” “Her Infinite Power Helping Oppressed People” or “Having Inner Peace Helping

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Others Prosper.” A b-boy is one who “destroys all negative circumstances everyday spiritually” (dances) and a writer is one who “thinks and grows spiritually” (tags). Hip, he goes on to explain, denotes having knowledge; being hip is to be informed, up to date. Also, hip is part of the body, and the seed of the rose bush. Hop denotes movement, to spring, and is also associated with dancing. Like hip, hop can be related to plant life, amongst other things referring to the flowers of vine and an ingredient flavoring malt drinks such as beer. Hip-hop, then, can mean “informed springing” or “up to date modern dance,” the relation between hip and hop is symbolically related as seed comes before vine. Finally, “culture” is derived from Latin cultura, meaning to care for, to tend and also to inhabit. It can be broken down to “cult,” worship or homage – and the suffix “-ure,” denoting action or result: The suffix ure in culture forms abstract nouns of action or the means or result of action. To ure is to -ing, -ed, or -s; like the act of fail-ing=fail-ure or failure, the condition of being pleas-ed = pleas-ure or pleasure, something or something that legislate-s = legislat-ure or legislature (ibid., 74)

Culture can then mean the act of “cult-ing,” worshipping, or cultivating. Put together, “Hip Hop Culture” denotes the caring of or worship of the “seed (plan/vision) of the new vine (people/way),” the “worship of the intelligent movement” or “the cultivation of, and care for, the upward springing of intelligence” (Ibid., 75). The street and the urban context of hip-hop have a deep spiritual dimension in KRS One’s thinking. He acknowledges that creative, intellectual, survival and trading skills are acquired in the streets, not only in quiet and secluded places like business headquarters and universities (ibid., 113–28). “Street knowledge”, is defined as the “study and application of ancestral wisdom” and the “accumulation of Hip Hop’s cultural self-awareness,” while “street entrepreneurialism” focuses on “grassroots business practices” and the “motivating Spirit to be self-employed, inventive, creative and self-educated.” In “The Inner City” (the fifth Overstanding), KRS One turns the term “inner city,” associated with troubled and contested urban areas, to a spiritual place within one’s self, the “Inner City.” Somewhat resembling the Interior Castle by medieval mystic Theresa of Avila, the Inner City is a state of habitually and unconsciously doing right, when your “physical, spiritual and mental surroundings seem to walk and talk with you.” He continues, “Do not be afraid to walk the streets of your own Inner City! Enter your Inner City and transform the streets of your mind!” (ibid, 290, 299). Upon releasing The Gospel of Hip Hop, KRS One described hip-hop as a new religion, as a new way to worship God: I think I have the authority to approach God directly, I don’t have to go through any religion [or] train of thought. I can approach God directly myself and so I wrote a book

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called The Gospel of Hip Hop to free from all this nonsense garbage right now. I respect the Christianity, the Islam, the Judaism but their time is up (Danz/Long: 2009).

This view is developed in the book. Time and history moves in circles, states KRS One, it is now time for a new people and a new consciousness to emerge. Referring to the Mayan calendar, he states that we are about to complete a 5125-year cycle, ending December 21, 2012. The present age started on August 11, 3114 BC according to the Mayan calendar – on the same date, he points out, August 11, 1973, Kool DJ Herc is said to have begun hip-hop. Hip Hop is divine,” exclaims KRS One, “and it is following the patterns of celestial calculations.” (KRS One: 2009, 695). Elsewhere he makes it clear that hip-hop is not God, even if God is hip-hop. Hip-hop is a gift from God “the first instrument,” a culture in which God is manifest. Through the proper involvement with hip-hop one is able to experience God. KRS One maintains a radical ecumenical, interreligious approach, “because of the Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, New Age, New Thought, Buddhist, Wicca and even Atheist popularity within the inner cities of the United States,” hiphoppas have “sampled a variety of faiths to discover a spiritual experience that seems to work for us.” In describing the nature of God, he states: We are not GOD yet in our higher Selves we are God (Humanism). Collectively, we believe in the one supreme creator that is called by many names, a self-existent Spirit that is the source of all creation (Monotheism). We also believe that GOD is separate from the world (Deism) yet we also believe GOD to emanate through as Nature,still remaining distinct from it (pantheism) (ibid, 627).

Again, KRS One is aware of spelling, differentiating between GOD and God: “God is what GOD creates us to be …God is a term for OUR spiritually heightened human awareness” (ibid., 608). KRS One is also open for a reclaiming of Christian faith: “I used to criticize the Bible until I realized that MYancestors wrote it! I used to criticize Christianity until I realized that it was my ancestors who had established it” (ibid., 659). The Gospel of Hip Hop synthesizes, systematizes and reformulates years of accumulated study and thinking, displaying a vast diversity of interests and influences. Following the practice of a DJ, KRS One samples thought-bites from an eclectic array of sources, making a highly original remix of religious texts, citations from Martin Luther King, Jr., Louis Farrakhan, and a variety of texts concerning subjects such as mythology, history and natural science. In certain ways, The Gospel of Hip Hop fits into the vast field of spiritually oriented self-help and inspirational literature (see Miller: 2013, xx). A pioneering example in this field is The Power of Positive Thinking, by the Methodist minister Norman Vincent Peale (1898–1993). First published in 1952, the book sold in the millions and offered biblically inspired advice on how a change of mind, focusing on personal potential, would enhance quality of life. Likewise, KRS One offers plenty of instruction on what to do, think and say to yourself to become a more

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spiritually conscious and better person. However, through the lens of hip-hop, KRS One adds a strong street sensibility seldom found in self-help literature. His knowledge and wisdom is not only for self-realization, but also for physical and spiritual survival in the harshest of contexts.

3. Black God. Nation of Islam and Nation of Gods and Earths While hip-hop spirituality embraces a wide variety of religious and spiritual traditions, the Nation of Islam (NOI) and the Nation of Gods and Earths (NGE) have found the most fertile soil in hip-hop culture and rap music, providing political and spiritual inspiration for “Nation Conscious” rappers. As argued in Chapter 2, hybridity exists on all levels in all religions. However, it is possibly more easily studied in the teachings of NOI and NGE, as both emerged in a not so distant past. In the struggle against systematic racism and oppression, the founders of both movements molded elements from available spiritual traditions with hegemonic religion, searching for a healing and liberating spirituality. Since the doctrines of NOI and NGE are perhaps unfamiliar to many readers, the purpose of this section is to provide a context for Chapter 6, to better understand the music inspired by their doctrine. Obviously leaning heavily on the research of others, I will provide basic information on the history and teachings of these movements, while also placing them within a black nationalist context and in the wider context of Islam in the United States.

3.1 Mainstream Islam in the USA and popular culture Prior to the emergence of hip-hop, the influence of Islam on American popular culture is difficult to trace. Imagery of Islam and the Orient as something exotic appeared from time to time in literature, music and popular thought from the 1800s, but rarely as a result of genuine contact with Muslims. Some Christian theologians and ministers perceived Islam to be a perverted Christian heresy. At the end of the 1880s, however, some black intellectuals offered a more sympathetic view of Islam, most notably Edward Wilmot Blyden. In 1887 he published Christianity, Islam, and the Negro Race, pointing to the positive effects of Islam among African peoples, as well as critiquing the imperialism of Western Christianity (Curtis: 2002, 21–43). However, as scholars have begun to explore only recently, the presence of Islam in the Americas dates back at least to the period of slavery. Some scholars argue that Muslims came to the Americas centuries before Christopher Columbus, because Muslims from the African continent and present-day Spain and Portugal sailed to both South America and North America. There were also

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Muslims in Columbus’ crew (J.I. Smith: 2010, 51–2). Many slaves coming from West Africa were Muslims, and some managed to keep their religion and religious practices despite hostile environments.1 Whether Islam that was brought to the Americas by Muslim slaves died out or not is disputed, but some traces of their religion remain. Among thousands of slave narratives collected, a few were by Muslims, some even written in Arabic. Amar Ibn Sayyid wrote his autobiography in 1831. While claiming to be a baptized Christian, he quotes frequently from the Qur’an (Curtis IV: 2008, 3–9). Another source is the diary by Ben-Ali (Bilali), a slave on Sapelo Island outside Georgia (Diouf: 1998, 40–4, 126 f.; Smith: 2010, 79). Recently, some scholars have begun to explore possible Islamic influences in work songs and spirituals. Ethno-musicologist Gerhard Kubik, for instance, has researched possible links between African Islamic musical practices and the blues (Kubik: 1999). The first wave of Muslim immigrants came to the United States from the 1870s to the beginning of World War I. They were mostly rural laborers from present-day Syria, Lebanon, Jordan and Palestine, hoping to earn money and return home. They were few in number, and faced racism and discrimination. To better fit in, they often anglicized their names. Islamic immigration through the first half of the 20th century was limited due to the National Origin Act of 1924, reducing the quota of immigrants from the Middle East to only 100 persons per year (Haddad: 2004, 2–4). However, due to missionary efforts by the Ahmadiyyah Muslims from the 1920s and through the 1950s, many African Americans joined the Ahmadiyyah movement (Smith: 2010, 75 ff.). Among them were quite a few jazz musicians, such as Shahib Shihab, Idrees Sulieman, Art Blakey, Ahmad Jamal, McCoy Tyner and Yusef Lateef (McLeod: 1995, 20, 220; GhanneaBasiri: 2010, 248). Jazz drummer and bandleader Art Blakey went to Africa in 1948 to study Islamic culture, and changed his name to Abdullah ibn Buhaina, earning his nickname “Bu.” In his autobiography, multi-instrumentalist and composer Yusef Lateef recounts how he became acquainted with Ahmadiyyah Islam through a fellow musician in Chicago in 1946. Later, he attended meetings at Abdullah ibn Buhaina’s (Art Blakey’s) house, where he became part of his large band, the Messengers. Saxophonist Sahib Shihab was also in this band; Lateef believes Shihab was among the first jazz musicians to adopt Islam (Lateef: 2006, 56 ff.). Bebop, at the time, was a “modern” art form, the first movement in jazz to break away from the dance floor, and was often exoticized by journalists. One of many misconceptions of bebop, trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie writes, was that bebop musicians “expressed a preference for religions other than Christianity.” He continues, “most black musicians, including those from the bebop era received their initial exposure and influence in music through the black church. And it remained with them throughout their lives” (Gillespie: 1979, 1 For a discussion on Islam in the USA in the time of slavery, see K. GhaneaBassiri, (2010) and S.A Diouf (2010 and 1998).

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291). Still, Gillespie writes, a “large number of modern jazz musicians did begin to turn toward Islam during the forties,” many did so to “escape the stigma of being colored” (ibid.).2 Yusef Lateef also sees other forces at work: I’m often asked what might have been the motivation for so many musicians and others to adopt Islam at this time, musicians such as Ahmad Jamal, Dakota Stanton, et al. I believe that the motivation for any human being to embrace Islam is that when almighty God turns a person’s heart towards Islam (peace) there is no other choice for the person (Lateef: 2006, 58 f).

A new wave of immigration from Muslim countries came after World War II, as the United States became involved in the oil fields of the Middle East. In addition, many students from the newly independent Arab states were recruited to study at universities in the United States in the hope that they would become an asset to United States interests once they returned to their home countries. New legislation in 1965 made it possible for immigrants from the entire Arab and Muslim world to enter the United States. This new wave of immigration, as Yvonnne Yazbeck Haddad points out, altered the Muslim population of the USA, now more representative of the Muslim world at large. All social and economic classes, from rural areas as well as cities, were now represented, including refugees from areas devastated by civil wars or suffering from Western exploitation, including that of the United States (Haddad: 2004: 5 f). Aminah Beverly McCloud describes the present Islamic community in the United States as “at once a mosaic, and a tattered quilt. Orthodox, heterodox, Sunni, Shi’i, and Sufi all make claims of Islam in the United States.” Moreover, she continues, “immigrant Muslims find the heterogeneity of the Muslim community almost as overwhelming as the diversity of America itself.” (McLeod: 2003, 159).

3.2 The Nation of Islam Christianity as it had been preached in both white and black churches – proclaiming a white god and a white savior, legitimizing slavery and racist oppression – had to be reinterpreted from the perspective of black people, or rejected all together as the white man’s religion. Some saw Islam as the true religion for black people, whether they turned to Ahmadiyyah or became members of emerging new Islamic inspired movements such as the Moorish Science Temple and NOI. There were also early formulations of “a black God” within the black churches. Gayraud S. Wilmore has discerned a current within black religion he calls “black radicalism” (Wilmore: 1998). He traces this current from the very beginning of African American Christianity and the first attempts 2 Later in life, Gillespie became an advocate for the Baha’i religion (Gillespie: 1979, 472–76).

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to resist slavery and the religion-inspired slave uprisings through black nationalist movements, the civil rights movement, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X and the black theology of liberation formulated by James Cone and others. Bishop McNeal Turner of the African Methodist Episcopal Church of America (AME) was among the first to advocate repatriation to Africa, and questioned the true color of God. The issue of God’s color must remain abstract while we are in the flesh, McTurner argued, but if God has any color at all, “it is nearer symbolized in the blue sky above us and the blue water of the seas and oceans” (Wilmore: 1998, 152). While the black churches were a radical force during the 1800s abolition movements, their influence seems to have diminished during the Great Migration. As the black churches were less able to cope with the new urban situation of many blacks, their theology became more inward and heaven bound. Thus, African Americans had to look elsewhere for radical solutions (ibid. 163–95). For instance in black nationalism and emerging Islamic movements such as the Moorish Science Temple and NOI. 3.2.1 Black nationalism During the Great Migration that followed World War I, nearly two million African Americans left the rural South for industrialized urban centers in the North looking for work. In cities like Detroit, Chicago and New York, the African American population grew dramatically, often concentrated in residential areas with limited housing resources. The African American population increased by 611 percent in Detroit during the 1920s, and the black population of New York increased from more than 90,000 in 1910 to 327,706 in 1930, two-thirds of whom lived in Harlem (Binder/Reimers: 1995, 158 f.). While the emerging ghettos offered poor living conditions for most people, they became centers of vibrant African American culture and heritage. Chicago’s South Side had a thriving jazz scene frequented by New Orleans musicians such as Freddy Keppard, King Oliver and Louis Armstrong. Harlem became the meeting place for intellectuals, poets, playwrights, painters, musicians and authors including those associated with the Harlem Renaissance. The 1920s were also a time of a growing black consciousness and the formation of black nationalist movements. These were urban responses to the social, political as well as spiritual challenges posed by the new urban contexts.3 After centuries of slavery and racist oppression, African American thinkers saw the need to redefine the role and place of African Americans in society and culture, to explore what it meant to be of African descent in the United States – or, as Mattias Gardell puts it, “the peculiar position of being American but not American, African but not African” (Gardell: 1996, 12). Gardell observes that black nationalist thinkers were inspired by European, especially German romantic 3 See discussions of early black nationalism in E.E. Curtis IV (2002, 12–20, 48–56), M. Gardell, (1996, 11–30) and C.E. Marsh (2000, 1–13).

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philosophy and science of the 19th century and their conceptions of “race” and “people” (Volk in German). Race was understood as a spiritual, cultural and psychological entity with a common destiny, to which religious black nationalists added a divine dimension. African Americans were a chosen people, with a heritage dating back to the cradle of civilization. Through a history of trials and tribulations, they were reaching toward a glorious future of renewed greatness. The strategies to achieve this goal were different. Some, like Booker T. Washington (1856–1915), argued that racial self-improvement eventually would lead to full integration. Others advocated racial separation, even repatriation to Africa, like Jamaican born Marcus Garvey (1887–1940) and his Universal Negro Improvement Association and Imperial League (UNIA). “Any race that accepts the thoughts of another race, automatically becomes the slave of that other race,” said Garvey (in Gardell, 27). Somewhere in between was W. E. B. Du Bois (1868–1963) formulating a cultural nationalism, emphasizing the cultural achievements of African Americans and their indispensable contribution to American society. He also became central in the pan-African movement, working for African independence and the unity of people of African descent everywhere. Black nationalist thinking was revived in the 1960s, a period of heightened racial tension in the U.S. Despite the political achievements of the civil rights movement, the economic and social conditions of most African Americans did not improve. The famous Watts uprising broke out in Los Angeles in 1965, and during the “long hot summer” of 1967, racial riots broke out in 159 cities across the United States. In this climate, the legacy of black nationalism was revitalized and reformulated by movements such as the black power movement, the Black Panther Party, the black arts movement and a diversity of Afrocentric lines of thought.

3.2.2 Moorish Science Temple of America Noble Drew Ali (1886–1929) founded the Moorish Science Temple of America at some time between 1913 and 1925.4 At a time of low literacy rates in America among all ethnic groups, including African Americans, and also limited access to English translations of the Qur’an, the Moorish Science Temple provided key concepts of Islamic principles, such as peace, justice and equality (McLeod: 1995, 10–13). Noble Drew Ali authored the pamphlet Holy Koran of the Moorish Science Temple of America, known as the Circle Seven Koran due to the circle and the number 7 printed on its cover. However, it is a compilation of esoteric texts and bears little resemblance to the Holy Qur’an. The first half is copied almost verbatim from Levi H. Dowling’s Aquarian Gospel, which was 4 According to Moorish Science Temple’s own writings, Ali established the first temple in New Jersey in 1913. However, there are no official records of the movement before the establishment of its headquarters in Chicago in 1925 (cf. Curtis IV: 2002, 47 f.).

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popular in theosophical circles. The other half is based on Unto Thee I Grant or The Infinite Wisdom, allegedly a translation of an ancient text “found in the Grand Temple of Thibet (sic)” and associated with a Rosicrucian order (Wilson: 1993, 19–23; Curtis: 2002, 59 ff.). The Moorish Science Temple of America provided their members with a new identity. Upon joining the Temple, members were issued new national identity cards, and they took “El” or “Bey” as surnames. Now, they were recognized as “Moors” – not “Negroes, Colored Folks, Black People or Ethiopians, because these names were given to slaves by slave holders” (in Gardell: 1996, 37). According to Noble Drew Ali’s Holy Koran, they were the “fallen sons and daughters of the Asiatic Nation of North America,” descendants of the Moabites and “the founders of the holy city of Mecca.” Jesus was a descendant of these Moabites and the “inhabitants of Africa,” and came to “redeem his people in those days from the pressure of the pale skin nation of Europe.” The Romans crucified him, and “Mohammed came upon the scene and fulfilled the works of Jesus of Nazareth” (Ali: 1924, 45:1–2; 46:2–4). There are still Moorish Science Temples in several U. S. cities such as Chicago and New York, and some of their members participate in hip-hop events such as the Zulu Nation’s annual Hip-hop History Month in November. And although disputed by NOI officials, their teachings probably influenced the founder of the Nation of Islam, the mysterious W. D. Fard or Wallace Fard Muhammad who walked the streets of Detroit in the early 1930s.

3.2.3 The formation of the Nation of Islam Very much is written, but little is known about the identity of the founder of NOI. His messenger, Elijah Muhammad (1897–1975) writes of him: Allah came to us from the Holy City of Mecca, Arabia, in 1930. He used the name of Wallace D. Fard, often signing it W. D. Fard. In the third year (1933) He signed His name ‘W. F. Muhammad’ which stands for Wallace Fard Muhammad. He came alone (E. Muhammad: 1957, 11).5

Wallace Fard Muhammad was working as a street peddler in Detroit in the summer of 1930, selling silk and other fabrics. He would also explain his religious teachings to willing listeners. Soon he gathered a large following and founded NOI, symbolically on Independence Day, July 4, 1930. Between 1930 and 1933 NOI had acquired a following of 8,000 people in Detroit. Among the followers struck by Fard Muhammad’s teachings was Elijah Poole, son of a Baptist minister, who heard Fard Muhammad speaking at a meeting in 1931. Fard Muhammad appointed Poole supreme minister, and bestowed upon him 5 For a sober discussion on the various theories concerning Wallace Fard Muhammad’s identity, see Gardell: 1996, 51ff).

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his original name, Elijah Muhammad. In 1932, Elijah Muhammad moved to Chicago and established Temple No. 2 there. After several arrests in Detroit and Chicago, Fard Muhammad disappeared in 1934, never to reappear. As he now was gone, it was time to reveal his true identity: he was not a prophet but “God himself, who is a black man” and “Elijah Muhammad was his Messenger,” and appointed successor (Gardell: 1996, 58). Wallace Fard Muhammad found scriptural evidence for his teachings both in the Bible as well as the Holy Qur’an, a book he said the white man knew but kept hidden from the black man. When candidates for membership in NOI were submitted, they had to memorize catechetical instructions provided by Fard Muhammad in his orally transmitted Secret Ritual of the Nation of Islam and Teachings for the Lost-Found Nation in a Mathematical Way. Like the Moorish Science Temple, NOI issued national identity cards to their members, who took “X” as a surname. The X signified both that their last name was a “slave name” and that their original African name and identity was unknown. To what extent Fard Muhammad was influenced by the Moorish Science Temple is disputed. Some scholars believe he was a member of the Temple, where he allegedly assumed leadership and claimed he was the reincarnation of Noble Drew Ali (Marsh: 2000, 37). Elijah Muhammad’s son, Warith Deen Mohammed, suggested that Fard Muhammad was inspired by the Moorish Temple, but was never a member (in Marsh: 2000, 158). Teachers within NOI refute any connection at all, stressing that he was independent and “a follower of no one” (see Hakim: 1996, 1–14). 3.2.3.1 Elijah Muhammad, the Messenger Elijah Muhammad’s first years as leader of NOI were difficult. Internal dispute within the Nation on leadership and doctrinal issues, made him fear for his own life, spending seven years on the run. In addition, he was arrested because he refused to register for the draft when the USA entered World War II. While he served a term in prison, his wife Clara Muhammad headed the organization and distributed his communications. At the time of his release in 1946, membership in NOI had decreased considerably, and he practically had to start over again. In the period that followed, named “The First Resurrection” among members, the Nation’s popularity and membership grew considerably. New temples were established, and ministers and disciples spread the message in bars and prisons. Elijah Muhammad headed NOI until his death in 1975. Core elements of Elijah Muhammad’s social and political program were self-help, disciplined moral conduct and economic independence. Each black man had the solution to overcome any kind of struggle and dependence, and to build a strong and proud nation. “Men everywhere are seeking unity among themselves. Every race of people want unity with their own kind first, except my people, the so-called Negro in America”, he writes, and continues:

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The slave-master has robbed my people of their God, religion, name, language and culture. The worst kind of crime has been committed against us, for we were robbed of our desire to even want to think and do for ourselves. We are often pictured by the slave-master as lazy and trifling people who are without thoughts of advancement (E. Muhammad: 1965, 37).

He encouraged black entrepreneurship and business ownership and initiated several businesses in various fields. He also envisioned a sovereign state for African Americans, either in Africa or in North America, where blacks could gain independence (Gardell: 1996, 60 f). Dietary rules for proper eating were prescribed, prohibiting pork, wild game and certain seafood. All other kinds of meat and processed foods were to be avoided. Elijah Muhammad developed a theology about Wallace Fard Muhammad being the Allah, the God in Person, the Mahdi and the Savior prophesized in the Holy Qur’an and the Bible. In contrast to Louis Farrakhan’s present embrace of hip-hop and rap, the NOI under Elijah Muhammad’s leadership was restrictive in its views on music and entertainment. There were some jazz musicians among its members, but a Muhammad Speaks article in 1969 told its readers “the Honorable Elijah Muhammad teaches us not to listen to Jazz music” (Curtis: 2006, 172). NOI members were expected to dress properly, work hard and not waste time on dancing, gambling or other kinds of senseless activities, to abstain from alcohol and drugs and devote as much of their time and energy to the NOI. 3.2.3.2 Malcolm X The growth of the NOI in the 1950s can be attributed partly to the popularity of Malcolm X (1925–65).6 He became a full time minister for NOI in 1953 and helped establish temples all over the U.S. In 1954, he became Minister of Temple No. 7 in New York, and was a highly visible figure on the street corners of Harlem. Through appearances and extensive news coverage, Malcolm X made the NOI visible to a degree unprecedented in the movement’s history. He attracted new groups to the Nation of Islam, among them young intellectuals and people with middle-class backgrounds. But this visibility also had a price. The Hate That Hate Produced, a documentary by Mike Wallace and Louis Lomax was aired on national television in 1959. It perceived NOI as a hate group and stirred quite a controversy, framing adherents of the NOI as black racists and its teachings as racism. In addition, since its inception NOI had been under FBI surveillance, especially from World War II on. With the increased popularity of NOI, the FBI sought ways to splinter the organization (Gardell: 1996, 69–98). 6 For biographies on Malcolm X, see his autobiography (Malcolm X/A. Haley: 1992) and M. Marrable (2011). For valuable analyses of his theology, see L.A. DeCaro (1996), J.H. Cone, (1991) and Curtis IV (2002, 85–105).

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As Malcolm X was exposed to criticism from mainstream Islamic groups, he began to realize that the teachings of Elijah Muhammad were not in line with traditional Islam. Much to his disappointment, Malcolm X also found out that the messenger had had affairs with several women within NOI, and disagreed with him on how NOI should act in society. While Elijah Muhammad urged black Muslims to engage in self-improvement rather than getting involved with “the white man’s politics”, Malcolm X envisioned a more politically active role for NOI in the “American Black Man’s struggle.” As tension between them increased, Malcolm X was silenced and relieved of his position as spokesperson and later of his post as minister of Harlem’s Temple No. 7. Finally, Malcolm X broke with NOI and founded Muslim Mosques, Inc. and the political branch Organization of AfroAmerican Unity (Marable: 2011, 235–96). Malcolm X began his studies in Sunni Islam and sought ways to “help create a society in which there could be an honest white-black brotherhood.” He made a pilgrimage to Mecca, followed by a visit to several African countries. This trip redirected his religious and political vision. In Mecca, Malcolm X experienced Islam as a religion of all people. In an often-quoted letter, Malcolm writes that the tens of thousands of pilgrims “were of all colors, from blue eyed blonds to black skinned Africans. But we were all participating in the same ritual, displaying a spirit of unity and brotherhood that my experiences in America had led me to believe never could exist between the white and the non-white.” He continues, in the words and in the actions and in the deeds of the ‘white’ Muslims, I felt the same sincerity that I felt among the black African Muslims of Nigeria, Sudan and Ghana. We were truly all the same (brothers) – because their belief in one God had removed the ‘white’ from their minds, the ‘white’ from their behavior, and the ‘white’ from their attitude (Malcolm X: 1992a, 340).

However, Malcolm X – or El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, as was his new name – still noticed a “color pattern” among the pilgrims. People who looked alike stayed together (ibid, 344). From Mecca he travelled to Nigeria and Ghana, both newly independent states. In Ghana he met President Kwame Nkrumah, a prominent spokesperson of pan-Africanism, a movement that rejected “white predominance and colonialism” and promoted racial solidarity and unity (Curtis: 2002, 97). Malcolm X understood that the struggle for black liberation could no longer be seen as an internal problem in the U.S.A. Racism was a problem facing people of African ancestry in England, France, on the African continent and in all of the Americas, from “the southernmost tip of South America to the northernmost tip of North America” (Malcolm X: 1992b, 145). He states in his Autobiography, the first thing American power structure doesn’t want any Negroes to start is thinking internationally. I think the single worst mistake of the American black organizations, and their leaders, is that they have failed to establish direct brotherhood lines of

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communication between the independent nations of Africa and the American black people (Malcolm X: 1992a, 357).

After his break with NOI, Malcolm X was the target of several threats and told the public that there was a conspiracy to kill him. NOI officials, including Elijah Muhammad, saw him as a threat to their organization (Malcolm X: 1992b, 171–83).Malcolm X also became suspicious that NOI was collaborating with the FBI. On February 21, 1965, Malcolm X was assassinated during a rally at the Audubon Ballroom in Harlem. Many questions concerning the assassination remain unresolved, and several theories involving both NOI and FBI recur in scholarly writing (Gardell: 1996, 69–98; Marable: 2011, 445–78). Malcolm X became one of the most prominent icons of African American culture. His political legacy continued in the post-civil rights era by for instance the black power movement and the Black Panther Party, and inspired the black liberation theology movement in the United States. As an internationally renowned Muslim, he continues to inspire young Muslims around the world, including African immigrants in the Western world.7 Spike Lee’s film Malcolm X from 1992 spurred a renewed interest in the life and teachings of Malcolm X, but also a commercialization of his iconography.8

3.2.3.3 A turn towards mainstream Islam: Warith Deen Mohammed When Elijah Muhammad died in 1975, one of his sons, Wallace D. Muhammad (1933–2008), assumed the leadership of the NOI. He had been a close friend of Malcolm X and among the first within the NOI to address the discrepancies between the teachings of his father and mainstream Islam. Like Malcolm X, he was suspended from the organization on several occasions, and the charge, he said, was always the same, namely that he “was not accepting the God-Image given to Fard Muhammad” (Marsh: 2002, 162). Eventually changing his name to Warith Deen Mohammed, he gradually redirected the teachings of NOI towards Sunni Islam, and rituals were changed to comply with mainstream Sunni Islamic practice. He presented these changes as the fulfillment of his father’s will. The specific message of Fard Muhammad and Elijah Muhammad was appropriate at a time when African Americans were at the bottom of society, he argued; they introduced the Qur’an and made way for Islam. But now, as people were ready for Islam as it was taught worldwide, more advanced teachings should be substituted for their doctrine in order to facilitate further progress. The NOI changed its name to the World Community of al-Islam in the West, later to American Muslim Mission, before Warith Deen Mohammed 7 French Muslim rapper Abd Al Malik writes in his spiritual biography about how reading Malcolm X’s autobiography became a turning point. See A. A. Malik (2009, 34–7). 8 For a black feminist critique of Spike Lee’s film, as well as an appreciation of feminist possibilities in the legacy of Malcolm X, see b. hooks (1994, 155–64, 183–96).

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dissolved the organization in 1987. He then encouraged former members to join local mosques, as he explained: It’s just the final step in the process of bringing our membership into the international Muslim community and to conform to where there’s a normal Islamic life – just normal, practical Islamic life. The hangover from yesterday of ‘Black Nationalist’ influences is something that we have to get rid of, because it was in conflict with the open society and democratic order of an Islamic community (in Gardell: 1996, 113 f.).

Regarded as one of the most influential Islamic leaders in the USA, Warith Deen Mohammed is called a contemporary mujaddid, “the renewer of the religion of Islam for his age” (Smith: 2010, 93).

3.2.3.4 Renewal. Louis Farrakhan Many former NOI members wanted to return to the legacy of Fard Muhammad and his messenger Elijah Muhammad, and several organizations sought to keep their teachings alive. By far the most influential of them is the restructured Nation of Islam under the leadership of Minister Louis Farrakhan (b. 1933). Born Louis Eugene Walcott in the Bronx to West Indian immigrants, Louis Farrakhan began pursuing a career as a musician. He started out on the violin and became a skillful performer of classical music and one of the first black performers to appear on national TV. Later, he turned to calypso music and became a popular singer under the name “the Charmer.”9 Joining a friend for a Saviour’s Day convention, he heard and saw Elijah Muhammad in person and “the truth dawned on him” (Gardell: 1996, 120).10 As Louis X, he became a member of Temple No. 7 under Malcolm X. Initially, he continued his career as a calypso singer, but being a musician was not a profession supported by the Nation of Islam at that time. Malcolm X told him to either give up music or his position in the mosque. After receiving a tempting offer from a high-profile manager at a concert, he had a vision in which he saw two doors: Over one door was written ‘success.’ I could look into that door and I saw an amount of gold and diamonds which represented of course, riches that would accrue. But there was another door, and over that door was the word ‘Islam.’ And it had a black veil over that door. And in the vision I choose the door of Islam (in Gardell: 1996, 121 f).

He did not quit music entirely, as he composed several movement songs, including “Look at My Chains” and “White Man’s Heaven Is Black Man’s Hell.” He also wrote the plays Orgena, A Negro Spelled Backwards and The 9 Some of his calypso singing can be heard on The Charmer is Louis Farrakhan: Calypso Favourites 1953–1954 (Bostrox Records, 1999). 10 The NOI use the British spelling Saviour instead of Savior.

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Trial. Later, he would pick up the violin and play the Violin Concerto of Jewish composer Felix Mendelssohn as a way of reconciliation for anti-Semitic remarks he and other prominent NOI leaders made during the 1980s and early 90s, to “try to do with music what can not be done with words and try to undo with music what words have done” (Curtis IV: 2002, 131). Louis Farrakhan sided against Malcolm X and succeeded him as minister of Harlem’s Temple No. 7 and as national spokesman for the NOI. In the December 1964 issue of Muhammad Speaks, two months before the assassination of Malcolm X, he wrote: Only those who wish to be led to hell, or to their doom, will follow Malcolm. The die is set and Malcolm shall not escape, especially after such foolish talk about his benefactor in trying to rob him of the divine glory which Allah has bestowed upon him. Such a man as Malcolm is worthy of death – and would have met with death if it had not been for Muhammad’s confidence in Allah for victory over the enemies (in Reed: 1995, 83).

Many saw Farrakhan as the possible successor of Elijah Muhammad. He initially supported Wallace Muhammad’s leadership and even the first changes of direction. Nevertheless, as tension was growing, he left Wallace Muhammad’s organization in 1977 to reestablish a NOI based on Fard Muhammad’s and Elijah Muhammad’s teaching. Farrakhan preached that Elijah Muhammad was Christ and saw himself as Peter, the rock upon which the new Nation of Islam should be built. Elijah was not dead, but alive (Gardell: 1996, 129 ff.). While on a trip to Mexico in 1985, he had a vision: he saw himself ascending a mountain towards an Aztec temple. A circular spaceship, formed like a wheel idled on the side of the mountaintop. A voice told him to come closer, and he was brought into the ship by a beam of light. This ship brought him to a larger ship, the Mother Ship or the Mother Wheel. From a speaker he heard the well-known voice of Elijah Muhammad. Elijah Muhammad confirmed that he was alive. While Elijah Muhammad was speaking, a scroll with God’s message to humanity was placed in the back of Farrakhan’s brain. Elijah Muhammad told him to warn the world about a war President Reagan was about to start and expose his evil schemes. On returning from the Mother Ship, he saw the magnificent city of New Jerusalem in the sky, before he was dropped off in Washington to deliver the final warning against the United States government. Later, when travelling to New York, Farrakhan said that a fleet of divine spaceships followed him (ibid., 131 ff.). In 1979, Farrakhan founded Final Call, today among the leading African American newspapers. During the 1980s, the NOI continued to grow, as did Farrakhan’s popularity as a public speaker. At the same time, Farrakhan was a highly controversial figure, often accused of reverse racism and anti-Semitism (ibid., 251 ff.). Farrakhan’s relation to Libyan leader Mu’ammar al-Quadhdafi – whom President Reagan called “the mad dog of the Middle East – and the

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financial support of the NOI by the Libyan government were also controversial (ibid., 197–209). On October 16, 1995, Louis Farrakhan and the NOI arranged the “Million Man March” to Washington, inviting leaders of various denominations and African American intellectuals to stand together as a symbol of unity of the African American people. A main theme was the need for black men to be responsible and take care of their families and the need for the black community to rise up and assume their God-given calling to be a people of freedom. With around one million participants, the Million Man March is the largest demonstration in African American history (ibid., 341–4). Although bringing together public figures and religious leaders from a variety of faiths, including a few women such as poet Maya Angelou, black feminists such as bell hooks were critical of the March because of its patriarchal agenda and lack of gender perspective (b. hooks: 1995). While continuing to talk about black people as the original people and criticizing the racism of white society, Farrakhan has in recent years assumed the role of bridge-builder, strengthening ties with Muslim leaders nationally and abroad as well as engaging in interfaith and interracial dialogue Under his leadership, the NOI has continued and strengthened its social engagement in the black community, initiating anti-AIDS programs and programs against drugs and violence as well as work in prisons and with gangs (Gardell: 1996, 301–10; Curtis: 2002, 130 ff.). 3.2.4 Theology of the Nation of Islam Throughout the now more than 80 years of its existence, NOI and its theology inevitably went through some changes. Wallace Fard Muhammad provided the kernel of doctrine with his catechetical instructions, secret lessons that the Muslim student should memorize. His messenger Elijah Muhammad expanded and applied these lessons in his books and sermons. The combined legacy of Wallace Fard Muhammad and Elijah Muhammad constitutes the “canonical” theology of the Nation of Islam, the sources every theologian of the NOI has to consult. In rebuilding the NOI, Louis Farrakhan restored the teachings of Elijah Muhammad. But as he has increasingly engaged in dialogue with other Muslims and also Christian leaders, he has reinterpreted, adapted and modified some of the original doctrine. A striking element of NOI teachings is the emphasis on science, “natural facts” concerning the Earth and the universe, and historical cycles. Although these will not be explored here, scholars attribute them to the possible influence of Christian Science, Jehovah’s Witnesses and various gnostic impulses (Gardell: 1996, 54, 172 ff., 379). There is also an emphasis on numerology and exposing “hidden” knowledge. In the following, I will sketch out four central themes of NOI theology: NOI’s use of scripture and its relation

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to Christianity and mainstream Islam, creation, eschatology, and its theology about prophets and messianic figures. 3.2.4.1 Christianity, Islam and scripture Throughout most of its history, the Nation of Islam has defined itself in opposition to Christianity. Christianity is the white man’s religion; Islam is the true and only religion for black people. As Elijah Muhammad explains: “Islam is actually our religion by nature. It is the religion of Allah (God) and not a European-organized white man’s religion… It is the original, the only religion of Allah (God) and His prophets.” In addition, “Islam dignifies the black man. It gives him the desire to be clean, internally and externally, and to have, for the first time, a sense of dignity.” Thus, Islam and nothing else but Islam is meant to solve the so-called Negroes’ problems and raise them from their mentally-dead condition. Islam in fact, will put the black man of America on top of the civilization (E. Muhammad: 1957, 34).

Christianity, on the other hand, is “a religion, organized and backed by the devils, for the purpose of making slaves of black mankind.” It was “organized by the white race and they placed the name of Jesus on it being the founder and author to deceive black people into accepting it.” Therefore, the first step of black people “is to give back to the white man his religion, Christianity, church and his names. These three are chains of slavery that hold us in bondage to them” (ibid., 13 f). Like Noble Drew Ali, Elijah Muhammad holds that Christianity was not created by Jesus, but falsely attributed to him by the Romans who were the actual organizers. The Pope of Rome has the place of Jesus as an intercessor between God and Christians (cf. E. Muhammad: 1965, 186 f.). In more recent years, Louis Farrakhan has reached out to black church leaders in a quest for racial unity, and he can relate to the notion of Judaism, Christianity and Islam being the legacy of Abraham, all three being expressions of “one faith, one religion.” By interpreting Elijah Muhammad as Christ, as the Messiah of the Bible, Louis Farrakhan is able to describe himself as a “true Christian with personal knowledge of and friendship with Christ,” but to him Christ is “Elijah the Messiah, the divine warrior, who has come to judge the wicked” (Gardell: 1996, 242 f.). NOI has been increasingly exposed to mainstream Islam, resulting in a twofold process. On one hand, there is an “Islamization” of rhetoric and religious practice aligning with mainstream Islam. This process began already in the time of Elijah Muhammad. Members of NOI are now urged to follow prayer and almsgiving practices as they are observed in the rest of the Muslim world. The month of fasting, Ramadan, was earlier placed in December to replace the “heathen” celebration of Christmas, but the fasting period now follows the Islamic lunar calendar. Moreover, core teachings of NOI have been

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modified, reformulated or reinterpreted (ibid., 188–94). On the other hand, there is an insistence on the special mission of the NOI on behalf of the oppressed black people of USA. There is even a critique of mainstream Islam for not understanding the true meaning of Islam, as the Islamic world has degenerated. Farrakhan claims to be guided by the “hidden Imams,” namely Wallace Fard Muhammad and Elijah the Messiah. Thus, NOI perceives itself as “being directly guided by Allah … This is why we do not accept the guidance of the scholars of the old world of Islam. They must be reformed. They must be guided back to the right path” (ibid., 194 f.). Both the Qur’an and the Bible are regarded as holy scriptures, written by the original man. Elijah Muhammad asserts that Muslims are “believers in ALL of the Prophets of God and the Scriptures – Torah, Bible, Quran” (1957, 18). However, both books have to be understood rightly. Especially the Bible, since it has been tampered with: The Bible is now being called the Poison Book by God Himself, and who can deny that it is not poison? It has poisoned the very hearts and minds of the so-called Negroes so much that they can’t agree with each other. From the first day that the white race received the Divine Scripture they started tampering with its truth to make it suit themselves, and blind the black man (E. Muhammad: 1965, 94).

He even calls the Bible “a graveyard for my poor people” (ibid., 95). Both the Qur’an and the Bible will eventually have to give way “to that Holy Book which no man as yet but Allah has seen… That which is in that holy book is for the righteous and their future only; not for the mixed world of righteous and evil” (E. Muhammad: 1957, 15). It will be a “New book for a ‘new change’; that which no eyes have seen nor ear has heard, nor has entered into our heart what it is like” (E. Muhammad: 1965, 87).

3.2.4.2 Creation. The Original Man Wallace Fard Muhammad came to raise the black people and to teach the “Lost and Found Muslim Nation in the Wilderness of North America.” The black people had for too long been subject to mental as well as physical slavery, deceived by the lies of white slave masters. This is expressed in questions 14–16 in an often-quoted passage from his “Lost and Found Muslim Lesson No. 2”: 14. Who is the 85 %? The uncivilized people; poison animal eaters; slaves from mental death and power, people who do not know the Living God or their origin in this world, and they worship that they know not what who are easily led in the wrong direction, but hard to lead into the right direction.

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15. Who is the 10 %? The rich; the slave-makers of the poor; who teach the poor lies—to believe that the Almighty, True and Living God is a spook and cannot be seen by the physical eye. Otherwise known as: The Blood-Suckers Of The Poor. 16. Who is the 5 % in the poor part of the Earth? They are the poor, righteous Teachers, who do not believe in the teachings of the 10 %, and are all-wise; and know who the Living God is; and Teach that the Living God is the Son of man, the supreme being, the (black man) of Asia; and Teach Freedom, Justice and Equality to all the human family of the planet Earth. Otherwise known as: Civilized People. Also Muslims and Muslim Sons (W.F.D. Muhammad: 2009).11

In the tradition of Noble Drew Ali and Marcus Garvey, NOI subverts the meaning of race and color. However, the origin of African Americans is traced back not only to a black Asiatic race; the Asiatic black race is also the origin of all races, they are the original people. As the white race is a derivation, grafted from the black race, they are the truly colored people. This is explained with a highly original creation myth. In the beginning was blackness, out of which black God emerged, states Elijah Muhammad, and continues: This is the way he was born; in total darkness. There was no light anywhere. Out of the total orbit of the Universe of darkness there sparkled an atom of life … [H]e was a Black man, a Black man! Coming out of total darkness at that time, we all could say that we are produced by a white God. But there was no light nor even any white anywhere: There was All Darkness. So God revealed to me. In that darkness, which had no end to it there – that Darkness created an atom of life, and the Color had to be Black as there was no light; therefore, it had to be the Color of the thing that Created it! All Praise is due to Allah! (E. Muhammad: 1974, 39 f.).

In similar terms, Louis Farrakhan explains: “He [the First One] created us out of this black material in the darkness of space, and we took our color from the darkness out of which we emerged” (in Gardell: 1996, 144). Then the solar system was created, imbued with life. The supreme God established a council of 24 imams – also known as gods or black scientists – to be his divine helpers, with the supreme God and 11 imams as the greater imams and the remaining 12 imams known as the lesser imams. The number of imams will always remain the same, but they will be replaced by a succession of gods, as no gods live forever (ibid.). Elijah Muhammad explains: “There is no God living Who was here in the Creation of the Universe, but They produce Gods from Them and Their Wisdom lives in us” (E. Muhammad: 1974, 97). Among the 24 scientists, one is “the Judge or the One God, Allah” (E. Muhammad: 1965, 109). 11 The division of humanity into three resembles the teachings of the Valentinians, a Gnostic sect. They believed that there were three classes of people. A very few, the chosen ones, were Pneumatics, guided by divine spirit. Others were Psychics. They had no divine spirit, but could still reach salvation through good works. On the lowest level were the Hylics, the earthly men, governed by material interests. See (Holzhausen: 2006, 1150)

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Sixty-six trillion years ago, the moon was separated from the Earth by a great explosion, in an attempt by a black scientist to destroy the black race (ibid., 31).12 That was the beginning of the Tribe of Shabazz, the original inhabitants of the earth. At this point, history began to move in cycles of 25,000 years. Every “twenty-five thousand years, another God would be given a chance to show forth His Wisdom to the People” (E. Muhammad: 1974, 98). Some 6,600 years ago, such a god was born near Mecca, the evil scientist Yacub.13 He discovered that the black man had two genes, one brown and one black, and he set out to make a new, evil race. After being arrested and deported to the island of Pelan, the biblical Patmos, he began developing the white race. Under his strict rule, nurses were told to kill black babies. After 200 years, all babies were brown and after 200 more years, all were red or yellow. Then, after 600 more years, the entire population of Pelan was pale white. The white race is, in Fard Muhammad and Elijah Muhammad’s writings, referred to as the devil: The Yacub made devils were really pale white, with really blue eyes; which we think are the ugliest of colors for a human eye. They were called Caucasians – which means, according to some of the Arab scholars “One whose evil effect is not confined to one’s self alone, but affects others (1965, 116).

The white race was allowed to rule for 6,000 years. But after disturbing the peace among the people of Islam in the Holy Land, the white man was expelled from paradise to the hills of western Asia or Europe, where they were roped in so they could not disturb the peace anymore. According to Elijah Muhammad, “EU stands for hills and cave sides of that continent and ROPE means a place where that people were bound in” (ibid, 276). Here, the white race was deprived of civilization and became savages. They started to live like animals, walking on all fours and sleeping in caves. Elijah Muhammad, with an ironic subversion of evolution theory, even traces the origins of monkeys to the white race in Europe (ibid., 103 f.). Finally, after 2000 years, Allah sent Musa (Moses) to civilize the white race, but failed. Then God said, “Let us make man in our image” and white man was taught to “be fruitful and multiply; and replenish the earth and subdue it” and the white man conquered the world.14 God also sent Jesus and Muhammad to teach the white man, but they failed. Everywhere the Caucasians went, they established white supremacy, thus fulfilling the prophecy in Revelation 6:8, “and behold a pale 12 The creation of the moon can be seen as the first appearance of evil in the universe. (E. Muhammad: 2002, 25–9). 13 The story of Yacub is sketched out in Wallace Fard Muhammad’s “Lost-Found Lessons No. 2” question 21–33, and expanded by Elijah Muhammad (1965, 110–116; 2002). 14 The story from Gen 1:26, 28 is here used to explain how God created the white man long after the black man, the original man, came into being. Elsewhere, Adam is black. With reference to the same verse, Adam must be black as he was created in God’s image. Farrakhan also points to Sure 15:28, “The Holy Quran says Allah created Adam from black mud fashioned into shape.” See Gardell, 165–70.

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horse; and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him” (in Gardell: 1996, 153). At the same time, the tribe of Shabazz was put to “sleep”; they became “mentally dead.” In 1555, John Hawkins brought the first slaves to North America on the slave ship Jesus. After producing their first babies, these slaves were killed so they could not teach their children about themselves and God. The slave masters then taught those children whatever suited them best. “That made us blind, deaf and dumb to the knowledge of self.” Slavery will not end before the “real ship Jesus,” after 400 years, will come in the person of God himself or Wallace Fard Muhammad and teach the black people knowledge of self, God and the devil (E. Muhammad: 1974, 93 f.). The notion of the white race as the devil has caused much controversy. As mentioned earlier, Malcolm X abandoned this idea after his Mecca experience, and Louis Farrakhan has modified it considerably. In his article, “Giving New Meaning to Race,” he states that race did not exist before the white man introduced it. The final destruction does not mean the destruction of the white race, but the destruction of racism. The black people must “give new meaning to race and end it forever. Black people must take it upon ourselves to end racism once and for all” (in Curtis IV: 2002, 134).

3.2.4.3 Eschatology In traditional Christian preaching, including the preaching of many black churches, the final judgment and the resurrection of the dead await in the hereafter. According to Elijah Muhammad, heaven and hell in Islam are not two places, but “two conditions of life.” The “earth is our home and we can make it a hell or heaven for us” (E. Muhammad: 1957, 35). Moreover, as God is no “spook in the sky,” neither the final judgment nor the resurrection of the dead events are of an otherworldly nature. The resurrection of the dead is a spiritual process, as those mentally dead are given the possibility of new life through Islam and will be able to rise from their mental slavery. And as we are living in the very end of time, “dangerously close” to the battle of Armageddon, we can witness the final judgment taking place in the world today. The beginning of World War I in 1914 marked the end of the 6,000 years of the white world’s power over the original people. Elijah Muhammad also refers to this war as the war of the two anti-Christs, America and Europe. Now is the time to prepare for the “final showdown” in the skies. This “Third World War” will be between the two great religions of the world, Christianity and Islam, and their followers. America will be destroyed first, after its sins are exposed. Elijah Muhammad likens the wickedness of America with that of ancient Babylon: She was a drunkard; wine and strong drinks were in her daily practice. She was filled with adultery and murder; she persecuted and killed the people of God. She killed the saints and prophets of Allah (God). Hate and filthiness, gambling, sports of every evil

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as you practice in America were practiced in Babylon. Only America is modern and much worse (E. Muhammad: 1965, 273).

Instrumental in the destruction of Allah’s enemies is the “Great Wheel,” the “Mother of Planes,” or the Mother Ship referred to in Farrakhan’s vision. According to NOI, this is the same as the great wheel as described by Ezekiel (Ezek 1:15–21). The wheel is man-made, a small human planet, created by the finest scientists at unbelievable expense. The Mother Ship carries 1,500 bomb ships with deadly explosives that will be dropped on the cities of the world. Edward E. Curtis sees Elijah Muhammad’s Mother Ship in the context of the impact of science fiction in the 1940s and –50s. The realistic radio adaption of Orson Wells’ novel War of the Worlds in 1938 caused confusion, as many listeners believed they were listening to a real news broadcast. In addition, Frank Scully’s bestseller of 1950, Behind the Flying Saucers, caused a public obsession with UFOs (Curtis IV: 2002 77 f). Some included UFOs and outer space in their belief system. An interesting example is the mythology formulated by jazz musician Sun Ra, referred to in Chapter 2. In the 1950s, he could be seen on a street corner in Chicago, between a Baptist preacher and a representative of the Nation of Islam, handing out broadsheets of his own texts.15 There are several similarities between the teachings of Elijah Muhammad and Sun Ra, such as their criticism of the Christian church and the notion that the Bible has been tampered with. Some, like band member John Gilmore, even claim that the NOI stole some of their ideas from Ra. However, there were also notable differences. Sun Ra, for instance, did not agree that white people were devils; blacks could be devils, too. He strongly believed that the Creator’s plan for this planet included whites as well as blacks. Being a jazz musician, he was also far more positive to the cultural achievements of blacks, such as blues, jazz and dance, than the NOI (Szwed: 1998, 105 f.; Lock: 1999, 46–9). Elijah Muhammad opposed the idea of the hereafter as a spiritual state. “No one is going to leave this planet to live on another,” writes Elijah Muhammad, and he argues that the belief in life after death and the kingdom of God was taught to the slaves. The slave masters knew that death settles all and that nobody would return to tell that this was a lie. “The life in the hereafter is only a continuation of the present life. You will live in flesh and blood. You won’t see spooks coming up from the graves to meet God,” as “no already physically dead person will be in the hereafter,” writes Elijah Muhammad. He cites the present “Brotherhood of Islam” as typical of the life in the hereafter: the difference is that the brotherhood in the hereafter will enjoy the spirit of gladness and happiness forever in the presence of Allah. The earth, the general atmosphere will produce such a change that the people will think it is a new earth. It will be the heaven 15 A collection of Sun Ra’s broadsheets and leaflets was found in 2000, reprinted in Sun Ra (2006).

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of the righteous forever! No sickness, no hospitals, no insane asylums, no gambling, no cursing, or swearing will be seen or heard in that life (E. Muhammad: 1965, 304).

3.2.4.4 The Saviour In mainstream Islam, Jesus is revered as a prophet, together with Abraham, Moses, and other figures of the Hebrew Bible. Mohammed is the final prophet. They are also revered as prophets in the teachings of NOI. Jesus was a black man, teaching the original religion Islam, as did Moses before him. Nevertheless, while Jesus was a great prophet, he was a mortal man and will never return, as the Christians believe. Referring to him as Jesus of 2,000 years ago emphasizes his mortality: “Jesus (Isa) of 2,000 years ago cannot do us any good nor harm… There is no proof that there was or ever shall be a time when people return to life after they are physically dead… nor is there proof that He is alive some place waiting to return for the Judgment” (E. Muhammad: 1974, 152). Therefore, it is useless to pray to Jesus: “Know that Jesus was only a prophet and cannot hear you pray any more than Moses or any dead prophet. Allah alone can hear your prayers and answer them” (E. Muhammad: 1957, 349). Likewise, the prophet “Muhammad of 1400 years ago” is dead and will not return as the “old Orthodox Muslims” preach (E. Muhammad: 1965, 287). Nor was he the last of prophets. The teachings of Moses, Jesus and Muhammad were for a limited time. The teachings of the prophets of 4,000 years ago were for the people of the next 2,000 years until the birth of Jesus, while the teachings of Jesus were until the end of the world, which is at hand. Both the Bible and the Qur’an prophesize the coming of a Savior, called by many names: the Son of Man, Christ, the Messiah, the Mahdi. According to NOI, these prophecies all refer to the coming of God in person, Allah, appearing in the end of times, which is now. This God is not a spirit or a spook in the sky: “Spirits and spooks cannot be the judge of man’s affairs. Man is material, of the earth … Why are you looking for a God that is not in flesh and blood as you are?” (E. Muhammad: 1965, 19). The mystery God, the spook in the sky is the God preached by the slave masters to deceive and fool their slaves. The Son of Man is black, son of a black man. God in person, Allah, the great Mahdi is none other than Fard Muhammad: When we say “Allah,” that Name means God and covers all Muslims. All Muslims are Allahs, but we call the Supreme Allah the Supreme Being. And He has a Name of His Own. This Name is “Fard Muhammad.” “Fard” is a Name meaning an independent One and One Who is not on the level with the average Gods (Allahs) … Now, the Just and Righteous One is on the scene to take His place to rule the people in righteousness (E. Muhammad: 1974, 56 f.).

Each year, on February 26, the NOI celebrates “The Saviour’s Day” in memory of Fard Muhammad’s birth.

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Farrakhan, like Elijah Muhammad before him, opens his speeches with a short summary of the faith, resembling the traditional bismillah. Comparing two recent speeches by Farrakhan reveals the flexibility and adaptability of the doctrine on Fard Muhammad. The speeches constitute a two-part lecture entitled “Who Are the Real Children of Israel?” The first part was held as an open event at the Atlanta Civic Center: In the name of Allah, the Beneficent and the Merciful. We give him praise and we give him thanks for his mercy and his goodness to the members of the human family, that whenever a member of his family strays from his straight path and earns His wrath, before He punishes, He always raises from among a people – that people – a messenger or a prophet to whom He gives what is called divine revelation by means of which He guides that people from the path of error back to his straight path that they may once again become into His divine favor. As Muslims we believe in all of the prophets, and we thank Allah for each and every one of them. We believe in Moses and the Torah and the Israelite prophets that gave us what is called The Old Testament. We believe in Jesus and the Gospel. And we believe in the apostles who gave us the New Testament. We believe in Prophet Muhammad Ibn Abdullah who gave to us and through the Muslims of the world the last revelation to come to the world, the Holy Qur’an. I am a student of the most honorable Elijah Muhammad. And I could never thank Allah enough for his intervention in the affairs of black people in America in the person of Master Fard Muhammad, the great Mahdi who came among us and raised one from among us to be his messenger, Messiah to us, the most honorable Elijah Muhammad. I greet all of you, my dear and wonderful brothers and sister with the greeting words of peace, we say it in the Arabic language As Salaam Aleikum! (Farrakhan: 2010a).

Two weeks later, Farrakhan continued with Part II, this time at Mosque Maryam, NOI’s National Center in Chicago: In the name of Allah, the beneficent, the Merciful who came among us in the person of Fard Muhammad, to whom praise is due forever. We could never ever thank him enough for his wise choice of the honorable Elijah Muhammad as his messenger, the Messiah whom the world will soon come to know as the exalted Christ that all Christians have been looking for and the Mahdi that all the Muslims have been looking for: one anointed by God himself with the power now to crush the wicked and remove them and this civilization from our planet and replace it with that which we have prayed for – the coming of the Kingdom of God on earth. I greet all of you, my dear and wonderful brothers and sisters with the greeting words of peace. We say it in the Arabic language: As Salaam Aleikum! (Farrakhan: 2010b).16

Although similar, there are some notable differences. The first is longer, more inclusive and “ecumenical.” Farrakhan acknowledges the prophets, apostles and holy books of Judaism, Christianity and Islam in a manner reminiscent of Sunni Islamic leaders. He does mention Elijah Muhammad as Messiah and 16 Both excerpts are my transcriptions.

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Fard Muhammad as Mahdi, but contextualizes this in the particular history and struggle of black people in America. The shorter introduction of Part II provides no such context, but states simply that Fard Muhammad is Allah and his messenger, Elijah Muhammad, is the Christ and the Mahdi expected by Christians and Muslims. Thus, this version appears less ecumenical, more “hardcore” NOI. By returning to the teachings of Fard Muhammad and Elijah Muhammad, Louis Farrakhan revived NOI, rebuilding a strictly defined hierarchical organization, providing a powerful voice to black nationalism. Under both Elijah Muhammad and Louis Farrakhan, NOI has demanded a strong discipline from its members. Through self-discipline, members would attain knowledge of self and be able to get rid of the shackles of mental as well as physical slavery. Thus, members should act and dress properly, and refrain from any criminal activity, gambling, smoking, drinking, drugs, adultery and so on. Through gradual initiation, learning the secret lessons of Wallace Fard Muhammad step by step, NOI student would acquire the necessary tools to become mentally free and a good Muslim. However, the teachings of Fard Muhammad and his messenger Elijah Muhammad were cherished by others as well, most notably the Nation of Gods and Earths. With the NGE, these and other secret teachings were brought to the streets, interpreted not by ordained ministers and leaders, but anyone who could “show and prove” by their verbal and intellectual mastery.

3.3 The Nation of Gods and Earths In the 1960s, a former NOI member who eventually would be remembered as “Allah,” “Father” or “Father Allah” began to teach NOI’s secret lessons on the streets and in the pool halls of Harlem. He took Fard Muhammad’s doctrine of God as a black man a step further: every black man is God. Instead of a hierarchically structured discipline and submission to one God, “Allah,” he developed a doctrine of God within, of “incarnating into the master of one’s own universe to become one’s own controller” (Moldonado: 2007, 508). A loosely organized community of followers emerged. Taking their cue from the “Lost and Found Muslim Lessons No. 2,” they called themselves the Five Percenters, later reorganized as the Nation of Gods and Earths. 3.3.1 The formation of the Nation of Gods and Earths Allah was born Clarence Smith (1928–69) in Virginia and came to New York in 1946. In the 1950s he joined the US Army, serving two years in Korea during the Korean War. Upon returning to New York in 1954, he joined the NOI’s

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Harlem Temple No. 7 under the leadership of Malcolm X and became Clarence 13 X. He had learned karate during his military service in Korea, and became a martial arts instructor within NOI and a lieutenant in the Fruit of Islam. He memorized the lessons and evolved an eloquent and hypnotic preaching style. But being “a man who thought for himself, he was no follower” (Beloved Allah: 1987), Clarence 13 X was eventually at odds with NOI and was finally expelled. He and other former NOI members continued to study, reinterpret and teach the lessons of Fard Muhammad, gaining a following that became the Five Percenters. Among their interpretative tools were the “Supreme Mathematics” and “Supreme Alphabet,” a system based on the first ten numbers and the twenty-six letters of the alphabet to decipher and decode the meanings of words, names, numbers and dates (Knight: 2007, 49–54). Allah chose nine youngsters to be his closest followers. The number nine represents the principle of being or being born. As the highest number, it also means “complete” “just as it takes nine months for a baby to be complete.” The group of nine was called “The First Born” and they in turn had to teach ten new students each (ibid, 59 f.). The Five Percenters aimed recruitment at groups that the NOI did not reach, especially troubled youth, drug addicts, dropouts, and other groups of young people that society had given up on (Beloved Allah, 5). As the Five Percenters grew in numbers, it spread all over New York, from Harlem to Brooklyn, Bronx and Queens. The Five Percenters came into being in a turbulent, politically and racially charged period for the big cities of the USA. In the news media, the Five Percenters were perceived as a gang, a new black hate group garnering headlines such as “Harlem ‘5 Percenters’ – Terror Group Revealed”, “Harlem Hit By Five Percenters” and “A New Harlem Hate Group?” (Miyakawa: 2005, 16, 151). They were linked to a rumored violent gang called the Blood Brothers creating much frenzy and public debate. This gang is today commonly regarded as an invention of a journalist (Knight: 2007, 42–8). The Police and the FBI had the Five Percenters under heavy surveillance. The FBI’s director John Edgar Hoover was suspicious that the group could be affiliated with Cuban or Chinese communist groups (ibid, 77).17 In 1965, Allah was arrested for marijuana possession and assault and later sent to Matteawan State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. When released in 1967, city officials approached him, as the Five Percenters were seen as instrumental in keeping peace and order among disenfranchised black youths of the inner city. Allah School of Mecca in Harlem was established as its headquarters, where leaders were trained in rhetoric and doctrine. In contrast to the strict hierarchy of the NOI, the Five Percenters evolved a loose 17 The index page for the released FBI reports on the Five Percenters describe them as a “group of youth gangs who operated in the Harlem area of New York City during the years 1965–1967. The name Five Percenters meant, five percent of Muslims who smoke and drink.” http://foia.fbi.gov/ foiaindex/5percent.htm (July 12, 2010).

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democratic structure, where once a month members arranged open meetings, Parliaments, in public parks. Allah died in 1969, gunned down. He had prepared his followers for his departure, but no successor was appointed. A year before his assassination, he is reported to have said “after this year there won’t be any Five Percenters anymore. You will be the Nation of Gods and Earths” (in Beloved Allah: 1987, 9). After a period of diminishing activity, the organization was regrouped as the Nation of Gods and Earths in 1971. The annual “Show and Prove” event was instituted, where members could demonstrate progress in “doing Allah’s work” (ibid., 11). Rappers such as Big Daddy Kane, Rakim, Brand Nubian and the Wu-Tang Clan helped popularize the movement, and branches are now found in cities on the West Coast as well as the East Coast, and in the UK. Today, the Allah School in Mecca Street Academy is a cultural and educational center, with educational programs for children, youths and adults. The monthly parliaments are held at the Harriet Tubman Learning Center (Public School 154) around the corner from the Allah School. In October 2014, NGE arranged their 50th anniversary weekend, where artists Rakim, Big Daddy Kane and Erykah Badu headlined a benefit concert.

3.3.2 The Supreme Mathematics and Supreme Alphabet The doctrine of the Nation of Gods and Earths is in principle based on core elements of NOI teachings, especially the original lessons of Wallace Fard Muhammad. In her study on Five Percenter rap, Felicia M. Miyakawa states, “doctrinal differences between the two groups are few” (Miyakawa: 2005, 24). But to what extent their theologies are related is disputed within the NGE. Some see the Five Percenters as an extension of the NOI, as its purpose was to “spread the teachings of Islam (as taught in the NOI lessons) to the ‘babies’ in the street who didn’t attend the Mosque” (Wakeel Allah: 2007, 335). Others perceive the NGE as a break from NOI with differing theological interpretation. One point of contention is the nature of Wallace Fard Muhammad. Disputing with NOI officials, Clarence 13 X, reportedly said: “The Muslims of the Nation of Islam have never seen W. D. Fard and they worship him as Allah. But they say that they don’t worship a mystery god. So you are worshipping in blind faith.” And, with reference to Fard Muhammad’s light skin: “your lessons say that anything made weak and wicked from the Original man is the devil, and you are running around worshipping a Half-Original Man and not the Blackman” (in Wakeel Allah: 2007, 339). In some instances, Clarence 13 X has replaced Fard Muhammad as deity, a move with which NGE historian Prince Allah Cuba strongly disagrees: Since the passing of Allah in 1969 the Five Percent has gone through many changes. Some of these changes have been toward a reactionary and socially backward

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direction … It was to the interest of the state and the devil to turn the Five Percent into a harmless religious cult built around the person of the absent Allah; this was done (in ibid., 344).

Whatever formal doctrinal differences there might be, the NGE is different in form and style, which also have theological implications. The NGE is certainly less hierarchically structured than the NOI. Their democratic approach to theology, where Five Percenters can take part in the Parliament and “show and prove,” makes room for theological dispute and differences. Michael Muhammad Knight captures the difference between the NGE and formalized Islam in the form of the NOI and mainstream Islam thus: And old man who has only been an MTA bus driver all his life cannot stand up in a mosque and give khutba on what he learned while struggling in the city and supporting a family. It’s not enough; he has to go to Al-Azar, perfect his Arabiyya, master tajwid, eat up medieval scholars, fill his head with fiqh and learn all the schools of thought. But in the new Mecca of Harlem, he can come to the front of the Harriet Tubman’s auditorium in his MTA work jacket and he’s God as is (Knight: 2007, 264 f.).

One significant element of the NGE’s theology is the emphasis on breaking down or show and prove – that is, to decode words and numbers to find hidden knowledge. The “Supreme Mathematics” and “Supreme Alphabet” are keys to unlocking the deeper meaning of the universe as well as everyday life. The interpretations of letters and numbers have changed over time, maybe depending on who is speaking and under what circumstances. From being kept secret and transmitted orally, the Supreme Mathematics and Supreme Alphabet are now found on several websites and in books with some variations (see RZA: 2005; Noor: 2002). Here I will just outline some of the principles. The “Supreme Mathematics” is based on the numbers one to nine; each number is given a special word and interpretation. For instance, the first three numbers represent Knowledge, Wisdom and Understanding. Seven represent God, which is also the black man. Larger numbers are broken down to single digits. 11, for instance, is “one-one” or “knowledge-knowledge,” the “knowledge-knowledge degree of a king whose knowledge is ac-knowledged.” (Nuruddin: 1994, 120). Numbers also have multiple meanings. One, two and three for instance, also represent Sun, Moon and Star, or Man, Woman and Child. Thus, the three first numbers also reflect the ideal family structure of NGE, and is the foundation on which the rest is built upon as the “unified black family is the vital building block of the nation” (Noor: 2002, 247). Men in the NGE are generally referred to as gods, women as earths. The primary role for women in NGE, as Felicia M. Miyakawa states, is to give birth and raise children, to “cook, keep house, and create a loving home environment for their gods and seeds, while gods are expected to take care of their families” (Miyakawa: 2010:29). “From an outsider’s perspective,” she states, “the Nation

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of Gods and Earths seems patriarchal, restrictive, and inflexible, at least as far as women’s roles are concerned” (ibid., 30). But she also documents how women in NGE transcends the prescribed gender roles by pursuing careers and become organizers and spokespersons. The Supreme Alphabet attributes key words and interpretations to each of the letters in the English alphabet. Thus “A” refers to Allah, “G” to “God” and “I” to Islam and so on. These words are further broken down, for instance A.L.L.A.H is customarily broken down to Arm-Leg-Leg-Arm-Head, the body of the black man. Additionally, there is the “Twelve Jewels of Islam,” probably inspired by “Twelve Jewels of Life” published in the Nation of Islam’s newspaper Muhammad Speaks (Fayzah: 1972). Together, the Supreme Mathematics, Supreme Alphabet and the Twelve Jewels constitute the “Universal Language.” The practice of breaking down words and numbers to find secret knowledge reflects age-old spiritual traditions. Throughout the history of spirituality, people have searched for ways to unlock “hidden knowledge” in sacred texts and finding a deeper truth revealed only to those working hard to get it. By applying meaning to letters and numbers, esoteric mystics have sifted the scriptures as well as the visible world for hidden structures and messages.18 Pythagorean philosophy, for instance, emphasized the study of numbers to attain knowledge of universal laws and has resurfaced in a variety of esoteric traditions. It is echoed, for example, in Cee Allah’s understanding of mathematics: “Without the mathematics nothing could exist in a harmonious state because mathematics is UNIVERSAL LAW and when you have law that brings about order” (Cee Allah: 2004, 5). The immediate source of “Twelve Jewels of Islam” is found in NOI, but has biblical roots. Exod 28:17–20 lists twelve jewels adorning the vestments of the priests. Rev 21:19–20 has a similar list of jewels adorning the foundation of the city of God. These jewels have been given different symbolic meanings, including correspondence with the twelve tribes of Israel, the twelve signs of the zodiac and personal characteristics signified by their colors (Reader: 1981, 483–57). The Bible has provided a rich source for those looking for anagrams, acronyms, acrostics and arrangements of numbers, as practiced in Jewish, and later Christian Kabbalah, traditions. Common in Kabbalah is the application of numerical values to the letters of the Hebrew alphabet; sometimes they are attributed special meaning (Blake: 2010, 114–27; Scholem: 1987, 26–32). Similar interpretational practices are found within mainstream Islam. A characteristic of NGE is the emphasis on the English language, and in particular African American inner-city slang. As observed by Yusuf Nuruddin, “using the potency and the vitality of the black dialect they open up new avenues of logic 18 For a sober and thorough introduction to esoteric practices, see A. Faivre/J. Needleman (1992). See Schimmel (1993) for an introduction to the spiritual meanings of numbers in a Western context. Blake (2010) offers a handy and systematic overview of ways to conceal messages.

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and thinking” (Nuruddin: 1994, 120). In delivering the message orally, the Five Percenters can display breathtaking verbal dexterity and imagination. Another aspect of NGE’s parlance is the spiritual mapping of the city. Beginning with the city of New York, the five boroughs were named after significant cities and places of pilgrimage Harlem was named Mecca, already the “Mecca” of African American culture, but also where the Five Percenters originated and its spiritual center. Brooklyn became Medina after the second holy city of Islam, and the second borough where knowledge of self was being taught (Knight: 2007, 63; Mathematics Allah: 2002, 13 ff.). It is also referred to as Bethlehem (RZA: 2005, 128). Queens became the Desert, while Staten Island was renamed Savior’s Island. The Bronx became known as Pelan, which in Elijah Muhammad’s writing refers to Patmos where the Revelation of John was written, according to tradition. Noble Drew Ali had already renamed Newark New-Ark, and New Jersey became New Jerusalem. Eventually, Staten Island was renamed Shaolin and became the home of Wu-Tang Clan, merging hip-hop, Five Percent doctrine and Eastern philosophy, as will be explored in Chapter 6.

3.3.2.1 Christianity, scripture and Islam Like NOI, the Five Percenters are generally critical of Christianity and mainstream Islam. An article printed in the NGE magazine Black Seven, argues that Jesus did not teach Christianity, but, “Freedom, Justice and Equality. He taught Islam.” The true meaning of being a Christian is to be Christ-like or to “be crystallized into one.” Nevertheless, shortly after the death of Jesus, the church “never did come to agree on the true teachings of Christ and many changes were made in his doctrine, which brought about separate denominations.” Thus, the “Christian world” has not “been crystallized into one body.” (Anonymous: 2003, 24) According to the same source, the doctrine of the Trinity was not taught by Jesus, but introduced by the Nicene Council in 325 A.D. as a tool to “enslave the minds of the people by advocating white supremacy. Jesus was a black man” (ibid.). Five Percenters are often well versed in the Bible, and both the Old and the New Testament might provide scriptural proof for their teachings. The importance of knowledge, wisdom and understanding, for instance, is emphasized in Col 1:9 as well as in the Prov 2:6, 3:19–20 (Knight: 2007, 50). Some also read the Qur’an, but while the Qur’an might be mentioned in song lyrics and writings, actual references to Qur’anic verses are rare. Five Percenter’s relation to Islam is complex. In his essay “Why we are not Muslims,” Sincere Merciful Allah God argues: “We of the Nation of Gods and Earths study Islam as a Science not as a Religion,” and continues: first there is a distinction between what is to be considered “Muslim” and what is just “Arabic.” The two are not interchangeable… Allah and Islam are “Arabic” words and

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not “Muslim” words. Islam means peace. The word “Islam” is not “owned” by the “religion” of Islam… We are not Muslim, nor do we claim to be. God is not a Muslim. God does not submit. (Sincere Merciful Allah God: 1996)

Cee Allah argues in a similar way: The word ISLAM is the culture or religion of the Muslims… ISLAM means to submit and submit means to surrender over to a higher authority or will of another…However, when you say your culture is Mathematics, it is stating that you are in tune with the law of the Universe… I-Self-Lord-And- or Am- Master is not ISLAM, it is GOD, The BLACK MAN (Cee Allah: 2003, 11 f).

Sometimes, Sunni Muslims are referred to as “soon-to-be Muslims,” not having reached a mature understanding (Nuruddin: 1994, 129). Although NOI and NGE are closely related and have basic tenets in common, there are some differences. Basically, NOI is far more hierarchically organized than NGE. As a consequence, NGE seems to have a stronger appeal to people at the margins of bourgeois lifestyle than NOI. Also, NGE distinguish themselves much clearer from mainstream Islam and religion in general. While Louis Farrakhan of NOI at times emphasizes similarities with their teachings and Islam (and Christianity), NGE makes clear that they are not practicing religion. As Sincere Allah Merciful God wrote, “God is not a Muslim. God does not submit.”

PART TWO

4. Walls of Memory. Graffiti as shared memory Walking around in certain areas of New York City, like central or southern parts of the Bronx, East Harlem or Manhattan’s Lower East Side, you will eventually encounter big, elaborate masterpieces of graffiti art. Suddenly, overwhelming spaces unfold, exploding in vivid colors and patterns, as you enter a schoolyard, a playground, a parking lot or even huge factory areas covered with paintings. Exploring new territories outside the tourist routes of Manhattan, you might get lost in the grey and dusty deserts of vast industrial areas, construction sites and blocks of weary warehouses. If luck is with you, your thirsty eyes will find nourishment in oases of colors, as you stumble across a wall, a door, a fence or whole buildings used as canvases by graffiti artists. Graffiti is found in the midst of pulsating city life as well as in areas where most people do not intentionally seek. Graffiti is a temporary art form. Not protected by the walls of art institutions, the pieces are subject to various kind of destruction and rarely do their environments give opportunities for the viewer to meditate on them for a long time. Thus, graffiti art is not normally the subject of analysis by art historians and critics, except occasionally when graffiti is situated indoors. Art critics simply do not move outdoors to review the latest exhibition at the Graffiti Hall of Fame or discuss recent murals by the world’s leading graffitists. Most of the books published on graffiti in the last 25 years or so, is largely designed by photographers, occasionally joined by a criminologist or ethnologist. They document the art form with stunning pictures of awesome graffiti from around the world. Some of the photographers have worked closely with the graffiti movement for decades, and their books offer insightful knowledge of what graffiti is about as well as interviews and comments by the artists.1 However, meditation and critical reflections on individual pieces as artworks are rare, even in these books. Being neither an art critic nor a trained photographer, I set out to study and reflect upon a number of individual pieces, selecting a few out of thousands of graffiti pieces I have photographed during my visits to New York City. Some artworks will appear more obviously spiritual than others will, with religious imagery culled from traditional Christian, civil religion or indigenous spirituality. Others might not immediately strike the 1 M. Cooper and H. Chalfant deserve special mention for having been involved with graffiti and hip-hop culture and its artists since the 1970s. Their work together and with other collaborators include: M. Cooper/H. Chalfant (1984) M. Cooper/J. Sciorra (1994), M. Cooper (2004; 2008), H. Chalfant/J. Prigoff (1987) and T. Silver/H. Chalfant, (dir.) (2003). Important photographic documentation of early writing include J. Stewart (2009) and J. Naar and N. Mailer [1974] 2009). For contemporary graffiti, see J. Murray/K. Murray (2002; 2006).

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viewer as being spiritual, referring to popular culture, even celebrating acts deemed to be criminal acts of vandalism. Nevertheless, as previously argued, a broad understanding of spirituality is needed to better understand hip-hop spirituality. Thus, my aim in this chapter is to interpret these artworks in the perspective of lived spirituality, steeped in experiences of life in the city – sometimes inspired by, sometimes in critical opposition to, established religion and religious practices. The material is categorized in two main thematic groups. In “Culture Walls” I look at how cultural, national and ethnic identities are visualized in graffiti pieces. In a densely multiethnic and multicultural city like New York City, ethnic and cultural markers can be vital elements of identity formation, especially for minority groups. By showing allegiances to a certain ethnic or cultural group, you say something about where you are coming from and the cultural impulses that have influenced you. In addition, spirituality is often expressed in symbols and images with ethnic and cultural connotations. This is true of the first three artworks studied here, where mythological and religious imagery appears in murals honoring African American, Mexican and Puerto Rican heritage. Hip-hop is in itself a culture with its own mythology and history, celebrating life and artistic exploration as well as providing room for grief and the honoring past masters. The last four artworks in this section exemplifies how hip-hop can offer new cultural identities as it transcends or is in dialogical tension with ethnic, religious, social or other cultural identities. The second part, “Walls of Grief,” focuses on memorial graffiti and spirituality in the context of grief and loss. Memorial graffiti – often combining traditional religious imagery with elements of popular culture – offers a more personalized expression of grief than official rites and sites like funeral services and cemeteries. Drawing on insights from studies on spontaneous shrines, I study memorials commemorating people from different strains of society, including neighbors, children, musicians and celebrities, even a pope. I include murals commemorating 9/11 and the destruction of the World Trade Center’s twin towers. In these works, New York City writers respond to a tragic event and crisis affecting all inhabitants of the city, giving space for grief, commemoration and meditation. Those who lost their lives, as well as the loss of the World Trade Center itself, are mourned, and the heroic rescue work of New York firefighters, paramedics and volunteers are honored. 9/11 memorials tend to have less emphasis on ethnic and cultural boundaries, in favor of appeals to unity, pride on behalf of the city, the nation and its people – often with national symbols and iconic New York scenery. While some of the artworks are studied summarily, I have chosen to be quite detailed about others. I hope to demonstrate the rewards of studying graffiti and celebrating the intertextuality of writing by following the visual clues embedded in the images. Thus, a few words are needed on the act of looking at walls, on engaging with graffiti and the surfaces of the city.

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4.1 Looking at Walls In medieval churches, stained glass paintings and other artworks depicted the Bible stories, thus providing basic teaching for those who could not read. This art was “the poor man’s Bible.” In a similar fashion, much of the writing in New York City conveys stories and messages to the passersby who takes the time to have a look. The art does not necessarily speak only to the poor and those who cannot read; more often than not, it addresses issues and topics pertaining to marginalized people, issues overlooked and forgotten by the educational system and by the mass media. Many dedicated writers use the surfaces of their neighborhoods to enlighten and educate. Their artwork becomes a medium for expressing identity, reclaiming public space and sharing collective memory as well as esthetic and moral values (Ferrell: 1996, 58–97, 167ff). To engage with graffiti is in many ways also to engage with the city itself: its surfaces and neighborhoods, its people, its dreams and struggles, pains and pleasures. To physically search for graffiti in a city is also to physically encounter the streets, parks, subway systems, abandoned and desolated areas as well as living and thriving neighborhoods. The artworks themselves might confront the spectators with city life as lived and interpreted by the artists and their communities. Some pieces might address the social ills affecting a certain community or neighborhood, such as violence, drug abuse and racism. Pieces created in memory of deceased people offer an outlet for a neighborhood’s shared grief. Some murals concern the whole city, such as the 9/11 memorials. Other pieces might take you away from the city, to other places – be they imagined places and fantasy-scapes inspired by cartoons and movies, or real places honoring the struggles and cultural heritages of a distant land of origin for the city’s many immigrant communities. For me, walking around the city photographing graffiti was quite a learning experience and a highly spiritual one as well. I experienced a state of flow, intoxicated by the colors and shapes of writing. In addition, I felt a sort of connectedness, especially as people approached me, wondering what I was doing. As a stranger with a camera, probably looking like a tourist lost in the wilderness taking pictures of things that seldom attract tourists – fences, walls, shops – I attracted attention, for the most part of a very positive kind. People asked me why I took the pictures, if I was “writing a book or something.” Some shared bits of knowledge, telling me about a renowned artist working in the area or pointing me to places where I could find pieces of special interest. One special incident deserves mention here. At the corner of Morris Avenue and Kingsbridge Road in the Bronx, I found a shop decorated with intriguing paintings. While I was taking pictures, the shop owner came out and shared some background information. He told me how in the late 1970s and early 1980s he hired a graffiti painter to decorate his shop to prevent it from being tagged down. The painter turned out to be TRACY 168, one of the originators

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of wild style. “I think he is pretty famous,” the shop owner said. “He has done a lot of work around here in the Bronx. If you’re lucky you can probably see him around in his little car.” Enriched by this eyewitness conversation, I thanked him for the information and packed my camera, regretting only that I had not videotaped the conversation. Walking further, I approached the Ortiz Funeral Home and found its walls covered with a large mural with pastoral motifs. This time I took out the video camera, and filmed at a distance to get a good overview. As I looked through the lens, I became aware that three men were painting the mural while I was filming, a man in his late forties and two younger men. I asked them if it was okay that I filmed. “Go ahead,” the older man said. “Document this, graffiti in the doing!” The man turned out to be none other than TRACY 168 with his two assistants, repainting an older commissioned work for the funeral home. Then and there, he gave me an impromptu lecture on the origins of wild style graffiti, his creative visions and different approaches to painting. He showed me his little white car, filled with canvases. And he made a painting for me. A few times, I was met with skepticism, even hostility. Some shop owners ran out and asked me to stop, one threatened to smash my camera. Another thought I was from the police taking pictures of illegal immigrant workers in his shop. Actually, several people thought I was some sort of undercover agent stalking the neighborhood. At a roundtable discussion featuring several graffiti artists occasioned by a book release, I sensed a tension between some of the writers and the author and the audience of young students. Although the book featured interviews and artworks of these artists, some of them expressed that they did not want to have anything to do with the book and refused to autograph it.2 These and other incidents offered valuable glimpses of the conditions under which the graffiti culture has arisen. Artists and communities are proud of their culture. They have a strong dedication to communicating through their art, a desire to make their neighborhoods a better and more beautiful place to live in and are willing to share their knowledge with those who ask for it. At the same time, this art takes place in communities that often experience strained economic conditions and are subject to systemic oppression, such as targeted police surveillance. Among some of the pioneers and elders of hip-hop culture there also seems to be skepticism towards scholars and outside chroniclers of the culture. This might be explained partly by how these pioneers have experienced the many misconceptions and misrepresentations of hip-hop culture in the media and reports by outsiders. This is clearly the case with writing and writers, who for decades have seen their art form described mainly as vandalism and misdemeanors. 2 The panel took place at the New York University on the occasion of the release of I.L. Miller’s study on subway graffiti (Miller: 2002). In addition to the author, writers such as LADY PINK, PHAZE 2, DAZE, LEE and FUTURA 2000 were present.

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Looking at photos of graffiti and seeing graffiti “live” in its urban context are two quite different experiences. “Out there,” the artwork is seen in its natural environment, surrounded by other visual elements such as signs, buildings, trees, people, garbage – even sounds and smells. It can be an adrenalin-driven experience, because one might have to visit unfamiliar, sometimes uncomfortable places, and even climb fences or cross other barriers to see it. Here, graffiti is in constant and ever-changing dialogue with its environment. When looking at pictures of graffiti in a book one misses all that. On the other hand, this provides a better situation for in-depth analysis and interpretation, as one can focus on details and consult other sources that are unavailable in “the field.” Although informed by field experience, my interpretations in the following are by necessity formulated in retrospect, taking full advantage of available sources. This enables me to make connections and associations and follow visual leads in the artworks to an extent that was impossible while I was on site. Take “Hijos de Borik n” (fig. 3), for instance, with its turtles and mysterious petroglyph-like symbols. What do these symbols mean? What is “Hijos de Borik n”? Little did I know about the Zapatist movement, the Ta nos or the stylistic achievements and prolificness of NOC 167, the EX VANDALS, CHARMIN and BARBARA 62 before repeatedly studying these murals. 4.1.1 Art Crimes A striking aspect of this urban art form is the polarity of its reception. Originating as a vital and empowering esthetic response to harsh urban environments, graffiti has become the symbol of urban decay to politicians, city officials, representatives of law enforcement and the news media. Unwilling – maybe also unable – to find any esthetic or moral value in graffiti, they deem it vandalism and criminal activity. Inspired by the example of New York, politicians and city governments all over the world have found a scapegoat and a convenient target in graffiti enabling them to demonstrate political power, as they declare “war on graffiti” and their cities becomes “zero tolerance” zones (see Castleman: 1982,136,152–5; Austin: 2001, 83, 131 f). On the other hand, gallery owners, art dealers and certain art critics have at times hailed writing as a truly authentic art form, an art form emerging from “the streets,” revitalizing the stale procedures of the institutionalized art world. Also striking is the fact that these two positions rarely find common ground. While graffiti artists and their communities claim the right to beautify their own living environments, city officials and politicians claim their own jurisdiction, focusing solely on the legal aspects and the rights of ownership. A couple of examples from the days of subway graffiti will illustrate this point. In the 1983 documentary Style Wars, Mayor Edward Koch points to the cost of graffiti, claiming that each piece costs society one million dollars because

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others go out and copy it. He suggests legal action against graffiti, such as jail sentences. For him, graffiti is one of the quality-of-life offences. And you can’t just take one of these quality-of-life offences; it’s like a three-card monte and pick pocketing and shoplifting and graffiti defacing our public and private walls. They’re all in the same area of destroying our lifestyle and making it difficult to enjoy life (Silver/Chalfant: 2003).

In the same documentary, detective Bernie Jacobs of the NYC Transit Police Department offers a more practical and down-to-earth view: “Graffiti, as the name itself, is not an art. Graffiti is an application of a medium to a surface.” Pointing to a couple of tags on a subway car, he asks, “Is that an art form? I don’t know. I’m not an art critic. But I sure as hell can tell you that it’s a crime” (ibid.).3 Two more recent examples are found in the cases against James De La Vega and Oliver “Kiko” Siandre. James de la Vega, a renowned street artist, was caught in the act of painting a warehouse wall in the Bronx and was arrested in 2003, charged with painting graffiti and being in possession of “graffiti instruments.” Speaking on behalf of his client, De La Vega’s lawyer claimed that De La Vega’s intention was “to improve the warehouse, not damage it” and that his “sole purpose in life is to make things prettier and more visually thought-provoking, not to lessen their value” (Urbina: 2004a). The assistant district attorney saw it differently, claiming, “intent was less important than the fact that Mr. De La Vega did not have permission to paint on the side of the building.” The attorney issued a statement saying that it is “a simple proposition. You need an owner’s permission to paint on his or her property. The quality of the artwork does not change that fact” (ibid.). Oliver “KIKO” Siandre is not among the most notorious artists in the history of New York graffiti, but city officials decided to set an example when he was arrested in 2005 (Gardiner: 2007). While most graffiti artists up until that time had been sentenced to fines and community service, Kiko was sentenced to six months in jail, five years on probation and was ordered to pay $25,000 in restitution (ibid.). Even when the artwork is commissioned and created with the necessary permission, graffiti still might be sanctioned. In 2005, Time Magazine decided to hire graffiti artist COPE 2 to do a commercial for them. The commercial involved covering a whole wall of a building in Soho, Manhattan, and this created a lot of dispute. One councilman argued that Time should have hired a legitimate artist, instead of rewarding “some punk who has been defacing our city” (ibid.). In 2005, fashion designer Marc Ecko prepared for his “The Getting Up Block Party”– a festival honoring graffiti culture – and went through all the official channels to get the necessary permit to arrange the festival. But the permit was withdrawn a few days prior to the arrangement. Mayor Michael Bloomberg argued that “Graffiti is just one of those things that destroys our quality of life, and why anybody thinks that it’s funny or cute to encourage kids to go do that, I don’t know,” concluding 3 An interesting Freudian slip of the tongue occurs in the interview, when the detective says he is not an “art criminal,” before he corrects himself and says “art critic.”

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that “this is not really art or expression. This is–let’s be honest about what it is–it’s trying to encourage people to do something that’s not in anybody’s interest” (Chery: 2005). Over the years, writers have also sought out to find legal ways to facilitate the art of writing. Since the early 1970s, writing has been part of the “indoor” art world of galleries and museums with street-style paintings on canvas. (Castleman: 1982, 117–33). Some earn a living through commercial graffiti, making signs and advertising on commission for shop owners. Today, artists do campaigns for multi-national brands as well as advertisement for new cd releases by hip-hop artists. TATS CRU – “the Mural Kings” – is one of the most prolific crews in New York City, combining artistic skills with entrepreneurial sense of graffiti’s commercial possibilities.4 They have done promotional work for rap artists, multi-national brands like Coca Cola as well as numerous memorials. Some writers make a living as tattoo artists (Snyder 2009: 173ff). The Graffiti Hall Of Fame is located in the schoolyard of Jackie Robinson Junior High School at 106th Street and Park Avenue, established in the beginning of the 1980s by Ray Rodriguez. Every year, some of New York’s finest painters gather on a weekend in June to paint the walls of the schoolyard, curated by JOEY TDS, PART ONE and EZO. Some return every year, like the TATS CRU, featured on a wall of their own. Another famed graffiti venue was 5 Pointz, a huge factory site in Queens, located on Jackson Avenue and Crane Street. Its walls and rooftops were covered with writings done by artists from all over the world, including some of New York’s legendary writers. Former anti-graffiti worker Pat Di Lillo established it in the early 1990s as Phun Phactory: My idea for the Phun Phactory came after an unrelenting and fruitless battle against the illegal graffiti covering my neighborhood. I figured if I created a place for the young people to paint, then it would eliminate the illegal graffiti. People want clean trains, let them have clean trains. But they got to give these kids an outlet or they are going to explode. If I don’t give them a place, they’re going to go out and bomb a train (Murray/Murray: 2002, unpaginated).

Phun Phactory was originally curated by legendary writer IZ THE WIZ. Renamed 5 Pointz in the 2000s, it was curated by MERES ONE (Felisbret: 2009, 156ff, 284). 5 Pointz was demolished in 2014, making way for high-rise luxury apartments. The dynamic dialectic between art and crime is unique for graffiti. While artists in other art forms might produce works that are deemed offensive and even subjected to various forms of censorship, graffiti as an entire art form is perceived as unlawful. In part, graffiti thrives on this tension. It helps give the expression a certain edge, a certain rawness, a certain outsider credibility, as art on the margins of society. But in the extremely polarized and heated battles over graffiti, something important can get lost, namely the artworks 4 See their website www.tatscru.com.

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themselves. While those opposing this art form admittedly close their eyes, those supporting it often forget to look.

4.2 Culture on the wall Being the main entry point for immigrants to the United States throughout most of its history, New York City represents a multitude of nationalities and ethnicities from all over the world. While some parts of the city appear to be a globalized metropolis, especially the business district of Lower Manhattan, other parts seem like a quilt of neighborhoods comprising different cultural heritages from all over the world. The writings of New York are rich with references to ethnic culture, honoring ethnic heritage on walls with imagery derived from the mythology and history of a people and their national symbols. In a context of ethnic, social and economic oppression and conflict, alternative cultural identities frequently emerge, transcending traditional ethnic borders. New York has long been a center for a variety of subcultures, such as the punk scene and later the disco movement of the 1970s, but few popular cultures have had such transforming possibilities and lasting impact as hip-hop. Hip-hop culture also has its history and specific symbols, and many walls honor the past and present of hip-hop. In the following, I will explore how ethnic as well as hip-hop cultural heritage is visualized on the walls of New York City. Like the “poor man’s Bible” of medieval times, these walls are history books filled with references to mythologies ancient and contemporary. Thus, they also bear witness to cultural and spiritual hybridity, mixing elements from a variety of traditions. 4.2.1 Walls celebrating ethnic culture The three walls explored in this section relate to three of the many ethnic groups in New York City: African American, Mexican and Puerto Rican. New York, especially Harlem, has been a major center for African American culture for the last hundred or so years. Also, Puerto Ricans have a long history in the city. A colony of the United States after the Spanish American War in 1898, Puerto Rico has had independent commonwealth status with the United States since the 1950s. During the 1920s, a Puerto Rican community evolved in East Harlem, a barrio, with theaters, churches and a diversity of political and cultural organizations. In the years following World War II, Puerto Ricans were the largest number of Hispanics to migrate to New York, and Puerto Rican neighborhoods emerged in the Bronx and Brooklyn (Binder/Reimers: 1995, 169, 212). Likewise, there is a long history of Mexican migration to the US, as Mexico lost almost half of its territory to the United States in the

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Mexican-American War of 1846–8. As most Mexican immigrants have come by land, crossing the US-Mexico border, they have traditionally settled in the southern region and border states such as California and Texas. Since the 1980s however, the Mexican population in New York has grown and is among New York’s fastest growing ethnic groups. The following murals highlight in quite different ways the rich cultural heritage of these groups. 4.2.1.1 The People’s Wall Portraits of famous African Americans figure prominently in New York writing. Images of Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, Martin Luther King Jr. and others remind viewers of a history of African American struggle in a racist society and rich cultural and spiritual traditions. Among many such pieces that I have seen over the years, JAMES TOP’s “2004 Peoples Wall” is a good example (fig. 1). It was found on the long abandoned building of Public School 90 on West 147th Street. This street, in an area of Upper West Manhattan called Sugar Hill, was once a favored spot for drug dealers. JAMES TOP set out to beautify the area and took the initiative to paint the wall in 1999 (Gonzalez: 2009). The 2004 version of the “Peoples Wall” stretched out over the building’s front walls and schoolyard fence, framed by three large portraits of Malcolm X, boxer Muhammad Ali and hip-hop/r&b-singer Aaliyah (fig 1b, 1c and 1d). In between these portraits were wild style letter pieces and smaller depictions of musicians and instruments. A name scroll (fig. 1e) lists the artists involved in the project, an internet address and a dedication to the “Harlem Community and the World…” and “Graffiti artist to a positive cause.” The stunning portraits, executed in a realistic, photographic style are the immediate eye-catcher of the wall. Malcolm X is at the far left side, thus at a logical “beginning” of the mural (fig. 1b). Red-letter tags at the bottom identify the portrait (here misspelled as “Malcom”) and the painters, TOP N.Y.C, DSC and GDANSK. Malcolm X’s portrait is striking, partly because of the size and eloquence of its execution. Most portraits of Malcolm X are black and white news photographs, often taken in the spur of a heated moment. This one is in color, imbuing it with a sense of dignified calmness. The portrait is possibly a depiction based on a photograph taken by John Launois, who followed Malcolm X on his pilgrimage to Egypt in 1964. In the photograph, Malcolm X is posing in front of the pyramids. Similarly, Muhammad Ali (fig. 1d) is most often portrayed in action, in the boxing ring with his gloves on. Here we see only his face from the side, looking at a spot slightly above the viewer. Like Malcolm X, he was a highly controversial figure in the 1960s when he converted to the Nation of Islam. He was also renowned for his verbal eloquence and is often cited as one of the precursors of rap. He converted to Sunni Islam in 1975. The third portrait is of hip-hop/r&b-singer Aaliyah (fig. 1e). She released

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three albums and appeared in several movies before she died in a plane crash in 2001, only 22 years old. At first, the portrait seems to be a memorial piece, with its painted candles at the bottom and empty bottles of champagne and liquor placed on the pavement. However, this is part of a separate piece, a memorial reading “R.I.P JOSE.” Also, the Aaliyah-portrait is dated 2000, a year before she died. Further down, near the ground are smaller portraits and names of famous jazz musicians Billie Holiday, Duke Ellington, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Lena Horne, Thelonious Monk and Miles Davis (fig. 1d). The “People’s Wall” can be interpreted as a celebration of African American heritage, depicting and naming great musicians and ideological icons. It is a pictorial lesson in music history and African American studies combined. Aaliyah, representing today’s youth and hip-hop culture, is linked to a great historical past. Musically, hip-hop culture is building on the rich history of black music, here represented by jazz artists. Socially and politically, the struggle of Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali is carried on by the hip-hop generation of today. The “The Original People” piece close to the Malcolm X portrait (fig. 1 h) provides a mythical interpretation to the cultural achievements and political struggles of the African American people past and present. Here one sees pyramids and two black men in ancient Egyptian attire. One holds a scepter, indicating that he is a ruler. “The original people” might refer to Nation of Islam and Nation of Gods and Earth’s teachings hailing the black man as the “original man.” Thus, at a deeper level the “People’s Wall” offers not only a pictorial history lesson, but also a call to people of African origin to acknowledge their own greatness and kinship with “the original people.” Featured on this once troubled site in Harlem, The “People’s Wall” also celebrates local heritage. Many of the people portrayed or named on the wall can be linked to Harlem and New York. Malcolm X of course, had a strong presence in Harlem as minister of the Nation of Islam’s Temple Number Seven in Harlem, often speaking in public. Washington-born Duke Ellington made Harlem’s Cotton Club famous through his stay there in the late 1920s to early ‘30s. His orchestra featured several compositions inspired by Harlem, such as Billy Strayhorn’s “Take the A Train” and “Harlem Airshaft”. Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk and Miles Davis were part of the bebop revolution that took place in New York during the 1940s at such places as Minton’s Playhouse on 52nd Street. Billie Holiday was born in Harlem and performed there regularly. Through her performance of “Strange Fruit,” she became a strong and critical voice against racism and the practice of lynching. Lena Horne (1917–2010), born in Brooklyn, performed at the Cotton Club and became a famed actress and singer. She was known for her political activism and took part in Martin Luther King, Jr.’s March to Washington in 1963. Naming these cultural icons, the mural raises awareness of the cultural significance of the city and this particular neighborhood. The fate of this wall tells us something about the conditions writers and their art face in a city constantly in change. For ten years, “All these artists gave

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us their time and talent to beautify our block,” one of the neighbors said. However, in 2009, “Peoples Wall” was torn down when the building was renovated and transformed into condominium apartments. 4.2.1.2 Zapatismo Chiapas The southeastern part of Harlem – from East 96th Street to East 125th Street and between 1st and 5th Avenue – is called Spanish Harlem or “El Barrio,” because of the many residents of Puerto Rican, Cuban, Mexican and other Spanish-speaking origins. This neighborhood has been a vital center for cultural expressions, such as music and visual arts, rooted in Latin America. Many murals in the area reflect this influence, honoring events, movements and persons of historical, political and cultural significance from a Latin American population or country. Some commemorate revolutions and revolutionary leaders, thus signifying solidarity with struggles past and present. On the side of a Mexican restaurant in Spanish Harlem, I found a wall devoted to the history of Mexico and the struggle of its people (fig. 2a). “Zapatismo” and “Chiapas” are words painted in large red letters against a background of blue sky scattered with stars. Chiapas, the state at the southeastern tip of Mexico, was in ancient times part of the Mayan civilization. Today, mainly poor farmers, many of Mayan descent, populate Chiapas. The mural is rich with ancient Mayan symbols, painted in a style resembling traditional, folkloric imagery. The Aztec sun symbol with its characteristic, ornamented face is placed in the middle, above the Mexican flag. An eagle with a snake in its beak rests on a cactus. This is an enlargement of the heraldic symbol of the Mexican flag, referring to ancient Aztec mythology and the founding of the city of Tenochtitlan, now Mexico City. While missionaries interpreted this image as symbolizing the struggle between good and evil, the eagle originally represented the sun god, and the snake wisdom. Above the eagle is a woman dressed in traditional clothing, carrying one baby in her arms and one on her back. She also carries a machine gun with a flower sticking out of its barrel. Partly hidden by an air-conditioner, there is a slogan in Spanish: “DEMOCRACIA! LIBERTAD! JUSTICIA!” – “Democracy! Freedom! Justice!” On the left is a boat filled with people: men, women and children. One is playing guitar, one at the center is holding a document. The sail is painted in the colors of the Mexican flag. Fish and mermaids jump up from the sea, partly superimposed over the rainbow behind the boat. Below the sea is the earth with a banner reading “UN MUNDO DONDE QUEPAN MUCHOS MUNDOS” – “A world in which many worlds fit.” All the people in the mural have their faces concealed by black ski masks, balaclavas, or red scarves. The history and myths of Mexico and the struggle of its people are embedded in this symbol-laden and highly ambiguous painting. Its message seems to be of peace and unity, a vision of many people being able to live

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together in the same boat, many different worlds and worldviews fit in one, nurtured by the earth and the sea, blessed by the ancient sun. However, there are also disturbing elements of conflict. The balaclavas and scarves evoke images of terrorists and bandits. The woman carries a machine gun alongside her children, although made safe by the flower. A possible explanation is offered in the poetic declaration on the two document scrolls framing the boat, at left in Spanish and with an English translation on the right:5 Behind our black mask, behind our armed voice Behind our unnamed name Behind what you see of us Behind this, we are you Behind this we are the same simple and ordinary men and women that are repeated in all races painted in all colors and speak in all languages and live in all places. Behind this we are you Brothers and sisters of all over the world Welcome to this corner of the world where we are all the same because we are different welcome to the search for life and the struggle against death

Here, the meaning of the mask is subverted. Instead of offering anonymity for a transgressor, it becomes a symbol for a collective. The mask erases markers of ethnic, cultural or hierarchical identity; behind the masks we are different, yet the same. They are us – we are them. Thus, the people of New York and around the globe are invited to identify with the people of Chiapas. On the left, there is a portrait of a man smoking a pipe, also wearing a ski mask (fig. 2c). The portrait is in black and white in the style of a political poster, underscored to full effect by the red letters of the header “Zapatismo.” Beside the pipe is a slogan in Spanish: “TODOS SOMOS MARCOS” – “We are all Marcos.” The Marcos in question is Subcomandante Marcos, the enigmatic leader of the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN).6 This motif appears on many posters and murals throughout Mexico and other places around the world. Like the standardized image of Che Guevara, it has become a symbol of resistance, revolution and rebellion. But it is also exploited by the fashion industry. Taking its name from Emiliano Zapata, the leader of the Mexican Revolution of 1910–20, the 5 The Spanish text reads: “Detras de nuestro rostro negro Detras de nuestra voz armada/Detras de nuestro innobrable nombre/Detras de los nosotros que ustedes ven/Detras estamos ustedes/ Detras estamos los mismos hobres y muieres/simples yardinarias que serepiten en todas las muens/se pintan en todos las colores./Se hablan e todas los/lenguas yse viven en todos los lugares/ Detras de nosotros estamos ustedes/Hermunos yhemanos de todo el mundo/Bienvenidas a este rincondel mundo donde t […]/Somos iguantes porquesomos diferentes./Bienvenidos a la busqueda de la vida y la lucha/Contra la muerte.” 6 Ej rcito Zapatista de Liberaci n Nacional.

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EZLN was formed in 1983 in Chiapas by Marcos and others. On New Year’s Day 1994, as Mexico implemented the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), 3,000 armed Zapatistas seized San Cristobal and five other cities in the Chiapas region, declaring revolution and war against the Mexican government. The NAFTA agreement afforded Mexico access to wealthy North American markets but had severe effects on poor Mexican peasants, because support in favor of land privatization and discontinuance of subsidies to poor farmers were eligibility requirements for NAFTA membership. After the initial armed uprising, the EZLN turned to non-violent means of championing their cause, including peace talks and negotiations with the government (see Carrigan: 2001, 417–31). While the struggle of the people of Chiapas has always been the main objective of the EZLN, its adherents see this struggle as emblematic of all the struggles against globalization and neo-liberalism. Over the years, they have aligned themselves with the struggles of oppressed people everywhere. In turn, anti-globalization movements and artists around the world find inspiration in the Zapatista struggle. Subcomandante Marcos is often depicted smoking a pipe, as on this mural. Here, the pipe may also have another connotation: in February 1995 the Mexican police ordered the arrest of Subcomandante Marcos, and thousands of soldiers entered rebel territory to arrest rebel leaders, but “all they find is Marco’s pipe” (Wild (dir): 1998). “Our word is our weapon,” says Subcomandante Marcos, a prolific writer. Through declarations, letters to newspapers and a massive use of the Internet, Marcos and the Zapatistas communicated their cause with the rest of the world.7 In his writing, Marcos draws from a variety of sources, including political and philosophical texts, Mayan heritage, poetry and folklore. Among his literary creations are the stories of the beetle Don Durito, appearing in the mural between the boat and the sun (fig. 2b). As Marcos describes him: Sometimes a detective, sometimes a political analyst, sometimes a knight-errant as well as a writer of epistles, Durito addresses us, holding up for us, a mirror to the future, showing us what might be (Marcos: 2001, 440).

“Zapatismo” denotes the Zapatista way of thinking: “Zapatismo is not an ideology/it is not a bought and paid for doctrine/It is… an intuition/ Something so open and flexible that it really occurs in all places” (ibid). The writings and imagery on this mural are rich with references to Zapatista ideology, including texts and slogans from the Zapatista movement ascribed to Marcos or other leaders of the EZLN. Some references are quite subtle, like the mermaids. In Zapatista imagery they have become symbols of neoliberalism and globalization, referred to in Marcos’ essay “The Long Journey 7 Subcommandante Marcos held his last public appearance in 2014. Due to the murder of a fellow zapatist by the the nickname Galeano, Marcos declared “We think it is necessary for one of us to die so that Galeano lives” (Marcos: 2014).

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from Despair to Hope” which “speaks of the neoliberal chants of the twentyfour mermaids…”(ibid., 52). At the far left of the mural, what perhaps is the most popular image in Latin American iconography appears, an icon known as Our Lady of Guadalupe (fig. 2d). The legend and icon of Our Lady of Guadalupe is inextricably intertwined with Mexican history, the struggle of its indigenous people and colonial power. According to Catholic tradition, the icon relates to miraculous events taking place outside Mexico City in 1531, just 12 years after the Spanish conquistador Herman Cortez arrived in Mexico and conquered the Aztecs. Juan Diego, an indigenous farmer traveling from his home village to Mexico City, saw a vision of a young dark-skinned girl surrounded by light as he came to the Hill of Tepeyac. She spoke to him in his own language and asked him to erect a church on that site. Diego recognized her as the Virgin Mary and went to the Spanish bishop and told him what had happened. The bishop asked for a sign. When the Virgin reappeared to Juan Diego, she told him to gather flowers from the top of Tepeyac Hill. Even though it was midwinter and no flowers were in bloom, he found roses, gathered them in his cloak and returned to the Virgin. She sent him back to the bishop to give the flowers to him. When the bishop took the flowers from Diego’s cloak, he saw the image of the Virgin on the cloak, just as Diego had described her. The construction of a church on Tepayac Hill began soon afterwards and was finished in 1709. Diego’s cloak with the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe has made Tepayac Hill a popular pilgrimage site. The icon of Our Lady of Guadalupe helped the Catholic Church gain popularity among the indigenous people of Mexico, but it also became a symbol of resistance against the colonial power and struggle for freedom. It was used during the War of Independence (1810–21), and it also adorned the banners of Emiliano Zapata’s peasant army (Brading: 2001, 7–10). In 1945, Pope Pius XII named the Lady of Guadalupe “Queen of Mexico and Empress of the Americas,” and in 1999, Pope Paul II declared her Patroness for The Americas. He also canonized Juan Diego in 2002 as the first indigenous American saint. Typically, the icon of Our Lady of Guadalupe is depicted with an angel at the bottom, stretching out the cloth from which the image of the Virgin rises, as in this mural, but here the angel has covered his face with a red scarf like a Zapatista.8

8 Revisiting the site in 2016, 13 years after these photos were taken, I found that the mural had two added panels. One reading “Esperanza,” and a text in spanish, depicting zapatist children and a mother as statues in front of a city. The other depicted a beetle and a zapatist woman riding the moon as a gondol. It also offered a translation: “Hope is like animal crackers…. it doesn’t do any good if you don’t carry it inside you…”

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4.2.1.3 Hijos de Borik n A tire shop in the Bronx provides the wall that features highly original mural by PRISCO and CLARK (fig. 3a and b).9 At the center are the Puerto Rican flag and the letter piece “Borik n.” The background is made to resemble red rock, with rock carvings of what seem to be ancient symbols scattered all over. There are also small sections of sea, palm trees and beaches reflecting the natural landscape of Puerto Rico. The flag and the symbols certainly give an idea of cultural heritage, and one would guess that they refer to an ancient culture, before Columbus and the Spaniards reached the shores of this island, and long before Puerto Rico became part of the USA. Nevertheless, without any specific knowledge of Puerto Rican history and culture, it is difficult to decipher this mural. PRISCO provides a clue: All these symbols are the symbols of the Tainos… their writing. The Tainos are the Puerto Rican Indians, where we (Puerto Ricans) came from, before the Indians got involved with the Spaniards or African slaves. This was their writing… on the caves and on the stones. They would carve everything… this wall is basically telling the people that before letters, these were the symbols we used. So graffiti’s been around for the longest (Murray/Murray: 2002).

Borik n was the name of Puerto Rico used by the Ta no Indians. A growing number of Puerto Ricans in both Puerto Rico and the USA identify with their Ta no heritage and use Borik n to denote points of origin. In the mural, “Borik n” is painted with straight letters, except for the “o” and the “i” (fig. 3c). The “o” is divided into three equal parts, with a black dot in each and three dots above. The symbol originates from an ancient rock carving found in a ceremonial cave and is now used in the flag of the Jatibonicu Ta no Tribal Nation of Borik n (Jatibunicu: 1998). Here, the symbol is simplified. The original image has two circles, where the outer circle represents the sun and the inner represents the moon. The three “dots” on the outside should actually be 24, symbolizing the 24 leaves of the sacred Cohoba Tree, representing the original 24 clans of the nation. The three dots inside represent the “spiritual central cardinal points of the great Cemi, the totem of the sacred mountain of Cauta” (ibid.). The “i” is formed as a small child wrapped in cloth, also a Ta no symbol is found in many rock carvings in Puerto Rico. With the words written in small letters to the left, the full sentence reads “hijos de Borik n,” – “children of Borik n.” At the left side of the flag is a turtle, considered a sacred animal among Ta nos (fig. 3d). Interestingly, the artists make a visual connection between ancient Ta no art and contemporary graffiti. For instance, the blue of the flag is formed like a castle with a spray can for a tower. In addition, a spray can is pictured as a rock 9 The mural is also is reprinted in Murray/Murray (2002).

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carving on a stone (fig. 3c), and there are wild style letter images in the style of rock carvings. The incorporation of a spray can in the Puerto Rican flag underlines Puerto Ricans’ contribution to the graffiti movement. 4.2.2 Walls celebrating hip-hop culture Depictions of spray cans, turntables, young people dressed in baggy pants with “b-boy” postures and other imagery associated with hip-hop culture have been a part of writing for a long time (cf. Cooper/Chalfant: 1984; Chalfant/ Prigoff: 1987). As hip-hop culture has matured and developed its own traditions, hip-hop has acquired its own icons, pioneers and legends, cultural practices to honor and celebrate. Often overlooked by the popular media, women have been part of hip-hop culture since the very beginning. Some of the most prolific writers in the early days of “getting up” were women, and there are many accomplished female writers today, some of them having revered veteran status. Legal walls, such as the Graffiti Hall of Fame and the now defunct 5 Pointz are in themselves a celebration of hip-hop culture, with ever-changing galleries highlighting the best of writing culture. The following pieces reflect different aspects of hip-hop culture. Three of the walls discussed in this section, fig. 5, 6 and 7 are from the Graffiti Hall of Fame. Fig. 4 and 5 honor the contribution of women in hip-hop. 4.2.2.1 Females Hip Hop TOO FLY, ACB, SHIRO and INDIE created “Females Hip Hop,” on one of the walls surrounding the TATS CRU workshop in Hunts Points in the Bronx (fig. 4). The work of TOO FLY, originally from Corona in Queens, can be seen all over New York. She also works as a designer, featured in magazines and books. Her style is easily recognizable, often featuring stylized images of young women, as is the case of “Females Hip Hop.” A black skyline in the background indicates the urban environment. At the center of the painting is a dramatic burst of pink dividing the mural in two. “Females” is written in turquoise, green and yellow three-dimensional letters, while “Hip Hop” is in straight black. At the top of the pink volcano, a longhaired woman appears to reign – also dressed in pink – and is depicted in deep concentration. Lines of white electricity beam between her head and two gigantic speakers. She is connected with the booming sound system, as if she controls it with her mind. People are falling down from the pink volcano, overpowered by the female force. On the left is a pink woman wearing a yellow dress and a diadem tagged “Too Fly.” She is also wearing two large earrings and has a jewel on her finger with the word “Fresh.” She probably represents the fashion element of hip-hop, being fresh, looking “fly.” On the right side of

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the mural is a woman DJ in the foreground and a woman rapper stands behind her. There is also a woman in the background with a headset, looking at an LP cover. In the upper right corner is written a message: “Beautiful, talented & fierce, creating a new world.” The mural depicts women as active hip-hop participants, as listeners, performers and fashion-adventurers. It can also be read as signifying a specific kind of hip-hop that is “female.” The woman at the top of the pink volcano might then represent the female hip-hop spirit, a spirit that is deeply serious and powerful, yet about having a good time. 4.2.2.2 Babes in Boyland TOO FLYalso contributed to a mural made in 2004 at for the 26th Anniversary Graffiti Hall of Fame Party – an entire wall created by women writers, celebrating the contributions of women artists through the history of writing (fig. 5a). Other contributors include QUEEN ANDREA, FEVER, INDIE, MUCK and DIVA, all prolific writers and artists, combining graffiti with design and fashion work. Once again, the dominant color is pink, as the background is a light blue sky with pink clouds. At the center of the wall is a pink female angel, signed in purple letters by TOO FLY and INDIE (fig. 5b). Even with folded hands she looks determined, almost angry. There are letter pieces under both of her wings. At the left is “FEVER” painted with flaming, pink letters. Inside the letters are small tags, including one reading “Bubba RIP,” paying homage to someone deceased. The piece at the right reads “DIVA” in solid black arrow letters with a light green outline. Above the wing is a love message, “Carlos I Love.” Green “islands,” containing “crystal balls” with futuristic cityscapes, are scattered all over the mural, for instance at the bottom left of a MUCK piece (5c). Some of these contain names like “PINK” (fig. 5c), “CHARMIN,” (fig. 5d), “BARBARA 62,” and “EVA 62.” These are tributes to legendary women writers. CHARMIN was the first ever to tag the Statue of Liberty. EVA 62 and BARBARA 62 gained notoriety in the early era of “getting up,” becoming the most known and respected women writers of their time (Castleman: 1982, 68 f). LADY PINK painted subway trains in the late 1970s and ‘80s and become widely recognized after her appearance in the film Wild Style. At the far left, there is a woman’s head painted in a cartoon-like style. The simplicity of its lines and the black and white colors (only the lips are highlighted in red) makes this motif stand out from the rest of the wall. Stylistically, it is reminiscent of the work of pop-art painter Roy Lichtenstein, complete with the benday dots and text bubbles associated with his style (fig. 5e).10 The text bubble reads “Babes in Boyland,” which can be read as both 10 For an introduction to Lichtenstein’s style, see J. Hendrickson (1988).

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the title of the wall and as a humorous reflection of the status of women graffiti writers. As a whole, the mural is a statement by some of today’s most prolific women writers. At the same time, it honors the work of legendary writers of the past. The determined angel, as well as the pink clouds covering the light blue sky, signal that it is now time to make way for “Babes in Boyland.” 4.2.2.3 Harlem World My first experience of the Graffiti Hall of Fame was on a freezing cold day in January 2003, as I joined one of the RUSH Hip Hop Tours. I saw this mindblowing mural, “Harlem World” with the Zulu mask at the center (fig. 6a). Immediately I was struck by the clarity of composition and its effective contrast of colors and black and white. Only years later I realized how densely it embodied hip-hop history and imagery. “Harlem World” is a collaborative work by VIRUS, SERVE, PART, WEN (of the COD Crew) and DEZ.11 The mural is cleverly composed with effective use of different contrasts: between foregrounded elements in color and background in black and white, between lines and stringent geometrical lines and wild style letter pieces, and between figurative characters and abstract elements. The title, “Harlem World” and the year it was made, 2002, appear in the center, curved around a brown mask, the logo of the Universal Zulu Nation. The black and white background is inspired by the esthetics of stenciled flyers of early hip-hop, the lines beaming out from the center and stars popping out effectively grab the viewer’s attention (see Fricke/ Ahearn: 2002, 154–60). In the bottom left corner, there is an advertisement for an arrangement at TConnection, with the address, starting time and admission fee (fig. 7b). Both T-Connection in the Bronx and Harlem World at Lennox Ave and 116th Street were popular clubs among hip-hoppers in the ‘80s (ibid., 119). JOEY TDS, one of the Graffiti Hall of Fame organizers came up with the idea for this mural: The wall was also dedicated to PHASE II because he was the man behind the flyers. PHASE II is the one who came up with the whole flyer concept and he designed all the original flyers. (Murray/Murray: 2006, 101).

On each side, there are black columns with the names of artists and crews who might have appeared at shows in the early years of hip-hop, such as the Furious Five, the Cold Crush Brothers, Treacherous Three, Eddie Cheeba, DJ Hollywood and Starski (upper left corner, fig. 6a). In the black stars, we find the names of other legendary figures, such as DJ Kool Herc, DJ Afrika Bambaataa and b-boy Frosty Freeze of The Rock Steady Crew. Frosty Freeze created the move known as “The Suicide” or “The Death Freeze Drop” and was featured in a legendary b-boy 11 This mural is also reprinted in J. Murray/K. Murray (2006, 100 f).

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scene in the movie Flashdance. Two dancers appear in silhouette under “Harlem World,” the one at the left is on the floor breaking. In the middle there is also a star with a RIP dedication to Kid Delight of the MC crew Boogie Boys, who died some months before the mural was completed. The color elements are rich with historical references, adding new layers of meaning and structure. At the center are a DJ and an MC with six wild style letter pieces symmetrically placed on each side representing the element of writing. The MC wears big glasses and a Kangol hat, reminiscent of early hip-hop fashion. To the left is a “KAY SLAY” letter piece in red and green with outlines in blue. DJ KAY SLAY is a pioneer “mix tape DJ” who promotes rap artists by distributing mix tape compilations on the street. Part of his marketing strategy is to incite controversies (“beef”) between rappers, a practice that earned him the nickname “the Drama King.” Note the gold medallion containing his name, formed as a crown. Kay Slay also earned fame as a writer and prolific artist in the New York subway movement (see bonus material Silver/Chalfant (dir.): 2003). One can see his tag “DEZ TFA,” in the letter piece. Two subway cars at the center are a reminder of the classic era of writing when it was all about painting the trains. The one at the right is the Number 3 line, which used to go express from Harlem to Flatbush in Brooklyn. A closer look reveals several interesting tags painted on the train, such as “Voices of the Ghetto,” “EX VANDALS” and “STAY HIGH 149” with the logo of “the Saint” – a popular television series starring Roger Moore as Simon Templar (fig. 6c). STAY HIGH 149 is one of the pioneers of subway graffiti, easily recognizable with his “Saint” logo, and “Voice of the Ghetto” is his alias. “EX VANDALS,” refers to his crew, probably the first graffiti crew ever. They had a unique strategy in giving priority to the crew’s name instead of individual tags, thus increasing public exposure (Farrell/Pape: 2010; Castleman: 1982, 96–105). Above the train, to the right of “Harlem World”, is a wild style letter piece reading “NOC 167” (fig. 7e). The “O” is formed like a heart, and right below it, there is a “NOC 167” tag. There is also a “BOY 5” tag, hardly visible inside the letter piece. NOC 167 is a famed and influential subway writer, also writing under the alias BOY 5, responsible for the legendary “Style Wars” piece and featured in the film of the same name. He was part of the TDS crew, “The Death Squad.” According to the graffiti site “@149St.com,” TDS was “of the most significant and influential style crews graffiti has ever seen… concerned more with style rather than bombing.”12 NOC 167 disappeared from the art world in the 1980s and was homeless for many years, but is now painting again. This mural represents hip-hop culture in its historical richness. The four “core” elements – writing, DJing, breaking and MCing – are represented visually and through the naming of pioneers. Thus, also the fifth element, knowledge, is represented, underlined by the reference to the Universal Zulu Nation, represented by the mask. The subway cars as well as the visual 12 http://www.at149st.com/tds.html (Nov 20 2008).

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references to hip-hop flyers evoke memories and sentiments of the early period of graffiti and hip-hop, the places and physicality of it all: the excitement of going to the yards and painting trains, or seeing the tags and pieces of famous writers, the smell, look and feel of early hip-hop flyers, memories of specific clubs and of going to dances and having fun.

4.2.2.4 City scene with rappers Also made on the occasion of the 26th Anniversary Graffiti Hall of Fame Party in 2004 is the mural in figure 7, a work of stunning poetic quality. It is in a naturalistic style, with an enhanced sense of perspective. The mural is a collaborative work, made by CERN, SEK 3, NATIVE, AINT, SPACE, NAMES and PART of the YMI Crew and DEZ.13 This untitled mural depicts a city scene, a street corner with skyscrapers in the background, the Empire State Building at the center. The coloring is beautiful, in shades of blue, purple, brown and yellow. The mural captures the particular point of time in the city between sunset and the darkness of the night, the twilight time when city life changes from being busy to being social, when the pace slows down and people spill out onto the sidewalks to socialize. Moreover, it is the time when children are out playing before they go to bed. At the very center is a girl blowing soap bubbles; two boys playing with the fire hydrants are seen to her left. The water flows out of it like liquid gold. A boy and a girl look at us from the far left; the girl is holding something that looks like a Nintendo game (fig. 7a, e). Behind them is a KAY SLAY letter piece, with his tag DEZ TFA inside. There are also two boys playing with a fire hydrant at the right, and other kids doing hand painting at the wall (fig. 7c). Above them is a letter piece by PART. An ice cream truck is parked at the side, with no people in it. From behind comes a yellow cab so typical of New York. It has a bumper sticker looking like an “I Love NY” sticker, but it reads “I Love YMI.” Also the building behind the girl blowing soap bubbles has two YMI signs, one in the colors of the McDonald’s logo and another reading “YMI 24 HR,” all humorous selfreferences by the YMI crew who created the mural. The same building has another sign with Arabic letters. While it is not difficult to find shops and other buildings with Arabic signs in New York, murals with Arabic letters are rare. In addition, this particular sign is not a shop sign; it reads, “The goal justifies the means”.14 One might think this a justification for terrorist attacks, but it was also the ironic slogan of Radio Al Jazeera used to characterize the US invasion of Iraq. The Al Jazeera logo appears right in front of the building. 13 Thanks to CERN for providing me with the names of the artists. Communication via MySpace, December 5, 2008. 14 “al-ghaya tabra al-uasila.” Thanks to Pia Skjelstad and her Jordanian friend for translating this.

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A striking feature of this mural is the grave portrayal of five hip-hoppers at the left (fig. 7e). They are, from the left: 2Pac, Jam Master Jay of Run DMC (note the hat so typical for Run DMC), Big L, Notorious BIG and Big Pun. Their eyes are closed, signifying that they are now deceased. All of them except Big Pun died violent deaths. In the final version (fig. 7 f), it seems as though they are carved out of stone. The way the rappers are grouped resembles one of the most famous historical monuments in the USA, Mount Rushmore National Memorial in South Dakota. With the faces of the first four presidents of the US carved into the mountainside, this huge monument is the epitome of memorial monuments. What better way to honor some of the greats in hip-hop history? One can interpret this wall as a celebration of hip-hop, reminiscing about an “innocent childhood,” playing in the streets, cooling off under open fire hydrants during hot New York summers, with rap music providing the soundtrack. One could also consider this “Mount Rushmore of Rap” to be a reminder of the important cultural contributions of these famous rappers and DJs. However, in all its beauty and poetry, there is something unsettling about the mural. The buildings look empty, as does the ice cream truck. There is a stark contrast between the dead hip-hoppers and the living, playing children. Who is coming in the taxi and what does the Al Jazeera quote mean in all of this? One possible way to understand the wall is as an allegory. The twilight might suggest a time of decision; something has to be done before it is too late. The dead heroes and the Al Jazeera quote are reminders of the serious and turbulent times we live in. The children represent hope and the future, but there are no adults in the streets to look after them. Thus, we are reminded of our responsibility to take care of our children and their education. Style and originality is essential in writing, both emphasizing authenticity and individuality. However, as the murals we have explored so far show, individuality and authenticity are also expressed in relation to collective identities. Ethnically defined cultures provide access to ancient mythologies and the history and heritage of a people’s struggles and achievements. Embedded in the first three murals is a critique of Christianity’s problematic role in slavery and colonialism. In the walls celebrating hip-hop culture, hiphop is seen as a culture with its own mythology and history, celebrating life and artistic exploration as well as providing room for grief and the honoring past masters. This is also a spiritual act of self-affirmation, of daring to be all you are in all your freshness and “flyness.”

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4.3 Walls of grief 4.3.1 Memorial graffiti and spontaneous memorials In an urban context in which violence, drugs and sudden deaths are a part of daily life, people make space for their grief in new and creative ways. When someone dies suddenly and unexpectedly, whether they be family members, friends, beloved public figures and celebrities or victims of a catastrophe or violent incident, they are commemorated not only with funeral services and with formal burial in gravesites, but also in new and unconventional ways such as spontaneous memorials or shrines.15 These come in a variety of forms, from flowers, pictures, poems and other items left at the scene of the death or a place significant to the deceased, to web sites and memorial graffiti. The practice of making spontaneous memorials is a relatively recent phenomenon. Several scholars point to the tradition of roadside crosses found at sites of traffic accidents in regions influenced by Catholicism in Europe as well as in Latin America and southwestern USA as early forms (Santino: 2006b, 10; Owens: 2006, 119–45). In the USA, spontaneous memorials came to public attention when the Vietnam Veterans Memorial on the Mall was built in Washington in 1982, and people left personal mementos at the wall (Senie: 2006, 43). Among later, highly publicized events spurring a variety of spontaneous memorials were the death of Britain’s Princess Diana in 1997 and the terrorist attack of September 11, 2001 on the World Trade Center in New York (Walter (ed.): 1999; Santino: 2006a). Popular responses to such tragic deaths have become an integral part of the media coverage of such events, thus popularizing the practice of spontaneous memorials. Memorial graffiti might not be as spontaneous as other forms of spontaneous memorials, as it usually involves the commissioning of professional painters and negotiation of form and place (Senie: 2006, 52; Cooper/Sciorra: 1994, 12ff). Still, they are often included in the scholarly discussion of such memorials and share many characteristics. To better understand and provide a contextual framework for the memorial graffiti discussed here, I will recapitulate some insights from the emerging scholarship in this field, much of it spurred by the multitude of popular memorial responses made in the wake of Princess Diana’s death and the destruction of the World Trade Center. In analyzing the many spontaneous memorials in the wake of Princess Diana’s death in England as well as in the USA, C. Allen Haney and Dell Davis

15 For a discussion of “memorials” and “shrines”, see J. Santino, (2006b, 12). Santino prefers ”shrine” as these sites “are more than memorials. They are places of communion between the dead and the living… They are sites of pilgrimage” (ibid.).

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found seven defining characteristics of spontaneous memorials and memorialization (Haney/Davis: 1999, 236ff): 1) is a private, individualized act of mourning put on public display. 2) Spontaneous memorialization often occurs at the site of the death, or a site which is associated with the death, rather than at a prescribed place of mourning such as a church, a funeral home or cemetery. 3) No one is automatically included in or excluded from spontaneous memorialization. 4) Spontaneous memorials are typically shrines comprising an eclectic combination of traditional religious, secular and highly personalized ritual objects. 5) Mementos left at the site are often personally meaningful to the mourner and illustrate the meaning of the event for him or her. 6) Spontaneous memorialization is not constrained by cultural norms that prescribe the amount of time allotted for ritual action nor the appropriate amount of time for bereavement. 7) While these rituals do commemorate the deceased, they extend the focus beyond the victim and the private mourning of friends and family to the social and cultural implications of the death. On the public character of spontaneous memorials, Harriet F. Senie observes, “Mourning in a cemetery has become a private, family affair. In marked contrast, the spontaneous memorials invite the participation of a community” (Senie, 44). As Jack Santino points out, “public” has several meanings in the context of rituals, but in the case of spontaneous memorials he stresses the fact that they are “set out before a spectatorship whose make-up is fluid and unpredictable” (Santino: 2006b, 8). The memorials display death at the heart of social life. These are not graves awaiting occasional visitors or sanctioned decoration. Instead of a family visiting a grave, the “grave” comes to the “family” – that is the public. All of us. We are all family, mutually connected and interdependent. Spontaneous shrines both construct the relationship between the deceased and those who leave notes and memorabilia, and present that relationship to visitors… Spontaneous shrines place deceased individuals back into the fabric of society, into the middle of areas of commerce and travel, into everyday life as it is being lived (ibid., 13).

The same can be said of memorial graffiti. In many cities, including New York, cemeteries are located outside city centers and can be hard to get to. Memorial graffiti is found in a neighborhood related to the dead or the relatives, placing the deceased “back into the fabric of society.” In their book on memorial graffiti, New York Spraycan Memorials, Martha Cooper and Joseph Sciorra offer numerous examples of memorials painted close to the site where death occurred or where the deceased was living (Cooper/Sciorra: 1994, 52). Other locations related to the deceased might be at “the corner where he [the

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deceased] used to hang out,” or in the case of children, at “a nearby playground” (ibid., 34). As everybody passing by can chose whether to stop and meditate on the memorial or not, these memorials neither invite nor exclude anyone from participation. The “eclectic combination” of religious, secular and personalized objects is visually depicted in graffiti memorials. Cooper and Sciorra document murals combining religious imagery and traditional funerary items such as portraits of Christ and the Virgin Mary, candles, flowers and hearts with secular images such as automobiles, cartoon characters, sport items and even gang symbols. However, the secular images are related to the deceased, not the mourners (ibid., 17, 18–34). Items can also be left at the site of the murals, such as flowers, candles, balloons and teddy bears (ibid., 85). Interestingly, Cooper and Sciorra also documented ritual practices in connection with memorial graffiti. Family, neighbors and friends might be invited to a ceremony when the mural is finished or to a party on the anniversary of the death or the birthday of the deceased (ibid., 90, 94 f). Thus, such memorials allow for memorialization unconstrained by cultural norms as defined in item 6) above. The bottles of wine and liquor left at the Jose memorial (fig. 1 g) might relate to an African tradition of libation adapted by the hip-hop culture, of pouring liquor in honoring the dead. This practice is also referred to in hip-hop lyrics and videos. 2Pac’s “Life Goes On” is a case in point, “pour out some liquor have a toast for the homies/See we both gotta die but you chose to go before me” (All Eyez On Me). Many scholars emphasize the dual purpose of commemorating and addressing social or political issues. Jack Santino terms these two aspects of spontaneous memorials “commemoration and performativity.” While the “commemorative aspect is-self-evident,” he applies the concept of performativity after the linguist J. L. Austin, to refer to the fact that in each case of spontaneous shrine there is a component of addressing a social issue, of trying to make something happen. Commemoration can be and often is private. The public aspects of the shrines are due to the social conditions that caused the deaths and the political issues they reference (Santino: 2006b, 1).

For instance, roadside crosses might be “primarily commemorative in intent, though it might be viewed as a warning by passing motorists,” or reflect “road conditions and drunk driving issues.” The many shrines commemorating the destruction of the World Trade Center “reflect on terrorism and political violence” (ibid., 12). Similarly, Douglas Davies employs Maurice Bloch’s idea of “rebounding vitality” in analyzing the spontaneous memorialization of Princess Diana. Bloch’s thesis is that “nature begins with life and ends in death, but culture begins with death and turns it into a life-affirming event.” The grief for Diana, Davies continues, was “associated with the hope that people would adopt a new attitude of care towards other as a reflection of Diana’s charitable work” (Davies: 1999, 15).

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4.3.1.1 Memorial graffiti in New York Memorial or R.I.P graffiti comes in a variety of forms, from simple stand-alone tags (see fig. 8a and 8b) or tagged message or pieces included in other murals (as in fig. 1g) to large, stand-alone murals. Cooper and Sciorra trace the beginning of this phenomenon to the summer of 1988 and document the establishing of this tradition in New York up until 1993. They observed that Latino artists play a predominant role in the development of this tradition, the majority being Puerto Ricans. They also document the work of some African American artists and two white artists, including TRACY 168 (Cooper/ Sciorra: 1994, 8). Popular religious imagery, mostly from a Christian tradition, abounds in these murals. Praying hands, votive candles, crosses, roses, tombstones with crosses, sacred hearts, portraits of Christ, the Virgin Mary – even a portrait of God – are among their findings. This imagery is not necessarily “Catholic,” as Cooper and Sciorra assert, so much as elements of a visual piety is common also in North American Protestantism.16 Still, they are probably right in assuming that these images bear witness to the predominantly Latin American and Catholic constituency of their commissioners. They found a few examples of imagery from other religious tradition, such as an Islamic star and crescent and a Jewish Star of David. They also document a mural with Nazi and Satanist symbols, influenced by imagery of motorcycle gangs (ibid., 17, 22 f, 29). Although they use “Spraycan memorials” in their title, Cooper and Sciorra include memorials painted with brushes. They make no clear distinction between graffiti memorials and other painted memorials, but note that as “the memorial market booms in New York, non-graffiti artists have become increasingly involved in this new category of public art” (ibid., 54). One of the two “brush paint” artists featured is clearly involved with hip-hop, making logos and other designs for rap groups (ibid., 56). They point out one significant difference between graffiti memorials and other graffiti murals: “the name of the deceased, rather than the artist, is the centerpiece of memorial art. The artist’s name, if included at all, is of minor importance” (ibid., 39). Thus, the lettering is generally styled in a more readable fashion than in other pieces. My photographic explorations of New York graffiti were of a far less systematic nature than those of Cooper and Sciorra, and based on my material I am in no position to say anything decisive about the continuation of the memorial graffiti tradition. Being there a decade after their latest pictures, I found a few of the same pieces, some possibly repainted and many of more recent date. 16 One of the most prolific North American painters of popular religious imagery, Warner Sallman, was Protestant. See D. Morgan (1998; 1996).

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In the first of the following three sections, I discuss graffiti made in memory of “ordinary people,” (for lack of a better phrase), displaying much of the same symbolic imagery found in Cooper and Sciorra’s work. The last two sections feature memorials not documented in their book; memorials dedicated to celebrities and memorials commemorating disasters. For the last category, I have chosen a few of the many murals that could be found in the aftermath of 9/11, murals dedicated to the twin towers, the brave rescue workers and the people of New York. For the celebrity section there is an odd group of people: salsa musicians, rappers – and a pope. 4.3.1.2 Princess Ruby – In memory of a baby The first RIP piece I ever encountered was in Harlem, on my way from Abyssinia Baptist Church to 125th Street in the winter of 2003, depicting a baby angel surrounded by two hands (fig. 9). It was not very big, placed between two windows at the bottom of the wall, but its warmth and humor made it stand out. The baby angel wears diapers and looks very cool with a big Afro hairstyle and wearing sunglasses, posing with the V-sign in b-girl style. At the top are the RIP-letters, and “Princess Ruby Caocho,” is written in pink, purple and golden letters, curved over the baby. Below is a golden banner reading “In God’s hands.” The two hands coming down from the sky are the hands of God, interestingly painted black. In the hands are several names, probably of family and friends. There are no dates indicating the birth and death of the baby, as is often found in other RIP murals. Attached to this piece is another RIPmessage, a tag below Caocho. “RIP Simone” is written in hardly readable blue letters, followed by dates of her birth and death. 4.3.1.3 Memorials for Willy and Carela Around 207th Street and Broadway, where Manhattan borders on the Bronx there is a wall commemorating two men who both died young: “Willy” at the left and “Carela A. K. A Moreno” at the right (fig. 10a). At the center of Willy’s memorial (10b) is a black and white portrait of Willy, framed by a shining sun and blue sky. Under the letter piece “Willy,” a cartoonish penguin rests on a palm tree by the beach. Willy’s full name and dates are written on a tombstone painted by the waterside, “RIP William Cruz 10/21/74–5/22/96.” The penguin wears a scarf and a blue cap with the initials of the popular baseball team The New York Yankees, indicating that the deceased was a fan. In cartoon fashion, the thoughts of the penguin appears in a thought bubble with the names of the deceased’s closest ones. The penguin is reminiscent of the cartoon figure “Chilly Willy” made by Paul J. Smith for the Walter Lantz studios. The character first appeared in 1953 and became a popular figure on television.

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Thus, the penguin “Chilly Willy” was probably chosen because it has the same name as the deceased. At the left of the mural is a poem: hear it calling in the wind taunts and follows me but I will not give in My path not clear for you have blinded me… wounded and cold I stand for there’s no one to guide me… Still I’m a warrior and though through life you made me weak through death you made me strong

At the bottom right is a logo, probably that of the painter or painting crew, and the date of the painting and a personal message from the artist, which are difficult to read now because the mural has deteriorated over the years. Carela A. K. A. Moreno’s memorial (10c) was made by the same artist or crew and signed with the same logo. Only the first name of the deceased is given, and his nickname (a.k.a., “also known as”) “Moreno,” meaning darkskinned (see Rivera: 2003, xf, 58–67). Most of the mural is made up by a black and white portrait and a dedication written in large, carefully designed letters. The birth and death dates appear in a bubble, “R.I.P. 10/9/71–10/27/93.” Here, there is no list of names of relatives or friends. A poem on the right side is signed “always and forever” by “Corino Posse,” probably a name or nickname of a group of people associated with the deceased. The poem, written on a background depicting a manuscript scroll, reads as follows: Day by day I pray and try to find Another way… But I don’t hear Him talking So still I’m tripping Everyday I’m walking on fire And I feel no pain got everything to lose, and nothing to gain live to learn And die to live And I take

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Both men died young, at the age of 22. The poems reflect pain and hardship, combined with a tough attitude to life. There is also something that indicates that they died a sudden and violent death, as someone has painted additional remarks on both of the murals: “Happen [sic] at 163 St NY” and “Happen [sic] at University Ave Bronx NY,” indicating the place of their deaths.

4.3.1.4 Two memorials by TRACY 168 TRACY 168, one of the pioneers of wild style, was also among the first to explore the commercial possibilities of graffiti. His work can be seen all over the Bronx on shop walls advertising the store and its products. His versatility, distinct style and notability also make him a sought after artist for memorial pieces. I found one of his memorials on Morris Avenue near Kingsbridge in the Bronx 11a). The memorial has a bright, lively expression, with an effective use of lines and color. The coloring is typical for TRACY 168’s style, with light pastel colors, a preference for light blue, light green (and nuances in between) and pink. The deceased is pictured at the left, wearing a baseball cap. The formal posture suggests that the painting was made after a professional photographic portrait. The name of the deceased, “Mike”, is written with small letters at the top of his sweater. At the bottom right of the portrait are the letters WS, short for “Wild Style.” A dedication is written on a pained scroll at the left: We laughed… we painted life is so short that every second is so precious May you find everlastin peace in heaven Mike. We’ll miss ya! Especially me!! Tracy! God Bless Ya

The dates of birth and death are placed in a red banner at the top center reading “RIP, we’ll miss ya.” Above the banner are three tags, “PER ONE FX”, “COPE 2” and “TRACY 168.” Both PER ONE and COPE 2 are famous writers, members of the “FX” crew active in the 1990s.17 Below the banner is a letter piece, “MINE,” with arrowed, intertwined letters in different shades of blue and green. The “i” is inserted in a heart. TRACY 168 has written his name above the piece, and inside the upper right arrow are three more tags, “MINE” “KD” and “RK.” Again, “KD” is a crew (short for “King Destroy”) initiated by Cope 2. RK and Mine are probably also tags for a crew or a writer. These tags 17 See @149st.com, http://www.at149st.com/fx.html (Jan 8, 2011).

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indicate that other writers were involved in this memorial wall, and the deceased probably also had some connection to the writing world, as the dedication suggests. Finally, the family members are listed on the right in black letters surrounded by red hearts. It seems that TRACY 168 has marked off space for a new painting at the right (11b). Parts of the wall are crossed out with light blue and white spray paint and the word “mural.” He has already begun painting, although it looks quite unfinished. Outlined in black is a character typical of TRACY 168, a smiling, long-haired boy with cool sunglasses. A yin-yang symbol is placed in the right-hand portion of the sunglasses, and “Japan NYC” is written on the left. “God Bless America” is written in blue to the right of the boy. A few slogans are written in black: “Send the troops home,” “enuf” (enough) and “Send Bush in… with his fuk’in kids, not mine.” There are three tags with Japanese-looking names, but no tags from TRACY 168. Unfinished as it is, it looks like a spontaneous reaction against the presence of US army troops in Iraq, maybe done in collaboration with visiting Japanese writers. I found another one of TRACY 168’s memorial pieces in a parking lot close to Arthur Avenue, also known as the “Little Italy” of the Bronx (fig. 12). The memorial is composed in two parts, a portrait of Jesus on the right side and a small portrait of the deceased on the left, framed by a flag. Jesus is portrayed here as he is depicted in much of popular religious imagery, as a mild, blueeyed white man with a small beard and long blonde hair, resembling the work of Werner Sallman (cf. Morgan: 1998). He is not smiling, but looking rather seriously at a fixed point. Around his head there is a halo painted in light yellow. The fingers of his right hand resemble the traditional sign for the Trinity; the left hand is pointed to the shining, burning heart at the center of Jesus’ chest. This is also a staple of popular religious imagery, especially in Catholic traditions. The portrait of the deceased is quite small, and looks even smaller as it is inserted in a huge Albanian flag, red with a black eagle. Once again, TRACY 168 has probably used a formal picture, as the deceased is painted wearing a tuxedo. The messages are in Albanian and English, probably indicating that the deceased was of Albanian origin. The English part reads, “In loving memory of Anton O Nicki. Rest In Heaven. We’ll Miss You.” Right below are the dates “6.10.66–1.11.94.” Between these portraits is a small cross in pink. The background is light blue and green, with marine associations. There are some creatures floating around, looking something like jellyfish or mushrooms. These have probably more to do with the artist’s creative mind than the deceased. The names of the family or friends are written above and around the portrait of Jesus, some of them hard to read. Finally, the artist has signed the work two times: on the right side with his full name, Michael TRACY 168, and at the bottom right corner with his telephone number.

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4.3.2 Music celebrities – and a pope The death of celebrities often affects a wider circle of people than just his or her relatives, friends and neighborhood. Some artists for instance, become cultural icons, as they express feelings and sentiments shared by many, or lend their voice to a specific community. Thus, when they pass away, many feel the need to express grief and sorrow although they were not personally acquainted with the artist. 4.3.2.1 Jam Master Jay and Big Pun Reports of dramatic shootings and murders of rap stars have become a regular feature in mainstream media’s coverage of the rap world over the years, with the still unresolved murders of 2Pac and Notorious BIG as prime examples. Jam Master Jay, the DJ of Run DMC, was shot while working in his studio in 2002. In the following days and weeks, TV-news and newspapers were filled with speculations about why he was killed, interviews with people who knew him and pictures of the crowd who had gathered to show respect outside his studio. A street corner in Hollis, the neighborhood Run DMC made famous, was named Run DMC JMJ Way in 2009. Close by is a memorial piece portraying Jam Master Jay along with two turntables and a pair of Adidas (Chan: 2009). Right after his death, I found another tribute at 5 Pointz (fig. 13). It was quite small, a naturalistic portrait of him in black and white, wearing his characteristic hat and a written message, “j.m.j.r.i.p.” Big Pun, or Big Punisher, did not in violent circumstances, but of a heart attack, at 28 years of age. Of Puerto Rican origin, Big Pun was the first Latino rapper to reach platinum with a solo album, Capital Punishment (1998). The day after his death in 2000, TATS CRU made a memorial, since repainted every year on Big Pun’s birthday. They made another Big Pun memorial on the walls of a building that at the time housed a Pentecostal church, the Power House Ministries (fig. 14a), coupled with a memorial to Mad Mark. The composition is clean and simple, highlighting the two portraits. The background is black, the color of sorrow and mourning. Big Pun is holding the Puerto Rican flag; the pole divides the mural into two equal halves. The flag denotes Big Pun’s origin, and in his hands, it evinces the Puerto Rican impact on modern popular culture. To the right is a tombstone with a microphone on top (14b). The microphone, an important tool of the rapper, is put to rest at the tomb, which bears the inscription of his and fellow rapper Big Joe’s production team, “Terror Squad Production.” There is also a TATS CRU tag. The mural is dated 1998 and was originally made prior to Big Pun’s death, maybe as part of one of TATS CRU promotional campaigns for him. The tombstone and the added inscription “Rest in Peace BIG PUN” have now turned it into a memorial. The memorial to Mad Mark was made later, in 2002 (14c). At his left is a

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scene of a lit, empty street at night, perhaps indicating where he died. Below his name are his dates of birth and death (4–9–1966, 5–27–2001) and a greeting, “Love, Auntie & Angela” – maybe the commissioners of the mural. The names of Naomi and Connie appear in the golden cross on his chest (14d) – probably two that were close to him, maybe friends, family, his children. A poem describes Mad Mark as a special person, punning on his initials and likening him to the popular chocolate candy M&M: Mark Make light to dark The only M&M that will melt your heart Head smart Streetwise Perfection without a try Angel in disguise GOD body on the rise

There is nothing in the memorial indicating his profession or interests. According to NICER of the TATS CRU, Mad Mark died as he tried to protect the owner of a Jewish clothing store as he was robbed.18 Thus, this mural reminds those passing by of the deeds and deaths of two persons dear to the neighborhood – one an internationally acclaimed rapper, the other a local hero.

4.3.2.2 Tito Puente – and 9/11 New York has long been a vital center of “Latin music,” a label that covers a diversity of musical genres with roots in Latin American countries. The city has been home to some of its foremost performers, including Tito Puente. Wanda Raimundi-Ortiz is the artist behind a three-part mural on a shop wall in the Soundview area of the Bronx (fig. 15a). The mural has evidently evolved over time, as the three parts are signed with different dates. To the left is a memorial for another famous icon of Latino music, the bandleader and percussionist Tito Puente who passed away May 31, 2000 (15b). Puente, known as “El Rey,” “the king” of the timbales, was a highly influential and popular musician, with a danceable mixture of jazz and Latino music. In the 1960s, he led a band with Celia Cruz. He was born in Spanish Harlem; both of his parents came from Puerto Rico. The memorial is dated June 3, 2000, just a few days after his death. Puente is portrayed as an elderly white-haired showman, grinning and wearing a tuxedo and bow tie. It is made in black, white and grey on a square black background, resembling a black and white photograph. 18 Personal communication, October 30, 2013.

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Around him are clouds, as if he is smiling to us from heaven. His name appears in blue and red letters, Tito “El Rey” Puente, with his birth and death dates. The centerpiece of the mural was made a year later, dated July 19, 2001 (15c). Two dancing women, dressed in traditional white clothes, emerge from the cloud surrounding Puente. The first woman is painted mostly in black, gray and white, as Puente has been painted; the second has some skin color. At the forefront is a bongo player, dressed in white and wearing a red scarf. A stenciled ad for rapper DMX was later added on the drums. To his right there are two more female dancers. One bows majestically to the ground, the other stands upright. Beside them is a dancing harlequin figure in a blue and white dotted dress, wearing masks. He (or she) plays the calabash, also a percussion instrument. The bongo player is closing his eyes, in deep concentration, as are the dancing women, with an ecstatic expression on their faces. The scenery is peaceful: a seashore, cow shells in the sand, green hills in the distance, a blue sky and bright shining sun. A white dove covers the sun, the sunbeams radiating from its tail. It is as if the mural depicts a paradise, a memory/vision of a peaceful past/future, or a state of mind provided by the rhythms of the percussion and dance. The white dresses, ecstatic faces and the harlequinfigure might suggest a ritual setting, such as Santer a. The mural is entitled “Y Sigue La Bomba,” referring to traditional Puerto Rican dance and music of African origin. Two female angels frame the third part of the mural, a 9/11 memorial made just one and a half weeks after the attacks, as it is dated September 24, 2001 (15d). A collaborative work, co-signed by W. Gonzalez, this memorial has three extended dedications by the artists, written in calligraphically shaped letters. One is beside the candle, signed by Wanda Ortiz: To my Beloved Soundview, the hardest part of this Devastating tragedy is that we are forced by need to keep moving without much time to grieve… please remember that we are all hurting in the DEEPEST WAY- I hope that this mural brings some comfort to you. -with sincere Love, Wanda Ortiz

Ortiz’ collaborator Wilda Gonzalez has written a dedication on the right side of the memorial: Angels are watching over you… God bless those family & Friends

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In this Tragedy Please Stay Strong & united we will always stay. with Love Wilda Gonzalez

There is also a dedication by the bottom right corner where both have signed the memorial: Sincere Thanks to you all for your generous Donations We will use them to buy paint and supplies for more murals! … dedicated to firefighter and friend Sergio Villanueva I miss you, Big Daddy…

In these dedications, the artists address their local community and express their love and compassion for those who were affected by the act of terror. We can assume they were personally affected, as there is a dedication to one specific firefighter and friend. In addition, it seems that people in the neighborhood appreciated their work, gave donations and thus enabled them to create “more murals.” The memorial’s background is dark blue, suggesting a night sky, contrasting the daytime sky with bright shining sun in the middle mural. The angel at the right has two wings and two arms stretched forward with open hands. She looks quite young; she could even be a child. Her hair is short, and the color of her robe is somewhere between pink and peach with golden embroidery like a heavenly choir robe. Around her head is a radiant yellow light, a halo, and the expression on her face is serious, pious. She is approaching the solitary burning candle at the center. The twin towers can be glimpsed in the light of the candle. Behind the candle is a ribbon in red, white and blue, representing the colors of the US flag. Above the candle are two white doves with a white banner reading, “We will never forget… 9–11–01.” The ground is covered with flowers of various kinds and colors. At the front is a yellow, white and a red rose. Blood is dripping from the white rose, maybe symbolizing that innocent blood was shed. The angel at the left is intriguing, an ambiguous figure in many ways, very different from the one at the right. First, is she an angel at all? It seems so, at first glance, because of her wings. But a closer look reveals that the wings are not on her back, like those of the other angel, but are instead growing out of her arms (we only see her right arm and wing, the left is hidden). There is a blue

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light over her head, like a halo, but it could just as well be the moon hidden behind her. She is not dressed in a gender-neutral angel’s robe, either, but in an elegant blue dress with a white belt that highlights her sensual femininity. She is stretching backwards; her long, red hair is flowing in the wind. One gets the impression that she is dancing in a swirling motion. In addition, she is smiling, and she is the only figure on the whole wall that seems to be looking at the viewer. Although winged like an angel, she is more likely to represent life at its fullest than death with wings symbolizing freedom. Although the three pieces were created separately and can be interpreted separately, it also makes sense to view them together. The Puente mural honors a musician and celebrates his music, and the cultural roots of his music are celebrated in the center mural, offering a sense of peace and dream-like paradise. The 9/11 mural at the right is as much about the living as it is about the deceased, as it offers its viewers an opportunity for mourning and consolation. In the middle of it all is the swirling, dancing woman, living her life amidst life and death, surrounded by music, steeped in a rich cultural heritage.

4.3.2.3 …and a pope CHICO is a prolific muralist whose works are featured in many books on graffiti. Much of his work can be seen in and around the Lower East Side of Manhattan. This area is dubbed “Loisaida,” apparently after the Hispanic pronunciation of “Lower East Side,” and has had a large Hispanic, mainly Puerto Rican population since the 1960s. The Lower East Side was the site of CHICO’s giant and impressive memorial to Pope John Paul II (fig. 16a). However, although the mural itself was large, it was surrounded by two even larger beer commercials (16b). It was created shortly after the pope’s death in 2005. John Paul II was a widely popular pope, not least because of his many travels. In the years of his office, from 1978 to 2005, he traveled extensively and traveled several times to Latin America. In 1987, he visited the United States making public appearances in Miami, New Orleans, San Francisco and Detroit. The memorial is photographic in style, focusing on his face and hand against a light blue sky. His year of birth, 1920, is written together with the exact date of his death. The pope is honored with the words “In Loving Memory of the POPE John Paul II.” He is portrayed in profile, with his head halfway turned to the viewer, and he is wearing a white robe and a hat. His right hand is raised in a salute, as though he is greeting an audience. This mural was probably painted based on an official publicity photo of the pope. With this mural, the artist may be showing his audience that he is a Catholic, or he may have created it as a personal response to the death of a person who meant much to many people all over the world. Quite possibly the pope was a popular figure among the Hispanic people of the Lower East Side, and thus a

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collective cultural and religious figure, unifying a specific group of people of the “Loisaida” area. 4.3.3 9/11 memorials The terrorist attack on the World Trade Center affected New York City and its inhabitants in deep and profound ways.19 In the days, weeks and months following the incident, people responded publicly with various kinds of spontaneous memorials. Near what became known as “Ground Zero” one could find notes, pictures, posters and postcards posted on walls and fences, and flowers left on nearby sidewalks. Small altars were made outside police and fire stations throughout the city’s five boroughs, in memory of those who lost their lives (see Zeitlin: 2006, Cooper: 2011). The writers of New York City also responded to this violent and shocking incident; numerous walls were painted in dedication to those who lost their lives, the twin towers and all those involved with the rescue work. The 9/11 graffiti memorials, like other memorials, display a great variety in style, size, content and place. From short messages inside other pieces, to shop doors and walls covering an entire building. In their book Burning New York, James T. and Karla L. Murray document a dozen 9/11 memorials featuring comments from the artists (2006, 68–83). Common among their responses is the wish to give something back to the community as artists. For instance, LADY PINK and SMITH of PINKSMITH have this to say about a large collaborative mural they were involved in: We don’t usually paint memorials for the deceased nor do we consider ourselves flag waving Americans. We aren’t ghoulish types who jump on the bandwagon by immortalizing a dead celebrity, worthy or not, with a mural. We’d prefer to paint uplifting images than to profit from someone’s tragic loss… it was ERNI’s idea to celebrate the heroes of 9–11, the New Yorkers who showed courage in the days after… Pink organized it, we funded it ourselves and in a few days we had a screaming anthem of our grief, anger and helplessness (ibid., 72).

While they may not consider themselves to be “flag waving Americans,” 9/11 gave a new dimension to what it means to be an American: It took this tragic event for us to finally realize everyone we see were Americans. Every writer in NYC that we knew was an American. Our families were American. And those that died in the World Trade Center were targeted as Americans (ibid.). 19 As I have limited my work geographically to New York, I focus here on the destruction of the World Trade Center, but one should not forget that the September 11 terrorist attacks in 2001 also targeted the Pentagon and Washington, with one airplane crashing into the Pentagon building and one in Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

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PINKSMITH also observes the changing attitude towards graffiti from fellow citizens. Graffiti artists have been persecuted as vandals and criminals, but in making the 9/11 memorial, LADY PINK and SMITH were inspired by firefighters coming by to thank them. They wonder if the writers of New York City will finally receive credit for their artistic skills and the work they donate as public art. As they point out, few academically trained artists would “conceive of taking on projects of this magnitude for no profit and little recognition” (ibid.). The three following 9/11 murals have quite different approaches. One honors the rescue workers and the people of New York in a classic heroic mural style. Another is a deeply emotional lamentation. The last is an allegory of love. 4.3.3.1 New York New York At a building close to the platform of the 207th Street subway station of the number 1 and 9 lines, TATS CRU made a 9/11 memorial entitled “New York New York” (fig. 17a). The title echoes the famous song “New York, New York.” The style of the title letters is reminiscent of postcards. In the upper left corner is a dedication (fig. 17b): This mural is dedicated to the families and friends of the victims who lost their lives during the September 11th tragedy. We would also like to pay tribute to all of our city’s heroes. The many who lost their lives and those who continue to serve our city.

The Statue of Liberty is proudly holding her torch high up in the air. On the opposite side is the twin towers, standing out of the Manhattan skyline (fig. 17c). In between are the heroes of New York, the hardworking firefighters and rescue workers in the ruins and rubble of Ground Zero (fig. 17c). Some of the firefighters are holding a banner that reads “One City, indivisible.” Under the twin towers there is a crowd with a large flag, reflected in the seawater fig, 16d). They are holding candle lights in a vigil for their city. Unlike postcard motifs, this mural is not so much about the sights of the city, but a tribute to its people and heroes at work in the aftermath of 9/11. There is grandeur and heroism in this mural, resembling monumental murals found in official buildings as well as in Delacroix’ paintings from the French revolution. 4.3.3.2 Liberty in Tears The Statue of Liberty is also featured in fig. 18a, but this time expressing sorrow rather than proud heroism. The mural was found in Harlem, it is not signed and I have not been able to identify the artist. Against a sinister background of a black and blood red sky, Liberty is painted with a mournful face, crying tears of blood. Two beams of light represent the absent twin towers in the Manhattan skyline. The

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image of The New York Times appears at the right of Liberty with the date 9/11 in large type (18b). Otherwise, there are no written messages. At left (fig. 18c), a blue eye is watching from the black sky, encircled by a white cloud. There are few traces of patriotism in this mural. The Statue of Liberty does not hold her torch triumphantly up in the air, but cries tears of blood. One might sense a tone of judgment and apocalypse, with the black and blood red sky, the eye of god watching from heaven and the emphasis on the number 911. Rather, the mural captures the despair and grief in the situation, and perhaps also compassion. The dark mood of this mural, with Liberty crying blood, evokes the opening of Lamentation, once written in despair about the destruction of Jerusalem: “How lonely sits the city that once was filled with people… she weeps bitterly in the night with tears on her cheeks” (Lam 1:1–2).

4.3.3.3 An allegory of love The last mural features another significant building, rich with connotations. The Washington Square Arch, the gate to Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village (fig. 19a). Through the arch, we see the twin towers. This motif can also be found on many postcards and tourist shots. The mural is signed by LEIA and was made at 5 Pointz in Queens. The style is quite detailed and naturalistic; The Washington Arch is in the foreground, with many of its characteristic details in view. There are two statues of George Washington, one on each side of the arch, both flanked by two mythical figures. At left is Washington as president, with allegorical figures of justice and wisdom. At right is Washington as commander in chief with fame and valor (courage).20 The varied ornamentation around the arch is painted in detail (19b). At the top of the entrance is an American eagle, flanked by two female figures with their hands outstretched. They symbolize archangels, the one to the left blowing a horn, the other carrying a laurel wreath and an axe. The park is seen in the background, with green trees and a few buildings. The cityscape is simplified to highlight the arch and the twin towers. The off-white background works both as a sky for the Washington Square Park motif and as a canvas for other images. To the immediate right of the arch is a red ladybug, holding what seems like an angry light bulb (19a), out of which rises a cloud of letter pieces in subdued red, green, brown and white colors. Most are in two dimensional bubble letters, some with faces. A spray can comes out from one of the letters. At the top center is one in a highly abstract, intricate wild style. At the far right is a dancing woman, in black and white. With closed eyes, she stretches her arms backwards. 20 See the “Highlights” section on Washington Square Park on the website of the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation, http://www.nycgovparks.org/parks/washington-squarepark/monuments/1668 (August 29, 2014)

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Unlike many other murals memorializing the twin towers, there are no flags, no written messages, patriotic or otherwise. Instead, there is a woman ballet dancer in a gracious pose, an image as far from the heat, dirt and chaos of ground zero as one can get. The dancer, combined with the naturalistic, but simplified view of the arch and the towers, gives the mural a calm, contemplative expression. This is only slightly contrasted by the cloud of edgy letter pieces, as they are composed in a strict sculptural shapes and delicate colors in balance with the rest of the mural. We do not know why the artist chose this view of the twin towers. However, the absence of flags and overt heroic imagery might be balanced by the choice of location. Washington Square Park is a highly significant (and contested) space in New York City. Once a public burial site for unknown people, the remains of 20,000 bodies are reportedly still in the ground. It became a military parade ground in the 1820s and then a park around 1850. Celebrating the centennial of the inauguration of George Washington as president, a memorial arch was erected in 1889, replaced by the current Washington Arch, designed by Stanford White and with sculptures of Washington by Alexander Stirling Calder in 1892. Several city planners, including the infamous Robert Moses, tried to redesign or alter the park over the years. All met with public resistance. The park has a long history of being a site for public protest and demonstrations. Located in Greenwich Village, it is also a favored place for artists, skate boarders, street musicians, rappers and breaking crews, students, tourists and chess players. By picturing this particular view, the mural memorializes the twin towers in the context of a place rich in history, memories and layered meaning. The Washington Arch might not be as immediate a symbol as the flag of the United States, but it is as patriotic a symbol as any. In a newspaper report on 5 Pointz, the artist explains that he wanted to make an allegory on the three concepts of love found in Greek philosophy: “Eros (romantic love) is represented by the woman; Agape (transformational and unconditional love) is signified by the twin towers, alluding to the sacrifices made on 9/11.” The tags and letter pieces of his closest friends represent Philos, brotherly love (Bayliss: 2005). In mourning death, graffiti memorials mirror life, from violence and oppression to the joyful celebration of music by deceased artists. Also in these murals, ethnic or cultural heritage might be emphasized. Some murals express hope in an afterlife, and many borrows traditional Christian and funerary images. Murals created in the aftermath of 9/11 pay tribute to a city and its people, with more emphasis on unity than ethnic or cultural difference. Chapter Summary Writing offers a unique insight into city life. From the smallest tag to the most elaborate mural, writing carries a legacy of style, invention and bravery. In

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much writing, one can sense a spiritual dimension of the name that goes beyond mere name-dropping and showing off. The name has a certain aura, rich with connotations of style, achievement and pioneering spirit. There is a resemblance to the way jazz aficionados can say Miles, Trane, Bird, Billie, with a certain mystique and reverence, referring not only to the nicknames of jazz musicians, but also to their legacies, their artistic contributions to the world of art. The spir is especially evident in “Babes in Boyland” and “Harlemworld,” celebrating the early pioneers, EVA 62, BARBARA 62, CHARMIN, NOC 167, STAY HIGH 149 and so on. They honor the bravery and innovations of these pioneers, as well as the spirituality of the tag, of “getting up.” The spirituality of the name was precisely observed by legendary writer CAY when he explained to author Norman Mailer that the tag, “the name, is the faith of graffiti” (Mailer/Naar: 2009, 8). Thus, getting up, writing your tag on as many and unlikely places as possible, becomes a spiritual act of life affirmation and defying hostile environments, affirming yourself and your place in the city. Then there is the pilgrimage: the reverence of place and geographical origin. Harlem World, T-Connection, the subway lines and its trains – the sites and venues where it all began, the golden era of innocence and pioneering innovation is honored and revered. As God speaks through his prophets in the Old Testament, “remember the covenant, remember the good old days and all the good things I did for my people,” these murals asks us to remember the covenant of Old School and the life-affirming power of hip-hop. Memorial graffiti capture a fairly recent trend in Western spirituality, that of spontaneous memorialization. Spaces for mourning and grief are provided outside traditional sites, integrated into “the fabric of society,” as one commentator puts it. These murals are also linked with ritual practice. While words certainly occur, sometimes with spiritual messages, these murals primarily embody a visual spirituality, a spirituality of signs, symbols and not least, styles. While the ethnic diversity of New York is celebrated in many pieces, the 9/11 murals emphasize unity, a people standing together against tribulations and adversities. Ethnic diversity is not necessarily forgotten, but as PINKSMITH observes, all these people of different ethnicities are also Americans. Thus, American symbols are highlighted, such as the flag, the Statue of Liberty and the twin towers. All these walls, whether memorial walls or not, highlight a spirituality of remembrance, where not only deceased people and decimated buildings are remembered and commemorated, but also the history and mythology of peoples, the sounds, colors, shapes and stylistic achievements of artists known and unknown.

5. Black Jesuz. Rap and Christianity Shortly after 2Pac was shot to death, Don Killuminati: The Seven Day Theory (1996) was released, featuring a cover portraying him as the crucified Christ. A closer look reveals a map painted on the cross, with Los Angeles, Watts Compton and South Central on one side and Harlem, Manhattan, Brooklyn and Queens on the other. At the top is a compass, showing West and East. The familiar “Parental Advisory” label replaces the traditional loincloth, and by 2Pac’s feet is a statement signed Makaveli, claiming “In no way is this portrait an expression of disrespect for Jesus Christ.” According to the artist, Ronald “Riskie” Brent, the idea for the cover came from 2Pac himself (McNelis: 2012). Christianity has had a big cultural impact in the United States and is still a majority religion. Its influence is also present in popular culture, providing a rich source of imagery, visual, textual and musical references. While pastors and moral leaders initially denounced blues and jazz as sinful, artists such as Blind Robert Johnson, Louis Armstrong, Marylou Williams and Duke Ellington made music profoundly inspired by their faith. Present day hiphop artists are no exception. Some rappers have even become ordained ministers, including Reverend Run of Run DMC, MA$E and Kurtis Blow.1 Still, the presence of religious symbols and references in popular culture is multilayered and ambiguous, as the cover of 2Pac amply illustrates. The figure of the Crucified Christ appears together with epithets as Makaveli and don Killuminati. Embedded are references to Italian philosopher of politics, Niccolo Machiavelli, and mafia and conspiracy theories with the contraction of “don,” “kill,” and “illuminati.”2 2Pac is crucified between the West and the East, signifying the tension between West Coast and East Coast rap 2Pac was part of. But, as 2Pac several times refers to a “Black Jesuz,” there is also an element of identification, a Black Jesuz, “a ghetto saint” that “looks like us, hurts like us.” And to some, it was a proof that 2Pac not only foresaw his death, but is still alive, resurrected. The cover might be provocative to some, empowering to others, or simply just entertaining. Thus, 2Pac’s cover is also a great illustration of hybrid spirituality, how hip-hop spirituality operates in a third space of faith, urban legend, subversity, provocation and play. To explore such hybridity in a Christian cultural context, this chapter brings together what might seem to be an unlikely combination of performers: hip-hop icons Lauryn Hill and 2Pac, gospel rappers and a white Episcopalian bishop doing 1 Reverend Run and Ma$e have also published spiritual memoirs. (Reverend Run: 2000, Betha: 2001). 2 An “Illuminati” is one who has received full illumination, the full knowledge of Freemasonry, regularly appearing in world conspiracy theories.

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HiphopEMass in the Bronx. Others have paired 2Pac and Lauryn Hill. In Jesus & the Hip-Hop Prophets. Spiritual Insights From Lauryn Hill and 2Pac, pastors Alex Gee and John Teter find parallels between their lyrics and lives, biblical themes and struggles of urban youth (Glee/Teter: 2003). Daniel White Hodge points to Lauryn Hill and 2Pac’s “popularity in hip hop culture as being ‘prophetic.’” Based on their work and biographical data he develops a new theoretical approach, “ethnolifehistory,” to chart “varying peaks within a person’s life into periods, eras, and stages” (Hodge: 2015). My reason for selecting them and the Christian rappers is not because of similarities, but differences in spiritual strategies. All relate to scripture and Biblical imagery, Lauryn Hill and 2Pac arguably in a more open and non-dogmatic way than the Christian rappers. Their highly personal artistic vision enable people, irrespective of religious affiliation, to identify with and find strength in their art. Lauryn Hill’s work with the Fugees and as a solo artist is especially rich with references to scripture and hymnology. 2Pac, influenced by a diversity of black nationalist thought, combined elements from Christian traditions with gangsta imagery into what has been termed an emerging “thug theology.” Christian rap, a sub genre that only recently has begun to gain scholarly attention,3 is obviously relating to Christian imagery and textual references in a more straightforward manner. That does not necessarily mean that its spirituality is less hybrid. As Cristina Zanfagna has pointed out in her study, Christian rappers navigate in the in-between spaces of Church, street corners and nightclubs. Two of the groups I study, dc Talk and Grits, have experienced considerable crossover appeal. Only few female Christian rappers appear on records, and rarely ever as solo. Among the exceptions are MC Ge Gee and Elle R.O.C. I conclude the chapter with a look on HipHopEMass, to see how hiphop can be put to liturgical use. Liturgy, like hip-hop culture, encompasses several cultural expressions: music, readings, architecture, imagery, movements and so on. Interestingly, HipHopEMass, combining Episcopal ritual and thought with contemporary culture and vernacular language, seems to capture some very central aspects of the hip-hop culture.

5.1 The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill “In hip-hop, your longevity not only depends on your talent, but it also hinges on how deeply you pierce the people’s souls,” writes MTVon Lauryn Hill, and continues, “A testament to Lauryn Hill’s opuses… is that everyone is still anticipating what she will do next, though she hasn’t put out a studio album since 1998” (Reid: 2010). The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is the first and so far the only studio album by Lauryn Hill as a solo artist. Still, it is one of the most 3 See however G.K. Baker-Fletcher (2003), Zanfagna (2011), Gault (2013) and Hatch (2015).

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successful in the history of hip-hop, selling more than 18 million records and earning her five Grammys out of eleven nominations. Prior to this album, she was part of the highly successful trio The Fugees with Wyclef Jean and Pras Michel. Their blend of hip-hop, reggae and Caribbean beats earned them two Grammy Awards for The Score (1996). Lauryn Hill has composed and produced for other artists, including Aretha Franklin and Wyclef Jean, and appeared with Whoppi Goldberg in the movie Sister Act II. She released a live CD and DVD, MTV Unplugged No. 2.0 (2002), where she tests out all new songs in an intimate setting, accompanied only by her own guitar playing. Rumors of a forthcoming album have been circulating since, but so far she has only released a few singles. 5.1.1 Autobiography, love and hip-hop Lauryn Hill has “pierced” many souls; many have found strength, affirmation and consolation in her music. One senses in her music that Hill gives of herself and offers the listener her innermost feelings, thoughts and reflections based on personal experience. Several scholars note the autobiographical character of Hill’s work. “The specificity of The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill gives us the sense that we are going to learn about Lauryn Hill’s personal miseducation,” writes Gwendolyn Pough, continuing that through the whole album, “we see that Lauryn Hill’s miseducation can be compared to our own in significant ways, and her life lessons can teach us some things as well” (Pough: 2004, 107). Linking contemporary hip-hop autobiography to older African American autobiographical traditions such as the slave narratives and the autobiographies of Angela Y. Davis, Malcolm X and Huey P. Newton, she underlines the importance of autobiography as a vehicle for claiming a place in society. This is especially true for black women, using autobiography as a transformative force to address the ills of a racist and sexist society (ibid., 103 f). Lauryn Hill herself confirms to a certain extent the autobiographical character of her work in the introduction to Unplugged No 2.0: These are brand new songs that very few people have heard, very much about, you know, what I’ve been going through, what I’ve been learning – a lot of wonderful life lessons that aren’t easy to come by. But you are blessed, when you realize why you had to go through what you had to go through.

The level of autobiography and sharing of lived experience and emotions in her work notwithstanding, both The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill and MTV Unplugged No. 2.0 are carefully constructed and skillfully produced. These are not private and spontaneous entries in a diary, but thoroughly meditated, multilayered works of art. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill might be best understood as a concept album, where the songs in one way or another tie in with an overarching

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conceptual idea. The title refers to Carter G. Woodson’s seminal book, The Mis-Education of the Negro, first published in 1933.4 Here, Woodson criticizes the educational system in the United States for not representing blacks and for neglecting the contribution and impact of blacks in history, thus failing to provide black students with historical role models. Lauryn Hill frames her album with six skits staged in a classroom setting. A teacher is calling the names of his students in the opening skit.5 Lauryn Hill’s name is called three times without response, indicating she is not present. In the following skits, the teacher engages the students in a dialogue on different aspects of love. He asks if they know any songs about love, if they ever have been in love, and how music and movies form our conceptions of love. The students are slow to respond at first, but open up as the teacher continues to engage them. The classroom setting is further reinforced by the image on the album cover depicting a school desk with a carved image of Lauryn Hill. The image resembles the cover of reggae artist Bob Marley’s Burning (1973), giving a visual clue to the music’s Jamaican influences. From this conceptual framework, one might infer that Lauryn Hill offers valuable lessons of love and self-appreciation, subjects that are missing in the official curriculum offered in the educational system, embedded in African American and African diasporic culture. Thus, she sets out to correct the “mis-education.” The album is remarkable in many aspects. First, it is a testimony to Hill’s vast artistic talents. She performs not only in the capacity of singer, rapper and guitarist, but also wrote all the lyrics and composed, produced and even arranged most of the music.6 She also cleverly reworks classics like the Doors’ “Light My Fire” and Bob Marley’s “Concrete Jungle.” She takes control over the artistic outcome at a level seldom seen in popular music. Her extensive use of live instrumentation is also remarkable. In addition to a rhythm section including drums, bass, guitar and a variety of keyboards, there is a horn section and strings, even a harp – relatively rare in hip-hop production.7 Such a grand orchestration suggests the influence of socially engaged albums of the early 1970s by soul artists like Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, Marvin Gaye and Isaac Hayes (see M.A. Neal: 1999, 55–84).The album stands out as strongly 4 Carter G. Woodson (1875–1950) pioneered black studies and established the “Negro History Week” in 1926, which later evolved into “Black History Month.” Some also point to the 1974 blaxploitation movie The Education of Sonny Carson as a possible reference. See M.A. Neal, (2002, 193). 5 The teacher is played by Ras Baraka, son of poet Amiri Baraka and a New Jersey politician often exemplified as representative of the hip-hop generation’s political ambitions. See B. Kitwana (2002, 145 f, 156 f). 6 S.C. Watkins, devoting a whole chapter to the year 1998, describes Hill’s album as “a breath of fresh air” both for rap as a music genre and hip-hop as a cultural movement, both “growing stale” (2005, 72). M.A. Neal writes that Hill’s significance is at the core esthetic; “simply, very few hiphop artists, men or women, can flow like she can” (2002, 193). 7 And in popular music at large. Dorothy Ashby is among the few musicians making a career as a harpist in soul and funk music, featured on recordings by Stevie Wonder and Earth Wind and Fire as well as her solo album Afro Harping (Cadet /Verve, [1968] 2003).

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melodic, with singable melodies, appealing bass and guitar riffs and tracks composed to follow song structure. As Lauryn Hill noted in an interview: I wanna bring the musicianship, the songwriting, back to hip hop. Drums gotta be hard. They gotta be banging. But I want [chord] changes. When I went to the bridge in “Sweetest Thing,” people thought I was crazy. “What the hell is that?” I said, It’s a change. Remember? They used to have those in songs back in the day (Good: 1998, 85).

Still, the music has a distinctive hip-hop flavor throughout, signified by samples, scratching, characteristic drum sounds and patterns (both programmed and live) and the addition of LP surface sounds. Failed relationships is a central theme in several songs, addressing a “you” that has inflicted pain and deep hurt. These songs might be autobiographical, but Lauryn Hill transforms personal experiences into spiritual lessons on hubris and humility, thus offering consolation to listeners with similar experiences. “Lost Ones” and “Final Hour” are good examples, both “battle raps” evoking biblical imagery. “Lost Ones” is steeped in Jamaican influences. Hill spits her lyrics with a Jamaican-flavored accent to a reggae-inspired beat with deep bass, emphasis on the after beats and heavily echoed sounds typical of Jamaican production. She pays homage to pioneering Jamaican DJ and MC Sister Nancy by throwing in elements from her classic “Bam Bam.”8 In the song, Hill expresses disappointment with a person that cannot seem to cope with her success: It’s funny how money can change a situation miscommunication leads to complication My emancipation don’t fit your equation I was on the humble – you on every station

The song is staged as a spiritual drama involving forces of good and evil, inviting listeners to identify with her. The lyrics are laden with righteousness and judgment, heavy with biblical references, such as “not a game new under the sun” (“nothing new under the sun,” Eccl 1:9), “wisdom is better than silver and gold” (Prov 3:14) and “hypocrites always want to play innocent” (Matt 23:13–37). The other person is advised to “get down own his knees and repent/ can’t slick talk on the day of judgment/your movement’s similar to a serpent,” with reference to the serpent of the garden of Eden (Gen 3:1–13). “You can’t hold God’s people back that long/the chains of Shatan [sic] wasn’t made that strong,” she states, but also underlines that there is hope in repenting, “from the night can arrive sweet dawn,” and this other person can be “reborn.” “Final Hour” appears as a sequel, but is musically softer in tone. A repeated four-note guitar figure, harp and flute provide a dreamy contrast to the drums and Lauryn Hill’s assured rap delivery. This time, conflict seems distant and Hill appears victorious, rapping about her own versatility and accomplish8 Sister Nancy, “Bam Bam” from One, Two (Techniques Records, 1982).

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ment as an artist. Her unnamed adversary might have earned some success along his way, “you could get the money/you could get the power,” but he had better keep his eyes on the final hour. She herself approaches her art as seriously as science, “I treat this like my thesis/well written topic.” She has travelled around the world, people can “feel” her from “New Ark to Israel” and is keeping it real and close to the street. Because, as she continues, “I’m about to change the focus/from the richest to the brokest/I wrote this opus/to reverse the hypnosis.” Her art is about social change and reversing power structures. She will “make a slum lord be tenant/give his money to kids to spend it.” Once again, she casts herself as part of a divine drama, as such a reversal has been “our survival since our arrival/documented in the Bible.” The distance from “New Ark to Israel” is both a geographical one, from the city Newark in her home state of New Jersey to Israel on the other side of the globe, but also in mythological time, from the New Ark to Israel, the “Old Ark.” She evokes the story of Moses and Aron, and asks her adversary to “let God redeem you.” She remains “calm, reading the 73 Psalm.” Though not quoted, this psalm follows the same “I–You” dynamic of the song, with God as a redeeming mediator: Truly God is good to the upright, to those who are pure in heart. But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled; my steps had nearly slipped. For I was envious of the arrogant; I saw the prosperity of the wicked (Ps 73:1–3).

Lauryn Hill might have stumbled, but now she is able to be both righteous and successful, as expressed in parallelism reminiscent of biblical poetry. Here are two examples: Breakin’ bread sippin’ Manischewitz wine pay no mind party like it’s 1999… …I’m a get the mozzarella like a Rockefeller still be in the church of Lalibela singing hymns a capella

Manischewitz is a well known kosher wine, and the first couplet substitutes the popular rap clich of sipping champagne or cognac with the Holy Communion. In the second example, mozzarella is a sophisticated way to say cheese, which again is slang for money. The “church of Lalibela” refers to the unique Orthodox church buildings in the Ethiopian town of Lalibela, made from a single block of stone. Thus, she enjoys prosperity while at the same time being pious and faithful to age-old worship. Interestingly, in this song so rich with scriptural and Christian references, there are also a couple of Islamic words. She advises us to keep our “Deen true.” Deen is an Anglicized version of the Arabic word Din, often translated as “religion” or “way of life.” She also likens herself to a “Sunni/get diplomatic

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immunity in every ghetto community.” Why these words are chosen is not clear, but they bear witness to both a Muslim presence and common knowledge of basic Muslim terms, and that Sunnis are commonly respected in inner city communities. While “Lost Ones” and “Final Hour” report inner spiritual struggles with few specific references, “Every Ghetto, Every City” is autobiographical in a different fashion. As Lauryn Hill reminisces about her adolescence and growing up with hip-hop, she refers to specific localities where she grew up, children’s games and time-specific trends in fashion, music and dance. The music is celebratory, with a laidback funk groove, handclapping, and gospel tinged organ. The gritty clavinet played by gospel legend Loris Holland, is reminiscent of the 1970s funk and soul, while beat boxing and scratching adds old school hip-hop feel. The song is an ode to the nourishing environments Hill grew up in, with a mother who “always thought I’d be a star, but way before my record deal,” and “the streets that nurtured Lauryn Hill/made sure that I’d never go too far.” Now, being famous and traveling all over the world, “every ghetto, every city” reminds her of the people and neighborhoods that made her who she is. She reminisces about growing up as little girl “with skinny legs, in New Jerusalem,” hip-hop lingo for New Jersey. Events and activities are associated with specific locations of her childhood in East Orange, New Jersey. “Kill the guy in Carter park/rode a Mongoose ‘til it’s dark/watching kids showing off the stolen ones” she sings, referring to a tag game “Kill the guy with a ball” (also called Muckle), while Mongoose is a bicycle brand. She remembers “drill teams on Munn Street,” Independence Day celebrations with “July 4th races off of Parker” followed by “fireworks at Martin stadium.” Saturday mornings she watched “cartoons and Kung Fu,” as many kids her age probably did at that time. On Main Street she had “roots tonic with the dreds/a beef patty and some coco bread,” referring to drinks and foods popular among Jamaicans and Rastafarians (the dreds). Although Hill recalls some troubled neighborhoods, like “(t)he untouchable P.S.P where all them crazy niggers be/ and car thieves got away through Irvington/Hillside brings beef with the cops,” she envisions the ghetto as a positive and nurturing environment. Hill’s many references to popular music and dances signify a particular time in history, like when the “Self-Destruction record drops/and everybody’s name was Muslim.” KRS One and Stop the Violence Movement released the single “Self-Destruction” in 1989, and as fellow rapper Queen Latifah reports, Muslim names were popular when she grew up (Queen Latifah: 2000, 15 f). Hill reminisces about a time “when Doug Fresh and Slick Rick were together,” when “Biz Mark used to amp up the party” and “everybody used to do the wop/Jack, Jack Jack ya body.” Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick’s single “The Show” from 1985 is one of hip-hop’s early classics, with “La Di Da Di” on the Bside featuring the beat box of Doug E. Fresh. Rapper Biz Markie’s popularity peaked in the latter part of the 1980s. At the same time, Chicago DJ and house pioneer Steve “Silk” Hurvey had a hit in 1987 with “Jack Your Body,”

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accompanying the Jack dance Lauryn Hill refers to. All these references point to the mid-to-late 1980s, when Lauryn Hill (born 1975) was between ten and fifteen years old. Gwendolyn Pough notes that “Every City, Every Ghetto” is the song that makes “Hill’s story larger than herself and connects her autobiography to those of other young women coming of age in the Hip-Hop generation,” and discerns two purposes of the song: it is a report on “Hill’s many travels, and it signifies her connection to the young Black women… all the young Black women influenced by Hip-Hop culture” (Pough: 2004, 109). While this might be true – although documenting her “many travels” comprise at most a minor point – there is clearly more to the song. I think the song speaks to a wider audience than young black women growing up at a specific time. Some references are exclusive, so geographically detailed that even most black women outside New Jersey would not know what she is talking about. Others are inclusive, referring to activities that people across gender, race, generation and even nationality will recognize. At one level, Lauryn Hill describes herself as part of hip-hop, growing up on hip-hop. The many geographical details assure the listener that Lauryn Hill is for real; she contextualizes herself in a specific time and place and is no fake, a fact that can be attested to by those who grew up with her in those places. It also becomes a tribute to both the artists she mentioned and the people, “the streets that nurtured” her. Some of the details are so specific that few listeners will recognize and be able to identify with what she is talking about. One might find all the places on a map but never get the feeling, the embodied meaning of those places without having been there, having lived there. Generation and gender play a role in other references. Dances like the “wop” and “the Jack” might be familiar to those growing up in the 1980s, but not necessarily to those growing up in the 1970s or 1990s; contemporary rap listeners might be unaware of pioneers like Doug E. Fresh, Slick Rick and Biz Markie. If “Sensations and 88’” refer to Barbie, they probably resonate more with female than male listeners, and only with those who were kids at that time (and their parents). Moreover, some references might be specific at one level, but at another level they are able to cross specific locations, generations and even gender. For instance few outside the USA would recognize Mongoose as a brand name for bikes; they might not be familiar with watching Kung Fu flicks on Saturday morning or have a clue about what “Kill the man” refers to. But being outside biking, playing tag games in the park and having fond recollections of favorite TV programs watched in childhood are things people of many generations growing up in urban environments around the world are able to recognize. Lauryn Hill invites such recognition and identification, as she herself is reminded of these things in “every ghetto, every city and suburban place” she has been in. The music itself, rooted in a soul esthetic, bridges between youth of the hip-hop generation and their parents. “Every Ghetto, Every City” belongs in the growing category of “reminisce

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rap” or “history rap,” celebrating the good old days of hip-hop.9 Typically, songs in this genre look back to a golden age of hip-hop, unadulterated by commercialism, often coinciding with the artists’ own adolescence. “I wish those days, they didn’t stop,” sings Lauryn Hill. But there is something else going on besides nostalgia. Hill is searching for a hip-hop that is real, that touches and engages real people and reflects real people’s lives. By being so detailed about places, things and events in “Every Ghetto, Every City”, she inscribes hip-hop in people’s lives and people’s lives in hip-hop.

5.1.2 A scholar on the subject called theology As we have seen, Lauryn Hill is well versed in the Bible, but draws from a variety of religious traditions. Several commentators have speculated on her religious affiliation. In an article on Five Percent rap, anthropologist Ted Swedenburg goes a long way to connect her and the Fugees to the Five Percenters, “If the Fugees are not in fact Five Percent members, there are several indications that they are very close to it” (Swedenburg: 1996). He finds support for this view in a quote from “Fu-gee Lah,” (from The Score) where Pras spits, “I’m a true champion, like, Farrakhan, reads his daily Qur’an. It’s a phenomenon, Lyrics fast like Ramadan.” As we see, this refers to both mainstream Islamic ritual practices and Louis Farrakhan of the Nation of Islam, but not to the Five Percenters. Others align Hill with Christianity, finding support both in lyrics and interviews as well as her performance of hymns like “His Eye Is On the Sparrow” (cf. Dickerson: 1999). When placing Lauryn Hill within a specific religious context on the basis of her songs, one misses a very important feature of her work: an open, explorative and critical approach to religion, faith and life. This approach is evident in her verse on the Fugees’ “Temple” (Blunted on Reality, 1994). Their theology is delivered “straight from the temple, hip-hop, ya don’t stop” as Wyclef Jean announces in the chorus. Lauryn Hill starts out, telling about how she was “born into religion.” Her mother would teach her about Jesus: … The stories o’ God sent His only begotten son who gave his life To make sure that I would have one As I learned in Sunday school, he’s got to care

But having grown up a Baptist, she later became confused when she met “a Jew, a Catholic.” Even her minister could not tell her where the “Baptist fit” in, he 9 Other songs in this category include Missy Elliott’s “Back in The Day,” a duet with Jay-Z (Under Construction. Elektra, 2002), 2Pac’s “Old School,” referring to Grandmaster Flash, Grandmaster Caz, Eric B. and Rakim and Doug E. Fresh, among others (Me Against the World) and “Representin ’93” (Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z.).

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just made her sing. She wants “to be a scholar on the subject called theology,” and wonders what to call God, “Jehovah, or Buddha, or shall I call You Allah?” Also, why do some call themselves Christians, and still call her “nigga?” Wyclef Jean raps about his religious upbringing with a father who was a preacher. His father would not allow him to have anything to do with hip-hop, “rap music was your devilism.” If the music wasn’t praising the Lord, Wyclef Jean was not allowed to listen to it. But he still sneaked out to listen to hip-hop, and he kept a book of rhymes and practiced so he one day would be the greatest. He has no respect for lousy rappers and laments a world of gun-toting violence. With his third eye he can see that many will die in battle; they get “crucified.” It seems like there is no justice, the justice and righteousness is in “the eye of the beholder,” the “world is absurd.” Wyclef Jean has come to teach knowledge. But as some say “peace,” on the street, a .45 gun will be his “piece.” Both Hill and Jean employ autobiographical elements in describing their wrestle with religion. Hill refers to her mother, teacher and preacher as she discovers how religion divides people of different faiths, and how some practitioners of religion are hypocrites and racists. Wyclef Jean is caught between a love of hip-hop and a strict religious father. A strict religious worldview often turns its back on this world and has difficulty embracing art and things associated with “fun.” But, as Wyclef points out, such a religious position has little to offer those trying to come to terms with what is happening in the world. Hill is the sole rapper on “Some Seek Stardom” (Blunted On Reality). The song is a lesson in humility and remembering where you come from. Musically it is grounded in gospel and black church music, featuring organ and choir. First, she confesses how her conscience is troubled when she sees a crippled man in the church and a woman paralyzed from her thighs to her feet, shot by a man who didn’t even “loose his necktie.” Then she turns her attention to Jimmy in the barbershop; he plays “bass guitar like David plays the harp.” He once wanted to be famous, he “thought of the fame in Madison Square Garden.” Now he got the “Wisdom of King Solomon.” Instead of seeking stardom, Hill follows the words of her father who told her to seek “first of all the Kingdom of God.” If she falls, “the choir will catch her.” Referring to the Temptation of Jesus (Matt 4: 1–11), she narrates how she herself was tempted: I flew away on a mountain, got tempted by Satan Got bitten by a cobra, but the Lord took my venom So who’s side am I on? I’m on the righteous Always check the lyrics, no time to contradict

One of the temptations of stardom is to forget your cultural roots, as repeatedly sung in the chorus: “Some seek stardom, then they forget Harlem.” To forget Harlem signifies forgetting your culture and where you come from, as Harlem represents the cultural center of black America and urban black

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heritage.10 Hill testifies, she “was born to talk black jive, with kinky hair grown wild/teachers disliked me cause I knew where my culture be.” Reading history with a passion, she saw that “White was good and bad was black.” But she wants to fully understand her blackness, to shine like angels with nappy and braided hair. Her God is a liberating God, she can “wise up and be free.” She has grown wiser and learned from her master that “life is so short, hardcore becomes hard corpse.” The “gangsta” mentality, the individualistic and egoistic striving for money, leads to death. People start to neglect rather than protect each other, families are left in poverty, communities are abandoned and nobody seems to care. Some still blame it on racism, Hill states, as they hypocritically cry out: “My people! Why aren’t we treated equal?” At this point Hill is singing in a bebop-inspired style, and the songs ends with a jazzy soprano saxophone solo, again signifying Harlem and African American culture. There is a notion that some people, after reaching a certain status, seem to disregard their cultural background. In response to the choir, Hill adds, “they keep their pockets full, but their souls run empty.” Instead of seeking stardom and full pockets, Hill stays with the wisdom of her family and looks for deeper values, the kingdom of God and knowledge of cultural identity. In “The Beast” (The Score), police harassment, racial profiling and urban blight are depicted in apocalyptic imagery. “Warn the town, the beast is loose,” states Wyclef Jean, referring to the beast of the Revelation of John (Rev 13). Slow, sliding bass and guitar figures form a disturbing musical backdrop for a dark vision of New York. In his verses, Wyclef Jean comments on racially-motivated police brutality. “The government brings Star Wars from glock to glockers/The C.O.P. has an APB out on Chewbacca,” he says.11 What Jean seems to imply is that the government has taken Star Wars to the street, profiling aliens – in other words all suspects matching a certain profile. “Things are getting serious,” he continues. Similar to the temptation of Jesus, Jean tells how “on a mountain, Satan offered me Manhattan, help me Jah Jah.” Next, he narrates an episode of having been stopped and harassed by police, shouting, “you can’t search me without a probable cause/ or that proper ammunition they call reasonable suspicion.” Lauryn Hill takes over, “conflicts with night sticks/Illegal sales districts/Hand-picked lunatics, keep poli-TRICK-cians rich/Heretics push narcotics amidst its risks and frisks,” implying that politicians get rich by controlling illegal sales of drugs. At the same time, “the 666 cut W.I.C.” 666 is the number of the beast (Rev 13:18), here referring to the government cutting a federal assistance program aimed at 10 The song is preceded by “Harlem Chit Chat interlude,” a skit where people on the subway talk about “what’s jumping up at the Savoy tonight,” referring to Harlem’s famous jazz club Savoy Ballroom, immortalized by Edgar Sampson’s “Stompin’ at the Savoy” (recorded by Benny Goodman, Louis Armstrong and others). The skit is accompanied by abstract, electronic, bopinspired music and ends with the announcement, “Next stop, Harlem 125th Street.” 11 APB is short for All Points Bulletin, a bulletin broadcasted between police departments profiling suspects.

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providing supplemental nutrition to low-income “Women, Infants and Children (WIC). In a second verse, Hill points to racism on a subconscious level, and that it will get African Americans locked up in the penitentiary or “shot up like Hajj Malik Shabazz,” Malcolm X. Hill acknowledges the class perspective of racism, as “high class get bypassed while my ass gets harassed.” Black men are treated like they have no manhood, and if they get too powerful, they will be mugged “like Peter Tosh and Marley was,” referring to two leading reggae artists. Jean returns, wondering who the real bad guy is, as he describes being chased by the police. His inner voice advises him to surrender. “But to who?” he asks, “Can’t you see cops more crooked than we?” “The Beast” exemplifies how Biblical concepts can be used not only to describe, but also to interpret current events. Just as a preacher would have explained to his or her congregation, the Fugees explain what is going on by referring to a presumably shared mythological universe. The reference to “The Beast” of the Revelation and the temptation of Christ makes clear that police harassment, systemic racism and suppression of black people, the cutbacks in welfare programs – none of it is accidental. It is part of something bigger; they are signs of an evil force at work. In the highly engaging, multilayered “To Zion,” Lauryn Hill combines autobiography, scripture, hymnology and multiple musical references (Miseducation of Lauryn Hill). Guest musician Carlos Santana opens with a rubato guitar solo. Santana, besides being a highly regarded musician, pioneered the fusion of rock and Latin music and is also known for his spiritual quest as a follower of Indian guru Sri Chimnoy. Hill speaks a few words, “one day, u gonna understand… Zion.” The groove starts with a marching drum beat and a guitar hook sampled from another significant guitar player, a short snippet of Jose Feliciano’s “And The Feeling’s Good” (from And The Feeling’s Good, 1975). Lauryn’s first verse narrates her pregnancy and the difficulties of combining career and child-rearing. People around her advise her to use her head and think about her career. Instead, she chooses to follow her heart, deciding to give birth to her son. She describes her pregnancy by adapting the story of the Annunciation found in gospel of Luke (Luke 1:26–38): I touched my belly overwhelmed By what I had been chosen to perform But then an angel came one day Told me to kneel down and pray For unto me a man child would be born

She gives birth to her son and names him Zion. “Now the joy of my world is in Zion,” she exclaims in the chorus. In the following verse, she describes her son and the joy of being a mother, “how beautiful if nothing more, than to wait at Zion’s door/I’ve never been in love like this before.” She prays for him, to keep him from “the perils that surely come.” Her voice now changes from low-

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registered and intimate to exclamatory singing, as she sees the divine intention of this birth: I thank you for choosing me To come through unto life to be A beautiful reflection of His grace For I know that a gift so great Is only One God could create and I’m reminded every time I see your face

It is her son who has chosen her, and her son reflects the grace of God, her son is also God’s own son. The song ends with a gospel choir singing “Marching, marching, marching to Zion, beautiful, beautiful Zion,” while Hill shouts “march on, march on!” The choir sings the refrain of an old Christian hymn, “We’re Marching to Zion” by Isaac Watts, first published in 1707.12 At one level, this is obviously a song whereby Lauryn Hill narrates her experiences of being pregnant and making a difficult decision between motherhood and career, giving young black women “with similar experiences a chance to identify with her,” as Gwendolyn Pough observes (Pough: 2004, 103). But the strong presence of religious imagery suggests that she also interprets the birth of her son as a divinely initiated event. Once again, she uses scripture to understand what’s going on in her life. That might inspire others in a similarly difficult position to understand their situation as a divine event also. Musically, her son is inscribed in a rich Latin and Caribbean heritage, represented by the presence of Santana and Feliciano. While there are many elements in this song that can be traced back to Christian tradition, there are also influences from Rastafarianism. This particular Jamaican belief system has had an impact outside of Jamaica mainly because of the influence of reggae music. There are quite a few references to Jamaica and Jamaican music on the record as a whole. This song brings forth a family connection, as the father of Hill’s son is the son of Bob Marley, Rohan Marley. Also, “Zion” has a special connotation in Rastafarianism. In mainstream Christianity, “Zion” is a designation for the holy city of Jerusalem and a metaphor for the eternal city, the city of God. In Rastafarianism and reggae music, Mount Zion refers to the birthplace of the returning Messiah and is located in Ethiopia. The designation “Is only one God” is typical of Rastafarianism, with its emphasis on the letter “I” (see Owens: 1976, 64–8). However, these references do not make “To Zion” a Rastafarian song, or Hill a Rastafarian. Obviously, she has great respect for Bob Marley and the cultural, musical and religious heritage of Jamaica and is able to connect with it. For an artist working in a “secular sphere” such as the mainstream music industry, Lauryn Hill’s work is steeped in biblical language at a quite unusual 12 The full chorus is “We’re marching to Zion, Beautiful, beautiful Zion/We’re marching upward to Zion/The beautiful city of God.” See The New National Baptist Hymnal, No. 22.

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level. The Bible provides her with a treasury of images and concepts to enrich her poetry and to interpret events in her life. While she is not explicit in her religious affiliation, she emphasizes spiritual strength, a strong sense of trust in God and oneself. At the same time, there is an underlying criticism of certain strains of Christianity, both in the inherent racism of churches, and in the confusion of a Christianity split into many denominations. Throughout the whole production of Miseducation, there are subtle references to a variety of musical traditions and a care for detail that reveals a love for music, for grooves and sounds that seem to be integral to her spirituality.

5.2 2Pac and Thug Theology 2Pac has a special place not only in hip-hop culture, but also in American popular culture in general. For some, he became the symbol of what is wrong with rap music and a symptom of the moral and social decay of black neighborhoods in America’s inner cities. Nevertheless, fans worldwide have found strength and inspiration in his music and poetry. A growing number of scholars have begun to explore the multifaceted character of his work, as they also find, in between the misogynistic, materialistic and violent imagery, words of protest, social critique and spiritual uplifting (See Dyson: 2001; Hodge: 2009; Stanford: 2010). He is probably the most written about artist in hip-hop, and scholars continue to find new angles to study his life and work (See Hodge: 2015, Bailey: 2015 and Peterson: 2015). Much of the reception of his work seems to be informed by his short and dramatic life as well as his violent death, as if his work is authenticated by his life. Thus, a biographical paragraph is provided here, followed by an exploration of 2Pac’s work. I look at how 2Pac contextualizes violence in a society marked by racism, before turning to revolutionary and inspirational themes in his work. Lastly, I examine an emergent “thug theology,” expressed in his thoughts on death, life after death and sketches of a ‘black Jesuz.’“

5.2.1 Life and death of 2Pac The titles of books and documentaries on 2Pac bear witness to the mystique associated with him, such as Thug Angel, Tupac: Resurrection and Tupac Shakur: The Life and Times of an American Icon. A book on 2Pac’s studio legacy describes him in overtly religious language: Tupac Shakur was a holy being – omnipotent in Hip Hop, the ‘black Jesus’. He spoke for his people in motion picture, lyrical scripture, he paid their price, and died in sacrifice…But for what? Tupac’s death was senseless on a human level when

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considering him ‘just another young, black male.’ Still that was his ‘Jesus Carpenter’, in Tupac’s second coming as hip hop’s first prophet, he would raise a generation up on his shoulders and carry them to a promised land of Thug Mansions, where fine wine and rhyme flowed plentiful for all who wanted them (Brown: 2005, xv).

Like few others, 2Pac epitomizes the contradictions of a post-revolutionary hip-hop generation. He was a true child of the black revolutionary movement. His mother Afeni Shakur was a member of the Black Panther Party and one of the “Panther 21” arrested in 1969. His godfather was another well known Black Panther member, Geronimo Pratt, and his stepfather Mutulu Shakur was a member of the revolutionary group Weather Underground, imprisoned since 1986. 2Pac was brought to meetings and rallies from an early age. Afeni had trouble getting jobs because of her association with the Black Panther Party and moved with her children to Baltimore, then to Marin City in California. Life here was rough, as 2Pac describes, “Baltimore has the highest rate of teen pregnancy, the highest rate of AIDS within the black community, the highest rate of teen killing teens … black killing blacks … And this is where we chose to live” (Hoye/Ali: 2003, 34). Life in California was no better: I was broke, nowhere to stay. I smoked weed. I hung out with drug dealers, pimps and the criminals. They were the only people that cared about me at that point. And I needed a father – a male influence in my life, and these were the males. My mom, she was lost at that particular moment. She wasn’t caring about herself. She was addicted to crack (Hoye/Ali, 69).

There were however other influences in his life. He attended art school and he pursued his interest in literature and history. Several commentators point to his impressive reading list and vast knowledge of history and world literature (cfr. Dyson: 2001, 71–101). 2Pac joined the rap group Digital Underground and appeared on their Sons of the P (1991). His debut 2Pacalypse Now (1991) stirred a great deal of controversy, as he describes a brutal reality in graphic detail and criticizes racially motivated police brutality. Just a few months prior to the record’s release, he was beaten up and imprisoned by two white police officers. Half a year later, a young man shot a police officer, claiming the music of 2Pacalypse Now to be his inspiration. Vice President Dan Qayle told journalists that 2Pacalypse Now had “no place in our society” and demanded that the record be withdrawn from music stores (McQuillar/Johnson: 2010, 97). Politicians and influential public speakers like C. Delores Tucker campaigned against his music. 2Pac was convicted of sexual assault and began serving a prison sentence in 1995. 2Pac became part of a media-hyped war between East and West Coast rappers, with a heated feud between him and East coast rapper Notorious B.I.G and their respective labels Death Row and Bad Boy. 2Pac was shot and died after a week in the hospital, 25 years old. Half a year later Notorious B.I.G was killed as well. Both murders are still unsolved. 2Pac was a hard-working and prolific artist, producing an abundance of

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material never issued while he was alive. There have been more albums released posthumously than when he was alive (Williams: 2013: 113). Others have finished and re-contextualized much of this material, raising questions of authorship. But, as Justin A. Williams points out, “the fundamental element of hip-hop culture and aesthetics is the overt use of preexisting material to new ends” (ibid., 1). Thus, he terms the re-contextualization of 2Pac’s unissued material postmortem sampling (ibid., 103–39). The postmortem sampling reached new levels of meaning when rapper Snoop Dogg performed live with a hologram of 2Pac dancing and rapping at the Coachella Fesival in 2012 (Peterson: 2015).13

5.2.2 Thug life In much of his work, 2Pac frames himself as an outlaw, one outside society, a thug. The word ‘thug’ is of Indian derivation, stemming from colonial times and denoting gangs of robbers and murderers raiding British merchants. Thus, the word has a somewhat different rebellious connotation than “gangsta” (Dyson: 2001, 113 f). Among 2Pac’s many tattoos were “outlaw” on his left forearm and “Thug Life” on his abdomen,” the latter broken down as an acronym for “The Hate U Gave Little Infants Fucks Everybody.” In his interpretation, the thug mirrors the racism of society and is the ultimate product of oppression, slavery and poverty. As he would answer his critics, “I didn’t create thug life, I diagnosed it” (Peters, dir.: 2002). In many of his songs, he describes life in troubled urban areas, afflicted with violence, poverty, crack-cocaine epidemic, and racist structures. “They claim I’m violent, just cause I refuse to be silent,” says 2Pac in “Violent” to a reggae-influenced beat (2Pacalypse Now). Look back in our history, 2Pac asks, and you will see that “America is the violent one.” Several of 2Pac’s lyrics describe life on the edge, with a deep sense of despair that at times verges on madness. One example is “Death Around The Corner” (Me Against The World) where he describes a state of desperation, verging on the paranoid. In the introduction, a kid asks his father why he is standing by the window, “what is wrong, daddy?” An angry female voice, probably the kid’s mother, yells: “I know what’s wrong with that crazy motherfucker. He’s just stand by the goddamn window with that fuckin’ AK all day!” The father stands by the window with an assault rifle watching out for enemies. The music begins at a quick pace and a repeated tremolo guitar figure adds tension. 2Pac spits with a raspy voice: “I see death around the corner, gotta stay high while I survive.” He is anticipating that his own death may come any day now. He wants to be buried as a “G,” a “gangsta.” Meanwhile he is just surviving, 13 For a video of the Coachella performance, watch?v=TGbrFmPBV0Y (February 6, 2016)

see

https://www.youtube.com/

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Black Jesuz. Rap and Christianity Tryin to keep it together, no one lives forever anyway Strugglin and strivin, my destiny’s to die Keep my finger on the trigger, no mercy in my eyes

Thinking about his father, “madder than a motherfucker,” he wishes that he had never been born. Seeing too many murders makes him feel insane, but the doctors are unable to help. “Maybe I’m paranoid tell the truth,” he asks, life on the streets makes him breathless. Now 2Pac envisions himself by the window with his AK, ready to kill himself. In the chorus, a slow speaking voice says, “when we were kids, belonging felt good, but having respect, that feels even better.” This might be the words of the father, telling his son that respect through brutality is better than human relationships. 2Pac states that he trusts no one, not even his friends, his “homies.” He is stressed and paranoid from smoking “too much weed.” His mind is gone, he says that he has got “homies in my head that done passed away screaming… If I die young, who cares?” he asks. The last verse again refers to an upbringing in a dysfunctional family. Heavy drinking and smoking marijuana was “an everyday thang in my household.” His mother was so often drunk that as a baby he was drinking “liquor from my momma’s titty.” As an adult he is unable to foster close relationships with women; he suspects that all the girls are only looking for his wealth. Thus, he will not get emotionally involved “I gotta be suspicious when I bone [have sex], cause if I ain’t sharp and heartless, them bitches’ll start shit.” Still, he hopes that the Lord will forgive him, for “I was a G, and getting high was away of being free.” The song closes with movie samples, gunfire, voices wishing death on others. 2Pac dedicates the song to people like him, not scared to die, “A real motherfucker will pick the time he goes.” This reveals an important aspect of the moral codex for a “G:” a real “gangsta” will himself pick the time he is going to die and makes sure he takes care of business. As with Lauryn Hill, one can see many parallels between 2Pac’s life and his lyrics. However, one should be cautious about interpreting the lyrics as purely autobiographical. Instead, drawing from personal experiences and what he sees around him enables him to put himself in different mindsets, to better convey what’s going on in urban settings that mainstream America cannot comprehend. Being an excellent storyteller, 2Pac sometimes transforms experiences into moral tales. One case in point is “Young Niggaz” (Me Against The World), dedicated to those being “in a rush to be gangsta.” He reminisces about his own childhood days when he was not part of the gangsta life; he would give anything to “be innocent again, when I was ten I didn’t bang but I was hanging with my homies.” Later he had to learn how to make money through drug dealing; “we slung drugs, know it’s bad, but all we had was our hopes and dreams, couldn’t see unless we learned to slang dope to fiends.” Once again he points to the poor living conditions he was brought up in, with a dead father, a mother on drugs, and the “neighborhood was full of drive-bys, couldn’t survive, all our homies living short lives, couldn’t cry.” He invites us

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to follow him through his history, its “me against the world – stuck in misery.” As a kid, there was always room for play, but that was before “they taught them gang bangers how to spray,” before gangs began killing each other with machine guns. As an adult, 2Pac now urges the young to calm down, to just enjoy being young and take a moment to reflect on what they want to be for the rest of their lives, “before you end your life before you begin your life.” He himself set his mind on being something; he has grown up. Now the time has come to “put down the gun and have some fun.” The gangsta life leads to unnecessary deaths; some are killed just for showing the wrong gang-sign. The future looks hopeless: Fame is a fast thang, that gangbangin’ Puttin niggaz in a casket, murdered for hangin’ at the wrong place at the wrong time, no longer livin’ Cause he threw up the wrong sign, and every day I watch the murder rate increases, and even worse The epidemic and diseases, what is the future?

At the end, 2Pac pay homage to the “young thugs, the have-nots.” He sees thirteen and fourteen-year-olds driving around in expensive cars; they could be accountants, not dope dealers. They could be lawyers instead of “pimpin’ out here.” 5.2.3 Thug philosophy A crucial part of 2Pac’s art is his ability to combine street knowledge with a variety of cultural, political and philosophical traditions. Thus, he formulates a philosophical outlook and call for action rooted in lived life experiences. Michael Eric Dyson points to this, examining the contradictions posed by the rapper’s combination of revolutionary stances and thuggish recklessness: “2Pac lived the tension between revolutionary ambition and thug passion. Surely part of the madness he reacted to in life, and reflected in his art, had to do with the negotiation of his revolutionary upbringing in a post-revolutionary world” (Dyson: 2001, 64 f). In her essay on political perspectives in the life and work of 2Pac, Karin L. Stanford argues that popular as well as academic writers “overwhelmingly neglect to analyze his political beliefs and activism” (Stanford: 2011, 5). She points to his upbringing and the influence of the Black Panther Party, his involvement with different politically engaged movements and his organization of a diversity of campaigns in his youth, as well as the political and social dimensions of his work as an artist (ibid., 7–17). 2Pac represented both a continuation of black revolutionary thought – and a break, caused in great part by dramatic changes in living conditions for young African Americans of his generation. 2Pac articulates this generational change in a speech at a banquet hosted by the Malcolm X Grassroots Movement in 1992:

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What I want you to take seriously is what we have to do for the youth. Because we are coming up in a totally different world. This is not the same world as you had, this is not the sixties… we grew up BC, Before Crack. That should say it all. We did not grow up without parents. You had parents that told you “You do this and you do that” when we were growing up back in the day. Now, you don’t have that. You have young kids fourteen years coming home, their mom is smokin’ out or doing it to their best friend to get the product. So it’s not just about you taking care of your child, it’s about you taking care of these children.14

In 2Pac’s work, we find elements from African American heritage and black revolutionary thought blended with thug ethics, informed by the worsened living conditions for urban young blacks in the crack-driven economy of the 1980s. On “Words of Wisdom” (2Pacalypse Now), 2Pac’s schooling in African American history and black revolutionary thinking is evident, as it offers social and political analysis steeped in the tradition of Malcolm X, the Last Poets and Gil Scott-Heron. Fittingly, the music has a groovy, jazzy flavor reminiscent of the 1970s funk, prominently featuring a sample of Herbie Hancock’s Fender Rhodes electric piano (from “Chameleon,” Head Hunters, 1973). 2Pac shifts between two modes of delivery: oratory speech and rhymed verses spit at a fast pace. He opens with oratory, describing the ongoing attempts to eliminate the black race: “we are being wiped off the face of this earth/at an extremely alarming rate.” Even more alarming is the fact that no one fights back. 2Pac addresses his “brothers, sisters, niggas.” When he says “niggas” he explains, it is not “the nigga we are grown to fear/It is not the nigga we say as if it has no meaning.” Here, 2Pac explains nigga as an acronym, “Never Ignorant Getting Goals Accomplished.” A tambourine introduces the first rhymed verse, heightening the musical temperature. Here 2Pac combines Marxist class analysis with black revolutionary thinking, “this is for the masses the lower classes, the ones you left out,” he exclaims, addressing those kept out of jobs and comfortable living, made to “feel inferior, but we are superior.” Now it is time to break the mental “chains in our brains that made us fear ya.” 2Pac has no room for patriotism as he attacks the core national symbols of the USA: the flag, the president and the constitution: Pledge allegiance to a flag that neglects us Honor a man that refuses to respect us Emancipation, proclamation, Please! Nigga just said that to save the nation These are lies that we all accepted (…) The constitution, Yo, it don’t apply to me Lady Liberty still the bitch lied to me 14 Tupac Shakur, “Malcolm X Dinner Speech,” Atlanta 1992. Bonus material on Resurrection (DVD).

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2Pac cites the war on drugs as an example of governmental hypocrisy: people are supposed to say no to drugs, but the government maintains the flow of drugs to the black community. “The war on drugs is a war on you and me,” he states.15 It is time to build a nation and educate the children. They can be “all that they want to be, there’s much more to life than just poverty.” In the next oratory section, 2Pac puts America on trial. “Ameri-K-K-Ka” he spits, implying a Ku Klux Klan influenced racism within the nation. America is charged with the crimes of rape, murder and assault, with oppression of his people and theft of their history. The nation is further charged with keeping poor black people trapped in the projects. And, it should come as no surprise, America is found guilty on all charges. The following rhymed verse focuses on education, pride and cultural self-knowledge. Knowledge and education are the protection and the tools by which the enemy will be conquered. But, he asks No Malcolm X in my history text Why is that? Cause he tried to educate and liberate all blacks Why is Martin Luther King in my book each week? He told blacks, if they get smacked, turn the other cheek

It is implied here that Malcolm X’s teachings were more dangerous than King’s rhetoric of non-violence. 2Pac continues, pointing out that black people are kept in poverty, doomed to be on welfare; the “American dream” is not for everybody. Thus, concluding in a declamatory style, 2Pac now returns as the reversal of that dream, as the “American nightmare” of Malcolm X: NIGHTMARE that’s what I am America’s nightmare I am what you made me The hate and evil that you gave me I shine of a reminder of what you have done to my people

Verging on the apocalyptic, 2Pac “flips the script”, and pronounces that it is right for America to be scared of him, America should try to silence him, because his time has now come: “Just as you rose, you shall fall by my hands America, you reap what you sow.” The song ends with a list of rappers and thinkers that also are America’s Nightmare, including Ice Cube, KRS One and Geronimo Pratt, thus expanding the list of people who should be included in the history text. There are many examples of sexism and misogyny, of derogatory words and sexual objectification of women in the works of 2Pac. But unlike some of his black nationalist forefathers and contemporary conscious rappers, he also 15 “War on Drugs” was first used by Richard Nixon as a slogan for his anti-drug programs, a slogan later popularized by Ronald Reagan.

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displays an ability to identify with and care for struggling women, not only the beautiful and well to do “Queens.” One of 2Pac’s masterpieces as a storyteller, “Brenda’s Got A Baby” (2Pacalypse Now), exposes the devastating effects of crack in grim detail. Sparse drumming and bass figures combined with long keyboard pads set a solemn, meditative mood. Soulful, elegiac voices sing in the background, as if mourning. In sharp contrast is 2Pac’s hard hitting flow, his spitting of the words in a way that suggests bitterness and anger. Brenda is a girl who grew up in misery, without anyone to take care of her. 2Pac uses her as an example and shows how her situation affects a whole community. Only 12 years old, she just had a baby and that’s “a damn shame, the girl can’t hardly spell her name.” She never knew her mom, and her father was “a junkie putting death into his arm.” Living in the ghetto is no excuse for not growing, says 2Pac, but Brenda has just too few chances. She has a boyfriend, her cousin, but that relationship will end as soon as she gives birth. She tries to hide her pregnancy from her family, but nobody really cares. Nobody takes notice as her figure changes. She is in love with her boyfriend, thinking he will stay with her forever, she dreams about just the two of them being together, but that dream takes a tragic end: He left her and she had the baby solo She had it on the bathroom floor and didn’t know so She didn’t know, what to throw away and what to keep She wrapped the baby up and threw him in the trash heep I guess she thought she’d get away, wouldn’t hear the cries She didn’t realize how much the little baby had her eyes

Brenda wants to run away, she hurts as she hears the baby cry, and she takes the baby with her. Her family would not let her stay with them, so she has to make it on her own. With no babysitter, it is hard to get a job. She tries to sell crack, but ends up getting robbed. The only remaining way out for her is prostitution: by selling herself she is able to pay the rent. The story reaches the tragic end in the final line: “Prostitute found slain, and Brenda’s her name, she’s got a baby.” “Brenda’s Got a Baby” is a moral tale, narrating the sad fate of a young girl, pointing out the connections between poverty, lack of education, drug abuse, sexism and broken family relations at their most tragic level. Among his most uplifting and encouraging songs is “Keep Ya Head Up” (Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z.), where he shouts out to all his “sisters on welfare, 2Pac care if nobody else care.” He sees his sisters hurt by the men in their neighborhood; he asks them not to cry, but rather, claim their dignity. If they have a lover telling them that they are worth nothing, they should not believe him, but leave him. 2Pac calls for respect for all women, since they are giving birth to all humankind:

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And since we all came from a woman Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman I wonder why we take from our women Why we rape our women, do we hate our women? I think it’s time to kill for our women Time to heal our women, be real to our women And if we don’t we’ll have a race of babies That will hate the ladies that make the babies

He criticizes men who leave their girlfriends after making them pregnant. The real men are challenged to stand up; otherwise the youth growing up will not learn to respect women. Drawing on his own experience, he acknowledges the hardships suffered by his mother as a single mother left alone by “a daddy long gone.”

5.2.4 Towards a Thug Theology In the midst of graphic tales of brutality, despair and misery, there is a strong sense of spirituality in 2Pac’s work; a quest for redemption, a wrestling with God. 2Pac often deals with death, facing death every day, sometimes anticipating his own death. But what happens after death? Is there a Heaven? And if so – does it have a place for those living the street life? When dealing with life hereafter – and also when he sporadically refers to “Black Jesuz” – 2Pac seeks identification. Is there a ghetto in heaven, a place where he is recognized and can feel at home? Is there a “Black Jesuz” that can identify with the way he lives? 5.2.4.1 Visions of Heaven Is there a “heaven for a G?” asks 2Pac on “So Many Tears” (Me Against The World). He envisions his own death, knocking on heaven’s door hoping that someone will let him in. The song starts with a prayer that God will walk by him and take him to heaven: I shall not fear no man but God Though I walk through the valley of death I shed so many tears (if I should die before I wake) Please God walk with me (grab a nigga and take me to Heaven)

“Valley of death” is a fitting biblical metaphor for the life 2Pac describes. As in so many other songs, he reminisces about his childhood days, relating how he could not find any rest, he thrived on misery. That was until he got “Thug Life” tattooed on his chest, which gave him a sort of direction. In the chorus, with a short sample of Stevie Wonder playing harmonica, he eulogizes all his suffering, all the tears he has shed and all the peers he has lost. In the second

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verse, he is struggling with heaven and hell. He is just struggling in the business, but feels that he is cursed. As he has visions of his own death, of leaving this world in a hearse, he asks if God can “feel” him, see what he is going through. He prays for God to take him away from all the pressure and the pain. The life he is living now is not good; he wants to feel some happiness again, but is not sure if God will accept him. I spend my time in this cell, ain’t livin well I know my destiny is Hell, where did I fail? My life is in denial, and when I die, Baptized in eternal fire I’ll shed so many tears

Again he expresses utter despair, is becoming suicidal and asks people to stay away from him. “My every move is a calculated step, to bring me closer to embrace an early death.” In the streets, there was no mercy, he could not find peace, and he is about to fall apart. His soul is “deleted,” but his mind is full of demons trying to break free. The demons plant seeds, his brain is on fire. In his dreams, he sees his enemies killing him, and he wonders if he will survive to see the sun in the morning once again. In the final verse, he describes some of the homicides he has witnessed, children killed in drive-bys, mourning at the sight of the chalk line. 2Pac wants to change, he wants to live a different life but is disillusioned. Feeling he is trapped inside a maze, he sees no brighter future. He talks about having children, so he can see a part of himself “that wasn’t always shady,” but he does not trust his girlfriend; she is a product of the same kind of life he has been living. When he hears noises, he thinks his girlfriend is sleeping with all his friends. He turns to God again, praying to be let into heaven: I’m fallin to the floor; beggin for the Lord to let me in to Heaven’s door – shed so many tears (Dear God, please let me in)

In the video “I Ain’t Mad At Cha,” 2Pac is finally let into heaven. He reportedly recorded the song the same day he was released from prison. It appeared on All Eyez On Me, his first album on Death Row Records and the first double album in hip-hop (Brown: 2005, 61). The track features a sample of “A Dream,” a gospel flavored hit by the soul group DeBarge (In A Special Way, Motown, 1983). 2Pac looks back and meditates on the changes he has gone through from adolescence to becoming a star. He reminisces about one of his childhood friends who changed his lifestyle after becoming a Muslim: “Oh you a Muslim now, no more dope game… I seems I lost my little homie he’s a changed man/ hit the pen and now no sinning is the game plan.” The video was 2Pac’s last, and it was aired shortly after his death (Shakur/ Swain: 2006). Here, the lyrics are slightly different, as alternate phrases replace curse words and derogatory terms. The third verse is completely different, now formed as a prayer to God:

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Father forgive us for livin while all my homies stuck in prison Barely breathin believin that the world is a prison It’s like a ghetto we can never leave A broken rose givin bloom to the cracks of the concrete So many other things for us to see

He envisions a ghetto heaven, and he “beg[s] God, to make a way for our ghetto kids to breathe/Show a sign, make us all believe.” The film’s plot is not a retelling of the lyrics, but a story of its own. Before the music starts, we see 2Pac and a friend coming out from a party, when 2Pac is suddenly shot and dies in the ambulance. In the next scene, 2Pac wears a white suit and is welcomed into heaven by a black St. Peter: “Man, I’ve been strugglin’ to try to get you in here a long time. You’ll have to earn your way, I sure hope you can make it.” The heavenly choir of angels is made up of famous, deceased black artists such as Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, Nat King Cole and Billie Holiday as well as Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix. As an angel (still smoking cigarettes, though), 2Pac returns to his friend to protect and comfort him. This story goes well with the gospel flavor of “A Dream,” and gives us a hint of what 2Pac’s heaven looks like: “a ghetto heaven, a place to rest/finding peace through this land of stress.” This theme is further elaborated on the posthumously released “Thugz Mansion.” Justin A. Williams reports three different versions of this song. Two appears on Better Dayz (2002). One is an acoustic version with two verses by 2Pac and one with Nas, the other is a remix version with beats and three verses by 2Pac. The third appears on Nas’ album God’s Son (2002) with the acoustic track, but two verses by Nas and only one by 2Pac (Williams: 2013, 126–33). I will look at a fourth version, appearing on The Best of 2Pac (2007). This features the three 2Pac verses from the remix version with the acoustic track from the two versions with Nas. The acoustic track features guitar only, a familiar type of accompaniment in popular music. But in the context of 2Pac’s work and hip-hop in general, this is rare. No beats, no bass, no samples, nothing that invites you to dance. Rather, the acoustic setting suggests intimacy, a sharing of inner thoughts in the tradition of singer-songwriters. 2Pac states that he is tired of getting shot at and chased by the police and longs for a place where thugs can hang out and be themselves. “Where do niggaz go when we die? Ain’t no heaven for a thug nigga/that’s why we go to thug mansion.” this mansion appears to be a rather worldly place in the first two verses. 2Pac narrates the struggles of street life, so stressful he “once contemplated suicide.” In “his mind’s eye” he envisions a “spot where we can drink liquor” and “smoke in peace.” The second verse is mournful, 2Pac cries “tattooed tears” and wonder “how can I be peaceful? I’m coming from the bottom.” He “need a house that’s full of love when I need to escape the deadly places slinging drugs, in thugz mansion.” In the third verse, however, the perspective is changed. Now 2Pac approaches us from heaven, talking to his mother. Her baby boy is “doing good,” he asserts, so she should

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not cry. He wants all his homies to know that he is in heaven, where there are no hoods. In heaven, 2Pac meets all his idols: he sees a show with Marvin Gaye, he drinks peppermint schnapps with Jackie Wilson and Sam Cooke and hears Billie Holiday sing. He is “kickin it” with Malcolm X until morning.16 He asks his mama to tell the lady in the liquor store that she is forgiven. Heaven is a place where everybody we know that has passed away finally finds rest: Maybe in time you’ll understand only God can save us When Miles Davis cuttin lose with the band Just think of all the people that you knew in the past That passed on, they in heaven, found peace at last Picture a place that they exist, together

At the end, 2Pac is back with the living again, hoping and praying to God that there is a place in heaven and that God will remember his face and save him “a place in thugz mansion.” 5.2.4.2 Black Jesuz The idea of a black God and black Christ has a long tradition in African American spirituality and was revived during the black power and the black theology of liberation movements of the 1960s and 70s. In his influential collection of sermons, The Black Messiah, Bishop Albert Cleage (1911–2000) argues that Jesus was ethnically black: “Jesus came to the Black Nation Israel… we are concerned here with the actual blood line. Jesus was born to Mary, a Jew of the tribe of Judah, a non-white people… Jesus was a Black Messiah born to a black woman” (Cleage: 1988, 42). God must be black too; since God created man in his image, he must be a combination of black, red, yellow and white. Thus, “in America, one drop of black makes you black,” Cleage argues, so “by American law, God must be black” (ibid., 43). The most thorough theological exploration of black Christ, however, is by theologian James H. Cone in such books as A Black Theology of Liberation and especially God of the Oppressed (Cone: 1990, 110–28; 1997, 99–126). While agreeing with Cleage that “Jesus was not white in any sense of the word, literally or theologically,” Cone emphasizes that “the substance of the Black Christ issue can be dealt with only on theological grounds, as defined by Christology’s sources (Scripture, tradition, and social existence) and content (Jesus’ past, present, and future)” (Cone: 1997, 123). Cone grounds Christ’s blackness in the historical Jesus, identifying with oppressed people, the presence of Christ today and his continued identification with the oppressed and his future coming to establish eternal justice (ibid., 122–6). The blackness of Christ is literal in the sense that Christ “truly becomes One with the oppressed blacks, taking their suffering 16 During his hustling years in New York in the early 1940s, Malcolm X enjoyed Harlem’s jazz scene and was an acquaintance of Billie Holiday (Malcolm X: 1992, 128–9).

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and his suffering and revealing that he is found in the history of our struggle, the story of our pain, and the rhythm of our bodies,” says Cone. He refers to contemporary black popular music, where Jesus is found in the sociological context that gave rise to Aretha Franklin singing “Spirit in the Dark” and Roberta Flack proclaiming that “I told Jesus that it will be all right if he changed my name.” Cone concludes, “to say that Jesus is black means that God, in his infinite wisdom and mercy, not only takes color seriously, he also takes it upon himself and discloses his will to make us whole – new creatures born in the spirit of divine blackness and redeemed through the blood of the black Christ” (ibid., 125). 2Pac’s “Black Jesuz” resembles the theology of Cleage and Cone. But he takes it a step further as he envisions a Jesus that also represents those at the margins of black society in America: the outlaws, the thugs, those forsaken even by the black leadership. In an interview, 2Pac refers to “Black Jesuz” as a spiritual and inspirational force, a “Black Jesuz within.” We can also assume that “Black Jesuz” is a further development of 2Pac’s earlier notion of a God who recognizes him and a heaven that has place for someone like him. “Black Jesuz” is a redeemer that knows the hardships and codes of thug living, a Jesus “that looks like us.” While not explicitly referring to Black Jesuz on Don Killuminati: The Seven Day Theory (1996), 2Pac struggles with Jesus Christ of the church in both “Hail Mary” and “Blasphemy.” The music of “Hail Mary” is dark and sparse, with chimes giving a sense of fate or judgment. 2Pac presents himself as “Makaveli, Killuminati,” that goes “all through your body.” 2Pac is again describing a condition of despair bordering on madness, juxtaposing reverence and hate, faith and despair. He opens in a declamatory fashion: “And God said he should send his one begotten son to lead the wild into the ways of the man. Follow me; eat my flesh, flesh of my flesh.” In contrast, the first verse opens “I ain’t a killer but don’t push me. Revenge is like the sweetest joy next to pussy.” 2Pac has seen the weakness of the rap game; he sees people coming after him, looking for his diamonds. But he is also bowing his head, praying and hoping that God is listening to him. He goes deep into himself with “Hail Mary,” into the “solitary mind of a madman.” He is “a ghost” in these killing fields, so the heavenly father can rest in peace. As he sees the liquor store and hears the Hennessy calling, he prays to the Father that he will catch him, because he is falling. He has a “brain with no screws in it,” so what can he do? There is only “one life to live.” He sees himself going to hell; when the lights are out he will be “down in the dark. “thugging eternal” through his heart. In the chorus, 2Pac asks, “Come with me, Hail Mary/Run quick see, what do we have here/Now, do you wanna ride or die.” “Hail Mary,” originally the English opening words of the liturgical prayer “Ave Maria,” is personified in 2Pac’s song. It is as if he is bonding with this prayer, as it follows him in the midst of all his troubles and hardships. On the way to prison or even to hell, “Hail Mary” stays with him. In “Blasphemy,” 2Pac combines a spirituality and ethic rooted in thug life

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with a critique of a hypocritical church that does not respond to the needs of the poor. It opens with a distorted voice announcing “God’s wonderful plan,” unfolded in the Bible. Christ is returning “someday soon” to once again unfold this plan that will give us eternity as long as we accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. The voice becomes less and less distorted, and concludes, “the Lord does return in the coming seven days.” The distortion of the voice suggests irony, and 2Pac’s first words are “Don’t start that blasphemy in here.” As his “family tree consist of drug dealers, thugs and killers,” he has new words to follow, words that his father told him. His father told him there were “ten rules to the game, quite different from the Ten Commandments: There’s ten rules to the game, but I’ll share with you two Know, niggaz gon’ hate you for whatever you do Now rule one – get your cash on, M.O.B. That’s Money Over Bitches, cause they breed envy Now rule two is a hard one, watch for phonies Keep yo’ enemies close nigga, watch yo’ homies

As a kid, 2Pac confesses, he did not know what to do with this advice. He was like an innocent child being handed precious jewels. Little did he know that one day he was going to live by these rules. Now, as an initiated outlaw, he has to remember the words of his deceased father. Otherwise, he will end up on his “enemies wall.” 2Pac promises that if he ever has a child, he will guide him. He prays to the Lord that he will not let him die tonight as he also has words for his comrades: nothing is free, give back what you earn. Prince Ital of the Outlaws sings the chorus in Jamaican patois: “Love for dem dat steal in the name of da Lord/Dem a tell nuff lie but holdin my bird in a cloud/Usin de name of de Lord in vain/While de people in de ghetto, feel nuff pain.” 2Pac continues with critical remarks about people searching for heaven. “Everybody kissin ass to go to heaven ain’t goin” he says. Without knowing it “we are probably in Hell already.” He is fighting “devil niggaz daily.” The media is “crucifying brothers severely.” He continues, Tell me I ain’t God’s son, nigga mom a virgin We got addicted had to leave the burbs, back in the ghetto doin wild shit, lookin at the sun don’t pay Criminal mind all the time, wait for Judgment Day

There are people in Jerusalem waiting for signs, “God promised, she just takin’ her time, ha ha ha” 2Pac jokes; but looking up to the sun does not pay. 2Pac’s criticism of a hypocritical church continues in the last verse, as he tells of a preacher that wants people like him buried. But the preacher is a liar. 2Pac continues, “have you ever seen a crackhead, that’s eternal fire/Why you got these kids minds, thinkin’ that they evil/while the preacher bein’ richer you say honor God’s people.” Should we cry when the pope dies, asks 2Pac, and answers, only “if they cried when we buried Malcolm X.” He wonders if God is

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“just another cop” and heaven “just another door.” Life is hard now in a time of greed, but 2Pac hopes Jesus understands: They say Jesus is a kind man, well he should understand Times in this crime man, my Thug nation Do whatchu gotta do but know you gotta change Try to find a way to make it out the game I leave this and hope God can see my heart is pure

At the end, a female voice recites “The Lord’s Prayer.” The song is not easily interpreted. For instance, what is “blasphemy”? Is it the traditional beliefs of the church or the advice of his father? Or is it the hypocrisy of the church, with people “kissing ass to go to heaven,” with preachers getting richer as they condemn kids and as it mourns the pope but not Malcolm X? While the opening announcement is clearly a parody of a commercialized church, there is nothing in the closing reading of the Lord’s prayer that suggests irony. One possible interpretation is that 2Pac narrates a spiritual struggle, a struggle where institutionally transmitted faith collides with harsh realities and lived wisdom of survival. The only songs where “Black Jesuz” is explicitly referred to appear in Still I Rise (1998). The title song opens with a prayer, Dear Lord As we down here, struggle for as long as we know In search of a paradise to touch (my nigga Johnny J) Dreams are dreams, and reality seems to be the only place to go The only place for us

2Pac asks white Jesus, “How can I survive? Got me askin white Jesus/will a nigga live or die, cause the Lord can’t see us/in the deep dark clouds of the projects, ain’t no sunshine.” On “As the World Turns” however, he prays to black Jesus, “I pray to black Jesuz to please take the rest of me… if we search deeper, God bless the hustler, curse the first sleeper.” He also shouts out to Black Jesuz at the end, “I send this to black Jesuz, only he can feed us.” His shift in color marks different levels of identification. “White Jesus,” the one traditionally preached, cannot see people like 2Pac, cannot see life in the projects and might therefore be unable to save him. With Black Jesuz, on the other hand, there is at least a hope; he is the only one who will “feed us,” provide spiritual nourishment and acknowledgement. In the song entitled “Black Jesuz,” 2Pac and the Outlawz explores the nature of this savior further. The music is sparse, sounds of chimes and blowing winds set a dark and ghostly atmosphere. 2Pac is searching for Black Jesuz, wearing jewels, “straight tatted up,” having a lot of tattoos. A male voice inserts, “Black Jesuz you can be Christian, Baptist, Jehovah Witness, Islamic won’t matter to me.” He is a thug, and “thugs, we praise black Jesuz every day.” The chorus is sung in the background throughout most of the song, adding a

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devotional atmosphere with words like “Black Jesuz” and “we believed in you, everything you do.” Rapper Kadafi, stuck in a nightmare, prays to God for his squad and hopes that he cares. He wonders how books like the Qur’an and the Bible were written and what religion really is. Female rapper Storm follows, asking “who’s got the heart to stand beside me?” Her prayers are dark, surrounded by demons. On the edge of an abyss she asks Black Jesuz if it matters should she cease to exist. “Missing souls turn to hoes when exposed to jail,” states 2Pac; some become weak in prison and do whatever they are asked to. Therefore, in these “times of war,” 2Pac calls for “somebody raw” to rally the troops. He is “like a saint that we can trust to help carry us through, Black Jesuz.” Young Noble follows, stating that the Outlawz have their own race, culture and religion. They are rebelling against the system, because the president is not listening to the pain of the young. They make music for eternity. They are political prisoners, sentenced for life, left with only two choices: “ride or die.” Young Noble asks Black Jesuz to watch over his brother Shawn. Many of his friends have now passed away, have become statistics. There is “no love for us ghetto kids, they call us nigglets.” 2Pac returns, making sure that he is dedicated to his click, “criminal orientated, an Outlaw initiated.” He is made for terror. The cops patrol the housing projects, but they hate the people living there. Thus, 2Pac was born an inmate, waiting to escape prison. He went to church, but didn’t understand what was going on there; the church is cheating, deceiving, not telling the message right. God gave him “Ten Commandments the world is scandalous/blast till they holy high, baptize their evil minds.” Now he is wise, no longer blind, he is ready. People will freeze when they see Black Jesuz. Kastro gets the final verse, saying he is searching for the truth, but it is hard to find God. He asks Black Jesuz to “walk through this valley” with him. He hasn’t been eating for weeks and is sleeping on the streets, so he hopes Black Jesuz can say a prayer for him and all the young thugs raised on guns and drugs. They are “slaves to this slums, this ain’t living.” He repeats 2Pac’s words that they are searching for Black Jesuz, “like a saint we can pray to in the ghetto, to get us through.” This Jesus has to understand their pain; he might not be too perfect. Maybe he is somebody “that hurt like we hurt/ Somebody that smoke like we smoke/Drink like we drink/That understand where we coming from.” The works of 2Pac are steeped in contradictions. There is a dimension in his work clearly rooted in black revolutionary thought, struggling for change. His lyrics can be soaked in religious language, often in the form of prayer, and there are many references to Christian tradition. But there is also a radically different side, misogynistic, materialistic and at times nihilistic. His theology is as contradictory as the rest of his work, fluctuating between a criticism of empty beliefs and hypocritical religious leaders and a desperate hope for a divinity that recognizes him and has room for him. Thus, he imagines a black Jesuz who, unlike the white Jesus preached in church, knows the hard street life and looks more like a thug than a pale-faced European.

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5.3 “Pump the Volume For Christ:” Christian Rap Rappers reaching out to Christian audiences, face a double challenge. On the one hand they need to convince the Christian audience that rap is not all about sex, violence and using bad language. On the other hand, in order to have credibility as true hip-hoppers, they need to be as hardcore as secular rappers, without the sex, violence and bad language. In her study of gospel rappers in Los Angeles, Cristina Zanfagna describes the “triple bind” of Christian rap, sometimes considered musical mavericks in the church, corny Bible-thumpers in the streets by law enforcements in the streets or in the hip-hop clubs, and criminal youth by law enforcement in the so-called ghettos of Los Angeles, gospel rappers are often strained by accusations that their ways of being and expressing are blasphemous and/ or inauthentic (Zanfagna: 2011, 146).

This challenge is met in different ways. Some present a “decent” version of rap songs adapted to conform to mainstream Christian tastes. Others employ a transformed gangsta persona, sometimes claiming a former gangsta life, reaching out to those still living the “street life.” Christian rap, also called gospel rap, holy hip-hop and Christ hop, is a wellestablished subgenre of both hip-hop and Contemporary Christian Music (CCM). The Dove Awards, the Christian equivalent of the Grammy Awards and a major event within contemporary Christian music, include awards for “Rap/ Hip-hop Album of the Year” and “Rap Song of the Year.” Allmusic.com, a secular music portal, lists “Christian Rap” among its thirty genres of hip-hop, and has entries on several Christian rap artists and reviews of their records. However, Christian rap is seldom recognized by mainstream media or hip-hop magazines like The Source or XXL. Perceived as a contradiction in terms, Christian rap has often been held as inferior, lacking in artistic quality and innovation, as this passage from Allmusic.com reveals: Most Christian rap doesn’t show the sonic innovation of secular rap, simply because the groups don’t have such strong competition. Frequently, Christian rap falls somewhere between old school hip-hop and the rap of the late ‘80s (AllMusic.com: 2015).

While this might have been true for the early years of the genre, Christian rap has matured and evolved into a diversity of styles, often reflecting the changing tastes and trends of secular rap. Among prolific Christian rap groups and artists are the gangsta influenced Gospel Gangstaz from Los Angeles, the Philadelphia-based Cross Movement and Southern rapper Lecrae. The influential gospel artist Kirk Franklin also regularly features rap in his repertoire. In this section I have chosen two central groups in Christian rap, pioneering dc Talk and Grits, both successful outside the Christian music industry. Also, I have included two female rappers, MC Ge Gee and Elle R.O.C. Female

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Christian rappers are few in number and seldom featured in Christian music magazines or web portals.17 While some are featured as regular members of rap groups, MC Ge Gee and Elle R.O.C. are among the very few who have put out solo albums. 5.3.1 Free At Last: dc Talk Among the first Christian groups to emerge with a musical blend that included rap was dc Talk, founded in the late 1980s by Toby McKeehan, Michael Tait and Kevin Max. They met at Liberty University, founded by conservative evangelical preacher Jerry Falwell. As Erika D Gault points out, conservative evangelical preaching has had a strong influence on dc Talk (Gault: 2013, 173 f). Their first two albums, DC Talk (1989) and Nu Thang (1990) present a popinfluenced rap style heavy on synthesizer riffs and catchy, melodic hook lines. Free At Last (1992) became their commercial breakthrough, earning them several awards, including a Grammy for “Best Rock Gospel Album” in 1994. Here, their sound is rougher, combining elements of rock and dance music while still maintaining a connection to rap. With its new and daring sound, it is regarded as a milestone in contemporary Christian music. An even bigger commercial success was Jesus Freak (1995). At this time their musical transformation into a rock band was complete. Each of the band members has since pursued a solo career. Toby McKeehan has released a couple of hip-hopinfluenced albums as Toby Mac. He is also the founder of Gotee Records, which houses several Christian rap artists, including Verbs (Knowdaverbs) and Grits.

5.3.1.1 Decent Christian Talk dc Talk simply means “decent Christian Talk, as they explain in “When DC Talks” (Nu Thang): D is for Decent I mean what I say but obscene – I don’t play that way C is for Christ to the I-A-N That’s right y’all, I am born again Talk’s my tool, my gift to use

Instead of bad language, such as the “n” word, they use Christian words that might appear just as provocative to the secular music industry, like the “J” word. On their reworking of the Doobie Brothers’ “Jesus Is Just All Right” 17 Rapzilla.com, a site dedicated to Christian rap artists, once had a list of Christian rappers with 81 entries, of which only two were female. http://www.rapzilla.com/artists.htm (accessed Oct. 11, 2005).

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(from Free At Last), Toby Mac explains: “I did use the ‘J’ word, ‘cause I ain’t too soft to say it, even if DJ’s don’t play it.” dc Talk’s mission, to present a kind of rap with “decent Christian talk” is further elaborated on “I Luv Rap Music” (Nu Thang), where they confess their love of rap music. The song is introduced by a voice shouting through a megaphone: “There are people out there, giving rap a bad name. Well I’m here to let you know, we ain’t down with that.” This is followed by an explanation of what hip-hop is, “ya sort of talk lyrics to rhythm and rhyme.” Some rappers preach, others play, but all share the same roots, they have some “common ground.” dc Talk might adhere to Christian ethics, but not to bourgeoisie life style. For instance, they don’t mind shaking up the neighborhood by turning up the volume, because they love the “def hip-hop sound, hyped up bass with a tiny snare, the sub woofer makes ya neighbor stare.” They can appreciate old school features like the human beat box, as well as new forms, as hip-hop has “moved from the block, some mix it with soul and some mix it with rock.” But the art form that started out as the voice of the streets – a “politics to a ghetto beat” – has been corrupted. Now, rappers brag about girls, cars and jewelry with obscene lyrics. For dcTalk, Jesus Christ is the solution, as he not only came into their hearts and made a “brand nu start,” but he also enabled them to fulfill their dream, to make “hip-hop music with a Christian theme.” Christ makes hip-hop more decent. On the other hand, hip-hop is a gift from God, offering new ways to express faith. In “Nu Thang” (Nu Thang), dc Talk hears hip-hop as a sonic sign that God is doing something new. Throughout history, God remains the same and does not change. But God “knows the time” and makes change. This is humorously pointed out in dc Talk’s eight-word short history of music: there has been a change “from harp to piano, from song to rap.” God is making changes in the lives of dc Talk’s members, enabling them to do new things musically, as proclaimed in the chorus: “ God is doin’ a nu thang through our music. We’re doin’ a nu thang so he can use it.” dc Talk put the gospel to new rhythms, they also fashion their preaching in hip-hop lingo. Like other MC’s, they are boasting, but they “brag about Christ, yo, here’s a dose. So loud and proud for the God I serve.” The dominant theme of “Free At Last” (Free at Last) is Christian freedom, being “free from my past” and “free from sin,” but also free from the old and stale ways of traditional worship. A mock service introduces the song; a fast talking preacher with a Southern accent suggests that his congregation “turn their hymnals to page 333.” The congregation is led by “sister Mildred” doing a halting rendition of the traditional African American spiritual “Free at Last.” Dc Talk enters with their rhythmically infectious “nu sound.” The lead rapper confesses that he “once was lost,” but now he is “free at last.” Life was hell before he fell upon his “knees and prayed.” He is now forgiven, “living like a man full of Jesus.” And it is not only about conversion in a traditional sense. He has also found “a nu sound,” something that gets him “jumpin,” something he could not find in the traditional church. This new sound, however, is not a total

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break from tradition, as this might be the most gospel-flavored song in the entire repertoire of dc Talk. There is the characteristic Hammond B3 organ sound, a gospel choir and a chorus with harmonic changes typical of contemporary gospel. They also link to African American prophetic tradition, as they sample from Martin Luther King’s famous “I Have a Dream” speech, where he concludes by referring to the very song dc Talk began with: …when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: “Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”18

Being a racially mixed group, dc Talk has actively spoken out against racism. “Walls” (Nu Thang) starts with another Martin Luther King sample: “We have come to the conclusion that segregation is not only sociologically unjust, but morally wrong and sinful.” dc Talk responds, “it’s time for God’s people to take a stand… brother to brother, black to white.” There is a “battle of minds” and no time for debates. They are on a mission to tear “down the walls of segregation.” To “label churches by color ain’t nothin’ but wrong,” they state, criticizing the historical as well as present segregation of church. It’s time to become living examples, to show brotherly love, because we are “together on earth, we’ll be together above.” We are “in the same crew, singing the same song,” and the common bond between all people is “the father of men.” Thus, a man should not be judged by his skin, since God “views a man by what’s held within.” dc Talk tell us to be Christ-like, “brothers and sisters in one accord,” with a joking twist on the “black sheep” metaphor: “yo, we’re the sheep, and the shepherd’s the lord/So whether black sheep, white sheep, or even swirl/ God watches over all the sheep of the world.”

5.3.1.2 Love, sex and marriage dc Talk’s conservative evangelical background shines through when it comes to sex and marriage. On “I Don’t Want It” (Free At Last), they make clear that sex outside marriage is not good. The chorus simply states “I don’t want it, I don’t want your sex for now, I don’t want it ‘til we take the vows.” The lead vocalist sings through a megaphone, making a vivid sound image of how he keeps pre-marital sex at a distance. Furthermore, he does not pronounce the word “sex,” he spells it. Although the spelling of words or parts of words is a common practice by rappers, here it makes the word sound like a disease, like AIDS. He confesses that “S-E-X” puts him to a test when he is pressed. He asks 18 There are two hymns called “Free at Last.” The one King is referring to, and which provides the textual basis of dc Talk’s chorus, is different from the one sung in the introductory skit. For King’s version, see number 116 in This Far By Faith (1999). The other can be found as nr. 293 in Lead Me, Guide (1987).

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to “back up off with less of that zest.” If a girl wants to impress him, she has to do it with “a life of virtue.” Otherwise, she will find out that the loss of innocence will hurt her, because even “safe sex” is not safe today. Women should wait “for the mate that’s straight from God” and not have sex until they “tie the knot.” In the next verse, also sung, he states that sex is more than the fulfilling of sexual needs. The cure for the “disease of lust” is respect. Only God above shapes harmony in relationships. Instead of “indulging in the heat for now,” it is better to trust God, because he will offer “something better if we wait.” Thus, the rapper claims, he has chosen to wait because God has higher standards and requires purity. Men, too, should beware of tempting women. “That Kinda Girl” tells the story of an unsuccessful date. The lead rapper meets a girl that seems so nice, asks for her “digits” – her telephone number – and invites her out a couple of days later. He brings her to the “Garden, where I guess they grow the Olives,” which soon turns out to be his personal Garden of Eden. Here, the girl is put to a test – a test she fails. It turns out that she likes to smoke and drink and she was “cursing like a sailor” and wore a “tighter skirt than any I had seen in college.” When he thinks it’s time to say goodnight and shows her the door, she tempts him like a modern day Eve, “I am an apple, would you care to take a bite?” He refuses politely, telling her that he is “looking for a lady” and gets slapped in his face. As he states in the chorus, he is looking for “that kinda girl, different from the ones before, cause I know she loves the Lord… virtuous in every way.” So, looking for a perfect girl, “a bonafide lady” and not a “girly of the worldly that’s shady,” he turns to his Bible and finds the description of the woman he wants: So I open up the Word to the Book of Proverbs The 31st chapter tells me all about her Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain A woman who fears the Lord, she ain’t playin’

All he has to do is praying; God will find someone for him that will last “a little longer than a roll in the hay.” And he avows that he will treat her right, “fulfilling all her needs, love her and respect her, cherish her forever.”

5.3.1.3 Time and the World Evangelical Christian theology emphasizes life in this world as preliminary, as a preparation for the next world. If we are living right in this world, we will avoid eternal damnation and reach heavenly salvation. This theme is also present in dc Talk’s work, although relatively few of their songs explicitly concern the final times. As their first single makes clear, there can be no doubt that Christians are “Heavenbound,” as one of their tracks is titled. “Final

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Days” (DC Talk) explicitly announces that Armageddon and Judgment Day are coming close: When I walk through this world livin’ day to day I see the people, hear what they have to say Take a look at the ethics, morals, and goals Makin’ gods outta men that rock ‘n roll Like Sodom and Gomorrah, this world will fall Total destruction, destiny of all Who have mocked the name of Jesus, the Savior and Lord In the battle of Armageddon and a two-edged sword

Thus, the task of a true MC is “ Rappin’ hard for the one who deserves the best/ Speakin’ rhymes that will try and put your heart to test.” In later works, dc Talk emphasize the importance of living right now, to let Jesus into your life and use the limited time you have in the service of God. “70 years is all we got,” dc Talk declares on “Things of This World” (Nu Thang). The first twenty years we go to school, then we get thirty years to apply what we have learned, and “just 20 years left for askin’ why.” The title refers to 1. Cor 1:28, “God chose things despised by the world, things counted as nothing at all, and used them to bring to nothing what the world considers important.” So, dc Talk concludes, whatever we do for ourselves in this world will pass, but what we do for Christ will last. They know that this is difficult to follow, as “everyday life seems to get in the way.” Greed, for instance, makes it hard to follow Christ, as “the problem starts when the money has you/Workin’ overtime to keep up with the pace/A lifestyle that you want to embrace.” Embracing riches would lead you to “gain the whole world and yet lose ya soul,” a reference to Mark 8:36. Referring to yet another biblical word, Matt 6:19, dc Talk asks us not to “lay up your treasures upon this Earth.” Dc Talk only rarely quotes texts from the Bible at length, nor do they refer to exact passages. Still, their lyrics are embedded in biblical metaphors, like the Shepherd. And echoed throughout the song is the notion from Gal 3:28 that there is no longer Jew or Greek, man or woman; all are one in Christ. 5.3.2 Grits and the Art of Translation Like dc Talk, Coffee and Bonafide of Grits are among the few Christian rappers gaining recognition in secular rap media. Originally from Atlanta and Florida, respectively, they both met as dancers for dc Talk, and formed Grits in 1993 after moving to Nashville, Tennessee. Two years later, their first album was released. With Grammatical Revolution (1999) and Art of Translation (2002), they gained wider recognition. The most recent release currently is Quarantine (2010). On the earlier albums they playfully integrate elements from blues and country, while impulses from electronica and southern rap are

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evident on later works. They have won several Dove awards and shared the stage with Ice Cube, De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest. Like many of their secular colleagues, they have also launched their own clothing line. A rarety in Christian rap is Grits’ celebration of geographical origins, incorporating southern flavors in their art. Their name refers to an iconic, hominy maize-based side dish in southern cuisine served in the states often referred to as the “grits belt.”19 They joke about their roots in a skit on Grammatical Revolution. As a banjo plays in the background, a man asks if they are a “food group.” Upon learning that they are a rap group, he lets them know that Tennessee is the “country music capitol of the world.” Tennessee is also the capitol of what is called contemporary Christian music, CCM for short. In an interview with Christianity Today, Grits expresses criticism of CCM and the Christian music industry for being both conservative and racist. “There’s a blatant division within our industry,” says Bonafide, in the “Christian music industry, everything’s predominantly white. Black music doesn’t really exist in that genre.” He continues: “I’m going to be real with you. We’ve been told our stuff is too urban, that it doesn’t fit the format… And that’s basically telling us, “You’re too black”(Farias: 2004). G.R.I.T.S is also an acronym, “Grammatical Revolution In The Spirit,” revealing the true purpose of the group – a revolution through language, through their craft as rappers, in the spirit. Their skills as rappers are perfected through God, through Jesus Christ. At the same time, they acknowledge fun as an important part of life. “People slave at their jobs all week long. When they get out to kick it, they want to kick it hard, and they need the music to match how they’re feeling,” says Bonafide (grits7.com: 2005).

5.3.2.1 Hip-hop is a God inspired art form Grits states the seriousness of their art on the opening track of Grammatical Revolution, “IMA Showem.” Against “the loudmouths of hip-hop who claim they built it,” Coffee argues, “Hip-hop is a God inspired art form.” Their album is “three times dope,” inspired by the Trinity, but not at all soft, because they spit with a force of a “county sheriff.” Like Jesus, Grits brings the sword and not peace. “Soundcheck,” from the same album, starts with a plea to the sound technician to turn the volume up, “just ‘cause we’re Christians don’t mean we don’t want it loud.” The chorus makes it clear that they “want the levels pumpin’, the monitors tweakin.’” Only then can people hear the other MC present, Jesus Christ: “Turn up the first mic, so we can hear Him speaking.” In the first verse, Coffee offers a story of conversion. He was “living life with no regard to mental health” he was “into self” looking for glory, wealth and consumption, doing “90 down Hell’s highway.” 19 A dish I became familiar with during my year-long stay in New Orleans 1986. hominy grits are often served with eggs and bacon for breakfast.

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But now, he has found his thrill “apart from Blueberry Hill,” jokingly referring to a Southern classic popularized by Louis Armstrong and Fats Domino. Having found faith through the “trials and tribs of life,” he now offers godly lessons that will make people jump. In his verse, Bonafide describes Grits’ mission as similar to that of John the Baptist, being “voices in the wilderness.” They are “consecrated visionaries” giving “any answers but salvation through repentance and deliverance.” As the song concludes, they point out that we have just experienced A Grammatical Revolution In the Spirit Grammatical meaning the words we say Revolution – to bring about change and the only way change will ever occur is in your spirit first before you can reflect it outwardly

“Here We Go” (Art of Translation) is introduced by a voice claiming “It’s gonna be a very big hit.” It is a bright and very danceable track, borrowing infectious Latin rhythms from a sample of “Linda Manigua” by Sidestepper, a Columbian band mixing Latin music with electronica (More Grip, 2000). Grits brags about poetic bravery, “words leap off pages hop on stages, we crazy, need to be locked in cages, raw, you feel it.” And as the chorus repeats, they will be “lockin’ down the joint ‘til the playa haters shut up” and “take you to outer limits flawless with no gimmicks imitate but can’t get it.” Still it is Jesus that makes their flow so good, as stated in the second verse: I was raised in the womb groomed by Christ with a gift to raise souls from the tomb

Others talk about changing the game, but sound the same. Their concepts, whether in lyrics, videos, clothing or rhyme, are weak. Grits, on the other hand, can “raise the dead,” with “rhymes so meaty like jambalaya,” referring to another dish popular in the South. 5.3.2.2 It Takes Love – marriage and broken relationships A few of Grits’ tunes relate to love and relationships, from the joy and excitement of courtship to the pain of broken relations. “Be Mine” is as close as one can get to a love song in hip-hop (Art of Translation). A romantic guitar sets the scene before a female voice joins Grits in the lilting, joyous groove of the chorus: “Hey baby, slow down, hold up, I want you to be mine. We can hook up, we can get married. This is my gift to you, my love is true. We can get married.” Falling in love is about attraction, vividly described in the first verse: “when I saw you I went berserk insane going looney and cartooney, so sue me you was a vision of beauty truly.” The purpose of falling in love is about forming a life-long relationship and marriage according to the Bible, “our

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blueprint is in Ephesians.” Eph 5:21–6:9 prescribes Christian marriage and the relationship between husband, wife and children. After the initial falling in love comes a period of prayer and testing, as described in the second verse: In the beginning I hesitated debated within my soul wrestling with my feelings of knowing if you was sent enduring the distance alone being content longing your presence believing that we was meant

This love is serious and destined to be a lasting relationship, “from here on out baby, it’s all about us.” It is about being “more than a baby’s mother,” being “beginning and end and better half of life, to be my lady, my lover, my best friend and wifey, hey!” Some relationships don’t last, even though children are involved; this is the subject of “It Takes Love” (Grammatical Revolution). The chorus, sung by a female voice, uses water as a metaphor for love, “still waters run deep, muddy waters won’t keep.” Love can be tough, and “Heaven knows it’s not enough” but “still waters will run deep if in You my faith I keep.” The water metaphor has several biblical parallels, often implying the word or the love of God (Ps 1; Ps 23:2; John 4:1–42; Rev 22:1). In Grits’ chorus, “still waters running deep” connotes a deep, enduring love, like the love of God, while “muddy waters” seems to connote superficial love, tainted with worldly desires. Coffee starts out describing an obsession “with outside appearance and what I saw facially,” leading to short termed relationships. Emotions might be stirred up “like an engine,” but “soon she jet, I shoot for the exit myself, a quick outro.” Bonafide laments the painful consequences of a broken relationship, “how do I begin, dealin’ with the past, guilty of sin, though I know I’m not enslaved by his power, deep inside my soul I’m free.” He is not the only one to blame, but “still feel the shame.” It is especially painful to be separated from his children: Frustration got me burnin from degrees of separation cause my knees put a distance in between a close relation with my children, in a physical sense contact is limited to often as possible, visits and phone conversation

But this is not the same as being there, letting his presence be felt “to save the claim that I was dad.” He feels the sadness of the “outcome of the madness with me and momma.” However, his tone is not judgmental. They all “face the drama through faith.” God heals. Grits clearly promotes marriage and traditional Christian family values, but at the same time they acknowledge that relationships sometimes break up, and assert that healing is possible.

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5.3.2.3 Spiritual Struggle Christian faith does not necessarily make life easier. Grits reports inner struggles, doubt and temptation. They make clear that faith is also spiritual warfare. “Realize it’s not against the flesh, it is war against spiritual darkness and principalities,” as they state in “Strugglin” (Grammatical Revolution). A guitar slightly out of sync, intricate drum beats, a constant shift between two chords and an insistent piano line create a feeling of unrest. The song describes the spiritual struggle of a man from two perspectives, from within as described by himself and from without as he is observed by another person. Guest rapper Enormous voices the anxieties of the struggling man. He knows that there are things about society that he is unable to change and that life has not turned out the way he planned it. He is in pain, “lost my mom and dad left me stranded.” Feeling abandoned and believing he is a burden, he starts to drink and smoke, “thinkin’ Mary Jane would ease the pain” – Mary Jane being slang for marijuhana. He keep his “brain from wonderin’ about the rain that was thunderin, ‘till I was bumblin’, stumblin’ with the beast.” Bonafide takes the outside perspective, “I saw you in adolescence feeling depressed, reflecting the evidence of stress, rejection and disrespect by your facial expression.” He sees distress in the other man’s eyes, senses that he is like a wounded soldier. Since he is “in the ministry of salvation,” he knows there is hope even in dark hours, “God works in mysterious ways and times and most serious days.” If you give your life to God, you can trust that “His spirit will be your guidance as His angels surround you in battle in holy alliance.” Knowdaverbs, another guest rapper, concludes the song by giving advice: if you see superman or Zorro on the corner, don’t start to fight with them. Likewise, if you want to wrestle with God, you had better bring a crutch for your hip, referring to the story of Jacob wrestling with God in Gen 32:24–32. Better yet, “make a request – not mine but thy will be done.” He has run from God himself, seeking fame. But now he has had “five nights to think in the guts of sea mammals.” That is, just like Jonah, who also tried to avoid the will of God and had to spend three days and nights in the belly of the whale (Jonah 2). “Return of the Antagonist” (Grammatical Revolution) reports how the devil works in the Christian music industry. Typical sound effects of horror movies, like high-pitched eerie voices, deep “evil” laughter and dissonant piano chords set the mood for a fight between good and evil. “The Antagonist has got me locked in the room, the door shuts behind me… I hear a fiendish laugh cause I’m still giving half,” states the chorus. It implies that when you are not wholeheartedly dedicated to your mission, you are still vulnerable to the Antagonist, testing you for every weak spot in your spirit. Bonafide reports that when he came to Nashville, he didn’t know “the legend of the serial spiritual murderer,” who “thrived on those who’s calling was music ministry.” The Antagonist is spotted “several times during GMA week,” referring to GMA

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Dove Week arranged by the Gospel Music Association. He appears as a friend or business acquaintance, at lunch meetings or recording studios, “waiting for the point of vulnerability.” There are voices telling him to give up, to choose between “darkness and light, good and bad don’t mix, either black or white.” A low-pitched voice, the Antagonist, says, “follow me completely and the world is yours, you’ll never get ahead trying to worship some lord.” Suddenly, lightening strikes and an image of lights appears through a foggy haze. The Antagonist is told to get behind and bow, while Bonafide must make a choice: “lay your life down or be spat from my mouth, Hypocrisy is one of the sins I most hate. Don’t become a victim of the Antagonist.”

5.3.2.4 The End Several rappers releasing music at the end of the 1990’s were inspired by the millennial shift to make eschatological statements. Grammatical Revolution, released in 1999, features both “Millennium” and “The End.” “Millennium” is funky and uncompromising. The chorus adds a rhythmical effect by repeating the last words of the concluding line, providing a jagged offbeat: Wells spring forth What did you bring forth All this time you had Millennium arrival All I really really wanna see see is is (2x)

It’s “the last days,” Coffee announces in his otherwise enigmatic verse, “rebuke the adversary/The world shoot their flatulent blend with commentary 1–9–9–9.” He concludes, “who survived this when the smoke settles and the air clears/You’re face to face with your worst fears.” Bonafide warns of the moral state of this world as the new millennium is approaching, “too many sleeping, nobody trying to awaken, worshiping Satan.” Many are in “a house divided/Righteously unabiding/Religiously reunited/to the flesh love.” This is even true of people who once were believers, who “used to be dedicated and word related.” Now, they “gave up your first love, cursed by complacency.” But, as he concludes, it is their choice; they can choose their “final destiny.” “The End” imagines the final days of judgment, rich with references to the Book of Revelation. An acoustic guitar opens with a dreamy, meditative feel, contrasted with aggressive drum programming. Rapid-fire delivery of lyrics underlines the urgency of the message. “All of a sudden, out of nowhere,” Bonafide begins, “the moon turns redder than blood/Stars disappear, city blacks out,” referring to the opening of the sixth seal in Rev 6:12–13

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When he opened the sixth seal, I looked, and there came a great earthquake; the sun became black as sackcloth, the full moon became like blood, and the stars of the sky fell to the earth as the fig tree drops its winter fruit when shaken by a gale.

Bonafide describes an apocalyptic situation, with bodies falling down from the sky, screams and sirens are sounding, voices shout in terror. He wonders, “could it be the thief in the night,” as in 1. Thess 5:2: “For you yourselves know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night.” More scenes from the Revelation are rolled up: the noun pull the veil back and feeling the truth The second coming The sky cracks, chariots rollin’ And with the fire rushin’ through the earth and angels and armies Surrounding cemeteries, bodies raising up out of their graves And my amazement, the sound of trumpets blew

Here we are approaching the final battle and ultimate test, the first six of seven trumpets have been blown, as described in Revelation 11. The imagery is as bloody, scary and violent as in any gangsta rap, but referring to what’s going on in the final days, not in the urban jungles of today. While Grits might share some of the evangelical theology with their label mates dc Talk, they seem more grounded in hip-hop culture. They embrace the art of rhyme with a Southern flavor. Despite the appealing and dance-friendly sounds, their beats and rhymes are complex and intricate, with lyrics often delivered at a fast pace. As with dc Talk, Grits’ message is in line with evangelical Christianity, but a bit edgier both in their envisionment of Judgment and in their warning to Christians and the Christian music industry.

5.3.3 The Continued Mission of MC Ge Gee MC Ge Gee, credited as the “first female in Christian rap music,” is one of very few women releasing solo albums, with I’m For Real (1990) and And Now The Mission Continues (1991) (Carpenter: 2003).She was born in The Bronx and raised in Dallas where her parents, both former gang members, ran an inner city outreach program. Cookie Rodriguez, her mother, wrote a widely distributed book about her former gang life and conversion to Christianity, Please Make Me Cry (1974). Musically, MC Ge Gee draws from a diversity of sources, with a lively mixture of melodic samples and live instrumentation. Of Puerto Rican descent, she celebrates Latino American musical heritage on the salsa-inflected “Latino Style” (I’m For Real), while “Let There be Light” is scored in a contemporary gospel setting with organ, a big choir and shouting voices (And Now The Mission…). Her topics range from praise raps to tracks

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addressing issues such as violence, the lack of trust and the spiritual warfare between good and evil.

5.3.3.1 A continued mission MC Ge Gee’s made And Now The Mission Continues in memory of her brother, D-Boy Rodriguez, a pioneer of Christian Hip-hop shot to death in 1990. The album cover features a poem she read at his funeral. He is portrayed as a peaceseeking poet, filled with wisdom and following the path of God. His life was pure, MC Ge Gee states; he “let the world know that God is the cure.” For him, there will be no more pain and tears, and MC Gee knows that she will see him again. His life was not in vain, as his art and work changed the lives of many others and she carries on what he began: Please stand with me now and this day forth As I rap our music and carry your torch My eyes are open and now I see Exactly what you and God want from me

The album’s opening track, “I Caught The Mic” elaborates on this theme, as she now holds the microphone passed on to her by her brother. The funky, hard-hitting music, bass-heavy with sharp wind riffs and a soaring alto saxophone solo, underscore the seriousness of her mission. Now MC Ge Gee is in charge; people say she is “soundin’ more like him every day,” and they are still a team even though he has passed away: We always said we’d do it together And now my brother, we’re harder than ever That part of you that I asked God for Is in me now and seven times more

On the streets, her brother was urging people to “cease for peace,” he was like a prophet who “warned of the last days.” Working and preaching among troubled people, he told them that God was still waiting for them, “calling them back home, while they were out on their own. His style was hardcore, he “busted out with shout,” almost “bassed my speakers out” sending “those demons back to Hell.” With the death of her brother, Satan “thought he snatched it.” But he was fooled, as MC Ge Gee now holds the mic and continues her brother’s mission. “Christian rap is here to stay, she asserts, and Christian rappers will continue to help saving lives.” The devil is out there to kill and destroy,” but now the curse “has been turned upside down” as MC Ge Gee has caught the mic and is ready to fight the Devil, or the “silly rabbit.” In “Soul Sister,” she rapidly spits her words out against Satan over a similarly funky, bass-driven track. Satan will soon be eliminated, because she

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is the one who holds the mic, with “so much juice from my Heavenly Father.” MC Ge Gee “disses” Satan as a lousy, pretentious rapper: Yo! Satan, hum why even bother Take a step back you kool-aid rapper Gee’s on the scene Yo Satan wanna cracker?

In the spiritual battle between MC Ge Gee and Satan, Satan will loose. When she’s “done rappin’” his “life will be through, left without a clue.” There is no point in grabbing the mic if you don’t have anything to say, states MC Ge Gee in “What do You Have To Say,” because “there’s plenty of air blowin’ around today.” The difference between good and fake hip-hop is found in the message; either you are with God and have something to say or you go with the fake and superficial ways of Satan. If you get things straight with God, “God will anoint every word and every syllable that’ll flow as you grow” and “fill your mouth with words of love.” God’s words are different, “not that artificial stuff that fills the minds of so many people.” You need to “pray for the light and pray for the guide, then you are ready to show the world that you have somethin’ to say, to all those searchin’ in the world today.” The determined funk groove, beginning with a screaming horn riff, underlines the realness of her message. The featured scratching implies core hip-hop values – this is not pop, but the real thing. 5.3.3.2 Praise, love and trust MC Ge Gee positions herself as a qualified rapper and outlines what “true hiphop” is about, seen in the context of Christian faith. But she also deals she deals more explicitly with matters of faith. “Everybody Up” can be labeled a “praiserap,” with Psalm 150 as its starting point. This psalm is especially appealing to musicians, as it calls for praise with trumpet sounds, lute and harp, tambourine and dance, clanging and loud clashing cymbals (Ps 150:3–5). MC Ge Gee summons to “move to the groove” of “one-five-o,” substituting the instruments of this psalm with and breaks, guitar riffs and deep thumping bass. The “Bonds of Satan must be severed” with “songs of praise to the glorious Father.” As we seek the rock, there will be no more tears, but “triumphant days and glorious times.” The praise of Psalm 150 is aligned with Christian doctrine, as “it was finished when He died on the cross, the cost was paid when He gave His life.” Thus, the psalm will give comfort for “those endless nights and countless days.” “Love is the Answer” addresses the hate of the world, “spreading like cancer.” Nations are fighting nations, brothers fight their brothers, we live in a world of “segregation and hate.” Some say they don’t care, but they should look into the eyes of the children, because “they’re the one’s that suffer as the world gets tougher.” The answer to this situation is “so simple, why must we

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complicate?” The love of God is the answer, “whatever the question.” God offers love and peace, the answers for our future. God is crying as he looks down on us and tries to “help stop this madness.” God meets us with open arms, but people turn their back on him. All we have to do is turn around and listen and start “believin’ the answer is love”; she asks us to “align our heart, then assign your thoughts to the one’s you’ve got.” In this way, God’s love works through his people. A heavy rock-styled guitar is featured throughout the song. In an instrumental part towards the end, the guitarist quotes “Over The Rainbow”, jokingly implying that the kingdom of God is that land “over the rainbow” where “skies are blue and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.”20 MC Ge Gee’s social critique is at its most compelling in “Trust.” Through the fate of three young persons, she describes how fatal lack of trust can be. The first verse tells the tale of a young girl, Nicky, who is found dead one day. People say she died from using crack, but MC Ge Gee holds that the deeper reason was her lack of someone to trust. As she retells Nicky’s story, she points to how her alcohol and drug-abusing parents instilled in her a lack of trust in other people. “Since your first day of life you knew nothin’ but pain, your mom hit the bottle and your pops blew the cane.” Her best friends became “fear and doubt.” She needed somebody to care, but “when the party was over nobody was there.” MC Ge Gee wonders what kind of “lonely thoughts” ran through Nicky’s mind when she smoked crack for the last, fatal time. As she concludes, “people said Nicky just had hard luck, but all she ever wanted was a little bit of trust.” Biff seems to be better off, being a star on his basketball team; “everything in his life seemed to be going so right.” But he also has problems with trust. He tells his parents that he is happy, but that is not true. He doesn’t want to live: “As he pressed the gun to the top of his head, he shivered, pressed the trigger and fell down dead.” Nobody could understand why he took his own life, but if someone had told him he could trust them, he “would have opened up and said, someone help me.” The church can also be lacking in trust, as MC Ge Gee demonstrates in the third and final verse. A young woman comes to church, looking helpless but not knowing who to ask for help. She is a mother of three, left by her husband, alone with the hard work of childrearing. What she should have done, according to MC Ge Gee, was speak up in church, but how could she? How could she trust a church full of gossip; all she ever “heard about the churches in town, is that they like to throw rocks when you already down.” MC Ge Gee asks the people of God to “prove the sister wrong” and show her some love. They have to “put the petty stuff aside” and “stop acting so cold and self-righteous.” The loss of her brother gives MC Ge Gee a sense of an ongoing mission; she starts off where he left. God is with her in the spiritual battle against Satan. She is engaged in what’s going on around her, speaking up against segregation and 20 By Harold Arlen and E. Y. Harburg, sung by Judy Garland in the film The Wizard of Oz.

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hate, and she criticizes self-righteous congregations. Her mission is also musical; taking her cue from Psalm 150, she offers danceable grooves in a variety of styles. 5.3.4 Femcee representative of Christ: Elle R.O.C Compared to other Christian rappers, Elle R.O.C. is remarkably less interested in apologetics about being both a Christian and a hip-hopper. As she presents herself, she is a “femcee representative of Christ.” Her first exposure on the rap scene was as a member of Sound of the Rebirth, a collective of Atlanta-based Christian rappers, and she has appeared on various compilations. In 2002 she released I Die Daily and received a Holy Hip-Hop Award. Her second album Soul Therapy (2007) was released online. 5.3.4.1 Breathing holy hip-hop every day Most of I Die Daily is devoted to issues concerning faith and Christian life, with lyrics infused with imagery and concepts from traditional Christian hymnody and preaching. But she is not just preaching over rhythms. Her vocal style is characterized by rapid-fire delivery, clever rhymes accompanied by highly danceable tracks. Some tracks are jazz-influenced, with live instrumentation including piano, drum kit, saxophone and bass. Others lean towards old school esthetics, with spare tracks emphasizing programmed drums. When she occasionally makes a distinction between “Christian” and “secular” hip-hop, she rarely focuses on herself and her skills, but rather on the life-giving qualities of “holy hip-hop” implemented by a God who is “fresh” and “cool.” “Rewind” is the closest Elle R.O.C. gets to a “boast rap.” The main focus is still on Jesus. He is “the center of attention every time I do a show, cuz He’s captivating elevating on the mic.” Thus, she is “funky fresh cuz he set me free,” and the reason for her rapping is to tell others about him. On “Inhale 2 Exhale,” Elle R.O.C. mourns the state of secular hip-hop. The track has a distinct jazz flavor, sampling a big band riff that is repeated throughout, accompanied by heavy scratching. “This daily inhalation of the secular has taken its toll,” she complains, and regrets buying records just because of their “tight sound.” Thus she has been “supporting garbage instead of just ignoring ‘em.” Herself, she is like M&M’s, the famous chocolate candies with “hard exterior but soft interior,” coming “off hard yet remain feminine.” She is flowing “like your adrenaline.” As Elle R.O.C. finds many negative images in hip-hop, she questions whether she is able to avoid “the babbling profane, the unrighteous domain” or if she lacks control over the graphics “embedded” in her mind. Her point is made clear in the final verse: “what comes in, must come out, watch what enters your head.” The solution is to

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“ingest the scripture with a 50/50 mixture of prayer.” If she inhales the divine, her spirit will be lifted. The sampled voice in the chorus repeats “I breathe holy hip-hop every day.” 5.3.4.2 Faith, love and relations Elle R.O.C. offers a personal side in a couple of songs with biographical elements. Here, glimpses of a living faith are offered without denying the practical and emotional difficulties in a life with Christ. She remembers her now deceased grandmother in “So Beautiful.” Her grandmother provided a childhood of “love and encouragement.” Her Sunday dinners helped keep the family together, and Elle R.O.C. has fond memories of “macaroni and cheese, cornbread and desserts always seemed to please.” She describes her grandmother as a generous person, feeding those who were in need, and “a light unique beauty woman of virtue who continued speaking life and blessings.” From her, she learned that “it’s not about me this life I live, it’s for the Lord.” In the final verse, Elle R.O.C. describes how hard it was to watch the final stages of her grandmother’s sickness, but she is confident that God has a “greater plan in store. He would “take you from this evil world and give you much more, like healing and deliverance a body that’s new.” As she concludes, “to be absent from the body is to be present with God.” This time, the death of the body and life in the Spirit, the “Old Man, New Man” theme of several of the other songs, is given a concrete and literal meaning. The physical body of her grandmother is actually dead, but her spirit lives on in the hearts and memories of those who loved her, and in the realization that she is “present with God.” Her relationship with Jesus Christ is described as a lifelong, but troublesome love story in “This Love of Mine.” The song is introduced by a jazzy piano introduction, quoting Beethoven’s “Für Elise.” “True Love never dies,” Elle R.O.C. declares, “even if it’s not reciprocated.” In the main body of the song she is accompanied by a live band, featuring a Hammond organ and saxophone as well as piano, drum-kit and bass in an up-tempo, gospel-like groove. She asks if this love of mine will stand the test of time, and starts reminiscing about her childhood and adolescence. Already as a little child, she tells us, her mother told her about Jesus: “mama always told me that His love was unconditional.” But as she grew older, she had other things on her mind and Jesus would have to wait: His presence was lovely why I treated him ugly Like a game of rugby I tried to play Him (…) Thought He was slowing down the process of my goal reaching I figured that He would distract me from what I was seeking And so I placed Him on the back burner told Him wait your turn So many other things have gotten my concern

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She thought his love was only about her and gave him “a cold shoulder,” going out “clubbing and partying.” Finally she learns that “relationships must be on foundations firm, emotions had me running back and forth like a pendulum.” She regrets the time she “spent running around and worrying about what everybody else was saying.” After thinking about all her love affairs, she now obeys the “voice of her first love,” an experienced lover: “I’ve finally found a winner who’s far from a beginner”, one who is not only willing to die for her, but has already done so. 5.3.4.3 Transformation through Christ Jesus Christ is Elle R.O.C.’s reason to rap, and the daily commitment to Jesus Christ is the overarching theme of the whole album. To be a Christian is to continually denounce the ways of the flesh and choose Christ daily. This is made clear from the beginning in the dramatically scored “Intro (The Decision).” Accompanied with synthesized strings and the sound of heartbeats, Elle R.O.C. announces with a heavily echoed voice that every morning when she wakes up, she has to make a choice – a choice between repeating yesterday’s mistakes or leaving her old ways behind, between walking in the Spirit or fulfilling “the lust of the flesh.” She has got a new perspective on life; when she saw the “world of divine peace and fulfillment” she found out that her life was empty. Now, it’s not about her anymore, but about the one who sends her. Without Christ we are bound to live in circles of sin and repeat our mistakes, a theme Elle R.O.C. explores further in “Circular Motion.” We live in a “world of corruption,” each generation is bound to make the same mistakes as earlier ones: “for every wrong, someone else has made it earlier.” She describes the fate of a young girl unable to hold on to a job. Just like her mother before her, she has a baby without knowing who the father is. The young girl is “just repeating all that she’s ever been shown or has ever known.” Elle R.O.C. warns parents that their children learn from their behavior: Where father does wrong then finds himself behind bars Son follows his footsteps but surpasses by far (…) Like mother like daughter like father like son From one generation to the next no change comes Nobody’s standing up and making right decisions So the result is worldwide massive family division

But it’s time to “break the chain of sin and break that generational curse.” It is time to put “faith to use” and “be like Enoch and Noah and take a walk with God.” To live in Christ is to be renewed and transformed, as explored in the title track “I Die Daily.” This is verbalized in a condensed form in the chorus, where Elle R.O.C. and guest rapper Dano exclaim: “I die daily being renewed and restored. Old Man, New Man, total transformation by my Lord.” Elle R.O.C.

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describes how “Satan is passing out invitations” leading to mortality. As you “get on his joy ride he’ll drop you at fatality.” She recognizes how she herself has been motivated by the “carnal living sin.” In Christ, there is “no condemnation,” but she still has to fight like an action hero: “Powers rising up against me like my name was Bond.” She has to “die to the flesh for another day is near.” In his verse Dano says, “I’m a dead man, dead men don’t chase fame (…) I’m a die daily so you can’t kill me.” The song echoes the Apostle Paul who, in Romans 6:1–11, explains how a baptism into Christ is also a baptism into his death, and that “our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin” (6:6). Similar ideas are expressed in the Letter to the Col 3:1–11, “you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God” (3:3) and “put to death, therefore, whatever in you is earthly” (3:5). The “Outro” is even more dramatically scored than the “Intro.” The strings and echoed voice are the same as on the “Intro,” but the heartbeats are substituted with the electronic beeps from an EKG monitor, indicating she is lying on her deathbed. At the end, there is one long beep, as the heartbeat stops and the body is dead. She is asking questions of judgment at the end of a life, “When all is said and done and you look back on your life, are you proud of your accomplishments?” and “what was your motive or goal, to make a name for yourself or promote the name of Jesus Christ?” She had to ask herself these questions and decided to “cut off the old man and put on the new.” Because, as she continues “if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the disease of the body, you will live.” “Thus,” she concludes, “I Die Daily.” The dramatic setting underlines the seriousness of Elle R.O.C.’s questions, which she urges us to ask ourselves while we are alive and there is time. In addition, it underscores Elle R.O.C.’s main point: the death of the body in the spirit. Elle R.O.C. is not so concerned with the end of her days, nor is she spending much time on Satan. She is focused on Jesus Christ, the love of her life. She is becoming new in Christ, immersed in him, thus breathing holy hip-hop every day. 5.3.5 Hip-hop Church In this final section, I would like to take a brief look at how hip-hop is put to liturgical use, how churches and ministries utilize hip-hop as part of their cultural expression. Not surprisingly, youth ministries across the United States approach hip-hop culture as a missiological strategy (cf. Smith/Jackson: 2005). The extent to which celebrity rap ministers like Reverend Run or Mase incorporate hip-hop in their ministries is unknown. “Being a prophet is not much different from being a rapper,” asserts Mase in his memoir, continuing, “to be a rapper you have to be able to speak in parables well. That’s the way Jesus spoke… A rapper is one who carries a message. He’s a prophet even if he

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doesn’t want to be a prophet” (Betha: 2001, 103). He envisions a church with Jay Z as evangelist, DMX doing ministry in jail, Nas as a deacon and Lil’ Kim taking care of the troubled women in the congregation (ibid., 104ff). One rapper turned minister that has brought hip-hop to church is Kurtis Blow. He was the first rapper to earn gold with his single “The Breaks,” the first to sign a record deal with a major label and also the first to release a rap album. He founded the “Hip Hop Church” at the Greater Hood Memorial AME Zion Church in Harlem. Together with Poppa T, he also helped establish the HipHopEMass (Negro: 2011).

5.3.5.1 HipHopEMass and the Hip Hop Prayer Book Initiated in 2004 by the Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania in the South Bronx, the HipHopEMass is dedicated to street ministry and reformulating traditional Christian worship and liturgy in hip-hop cultural expressions.21 It has since been celebrated all over New York and in other cities around the United States. Kurtis Blow was the first musical director. Its founder, Reverend Timothy Holder, or Poppa T as he calls himself in this context, is not the most likely choice as a hip-hop minister – a fact he is very aware of as he jokingly presents himself as “just your ordinary gay, white, Episcopal hip hop priest” (Holder: 2009, xiv). HipHopEMass is celebrated not only in churches, but also on the streets, in detention centers, parks and university campuses. The celebration involves rappers, DJ’s, dancers, graffiti artists and ministers as well as lay people. In the tradition of liturgical books such as the Anglican and Episcopal The Book of Common Prayer, The Hip Hop Prayer Book: The Remix contains prescriptions for the celebration of different rites, including Holy Eucharist and Holy Baptism, prayers and biblical passages – all reworked in a hip-hop fashion. The book also offers advice on how to celebrate the mass as well as meditations by invited authors on the meaning of the Gospel, church and worship in a hiphop context. Holder makes it clear that HipHopEMass and The Hip Hop Prayer Book are not intended to replace the Bible or The Book of Common Prayer, or to deter from traditional worship. It builds on community and heritage, and Holder underlines that it is not only urban, but also for the suburbs and countryside, as most of the music is sold to suburban youth. HipHopEMass is not entertainment or a curiosity, he states; it is “worship, High Altar and Low, inside and out, lost and redeemed, locked up and free. We are ‘re-born’ to and ‘re-mixed in’ the Love of God everyday” (Holder: 2009, xxiif). 21 When asked about the meaning of the “E” in “HipHopEMass, Reverend Timothy Holder responds, The ‘E’ is brand, yet interpreted freely by many in many ways: ‘Episcopal,’ ‘E-Communications,’ ‘God’s Love is For Everybody, Everywhere for Ever and Ever!’” Facebook correspondance, June 7, 2011.

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The liturgies of HipHopEMass follow more or less the structures of traditional liturgy, with an emphasis on praying in the hip-hop vernacular. Worship begins with procession; “Jesus Walks” by Kanye West is one of the suggested soundtracks (ibid., 148). The “presider” and an MC share the mic in the opening acclamation and prayer. After a reading from holy scripture, “Hip Psalmody” follows, including “Prayer for the Hood,” before a reading of the Gospel and Sermon, all accompanied by beats performed live or prerecorded. “The Altar Call” starts with prayers, anointing, baptism, confession of sin and absolution: “It’s cool! God forgives you + [cross sign] It’s a done deal!” Then there is a greeting of peace, “Yes, Yes, Y’all. The Peace of God is with You,” repeated by the MC and the congregation (ibid., 79 f). This is followed by the Eucharist, again flavored by hip-hop vernacular (ibid., 82 f): The Presider: Jesus stretched out His arms on the Cross, and offered Himself as a Sacrifice for the whole World. The night before He died for us, Our Lord Jesus Christ took Bread: He gave You Thanks, He Broke the Bread, He gave it to His Homies and said, “Take this and eat it. This is My Body, given for you. Do this and remember Me.” For this, God, we Praise You. Amen? The MC leads the congregation: WORD! Let the People say, We praise You, we Bless You! (We praise You, we Bless You!) We represent our love to You! (We represent our love to You!) The Presider: Jesus took the Cup of Wine: He gave You Thanks, He gave it to His Homies and said “Drink this all of you, This is My Blood given for you and All Peeps. Do this and remember Me.” For this, God, we Praise You! Amen ? The MC: WORD!…

The Communion might be accompanied by music, live or prerecorded. The worship ends with a blessing, such as the “Hip Hop Gospel Blessing:” “My Sistas and Brothas/Keep the Word at Heart! In the beginning was the Word/ And the Word was Hip Hop/And the Word was God/It Don’t Quit/And It Don’t Stop/God Blesses You in His Holy Name!/Amen! WORD!” The MC leads the

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rappers and the congregation in a “Recessional Hip” as “the People process into the World in celebrating the Love of GodHipHop!” (ibid., 87). The HipHopEMass as presented in The Hip Hop Prayer Book is integrating hip-hop in the liturgy in several ways. MCs and DJs are liturgical servants on the same level as the clergy, providing beats for the readings and prayers, sharing the mic with the presider and sometimes on their own in hymnody. Much of the liturgy is structured in a call and response form, inviting the congregation to participate. The few quotes illustrate how liturgical texts are adjusted to hip-hop vernacular with words and phrases like “WORD,” “homies,” “Sistas and Brothas” and “It Don’t Quit and It Don’t Stop.” Most striking, compared to most Christian rap, the emphasis is on geographical place, the neighborhood in which the mass takes place. “Know your ‘hood’ – it’s history, needs, capabilities and make-up – Walk your Parish!,” urges Poppa T. Thus, HipHopEMass as celebrated in the Trinity Episcopal Church honors the Bronx and the pioneers of hip-hop, including Kool dj Herc, Afrika Bambaataa and KRS One, as well as paying tribute to other hip hop legends like 2Pac and Notorious BIG. Christian rappers, as exemplified in this chapter, translate major doctrinal themes of Christian beliefs into hip-hop, such as sin, salvation through Christ and making the right choice in this life in order to stand tall on Judgment Day. While there is criticism of racism, injustice and materialism, social criticism is vague, formulated in general terms and with few calls for political action. HipHopEMass is not defined within the context of Christian rap. There is obviously a difference of formats. The venues of Christian rap are concert venues and festivals; HipHopEMass is liturgy taking place in church or in temporally designated liturgical spaces in prisons, youth clubs and so on. But HipHopEMass is also different in approach. It emphasizes the meaning of place, of actual neighborhoods and their people. It honors the makers of hiphop as prophets of the city. While the hope of the heavenly kingdom certainly is embedded in the liturgy and preaching of HipHopEMass, it does not leave this world behind. Chapter Summary Biblical scripture, hymnology and preaching are sources of inspiration, providing imagery, metaphors, concepts and phrases for both Christian rappers and those working in the “secular” realm. Lauryn Hill and 2Pac, however, wrestle with institutional and dogmatic Christianity, especially since it is tainted with a history of racism. Still, Lauryn Hill, while not being specific on her religious affiliation, has no doubt that God is on her side, struggling together with her. Her poetry is steeped in the urban landscapes surrounding her, rich with references to specific places and times. Her experiences, both in growing up and giving birth very much inform her uplifting spirituality. Musically, she draws from a vast African American and Afro-Diasporic

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heritage, including gospel, 1970s soul, reggae and hip-hop beats. Thus, her music becomes an intrinsic dimension of her spirituality. The works of 2Pac, most released posthumously, displays a contradicting mix of spiritual strategies, from nihilism to hope, from misogyny to uplifting praises of single mothers. Like Lauryn Hill, he draws from personal experience and tells vivid narratives of life in the ghetto, although he is less place-specific than her. In the tradition of the black power movement and the Black Messiah of Albert B. Cleage, 2Pac postulates a “Black Jesuz,” “Somebody that hurt like we hurt… that understand where we coming from.” Christian rap is, as Grits points to in one of their album titles, an “art of translation.” This is in itself an act of hybridization. Christian beliefs and concepts are translated into hip-hop, and – to a far lesser degree – concepts of hip-hop are translated into Christianity. While racism and unjust structures are also of their concern, Christian rappers are less specific in their critique of social, political and spiritual oppression. Their emphasis is on the internal struggle between good and evil, and their main point is to make the right choice, letting Jesus Christ into one’s life in order to gain heavenly salvation. Thus, they pay little attention to the concerns of this world. Compared to Lauryn Hill and 2Pac, Christian rappers provide little autobiography in their music except when describing internal, spiritual struggles. By contrast, the HipHopEMass, as formulated in The Hip Hop Prayer Book, is very much concerned with what’s going on in the local community, the actual struggles of people in the streets, the city and hip-hop, emphasizing the need for churches to “walk their parishes.” It is also an interesting example of a hip-hop spirituality that does not replace traditional religion but, on the contrary, merges age-old Episcopal liturgy with contemporary hip-hop culture. Thus, the HipHopEMass exemplifies yet another kind of hybridization, hybridization of city and church space, of vernacular and liturgical language, of hiphop and Anglican esthetic practices.

6. Allah U Akbar. Rap and Islam The breakthrough of rap and hip-hop culture coincides with Louis Farrakhan’s leadership and rebuilding of the Nation of Islam (NOI) from 1979 and onwards. Unlike many reverends of his generation in black churches, Farrakhan saw the importance of rap music and its influence on young people and became actively involved with the hip-hop community. In 1997, after the rivalry between East and West Coast rappers had resulted in the killings of 2Pac and Notorious BIG, Farrakhan initiated the Hip Hop Peace Summit, inviting rappers to settle their differences. The Hip Hop Summit has since become an annual event. Over the years, the NOI has also appointed hip-hop ministers, such as rapper Prince Akeem. Many rappers express respect for Farrakhan and regard him as a leader within the hip-hop community. Being a musician himself, Farrakhan was probably the first to rap NOI teachings over a beat in his calypso song “White Man’s Heaven is Black Man’s Hell.” “Our artists are the key – not only to the liberation of black people, but the liberation of humanity itself” he stated in a TV interview (Farrakhan: 2007). At the same time he is clear about his nationalistic agenda when addressing the issue of music and hip-hop culture. When rapper Foxy Brown appeared at one of his meetings, he pointed to how Mao Tse Tung involved artists during the Cultural Revolution: I just wanna to say, to our sister, the cultural community has the power to save the whole community. Because Mao Tse Tung, who had a billion Chinese, had the cultural community to transmit the ideas in song, in dance, in music, in plays, in ballet, and the whole country became united behind the cultural icons of that society. When you see your cultural giants [putting his arm on Foxy Brown] these are the gifted ones that God has allowed to come up now. Now they must be guided to use the gift that God has given them to awaken, inspire, and motivate a people to a greater good (Farrakhan: 2004).

Farrakhan is aware that artists do not necessarily want to be leaders, so he urges them instead to become teachers, and he will feed them with wisdom. The Nation of Islam and the Nation of Gods and Earths (NGE) were present in the hip-hop community from the beginning (Chang: 2005, 100; Allen, Jr.: 1996, 163). The influence from these movements is reflected in many ways, from dedications to the NOI, the NGE and people associated with them, to reproducing and interpreting doctrine in rap lyrics. It is not always a simple task, however, to distinguish the influence of the NGE from the NOI, as they share much of the same doctrine. Nor is it always possible to distinguish their black nationalist thinking and criticism of racism from that of other black nationalist movements. My focus, however, is not so much on categorizing the

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different doctrinal elements, but to see how these elements enable hybrid spiritualities of doctrine, rhyme and groove. In the bulk of this chapter, I will explore the influence of NOI and NGE on rap music. I begin with a study on possible NOI influences on Public Enemy, who pioneered message rap in the late 1980s. This is followed by a section on the NGE-inspired groups Brand Nubian and the Wu-Tang Clan. Then I look into areas that have been less explored in hip-hop scholarship. First a section on contributions by female rappers to the field of black nationalist and Islamic-influenced rap. Queen Yonasda and Erykah Badu are two very different artists who individually add new perspectives. Finally, I look at the growing influence of mainstream Islam on hip-hop through the work of Mos Def, also known as Yasiin Bey.

6.1 Walking with Farrakhan “Farrakhan’s a prophet and I think you ought to listen to/what he can say to you, what you ought to do,” states Public Enemy on “Bring The Noise” (It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, 1988). Together with Afrika Bambaataa, Ice Cube and Paris, they are among rap artists who have aligned themselves with NOI and Minister Farrakhan. The impact of NOI on rap music have been studied by several scholars (see Eure/Spady: 1991; Perkins: 1991, Decker: 1994; Allen, Jr.: 1996; Cheney: 2005; Alim: 2015). William Eric Perkins notes how “a generation of rappers has been nurtured” by certain notions of NOI ideology, such as “the redemptive function of Islam in providing spiritual basis for regenerating the African-American people” (Perkins: 1991, 45 f). Charise L. Cheney untangles the complicated web of influences from NOI and black nationalist movements on politically engaged rap (Cheney: 2005). Together with Joseph D. Eure and James G. Spady, H Samy Alim is exploring the impact of NOI with ethnographic approaches, interviewing performers on their relation to the NOI (Alim: 2015, Eure/Spady: 1991). To me, it seems that the influence of NOI on rap is not so much religious as it is political and social. Public Enemy, for instance, can criticize Christianity and the concepts of a God in the sky in the manner of NOI. But references to ritual and religious doctrine of NOI are rare. 6.1.1 Fear of a Black Planet: Public Enemy Public Enemy was probably the most significant political rap group of the 1980s and early 1990s with releases such as It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back (1988) and Fear of a Black Planet (1990). Their combination of fierce lyrical commentary and revolutionary imagery gave rap a potent political,

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albeit controversial, dimension. In a musical sense as well, they took rap to new terrains. Their production team, the Bomb Squad, composed intricate layers of samples combining a diversity of sound bits from avant-garde jazz to heavy metal. They are still active, releasing their fourteenth album Man Plans God Laughs in 2015. Chuck D and fellow band members Flavor Flav and Professor Griff have publicly supported the Nation of Islam and Minister Louis Farrakhan and over the years have been appearing at NOI events such as the Day of Atonement and the Million Man March (Chuck D: 1998, 18–21, 210; Eure/Spady: 1991, 311–23, 325–63). There are acknowledgements to the NOI, Louis Farrakhan and other prominent Islamic figures on their record covers. The Fruits of Islam have often provided security at Public Enemy concerts, and their uniforms and appearance have inspired Public Enemy’s own security group, Security of the 1st World. 6.1.1.1 Welcome to the Terrordome: Facing racism Racism works on many levels, from the individual to the collective, from the subliminal to the explicit, from how certain products are marketed to how the market itself is organized. Public Enemy’s analysis and criticism of racism and white supremacy exposes the many faces of racism, from negative depictions of blacks in popular media to police brutality, from a systematical repression of African American heritage to low self-esteem and self-destructive behavior among African Americans. In several songs, Public Enemy points to the brutal history of slavery as the root of modern day racism. A case in point is “Can’t Truss It” (Apocalypse 91). A short introduction juxtaposes two sampled voices. One is a documentary voice telling how it started on the slave ships, “that there exist unbelievable many records of slave ships and that for 200 years ships sailed with slave cargo:” The other is a sample of Malcolm X, stating that non-violence is, “in the face of the 400 hundred years of violence that we have been experiencing… in fact a crime.” The sound of a helicopter enters the mix, giving sonic associations to police surveillance of black neighborhoods in cities such as Los Angeles. Then the music begins, with a funky, energetic groove and jazzy flavor provided by sampled horns and a repeated piano figure. Public Enemy puts “bass in your face” so people can “react to the facts.” Chuck D has a story that is as “hardcore as Holocaust.” As a black person, he originated from Africa, “the base motherland, the place of the drum.” The land was invaded; the blacks were fooled and left “faded,” killed. Chuck D argues that this could happen because “a king and chief probably had a big beef,” – “beef” here refers to a feud. This “beef” pertained to slavery since the chiefs sold their captives to European slave traders. Chuck D offers a “song to the strong/’bout a shake of the snake,” about evil and betrayal. He recounts the “wickedness done by Jack,” the white slave trader, dividing people, selling them as slaves in

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exchange for gold and liquor. A story follows, from Little Rock where a slave ship was docked; the slaves were put in shackles and Jack, dressed in red, white and blue, authorizes his crew to beat down the slaves. Through slavery and the cruel treatment of slaves, Chuck D argues, African Americans have been taught self-hate and disseminate it to each other: Man to the man, each one so it teach one born to terrorize sisters and every brother One love, who said it I know Whodini sang it But the hater taught hate That’s why we gang bang it

“Each one, teach one,” an African American proverb stemming from the time of slavery, gets a twist here through Chuck D’s implication that African Americans have taught each other self-hate and are born into self-destruction. This is also why “love” is impossible, with reference to the early rap group Whodini tune “One Love” (Back in Black, 1990). From the beginning of slavery, black people were taught hate by “the hater,” the slave traders. Chuck D argues that slavery is still in effect in today’s legal system. Years ago a judge “woulda been the ships captain/getting me bruised on a cruise.” 90 days in jail is like 90 days on that slave ship; after 3 months, they “brand a label on my ass to signify Owned/I’m on the microphone saying 1555.” In NOI historiography, the year 1555 is the year the English slave trader John Hawkins embarked with the first slaves (see chapter 3). Because of the long and brutal history of slavery, Chuck D concludes, “it’s hard for blacks to love the land.” Public Enemy analyzes racist structures deeply embedded in culture, such as stereotypes promoted by the film industry, black-white dichotomies in language and in the celebration of public holidays where the suffering of minorities is made invisible. “Burn Hollywood, Burn” (Fear Of A Black Planet) criticizes the prevailing racism of the film industry. Since the days of blackface comedy, stereotyped imagery of black people has had a strong hold on filmmaking in the USA. In its first 50 years, Hollywood gave few roles to blacks, and the roles available were typically as maids, servants, criminals, smiling entertainers and sexual objects. Chuck D, sharing the microphone with Ice Cube and Big Daddy Kane, opens with a warning. He smells a riot: “Hollywood or would they not/make us look bad I know they had.” When black people figure in films and in the news, they are frequently depicted as violent gang members killing each other, he states. Hollywood has made black people look like clowns. Now the “joke is over, smell the smoke all over/burn Hollywood, burn.” Ice Cube refers to criminal stereotypes in his short verse. When he watches a “flick that exploits color,” police cars with red and blue lights and police officers arresting blacks are a “common sight.” Big Daddy Kane is concerned with the actors who have had to play these stereotypes; how hard it must have been for them to portray butlers, maids, slaves and

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prostitutes. “Many intelligent black men seemed to look uncivilized when on screen,” states Big Daddy Kane. As for female actors, the familiar role of Aunt Jemima, a smiling black “Mammy” in the kitchen was more likely found than a portrayal of a professional woman, such as a lawyer.1 As Hollywood has no interesting roles to offer, Big Daddy Kane advises blacks to make their own movies, like Spike Lee does. Stereotypes in popular culture and language is also the subject of “White Heaven/Black Hell” (Muse Sick’n Hour Mess Age, 1994)), Taking a cue from Farrakhan’s calypso song “White Man’s Heaven is Black Man’s Hell,” Public Enemy juxtaposes binaries of black and white: Black athletes – white agents Black preacher – white Jesus Black drug dealer – white government Black entertainers – white lawyers Black Monday – white Christmas Black success story – white wife Black police – white judge

Frantz Fanon explores in Black Skin, White Masks how European colonization has implemented notions of “blackness” as something wrong (Fanon: 2008). Black Nationalist thinkers have in various ways attempted to reverse such notions. NOI’s creation myth is one example, where the black man is the original man. Public Enemy’s tune resembles the Last Poets “Opposites” (from This is Madness, 1971), where opposing binaries of black and white are similarly constructed: “Understand that black is true and false is white. Understand that black is right and white is wrong Understand that white is weak and black is strong … Understand that black is life and white is death” (In Cheney: 2005, 133). In “Hitler Day” (Muse Sick-N-Hour Mess Age) Chuck D attacks public holidays commemorating historical events of white America with devastating effects upon the indigenous American and African American peoples.These holidays are part of what Robert Bellah terms “civil religion” and are celebrated in order to “integrate the family into the civil religion” and “the local community into the national cult” (Bellah: 2005, 48 f). Chuck D begins with Columbus Day, observed in memory of the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus in 1492. “How can you call a takeover a discovery?” He asks, “it’s impossible to discover a land when people already living there.” In Chuck D’s view, Columbus Day is a celebration of “a black holocaust,” a celebration of the deaths of “the black the brown and red.” It signifies a history of slavery, splitting up of families and lynching. He moves on to Thanksgiving. This day honors the first settlers, the so-called pilgrims that came on the 1 Aunt Jemima is a brand name for a line of pancake mixes and syrups owned by the Quaker Oats Company.

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“Mayflower.” After helping the first settlers through their first long winter, the indigenous Americans subsequently lost their land and were confined in reservations, as described in Chuck D’s ironic words: Ain’t about turkey and cider that gets me sick It’s that take from the Indian trick [… ] From the sucker seekin’ something to kill Now he got a day to celebrate Ain’t that a trip Cause the Indians ain’t got shit

The celebration of Memorial Day, dating back to the wake of the Civil War, honors those who gave their lives in wars the US has fought. Chuck D criticizes it for not including all the Africans that died on the slave ships and African Americans that are killed every day: May 31st when it comin it hurts Remember the dead and it makes me curse When they don’t include 100 million Of us black folks That died in the bottom of boats I can carry on bout the killin’ till dusk & dawn And war ain’t the reason they gone

Finally, he turns to Independence Day, the 4th of July, which “is a fuckin’ lie, when did we ever get a piece of the pie?” All these holidays are really days of death, and it is, as indicated in the choruses, as absurd to celebrate them as it is to have a special day in memory of Adolf Hitler. As Chuck D concludes, “I don’t hate nobody, I hate that day – it’s as crazy as Hitler day.” 6.1.1.2 She Watch Channel Zero: Sexist stereotypes Scholars have pointed out how black nationalist sexist notions of the 1960s are recycled in much of the message rap, including the work of Public Enemy (cf. Decker: 1994, 107 f; Cheney: 2005, 63 f, 109ff). Among stereotypes rap inherited from black nationalism is the housewife or girlfriend obsessively addicted to and pacified by TV. Malcolm X writes in his Autobiography: I don’t know how many marriage breakups are caused by these movie and television addicted women expecting some bouquets and kissing and hugging and being swept out like Cinderella for dinner and dancing – then gets mad when a poor, scraggly husband comes in tired and sweaty for working like a dog all day, lookin for some food (in Decker: 1994, 107).

Public Enemy picks up this motif in “She Watch Channel Zero” (It Takes A Nation of Millions). Flavor Flav shouts: “You blind baby, you blind from the

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facts, oh you are, because of watching that garbage!” Then television noise and loud, heavy metal-inspired music sets in. Public Enemy is generally critical of mass media and the entertainment industry. Here they attack the consumers, namely women using TV as a drug, and thus being unavailable for real men: “…her brain being washed by an actor/and every real man that tries to approach/Come the closer he comes/he gets dissed like a roach.” There is “a five letter word to describe her character,” says Chuck D – “bitch” is probably the word he has in mind – and continues, “she won’t survive/and rather die and lie/falls a fool for some dude on a tube.” The TV’s remote control is actually controlling her; she is addicted: “watch her worship the screen/and fiend for a TV ad.” Thus Chuck D complains “revolution is a solution/for all our children/but all her children.” For her, the soap opera and the talk show is more important than the revolution. Public Enemy could have added a verse on men addicted to TV, but they didn’t. There is no attempt to see the woman’s perspective. Instead, the chorus repeats again and again that Chuck D and Public Enemy have had enough of her watching TV: “I don’t think I can handle/she goes channel to channel/cold looking for that hero/she watch channel zero.” Another stereotype is the woman looking for men’s wealth, so-called “gold diggers.” This theme is elaborated on in “Sophisticated Bitch” (Yo! Bum Rush the Show). Chuck D portrays a woman looking for men with money and status. “Better walk, don’t talk – she’s all pretend/can’t be your friend unless you spend,” warns Chuck D. She is “stone cold freak,” “servin’ execs with checks,” but will later “pass ‘em in the street like it never took place.” Chuck D’s criticism of gold diggers is partly racially motivated: “She don’t want a brother that’s true and black/if you’re light, you’re alright.” He indicates that she uses cocaine, and gives her story a brutal ending as she is beaten up. This is ironically underlined by the clever wordplay of the hook line. She is “sophisticated,” eventually becoming “fisticated,” beaten by a man’s fist. Chuck D offers neither compassion for the woman nor any social analysis; he is just concerned that brothers should stay away from women like her. In his view, she is a prostitute by nature, stealing from her boyfriends since the beginning, so she deserves what she gets. Interracial sexual relationships is a controversial issue in black nationalism. Charise L. Cheney cites Eldridge Cleaver, the minister of information for the Black Panther Party’ (Cheney: 2005, 56ff). He once characterized a black man’s desire for white women as a “revolutionary sickness.” Cleaver concludes his book Soul on Ice with the “Allegory of the Black Eunuchs,” in which he portrays “the Infidel,” shamelessly desiring white women: I know that the white man made the black woman a symbol of freedom… I will not be free until the day I can have a white woman in my bed and a white man minds his own business. Until that day comes, my entire existence is tainted, poisoned, and I will still be a slave – and so will the white woman (in ibid., 57).

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Public Enemy’s “Pollywannacracka” (Fear of a Black Planet) follow similar trains of thought. “Pollywannacracka” is wordplay on the popular notion that caged parrots say “Polly wants a cracker.”2 Also, “cracker” is a pejorative slang word for a white man. The narrator is voiced as a sly male radio host, hosting a dating show. First, he presents a woman, “a “fine sister” “looking for love right now.” But she don’t want a black man, “no brother/her man gotta have a lot of money to get under her cover.” It turns out that at fifteen, a “brother” made her pregnant. Now she is nineteen and wants to experience all the good things life has to offer by looking for a rich white man. Then a man is presented, Mr. Success, who “don’t like sisters.” They are not “good enough/all they want is his green stuff” (money), so he is looking for “blue eyes and blonde hair.” The narrator ends on a moral tone, “there should be no hatred/for a brother and a sister/whose opposite race they have dated” because “no man is God and God puts us all here.” But, he argues, along the lines of Cleaver’s infidel, “the devil split us in pairs;” he made white good and black bad, thus also urging black women and men to strive for white partners. As Charise L. Cheney points out, a central theme in much of black nationalism is to resurrect black masculinity, emasculated after years of slavery and racist oppression. The woman’s role in the revolution is to stand by her man and raise children (Cheney: 2005, 31–42). In this context, the desire for white men and acceptance by the standards of white society, as well as escapism through television and movies is “counter-revolutionary.” In the songs studied here, Public Enemy expresses similar concepts. They are not concerned about the women portrayed, nor are they formulating revolutionary concepts that would involve the liberation of these women as well. Some kinds of women are clearly in the way of the revolution, and “brothers” have to be warned against them. 6.1.1.3 Message to a Blackman: Public Enemy and the Nation of Islam Public Enemy’s critique of institutional racism and advocacy for proper education and better knowledge of self is in line with the NOI’s teachings. Nevertheless, only a few of their tunes concern the religious aspects of the NOI. The subtitle of “Rightstarter (Message To a Black Man)” (Yo! Bumrush The Show) echoes Elijah Muhammad’s book Message To the Blackman. Chuck D addresses dancers on an imagined dance floor, stating that he is on a mission; many people do not know their past and just look stupid with their moves on the dance floor. But Public Enemy wants a spiritual change, as the chorus indicates: 2 In the Warner Bros. Pictures Merrie Melodies cartoon “I wanna be a sailor” (1937), a mother parrot teaches her offspring to say “Polly want a cracker.” One of the brood revolts and asserts, “I don’t wanna cracker, see, I wanna be a sailor like me pop! (father)” Interestingly, commentary on interracial relationships is embedded in the cartoon itself, as the irreverent and drunken sailor father is not a parrot, but a seagull. See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1N7VcZovTE (November 13, 2010).

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Their message is about pride, and they will keep on telling it no matter how people react. The key to pride is to know one’s heritage, a past as kings, queens, warriors and lovers. However, this is a message that is suppressed, because “a people proud – sisters and brothers/it’s the biggest fear.” Public Enemy’s solution is a “mind revolution.” Instead of killing each other, “every brother should be every brother’s keeper.” Ignorance is going nowhere, it is time for a change, and Chuck D is on a mission to “set you straight.” He will “explain to the world what’s plain to see/to be what the world does not want us to be.” Although not explicitly expressed in racial terms, the spiritual renewal, the “mind revolution” is about black people, about pride and self-respect through knowledge of one’s true history as black people. In my opinion, the Public Enemy tune that most directly reflects religious aspects of the Nation of Islam is “Party For Your Right To Fight” (It Takes a Nation of Millions…). The title is a pun on the Beastie Boys’ party anthem “Fight for Your Right (To Party)” (Licensed to Ill, 1986). The pun is not only about switching around words, but also about the double meaning of “party,” since Public Enemy honors the Black Panther Party and their fight for their right to organize. “Power equality, and we’re out to get it,” Chuck D and Flavor Flav begin in unison. They recount the formation of the Black Panther Party who “started right in ’66/with a pro-Black radical mix,” and the following surveillance by COINTELPRO:3 Then at the hour of twelve Some force cut the power And emerged from hell It was your so-called government That made this occur Like the grafted devils they were

“Grafted devils” is a reference to the NOI’s definition of the “white man.”4 Chuck D and Flavor Flav further recount how Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X were set up by J. Edgar Hoover, and how Hoover ended “the party with Newton, Cleaver and Seale,” naming the founders of the Black Panther Party. Now, it is time to get them back and to get the right knowledge of self: “Word from the honorable Elijah Muhammad/Know who you are to be black.” The last verse recounts the origins of the black people the original Black Asiatic man Cream of the earth 3 COINTELPRO was an FBI program for surveillance of political organizations. 4 See for instance Question No. 6, “Lost and Found Muslim Lesson No. 2,” in Noor, ed. (2002, 92 f).

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And was here first were here first, but some devils prevent this from being known But you check out the books they own even Masons they know it but refuse to show it

The “black Asiatic” man and “Cream of the earth” are references to the NOI’s creation myth. Chuck D and Flavor Flav also refer to theories popular in the NOI about certain groups of white people having secret knowledge and conspiring to withhold the truth from the “Original Man.” Among them, according to Elijah Muhammad, are the Free Masons cited here, as well as the pope and the Catholic Church (E. Muhammad: 1997, 31, 41ff, 77). Part of the religious universe of the NOI is a strong emphasis on eschatology, on Armageddon and the final judgment. Spurred by the coming millennial shift, many rap albums released in the late 1990s abounded in millenarian rhetoric and apocalyptical imagery. Such is the case with Public Enemy’s He Got Game from 1998, released as the soundtrack album for Spike Lee’s basketball epic.5 Public Enemy uses the opportunity to criticize the industry surrounding the game of basketball as well as the entertainment industry in general. In the opening track, “Resurrection,” Public Enemy declares that they are back to save hip-hop culture and bring it into the next millennium. There are too many love songs in rhythm and blues, too much focus on money and stars in show biz, Chuck D decries – but “star spelled backwards is rats.” In this apocalyptic moment, there is no power, Chuck D says, pointing to a history of four hundred years of slavery. He is trapped in the back by these industry cats, Chuck D continues, “the devil try to get me cross like a crucifix.” But he is focused; he would be like a “one man Million Man March” and make a “New World Order.” Wu-Tang member Masta Killa takes us to the spiritual sphere with his end verse, sounding as though he is speaking through a phone. He is “mind traveling beyond the shell, which holds the soul controlled by Allah.” He “eludes those who label the God as anti-social, chose not to apply their third eye.” Tenets of the Nation of Gods and Earth’s teachings are evoked here, as “God” is referring to the black man, “the third eye” being the inner eye through which one gains insight into secret knowledge. The apocalyptic vision is at its strongest on “He Got Game” and “Revelation 33 1/3 Revolution.” The title of the latter is a pun on the long-playing record, or “vinyl” – still favored by many hip-hop DJs – with 33 1/3 revolutions per minute (rpm). Musically this track stands out, as the looped free jazz tenor saxophone adds a flavor of the revolutionary free jazz of the late 1960s and 70s. 5 Interestingly, Only a few of the Public Enemy songs are actually featured in the film. For most of the film Spike Lee features symphonic music by North American composer Aaron Copland. See Krin Gabbard’s article for interesting perspectives on Lee’s use of Copland’s music. (Gabbard: 2000).

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The first verse announces that Earth’s last battle is approaching and that “Armageddon is the destiny we await.” The “bombs of time” are ticking, and there is “smoke of fear” in the air. Babylon – “the government”, the USA or simply “the system” – has fallen, and it is time to rebuild. Chuck D attacks the government verbally with “bombs like Saddam hit,” criticizing “twisted politics” and reminding us of political prisoners like Geronimo Pratt, the Black Panther leader who was imprisoned for 27 years. Chuck D is with the “New World Order” and he “rally up people like Farrakhan.” The “prophets of rage” are ready to set the stage for revolution, revelation and resurrection. A female rapper, Serenity, with a voice distorted to sound like a message left on an answering machine, announces that “we gonna take down the head of state” in 1998 and show “non stop-resistance.” There is time for “a drastic change,” she continues, there has been enough “destruction, misinformation and corruption, false religious doctrines.” With revolutionary fierceness, she denounces the two-faced politicians, the welfare reforms and penitentiaries. Not even death will stop her. In “He Got Game,” “the game” serves as a metaphor for what is going on in the world. “Man is the father, the son is the center of the earth in the universe,” Chuck D begins, playing on both NOI cosmology and the father-son relationship that Spike Lee’s film explores. The world is becoming more senseless, year by year, as the new millennium approaches: More than your eye can see and ears can hear Year by year all the sense disappears Nonsense perseveres, prayers laced with fear Beware, two triple O is near

Chuck D asks himself “where Christ is in all this crisis.” Millennial shifts have always spurred religious imagination, and Chuck D criticizes this tendency. Christ seems to be absent, and who listens to those prayers laced with fear? As Chuck D says in the next verse, “God takes care of old folks and fools while the devil takes care of making all the rules.” People are “paying mental rent to corporate presidents” and do not even own themselves. It is like slavery, it is the “politics of chains and whips.” Throughout the song, there is a guitar-loop, a short phrase spanning an octave sampled from Buffalo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth.” The song is composed by Stephen Stills, who is also featured here singing parts of the song together with a gospel choir.6 Originally written as an anti-war song in the late 1960’s, it adds to the apocalyptic sentiment of “He Got Game:” There’s something happening here What it is ain’t exactly clear 6 First recorded on Buffalo Springfield, 1967. Stephen Stills was member of Buffalo Springfield together with Neil Young, among others.

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There’s a man, with a gun over there tellin me, I got to beware7

Flavor Flav ends the song with a short sermon, underlining that these are “some serious times we are living in.” He asks if we are ready for the “real revolution, which is the evolution of the mind?” In typical NOI fashion, he calls out to “all the sleeping souls,” it is time to take control over “your own cipher,” your mind. As we are all coming from the divine, we should pay attention to the “words of wisdom that are written on the walls of life.” “Love conquers all,” he says, but warns us to be aware of the “spirit snipers trying to steal our light.” It is within ourselves that we will find peace. The apocalyptic seriousness is somewhat softened at the very end, when Flavor Flav concludes, “Give thanks, live life and release.” On a social and political level, Public Enemy seems deeply influenced by the NOI’s black nationalist notions and criticism of institutional racism. Samples of Malcolm X and references to Farrakhan and NOI concepts abound. Like the NOI, Public Enemy traces modern day racism in a long history of slavery and oppression and finds its effects at work in today’s prison and educational system, in the celebration of public holidays and in entertainment and sports. They are critical of Christianity, but can identify with the crucified Christ, signifying the suffering of black people. Public Enemy envisions a coming Armageddon taking place in this world. There are few references to rituals or religious practices such as fasting and praying. Still, their lyrics are rich with religious language. Thus, religiously inclined listeners might “fill in the blanks.”

6.2 Five Percenter Rap The mystic teachings of the NOI as formulated by Fard Muhammad and Elijah Muhammad is very much alive in the music of NGE inspired rappers. The NGE has probably had a stronger artistic influence on rap than the NOI. The “breaking down” of words and numbers, the word plays and mastery of language cultivated by NGE adherents are skills valued by rappers in general. In her pioneering study, Five Percenter Rap, Felicia M. Miyakawa shows how NGE teachings and practices are integral part of the works by groups and artists such as Poor Righteous Teachers, Brand Nubian, Big Daddy Kane, Rakim and Wu-Tang Clan (Miyakawa: 2005). She demonstrates thoroughly how the Supreme Mathematics and Alphabet, the lessons of Ward Muhammad and other essential NGE material are interwoven in lyrics, sampling and album packaging. Building on her work, I will explore the works of Brand Nubian and Wu-Tang Clan as examples of two different approaches to combining teaching 7 Note the correlation here with the Public Enemy’s logo, a man with a gun pointing at the viewer.

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and art. Brand Nubian might be seen as representing a “classic” combination of rap and NGE’s teachings, while Wu-Tang Clan offers an eclectic mix of NGE tenets, Eastern philosophy and popular culture. 6.2.1 In God We Trust: Brand Nubian Formed in 1989, Brand Nubian is made up of three MCs and two DJs: Grand Puba, Lord Jamar, Sadat X, DJ Sincere and DJ Alamo. Their first album, One For All (1990), was critically and commercially well received, as was the follow up, In God We Trust (1992). By this time, lead rapper Grand Puma and DJ Alamo had left the group, but they rejoined for the fourth album, Foundation (1998). All three MCs have released albums on their own. In 2005, Lord Jamar released The 5 % Album, a musical treatise on NGE doctrine featuring a booklet with a biography of Father Allah. Brand Nubian was loosely associated with the Native Tongue movement, which included The Jungle Brothers, De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest as core members. This was a movement that sought to avoid the imagery of gangsta life, sex, crime and profit and instead celebrated black heritage and positive values (Wood: 1999). Brand Nubian’s lyrics generally have a stronger black nationalist sentiment than is the case with most Native Tongue affiliated groups and artists. The nationalism is reflected in their name, as they are from a Nubian, an African brand – also echoing the ethics of black-owned enterprise expressed by Marcus Garvey and Elijah Muhammad. In accordance with their revolutionary spirit, they are offering something that is “brand nu”, something new that breaks with the ways of the old. Since the band members originate from New Rochelle, they put a similar emphasis on the contemporary as they come from “straight outta Now Rule” (“Straight Outta Now Rule,” Foundation). 6.2.1.1 Concerto In X Minor: White racism and black nationalism As Miyakawa points out, NGE rappers such as Brand Nubian draw heavily on a long heritage of black nationalist thinking (Miyakawa: 2005, 67–72). A good example is Brand Nubian’s “Black Star Line” (In God We Trust), where they present some of Marcus Garvey’s philosophy of cultural and economic selfdetermination. The steamboat company Black Star Line was part of his idea to repatriate African Americans to Africa. Jamaican born guest artist Red Fox underlines the Jamaican connection with his dancehall style rapping: “Marcus Garvey had the idea back in the days/doin’ for self, keepin’ the wealth.” The tune is introduced as a lesson, “Here’s a paid ticket so you can free your mind … Grab the black babies it’s time to build.” The Black Star line becomes a metaphor for a spiritual orientation towards Africa: “See we got a mental ship something like Noah’s Ark/spark your brain cell now let’s set the sail.” The aim

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is to “free the mind” and seek “new approaches” as old ways are “dull and void.” Red Fox recounts the history of Marcus Garvey, his journey to “America to make black people free,” and the establishment of the Black Star Line. “Marcus Garvey had the idea back in the days,” Lord Jamar continues, “doin’ for self, keepin’ the wealth.” He “gotta add on and create” to the legacy of Garvey. Red Fox concludes, “I’m proud to be black, I’m not some young idiot,” thus indirectly emphasizing the need to educate the young. Violent racism and oppression is the focus of “Concerto in X Minor” (One For All). Sadat X, here known as Derek X, is introduced by a “snobbish” voice, suggesting the setting of a concert hall: “conducting his concerto in X Minor is brother Derek X. His theme tonight will be on racism in New York.” Sadat X gives shout outs to all the positive brothers and sisters. The music then stops abruptly, before he returns and spits his “manifesto for life.” He presents a “field trip from the ghetto… to discuss racial issues and tension.” He refers to several violent incidents, including the assassination of Black Panther leader Huey Newton. Sadat X likens the situation today to modern day lynching. With inserted samples of the Last Poets’ “When The Revolution Comes” (The Last Poets, 1970), he assures us that he wants to stop racial injustice. Thus, this record is to be filed under “black war” in the record store. Nevertheless, even though Sadat X’s initial response is to be violent, he is “a lover of black mothers/and black mothers need sons/not children that’s been killed with guns.” He underlines his responsibility as a Five Percenter to be a teacher: “civilized man’s main goal is to teach.” Thus, his warfare is to be understood as a “verbal outreach” in the community. The music is built on a funky, gospeltinged sample of Cannonball Adderley’s “Walk Tall” (Country Preacher, 1969). It features electric piano by Joe Zawinul, partly credited as composer. Brand Nubian might have chosen this track for esthetical reasons, because of its haunting groove. Adderley was also a socially aware musician himself, popularizing black music and giving musical voice to the black struggle of the 1960s and 70s. This sample is from a live recording made in collaboration with Operation Breadbasket, an organization for economic improvement of black communities. On Adderley’s recording, the song is introduced by Jesse Jackson. Thus, the cultural and political connotations of the sample might enhance the socially conscious dimension of Brand Nubian’s track. 6.2.1.2 Always is a Queen: Gender roles and sexism The black nationalist heritage has also left its mark on NGE rappers’ notions of family structures and gender roles. Some of Brand Nubian’s lyrics reflect patriarchal views of women found in the teachings of the NOI and the NGE. A case in point is “Slow Down” (One For All), which reinforces several female stereotypes. First, the “crack head,” bereft of any self-esteem as a consequence of smoking crack cocaine, stealing and using other people’s money to support

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her habit. She used to be “fly” and “to walk with a swagger,” now she “simply stagger,” with her “rotten toothed smile.” Her downfall was sudden, starting out lightly with “woolie blunts,” – marijuana cigarettes dipped in crack cocaine. – now she has “gained a stripe/graduated to the pipe.” The wordplay on the military notion of rising in rank by gaining a stripe here indicates a downward graduation to sniffing stripes of cocaine and smoking crack. Sadat X will not refrain from beating her with “a hose filled with sand” if she tries to rob him. Lord Jamar describes a girlfriend that fits in the category of “gold diggers”: she trades sexual favors for gold watches and is only going for men who can “flash dollars.” She is a “sick mixed up individual”, a “freak show of the town.” Lastly, Grand Puba portrays a prostitute, “the hoe is just a hoe and it’s no controversy/she can make the bedsprings sing a song of mercy.” Becoming a prostitute is explained not in social terms, but as something imbedded in that woman’s character. “She was doing lays before she started bleeding/What makes a bitch want to act in this fashion?” Grand Puba wonders, indicating that she was sexually active even before puberty. All he sees in this woman is the danger of getting sexually transmitted diseases. The lack of compassion and empathy in Brand Nubian’s description of these women is striking, also the absence of any social analysis that could help understand underlying factors of prostitution and drug dependence. Here, Brand Nubian worry only about their own money and that the women will drain their credit cards, “spend your papers and… use up all your plastic.” Patriarchal and old-fashioned values also surface when Brand Nubian describe ideal women. In “Feels So Good” (One For All), Sadat X tells about a girl with the greenest eyes. There is just one flaw: the green eyes were “bought in a store, a synthetic cosmetic, it was pathetic.” He likes women to be natural. Ironically, he originally liked her eyes and dumps her only after he learns that they are not natural. The MCs of Brand Nubian spend most of the song bragging about their own physical attributes and sexual prowess. But in the last verse, Lord Jamar breaks down the gender roles according to NGE teaching: women must be submissive, men are the head. Broken down in Nation of Gods and Earth parlance, Lord Jamar states that he is God; his number is “Seven, that’s six plus one.” The highest number a female can achieve is six, and a man with true knowledge of self will always be one more. In “Love Me Or Leave Me Alone” (In God We Trust) he puts it more bluntly: “I ain’t down for a honey who don’t wanna submit;” he is “not the kind to let a woman run it.” In “Sincerely” (Foundation), the reunited Brand Nubian express a more mature and nuanced view of women, praising the black woman. They apologize for all the wrongs they have done to women. They are ashamed of having used words like “bitch,” and ask for forgiveness for being disrespectful. Grand Puba hails the black woman as the “most beautifullest thing in creation,” and he sees in her “more than booty used in lustful situations.” The judgmental tone of “Slow Down” is mellowed and nuanced: “I see you more

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than a crackhead or a chickenhead or just a piece of something I’m trying to get up in my bed,” Grand Puba confesses, in a show of respect for all the women that “raise seeds all alone with no father in the home/but they still find the strength to continue on.” If they have appeared to be demeaning toward women, their purpose was to “lift the hardhead ones up to queens.” No matter what they are doing in their lives, every “black woman always is a queen.” Still, there is an underlying patriarchal ethos. Black women are still in need of protection and they are only praised as mothers, for their beauty and for their ability to endure the cheating, the violence and the lies of their men. 6.2.1.3 Ain’t No Mystery. Five Percenter teachings Elements of NGE and NOI doctrinal material abound in Brand Nubian’s production. The cover of their second album, In God we Trust, depicts a burning dollar, emphasizing the ironic twist of the album title. Also, it can be interpreted as a rejection of American civil, white religion, symbolized by the dollar. The album opens with “Allah U Akbar”, “God is greater.” These are the opening words of the traditional Islamic call to prayer, takbir, and a sampled version runs throughout the song. Brand Nubian announces that they set out to bring the X back to hip-hop, that is, black nationalist and Islamic thinking in the tradition of Malcolm X. Combined with the prayer call, we get a sense that this is a mission statement. The next tracks, “Ain’t No Mystery” and “Meaning of the 5 %,” offer a basic introduction to central NGE tenets. “Ain’t No Mystery” opens with a critique of the traditional image of God presented in Christian churches: Well can you tell me where to find that Mystery God I don’t see him, so you know the shit is kinda hard I searched and searched, but still there’s no sign It’s gotta be a trick for the deaf dumb and blind

Lord Jamar explains how his people have been lost for 400 years in the service of this “Mystery God.” All they got was “hard times, hunger and nakedness, from the snake that hissed/beaten and killed by the ones who say: look to the sky for your piece of the pie.” Is this the kind of God you will ask to give you food, clothing and shelter? “Emphatically no!” shouts Brand Nubian. Here, Brand Nubian quotes from “Lost-Found Muslim Lesson No. 2.” The teaching about the “Mystery God” is treated in questions 9 and 10, while the question about food, clothing and shelter quotes Question 11 and its answer. And when Sadat X explains why “the white man” has preached this “Mystery God,” he elaborates on question and answer 12, which tells us that the Devil “desires to make slaves out of all he can so that he can rob them and live in luxury” (cf. F. Muhammad: 2009). As Sadat X puts it, “churches think this mystery seems to sell.” They will get their part of the salary when “this old God arrives,” indicating that the church belongs to the ten percent

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selling lies to the poor eighty-five percent. When he asks, “who’s the clown that didn’t paint Jesus brown, everybody knows the man was original,” he echoes the Jesus of Elijah Muhammad (see chapter 3). Because “Lost-Found Muslim Lesson No. 2” tells us that the “Mystery God” does not exist, Lord Jamar explains that the true and living God is not a mystery; “My third Eye helps me see/that the Black Man is God and yo it ain’t no mystery.” This adds another layer of meaning to “In God We Trust,” since God is not the God of white America and the dollar bill, but the black man. The “Meaning of the 5 %” is a sample of a Louis Farrakhan sermon set to music (Miyakawa: 2005). By sampling from one of his sermons, Brand Nubian acknowledges the close ties between NOI and NGE and Louis Farrakhan as a spiritual leader of the hip-hop community. The music suggests meditational listening rather than dancing. It builds on a sample from Marvin Gaye’s “’T’ Stands for Trouble,” from his soundtrack for the mystery film Trouble Man (1972). The tension and sense of expectance from the soundtrack is well suited to accompany revelation of deeper knowledge. Heightened tension is created by the strange sounding, repeated modal figure, a rare instance of Gaye playing the then novel Moog synthesizer. Farrakhan’s sermon expands upon the doctrine of the 85, 10 and 5 percent as formulated in questions 14–16 in “Lost-Found Muslim Lesson No. 2.” The righteous teachers are a small percentage of people who know God and have a duty to teach those who do not, the minister explains. Since they are a threat to the ten percent, the “bloodsuckers of the poor,” the ten percent hate the righteous teachers and turn the eighty-five percent against them. That is why prophets are killed. However, as the minister concludes, “A new thing is happening today, a new thing is happening today.” The sample ends suggestively along with the tune, leaving it to the listeners to find out what the new thing might be. Miyakawa shows how rappers make references not only to single numbers of the Supreme Mathematics, but also make songs that work their way systematically through all the numbers (Miyakawa 2005:54–9). Brand Nubian’s “All for One” (One for All) and “Allah and Justice” (In God We Trust) are prime examples of this. As Miyakawa writes, “recording a song constructed around all ten numbers of the Science of Supreme is perhaps the highest form of praise Brand Nubian can offer the founders of their faith” (Miaykawa: 2005, 56). “All For One” is the opening track of Brand Nubian’s first album, thus serving as a kind of self-presentation for a wider audience. The three MCs take turns boasting their skills and their acquired riches. Grand Puma “toast an MC just like an English muffin” and when he’s finished, he will “be paid like Oprah [Winfrey].” Sadat X follows suit, “my study guide was thick, I cut you with my verbal” and “I guess I’m great, from blackness…. Read my book it contains many pieces of verses.” Also Lord Jamar boasts in similar fashion, “I guess I have to cope with being so dope,” “eating up suckers as if I was Pac Man.” At the end of his verse, the Supreme Alphabet and NGE doctrine appears in condensed form:

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You got to know the ledge of wise and dumb And understand your culture of freedom Power equally with the Gods so you can build and form your cipher all your life you must teach true of the true and living god, not a mystery spook

“Knowledge” is broken down to “know the ledge,” “Wisdom” to “wise and dumb.” The third number, understand, follows and the fourth, which can be both “culture” and “freedom.” One needs to know the limitations of both the wise – those who have knowledge and act according to it – and the dumb – those who are not educated, possibly referring to the five percent and the eighty-five percent – in order to understand, or “show and prove,” the “culture of freedom.” “Freedom” means also to have a “free dome,” intellect and imagination without limits as “dome” refers to the mind. The next two lines employ number five, “Power,” which is also the truth or Allah’s mathematics; six, “Equality,” here as “equal;” seven, “God” and eight, “build.” It ends with zero, cipher, also the number of the totality the full 360 degrees of Knowledge (120 degrees), Wisdom (120 degrees) and Understanding (120 degrees) (see chapter 3). When you understand the “culture of freedom,” Islam, you know the truth and are on the same level as God. Reaching this degree you can continue to elevate yourself to completeness. Then you are also obliged to teach the truth, about the true living God, “not a mystery spook”. Only then “You’ll prosper,” the verse ends. In condensed form, these lines describe the initiation and spiritual growth of a Five Percenter. In “One for All,” then, Brand Nubian not only present themselves as dope MCs with success, but also as teachers firmly rooted in the ways of NGE. “Allah and Justice” is a reworking of “The Enlightener,” or NGE’s “national anthem” composed by Knowledge Allah & Amar Education Allah (Noor: 2002, 245 f). This anthem is also reworked by other NGE affiliated rappers, like The Poor Righteous Teachers’ “The Nation’s Anthem” (Pure Poverty, 1991). Miyakawa offers an example of the anthem’s ritual use in a NGE annual Show and Prove context, where it is performed first by a group. Then a woman leads the congregation in antiphon between choir and congregation. Interestingly, the woman counts the congregation in to three according to Supreme Mathematics (brackets mine): “OK, on the count of three we’re gonna do this. On the count of understanding [3]: knowledge [1], wisdom [2] understanding [3]” (Miyakawa: 2005, 119). Brand Nubian introduces their version with a greeting of peace to the Gods, Earths “and the positive people of the universe,” they will “show and prove,” break down the lessons and teach the righteous way. This introduction is done with low-pitched voices. Then comes the anthem’s chorus, “Peace to Allah and Justice,” chanted throughout the song. This is a salute to the NGE founder, Father Allah, and his associate Justice. The three MCs takes turn in chanting through the Supreme Alphabet, three each.

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Lord Jamar begins with the foundation: Knowledge (1), Wisdom (2) as the way and Understanding (3) as a sign of being on the right path. Lord Sincere follows with Culture (4), Power (5) and Equality (6). The femininity of the number 6 is underlined by the reference to fertility, as “Equally only shows you that you have planted your roots.” Then Sadat X enters with “God (7) came to teach us of the righteous way, how to Build (8) and to be Born (9) on this glorious day.” All three join in on the final number ten, Knowledge Cipher: “The knowledge of the cipher/is to enlighten you/true that true that true that you know/that God is right beside you.” Set to a lilting groove, based on a sampled piano figure lifted from Howard Tate’s “Look at Granny Run Run” (Get it While You Can, 1967), Brand Nubian is still close to the anthem’s original melody (Miyakawa: 2005, 119). Thus, Brand Nubian provides their listeners not only with NGE doctrine, but also with glimpses of NGE ritual. Some of Brand Nubian’s tunes are condensed sermons, such as “Dance To My Ministry” (One For All) It opens with a short dialogue between Grand Puma and Lord Jamar, identifying the song as a lesson. Today’s science is “elevation;” Lord Jamar is “ready to drop math on this, it’s “time to start the revolution.” Lord Jamar then starts his lesson, stating “it’s a positive force guides my course.” He is with the tribe, the “God Tribe of Shabazz,” who according to Elijah Muhammad are the original people of Earth (E. Muhammad: 1957, 22; 1965, 3, 31, 138). The lessons he offers is “for you to live/not try to keep your mind captive.” He points to how black people have been deceived and need to get the right knowledge of self. Lord Jamar wants to “break shackles, tear down tabernacles” and break the “body of the snake that’s fake.” The snake has deceived and lied to his people through trickery, but now time has run out for “Hickory Dickory Dock,” derogatory terms for the white man, here camouflaged in a well-known nursery rhyme. Luckily, Lord Jamar is a shepherd able to protect the flock. With a staff built on mathematics, Islam, he walks through the “wilderness,” a metaphor often used to denote North America, to “destroy villainous criminals” who have brainwashed the unknowing with “constant subliminal signs” in order to keep the “Church goin.’” But now it is time to be “provin’ and showin’” that the “age has come to be conscious.” In the second verse, Lord Jamar changes metaphor from shepherd leading his flock to a scientist in his laboratory. He is not only a caring leader, but also one who teaches scientifically proven truth. The ankh, the Egyptian sign for life, is the key, and kemet, the ancient name of Egypt, is the password that lets you enter the laboratory. His students are tested in “the 120 lessons” and the “twelve jewels” – both part of NGE doctrine – and the Qur’an.8 The examination, according to Lord Jamar, will bring the students to the realization that they are the “all-eye seeing Black Man Supreme, the knowledge 8 The “120 Lessons” is a collection of doctrinal material, including Fard Muhammad’s teachings as well as the Supreme Mathematics and Alphabet. The twelve jewels is part of the Universal Language, see chapter 3.

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machine.” He is also the alpha and omega, the first and the last; and in “Arm-aLeg-a-Leg-a-Arm-a-Head,” Allah becomes an acronym signifying that God dwells in the body. At the end, Lord Jamar salutes the NGE, his crew, rap groups A Tribe Called Quest and De La Soul, relatives (“physicals”) and “the “grandfather Bambaataa of the mighty Zulu Nation.” He signs out with the words “Knowledge Knowledge,” affirming that he is one whose knowledge is acknowledged” (Nuruddin: 1994, 120). According to the “Twelve Jewels of Islam,” “knowledge knowledge” also means “peace,” thus a proper way to end the song (cf. chapter 3, and Miyakawa, 56). In “Dance to my Ministry” structural elements of a sermon are molded in a song format. There is an introductory part where the teacher presents himself and his skills as well as asserting his audience – the original people, “the cream of the planet Earth” or “the Tribe of Shabazz.” Then there is a part where the theme of today’s lesson, elevation, is explicated. The people are in need of elevation because they have been deceived and framed. Using Christianity as a tool, the white man has framed the black people with lies. Finally, there is a conclusion, a call for action. It is time for change, to be freed from the trappings of the white man and gain true knowledge of self. Lord Jamar reveals the sources of such knowledge: in black wisdom from ancient Egypt to NGEs teachings. There is yet another element of Brand Nubian’s sermon that sets it apart from traditional sermons, hinted at in the title, “dance to my ministry.” It is “black facts put on to a black wax.” Between the verses are long instrumental parts introduced by the word “dance.” Here, the DJ showcases his scratching skills over the funky beat. Knowledge is also found in the beat. Brand Nubian’s ministry is also about dancing. It comes with a groove. The truth is not told from an elevated pulpit, but “from the DJ booth” to the dance floor and “straight to the youth of the inner city and outskirts.” This point is underlined by the music, building heavily on a sample of “Bad Tune” by Earth, Wind and Fire (Earth, Wind and Fire, 1971). They were among the most influential funk groups of the 1970s and 80s, popular on dance floors worldwide. In addition, as Earth, Wind and Fire repeatedly featured Egyptian imagery such as pyramids and hieroglyphs on their album covers, the sample underlines the Kemetic element of this lesson. Embedded in “Dance To My Ministry” is the multilayered complexities of hybrid spirituality, combining a diversity of spiritual traditions, popular culture and beats in a context of struggle and oppression. 6.2.2 Enter the Wu-Tang: Wu-Tang Clan Wu-Tang Clan offers a highly original blend of the Nation of Gods and Earths’ doctrine and martial arts inspired philosophy. The release of Enter the WuTang (36 Chambers) in 1993 made them one of the most influential rap acts of the 1990s. Not a group in the strictest sense, Wu-Tang Clan is organized as a loosely-knit collective consisting of nine MCs aiming to take full control over all aspects of their business, from artistic expression to merchandizing, such

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as the Wu-Tang clothing line. In 1997, the double album Wu-Tang Forever was released. Rapper/producer RZA is responsible for the highly recognizable sound, characterized by sparse beats, science fiction inspired strings and clips from kung fu films. He is also the author of the Wu-Tang Manual (2005) and The Tao of Wu (2009). Other members are GZA (the Genius), Method Man, Inspectah Deck, Raekwon, Masta Killa, Ghostface Killa, U-God and the late Ol’ Dirty Bastard, all with solo projects of their own. Affiliated with the Wu-Tang Clan are several prot g groups, such as Kilarmy, Killa Bees and Sunz of Man with Killah Priest. Since Ol’ Dirty Bastard passed away in 2004, Wu-Tang Clan has continued to release albums, including A Better Tomorrow (2014). In true NGE-style, Wu-Tang Clan break down their name in several ways, like “We Usually Take All (or Another) Niggaz Garments” (7th Chamber,” Enter the Wu-Tang), “Wisdom of the Universe, Truth of Allah for the Nation of Gods (“Bells of War,” Wu-Tang Forever) and “Witty Unpredictable Talent and Natural Game,” (“Windmill,” 8 Diagrams). Based in Staten Island, Wu-Tang Clan takes full advantage of the borough being dubbed “Shaolin” in hip-hop parlance. The late 1960s and early 1970s saw a rise of interest in the martial arts and kung fu films, inspiring the formation of the Wu-Tang Clan. The historical origins of the Shaolin temples are clouded in mythology, and the myths and legends are popularized in kung fu films. Shaolin became a distinct order within Buddhism, emphasizing the martial arts as part of spiritual growth. Within Shaolin, the Wu-Tang temples were known for their use of swords. The mastery of Wu-Tang technique involved 36 stages or “chambers” of learning. As kung fu was meant solely for spiritual and self-defense uses, the Wu-Tang monks did not want to teach their deadly technique to people outside the order. However, according to one legend, some monks rebelled and wanted to use the techniques without any restrictions. They were expelled from the monastery and became known as the Wu-Tang Clan. The members of rap group Wu-Tang Clan also project themselves as rebels, organized loosely as “a clan” more than a regular group. Later on, RZA studied Shaolin and visited the original Wu-Tang monastery in China (RZA: 2005, 57–70). “Today, I’m not a Muslim. I’m not a Buddhist. I’m not a soldier of any one religious sect. I realized you can never put a circle around the truth and say it belongs to one sect. I’m a student,” writes RZA, and continues: I would say that the only religion I practice is universal love. People fight and kill each other and say they have the proper remedy to give it to you. But nobody can give it to you. You have to recognize it within yourself. My way of life is Islam. But there’s an acronym they use for Islam which is I, Self, Lord, And Master. Or, I like to say, I Stimulate Light And Matter. You have to realize that you stimulate everything around you. Everything else is only a reflection (ibid., 53).

RZA’s books, especially The Tao of Wu, offer a unique spirituality, blending Eastern philosophy, NGE teachings and urban life experiences.

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6.2.2.1 Wu-Revolution RZA does not hide the fact that he and other members of Wu-Tang have been involved with selling and using drugs, and references to drugs abound in their production. Some of their names refer to different drugs, like Method Man, Tical and Bobby Digital, and one gets the impression that members are constantly high, smoking and coughing through skits that are interspersed throughout Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers). In the Wu-Tang Manual, RZA devotes a chapter to “Chemistry.” He makes clear that neither he nor Wu-Tang Clan advocate the use of illegal drugs, as “no one sees the misery and problems drugs can cause better than someone who grows up how we did where we did” (RZA: 2005, 118). For the remainder of the chapter, he goes on to describe a number of drugs, their slang names, chemical composition and effects, making it clear that he have tried all of them. On cannabis, weed, he writes “I don’t mean to advocate it, I’m not advising it, but I know that for us, making music, you got to have some good weed in the spot. I think weed has been involved in at least 85 percent of all our music.” Continuing about cocaine, “I didn’t know at the time, but cocaine influenced a lot of the best rapping on 36 Chambers. Maybe you hear it?” (ibid., 120). This is part of the context of Wu-Tang’s spirituality, separating them from the strict antialcohol and anti-drug ethos of the NOI. Compared to Brand Nubian, NGE references seem scarcer and more oblique in Wu-Tang Clan’s lyrics. There are a few references on Enter the WuTang (36 Chambers), such as the “peace to Gods and the Earths, word is bond” at the end of “Wu-Tang Clan Ain’t Nuthin’ ta F’ Wit.” In “Protect Ya Neck,” Raekwon claims he “Bomb shit like math.” In his verse, RZA likens himself to Christ – but only partly, “flowin’ like Christ when I speaks the gospel. Stroll with the holy roll then attack the globe with the buckus style/the ruckus ten times ten men comittin’ mad sin/turn the other cheek and I’ll break your fuckin chin.” However, Wu-Tang Forever features two songs dense with teachings, “WuRevolution and “Sunshower.” Like Brand Nubian’s “Dance to my Ministry,” they are both thoroughly structured as sermons. “Wu-Revolution” is not a typical dance tune and yet placed right at the beginning of the album. Wu-Tang Clan makes sure you listen to their teaching. The instrumental layer is sparse, with synthesized bass, strings and a minimum of percussion. Still, as Miyakawa demonstrates, it is effectively used in structuring and highlighting the spoken words (Miyakawa: 2005, 94–7). The textual layer is by contrast very rich, with several voices intertwined, reciting and singing. “I’m calling my black woman a bitch, I’m calling my people all kinds of things that they are not,” says one voice, claiming he had no control as these things just came over him, making him unable to see. Another voice explains that people have “lost the love of [their] own.” “Why do we kill each other,” he continues, asking us to look at our children and the future we are

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giving them. This little conversation hints at several themes pertaining to the rap world: the use of derogatory labels such as “bitch” and “nigga”, black-onblack violence and lack of cultural pride. A new voice introduces the training that Wu has to offer, proclaiming, “It is time to rise and take our place.” Earth belongs to God he claims, and every bit of it that he chose for himself is the best part, referring to “Lost-Found Muslim Lesson No. 1”: …the Earth belongs to the original Black man. And knowing that the Devil was wicked and there would not be any peace among them, he put him out in the worst part of the Earth and kept the Best Part preserved for himself ever since he made it. The Best Part is in Arabia, at the Holy City (Mecca) (W.D.F. Muhammad: 2009).

Background voices exclaim, “the revolution will be televised” and “the revolution should be televised,” a twist on Gil Scott-Heron’s “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”.9 A three-part sermon follows, interspersed with song. The first part concerns mentality, addressing issues of misogyny and lack of racial self-esteem. The preacher exclaims that by every strong woman there is a man, and behind every strong man there is a woman. “The universe is not complete without sun, moon and stars, that is man, woman and child,” says the preacher, warning those who think they can survive without a woman. Women have “attraction powers on the planet.” “We are the original man,” the preacher continues, adding epithets such as the black Asiatic man, the maker, the cream of the planet Earth and the father of civilization. There was an original population of “seventeen men, with the two man Indians making a total of nineteen men for all.” This refer to the “Student Enrollment” of the NOI, stating, “the population of the Original nation in the wilderness of North America is 17,000,000. With the 2,000,000 Indians, makes it 19,000,000” (ibid.). The singer repeats “Malcolm X,” while the preacher summons the gods to rise. It is time for a revolutionary war, a mental war between good and evil. “Take the devil off your plane, take him off your mental mentality” the preacher says, and asks people to abstain from cigarettes and alcohol and avoid guns, because these represent the “mental devil that exist within your body.” Since the mind controls the body, everything within has to come out. The second part of the lesson is a critique of Christianity’s mystery God, followed by a refutation of the theory of evolution. If you want help to be free, there is no use looking towards the sky, because there is no heaven above; neither will you find a hell below your feet, assures the preacher. Both heaven and hell are mental states; “heaven is what you make it and hell is what you’re going through.” The singer comments, seemingly in contradiction, “there is only one God, there is a holy one faith.” The preacher continues by making fun of the theory of evolution and the belief that man originated from apes: 9 One of Scott-Heron’s most famous poems, first released on his debut, Small Talk at 125th and Lennox (Flying Dutchman, 1970).

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At one time it was told to me That man came from monkeys, ha ha ha That we was swinging from trees I hardly can believe that unless I’m dumb deaf and blind You ever heard about the ape man And the ape woman?

This is a standard “joke” used by NOI ministers, offered as an example of both the lies that are taught in the schools in order to make it difficult for the “original man” to understand God, and of how ridiculous the beliefs of the white man are. As the preacher says, humankind has a beginning and an end to it; there is no gradual origin from ape to monkey. The final part of the lesson is a retelling of the doctrine of the 85, the 10 and the 5 percent. True to the original text, it is not a word-for-word recitation, with small embellishments here and there similar to how preachers would embellish a text in a sermon. Interestingly, in this version the 85, the 10 and 5 percent are all of “the original man,” as it was “100 percent of us that came on the slave ship.” Thus, also the 10 percent, the “bloodsuckers of the world,” are of the original people. The “Wu-Revolution,” then, is rooted in the NOI’s and NGE’s teachings. It is a mental uprising, a war between good and evil, and a realization of who the original people are, who the black man is. It is also a revolution with strong eschatological overtones – the end is close at hand. This is also why the year 1997, the year of the record’s production, is sung at the beginning. It is important to know what time it is, a new millennium is about to begin. The song ends with a kung fu clip, an elderly male voice warns of a great disaster coming, which at best can only be delayed: “For Shaolin kung fu to survive, more pupils have to be taught; we must expand, get more pupils so that the knowledge will spread.” The clip underlines the missionary purpose of “Wu Revolution.” The martial arts references also lend an aura of discipline and combat spirit to the NGE teachings, rooted in age-old spirituality. In “Sunshower” RZA offers another take on the ultimate end.10 “Sunshower,” RZA tells us elsewhere, means “Judgment Day” (RZA: 2005, 132). In contrast to “Wu-Revolution”, this song is thoroughly rapped by RZA. As we are approaching the final hour, he urges people to stay close to their families and their loved ones, since “the globe is about to explode with hatred.” RZA describes a thermonuclear heat caused by wicked generals and colonels. Even if you have “20/20 vision of the prism of light,” you are still blind because you lack the inner vision, causing sinners to end up in the “everlasting winter of hellfire.” But listening to RZA’s track will make your “third eye” understand. He will take you on a journey through “the journal of the book of life.” All those who took a life without justice 10 This song is included as bonus track on the international release of Wu-Tang Forever.

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will die themselves, as RZA breaks down the word “justice” to “just ice.” This is also in a spiritual sense, since both your worst enemies and your wicked inner thoughts can harm you. RZA refers to people burning incense and “chanting witchcraft” to reach higher dimensions, possibly addressing those who try to reach God but don’t know how. “I’m convinced, Allah is God, always has been always will be,” RZA says, and continues: You could travel every square inch of the planet earth and still be Ninety-three million miles away from the sun Til you realize you and the sun is one, like the knowledge Know the ledge to where your heart is or fall off into the internal hell that’s uncharted Light travels at the rate of 186,000 miles per second through time and space, until it reach a target And once we’re freed of darkness, and show em where the path

The numbers “Ninety-three million miles” and 186,000 miles per second refer to paragraphs 16 and 18 of Fard Muhammad’s “Actual Facts,” a list of 20 facts concerning different measurements of the planet Earth (W.D.F. Muhammad: 2009). As RZA understands these facts, a man will always be far away from the sun no matter where on earth he is, unless he realizes that he and the sun are one. That is, if he has knowledge, “knows the ledge” of his heart. If he does not have this knowledge, he will be left to internal hell. Only the light from the sun can give knowledge, show the path and make one free from darkness. RZA offers this enlightenment, the knowledge of self, the realization that you are the sun. There are two paths; one leads to “destruction and hate.” Some think life is a sport and go astray. They will “pay at judgment day.” But as RZA assures, “these few years of wicked bullshit/ain’t worth the eternity inside a sulfur lake/with dragons and snakes and any pain you can imaginate.” Hell is depicted in traditional imagery known from Christian tradition, somewhat in contradiction to the notion that hell is a state of mind. Anyway, RZA has chosen the other way: Instead, I chose to become a newlywed to the true bread of life and fed God Degree of light to my head It’s been said, the fool who sleep is already dead, so I stay awake And take care of my brother, and uncover reveal the skin so we can see each other, cause every color that makes the light appear duller, who’s the colored man? Who’s the original, who’s the biochemical Who’s the grafted digital, digital, digital, digital Digital.

RZA has committed himself to a spiritual path, searching spiritual nourishment referring to the biblical “bread of life” (John 6:35, 48–58) and the Five Percenter’s “God Degree of light.” He stays awake in order not to be mentally dead, so he can help his brother see who he really is, “reveal his skin.” “Who is

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the original man? Who is the colored man?” he asks, referring to the first two questions of the “Student Enrollment” of the NOI (ibid.). Here, the colored man is “the Caucasian (white man). Or Yacub’s grafted devil – the Skunk of the planet Earth.” Updating the “grafted” to his own digital world, RZA indicates that this grafted man is a copy, humorously repeating “digital.”11 RZA continues, describing his own road to enlightenment and tells the story of his upbringing as an example of hope. This world is “sick sick sick/trapped up in six six six”, he says, referring to the number of the beast (Rev 13:18). He started up as a “pawn in this marathon in life” wishing for a bomb to “blow up Babylon,” the evil power ruling this world. His life was going in circles, but “drown in the sea of life” he used his “third eye for a periscope.” He refers to events and places involving other members of the Wu-Tang. The subways of New York are described as the blood veins of the city, going “to the heart of Medina (Brooklyn), but Shaolin (Staten Island) is the brain.” There is “always hope” RZA concludes, and ask us to mark his words and “feel the sunshower” as we are approaching the final hour. “Power Equality, Allah Cees everything,” he ends, breaking down the traditional “peace” greeting in typical NGE fashion. Brand Nubian and Wu-Tang Clan intersperse their lyrics with lessons from the NOI and the NGE, and their rhymes seem heavily inspired by the show and prove techniques of the NGE, breaking down words, letters and numbers. They quote from the lessons of Fard Muhammad and put the Supreme Mathematic and Alphabet to good use. Compared to Public Enemy, their work seems more explicitly religious, referring to Islamic practices and beliefs, although in the NGE version. Politically, Brand Nubian draws from a diversity of black nationalist sources, including Marcus Garvey and Malcolm X. Wu-Tang Clan on the other hand, seems less politically inclined. Also, their many references to drug use are in sharp contrast to the anti-alcohol, anti-drug stance of Public Enemy. In incorporating elements from popular culture and Eastern philosophy, they create a highly original spirituality, blending NGE concepts with martial arts and concepts from popular comics and television series.

6.3 Women rappers and Islam In her article “Hotep and Hip-hop: Can Black Muslim Women Be Down with Hip-Hop?” rapper and writer Anaya McMurray writes that though “several scholars and critics have explored the connections between hip-hop and Islam, for many it is almost unfathomable that black Muslim women would have any involvement with hip-hop music” (McMurray: 2008, 74). I agree. In 11 Among RZA’s pseudonyms as a solo artist is Bobby Digital.

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literature on women and hip-hop, there is little mention of religion, and in writings on Islam and hip-hop, female rappers are hardly discussed.12 A study of Islam and hip-hop is incomplete without the inclusion of works by female hip-hoppers. As this section will demonstrate, female hip-hoppers not only add to, but also expand, transcend as well as challenge, male-defined notions of doctrine. Erykah Badu is an excellent example of this. While Public Enemy, Brand Nubian and Wu-Tang Clan all express their art in highly original and distinctive ways, the elements of doctrine are easy to recognize. Badu, on the other hand, may hint at teachings of the NOI and the NGE, but you need to “do the Math” yourself. I begin this section with another artist, Queen Yonasda. She has family ties with the NOI and is one of few in hip-hop representing America’s indigenous people. 6.3.1 Welcome to the Pow Wow: Queen Yonasda With God, Love and Music (2009), Queen Yonasda (pronounced Yo-Naja-Ha) adds new perspectives on women, race/ethnicity and religion. Born of a Lakota (Sioux) mother, activist Wauneta Lonewolf, and an African American father, she is one of very few rappers representing indigenous American heritage. She also has a filial connection with Louis Farrakhan: he took care of her during a period when her parents were incarcerated. To her, Farrakhan is “Grandpa.”13 She is an activist engaged in the rights of indigenous and African American people. She had a weekly column in the NOI’s newspaper Final Call and has taken part in several of the NOI’s campaigns such as Justice or Else in celebration of the 20th Anniversary of the Million Man March, October 2015. 6.3.1.1 God, love and music Indigenous American heritage is richly featured on God, Love and Music. Three interview clips with her now deceased mother, Wauneta Lonewolf, are interspersed throughout the album, providing a glimpse of both indigenous American spirituality and struggle for self-government. Dr. Ben Chavis Muhammad concludes the album with a talk on God and hip-hop. As these contributions provide much of the spiritual framework of the album, they are worth quoting at length. The album opens with “Life is like a drum,” where Wauneta Lonewolf explains the spiritual meaning of the drum: 12 In Vibe’s anthology on female rappers, the rapper’s relation to faith is occasionally mentioned. See for instance the profiles on Erykah Badu and Eve (Vibe: 2001, 104, 162). In Gwendolyn Pough’s discussion of female rappers, religion is not mentioned at all (Pough: 2004). 13 From her now no longer available webpage, http://www.queenyonasda.com/ (August 25, 2010). See however http://www.boriquachicks.com/2016/02/05/black-native-american-a-conversation-with-activist-yonasda-lonewolf-hill/ (February 19, 2016)

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The beat of the drum is the first thing, the first rhythm that we hear in the womb of the mother, because we are hearing her heartbeat, we are hearing that steady pumping. And so once we hear, that first time, that beat comes down and hits that drum, it stirs up that emotion that triggers us back to a time that remember that. We may not remember in a physical sense, but on that spiritual level we are reconnecting with that moment of earth. Then, as we came into the world, we also had rhythm, we had a heartbeat. And so we had to figure out how do we – cause life is like a dance, because we are constantly dancing, in and out of relationships, we are dancing in and out of careers, we are dancing with our children, we are dancing with the community in a sense. And, so it’s all about whether we are able to keep that same beat going on with our partner, whether we are able to tune in to that rhythm of what we are supposed to do with our sacred life.

In a second clip, “Heart of the Home”, she talks about gender roles among indigenous Americans in pre-Columbian time: When we trace back in history, we’ll know that before 1492 we were very much a matriarchal society, that the woman was the one, the heart of the home. And she had her role and the male had his role, and the male was very comfortable with being the protector of life and the woman of being creator of life. And so those roles did not clash, because everyone had an individual identity, everyone knew exactly who they were.

Interestingly, this offers a model of reverse gender roles – where women are the head, the “heart of the home” – and at the same time, this is not in conflict with the patriarchal family ideals of the NOI. It is still a fixed structure, where each and everyone knows his or her place, the man outside the home and the woman within the home. The third clip, “Self Governing,” narrates how the indigenous nations have become increasingly more organized, “more and more of our people are speaking up, we are not just accepting handouts from the government anymore,” she says, arguing that now is “the time for self determination, the time for self governing and recognizing that if we really do challenge this sovereignty issue, we will find out that we really have the power to govern ourselves.” By sampling her mother, Queen Yonasda acknowledges a matrilineal sharing of knowledge, spirituality and engagement. Also, she offers a rare sample of a female voice in a genre rich with samplings of significant African American and male voices, one representing as well the struggle of the indigenous people of the Unites States. As noted, there are significant male voices here, too. One is a short clip of her “grandpa” Louis Farrakhan speaking at the Navajo Nation Council, praising the work of Queen Yonasda. The concluding title track is based on a telephone talk with Dr. Ben Chavis Muhammad. Dr. Ben Chavis was a leading figure in the civil rights movement, working for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and working with organizations such as the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. He was ordained a minister in 1980, but converted to the Nation of Islam in 1997 and became minister of Harlem’s prestigious Temple No. 7. He has been active in the NOI’s outreach to the hip-hop community, and the

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recorded phone call is a promotion of Yonasda’s album. In between shout outs to his “sister,” he offers some thoughts on hip-hop and the Creator: Hip-hop is a gift from the Creator, it is the creative, it is the cognitive, it is the expressive, it is the reflective essence of what it means to be a young person and strive for togetherness, strive for one’s highest aspirations, and that’s why I support the revolution of hip-hop culture. […] Hip-hop speaks to the universality of love, hiphop speaks to the universality of musical formats, the genres that come across race, ethnicity and other so-called lands of distinction. As a matter of fact, we all come from the same essence. And of course, hip-hop also affirms the oneness, and the universality of the oneness of God, the Creator, Allah. So I’m thankful that we hear music, that we not only hear music and see videos, but also feel what people who struggle for freedom, justice and equality, what the struggle is all about. It is expressed in the music; it is expressed in how we relate to each other as brothers and sisters.

Chavis depicts hip-hop not only as a musical genre, but also as a way of living, a youth culture of struggle that transcends ethnicity, nationality and other “lands of distinction.” It is also a spiritual and ecumenical culture, reflecting the oneness of God. Except for these contributions, much of Queen Yonasda’s album appears to be quite “secular.” The dance-friendly “Pow Wow” is imbued with indigenous heritage. A drum beat, hand claps, sounds of percussion, bells and flute, together with her chant “heya heaya heaya ho” suggest a context of indigenous people gathering together. In the chorus, she invites us to a traditional gathering of dance and celebration of indigenous American culture, known as a pow wow, repeatedly singing: “let me take you to the pow wow, lets go.” But it turns out that she is really inviting us to the club where she and her girlfriends go out for dancing and fun. She likens the club to a pow wow, emphasizing secular and mainstream notions of leisure more than indigenous heritage and spirituality. At the club, she is looking for a date, “I feel you baby, you are mine… I love your style, you’re oh so fine.” She makes herself attractive for him, reveals her star sign to see if they are a match. She wants him on his knees begging her to marry him. But she also makes it clear that she really needs to do this “making that cash so me and my son can finally breathe.” In other words, her date must have money in the bank. In the video for this song, we see her with her girlfriends at the club, among other things gathered around a bottle of cognac. Thus, there are several elements in this song that do not comply with the ethics of the NOI. However, the song is a typical party rap made for dancing, probably in an attempt to reach out to a wide audience. Through the song, she refers to specific dance moves such as “the snake,” and the video juxtaposes traditional indigenous dance with breaking. In other words, she is conforming to genre conventions of having fun, dating and dancing, and adds a little bit of indigenous flavor to the mix. Variations of love make up a big part of the album, mainly in the framework

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of conventional heterosexual desire, lust, attraction, broken relationships and disappointment, such as “Presence of You,” “Love and Trust” and “Thing Called Love.” “Struggle in Progress” stands out with a heartfelt narration of a broken relationship and how it affects her son: You I’m strugglin’ and it comes as no surprise but when I see the pain and hurt in my son’s eyes I wished I did it differently to bring you into this life

She and her son’s father tried to make it right, but it got into a “love-hate relationship that was makin’ no sense.” Being a single mother, there have been some hard times in their lives, she admits, living in houses with no electricity, at times supporting herself and her son on welfare. But “don’t be discouraged,” she tells her son, she and his daddy will love him “even though we ain’t married, because this is bigger than us, it is all about you.” She is ambivalent about the son’s father, though, pouring out her anger out at him in the second verse, concluding with “see you in court!” The family structure that Queen Yonasda describes here clearly contradicts the ideals of the NOI, but resonates with the real life experiences of many. Whereas the relationship between the parents falls apart, she describes the wish of both parents to continue to share the responsibility for their son and to let him know that their love and care for him is bigger than their domestic differences. Despite the failure of romantic love, Queen Yonasda highlights a troublesome love that nevertheless works. There are no tracks dealing explicitly with “God” or issues of faith, yet there are several references to the NOI and black nationalist concepts. “Eye In the Sky” reveals the conspiracy of “a new world order” apparent in much of what surrounds us. We are under constant surveillance; the “Illuminati got our back,” she claims. By drinking, people kill their brain cells, role models are turned into crack heads. As the chorus sums up, TV is watching us, the barcode, the system, the struggle in the ghetto is all set in motion by the “Eye in the sky” represented by the eye on the dollar bill. However, she will take her mind back and “praise the Most High.” The militant message of “I Want It All” is enhanced by the sound of marching soldiers and the repeated shout “we want it all, we want it now!” Two guest rappers call out to the people of the reservations to take America back from the white man and to mobilize behind Farrakhan to fight for freedom. In her verse, Queen Yonasda asserts that she is not content with “forty acres and a mule” – referring to what freed black slaves were promised in the aftermath of the Civil War. She wants her land back, “especially Wounded Knee,” where many Lakotas were massacred in 1890. “Happy to be alive”, refers to Farrakhan and Allah, and the chorus repeats, “I’m happy to be alive… All praise is due/we thank the Most High.” Finally, “Street Serenade” is a social and spiritual wake up call. Queen Yonasda laments people being trapped in deceit, as we tend to

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Allah U Akbar. Rap and Islam think about tomorrow not today we focus on the future and the fame the glitter and the glam to get paid, the rich are overpaid the poor are put to shame

She sees young girls trapped in prostitution, and politicians “masquerade, telling lies to persuade while the dollar fade.” This is interpreted through classic NOI teaching, as she sees “85 percent in a cave… moving like cattle,” only “5 percent self made” and able to think for themselves. But things will become different, she asserts, when people realize that they are all God’s children: I’m not here preaching But my heart is heavy my spirit is weak I’ll teach you the teaching our streets are squeaking

To sum up, Queen Yonasda draws on personal experience to offer insights into troubles of love relations and family life as well as compassionate narratives about life on the streets. Theologically, she refers to a few concepts of NOI teachings without elaborating them. Thus, the album’s spiritual dimension is mainly conveyed by her mother, Wauneta Lonewolf, and Dr. Ben Chavis Muhammad, framing Queen Yonasda’s songs.

6.3.2 Baduizm: Erykah Badu Musically, Erykah Badu both expands and transcends the hip-hop genre. The influence of jazz and singers such as Billie Holiday and Nina Simone shine through on her debut album, Baduizm (1997), topping the Billboard hip-hop album list. Her music is often labeled “neo soul,” while her later albums, like New Amerykah Part One (2007) and But You Caint Use My Phone (2015) are experimental and difficult to categorize. Erykah Badu is a singer who seldom raps, but she occasionally invites rappers to contribute on her albums and makes several references to hip-hop. As noted, she is commonly linked with the Nation of Gods and Earths, and some of her songs invite interpretation in that context (cf. Watson: 2001, 103). Later albums and public statements indicate closer ties to the Nation of Islam.

6.3.2.1 Food for thought Self-consciousness, a deep knowledge of true self, is a main theme in Badu’s works. In “Apple Tree” (Baduizm), she sings about how to be oneself, and not

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someone others expect one to be. The song’s spiritual dimension is stated in the introduction: I’d like to dedicate this to all the Creator’s righteous children I have some food in my bag for you Not the edible food, the food you eat, no Perhaps some food for thought Since knowledge is infinite It has infinitely fell on me, so um…

She is not “trying to be what I’m not” or “waste my time trying to get what you got,” because, as she makes clear: “I work at pleasin’ me, ‘cause I can’t please you.” In her youth, her Ganny (grandmother) taught her to “pick my friends like I pick my fruit.” Good friendships have to be cultivated, as she continues: I have a ho and I take it everywhere I go I’m plantin’ seeds so I reaps what I sow, ya know On and on, and on and on my cipher keep’s movin’ like a rollin’ stone

Throughout the song, she repeats: “if you don’t want to be down with me, then you don’t want to pick from my apple tree.” Badu’s imagery is organic, based in nature. Maybe inspired by her earlier moniker MC Apple, she envisions herself as an apple tree, her apples providing food for thought. Thus, she is reminiscent of the tree of knowledge in the Garden of Eden, but without the backdrop of sin and the wicked snake. One also notes the matrilineal passing of wisdom, from grandmother to Badu to the “Creator’s righteous children.” Thus, the dimension of knowledge infinite as god the black man is not of relevance here. Some phrases suggest reference to the NGE, such as “knowledge is infinitive.” and “my cipher keep’s moving like a rolling stone,” – a quote from the preceding song “On and On.” “On and On” is often referred to as a prime example of Badu’s allegiance to the NGE, rich with references to the Supreme Mathematics. Although perhaps farfetched – but keeping in mind the wordplays embedded in Supreme Mathematics and Alphabet, the title is a good place to start –“On and on,” is phonetically similar to one plus one, knowledge plus knowledge, which makes two. Two is both wisdom and woman. Badu is a woman, but her cipher is going “on and on,” with knowledge infinite, suggesting her own divinity. The tempo of the song is medium. A looped piano – two extended, “jazzy” chords constantly repeated – combined with a deep bass, rim shots on the after beat and a cymbal riding on every beat creates a hypnotic groove. Badu states that she has lost her money and is all alone but “feeling high.” The song is not about material wealth but valuable lessons of life, as stated in the first verse: “Peace and blessings manifest with every lesson learned.” One lesson is to learn who you are:

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Allah U Akbar. Rap and Islam If we were made in His image then call us by our names. Most intellects do not believe in God but they fear us just the same

Badu refers to a line of thought that stretches as far back as the Moorish Science Temple, continuing with the NOI and the NGE. The black man is made in God’s image, of the original people, and should thus be called by his real name and not “slave names.” The verse might also imply that black people collectively are God, as even those who do not believe in God “fear us just the same.” In the last verse, Badu sings that she is feeling hungry as “high is coming down.” But, she adds, “don’t feed me yours ‘cause your food does not endure.” In other words, she only eats food that provides proper and healthy nourishment, probably referring to spiritual as well as physical nourishment. What follows might be a subtle reference to the NOI’s teachings about spaceships and the coming of Armageddon: “You rush into destruction… the mother ship can’t save you so your ass is gone left.” It could be a warning to non-believers, those destined for destruction. They will not be saved, as the mother ship has no place for them. It could also be a criticism of the doctrine of the mother ship and the notion that salvation comes from the outside, as God and salvation are found within. The second verse suggests Supreme Mathematics and Alphabet as interpretive keys: I was born under water with 3 dollars and 6 dimes Yeah you might laugh ‘cause you did not do your math Like one, two, three Damn, yall feel that? Oh… Like one, two, three

As Badu says, this verse might seem strange if you don’t “do your math.” How to “do the math,” however, is far from obvious. First, being born under water might refer to her being a woman through the number 2 in Supreme Mathematics, referring to water and woman as well as wisdom. Badu was born, came into existence under water, the basic substance of life, into wisdom. She was born into and she is of wisdom and life. The sum of born (9), and water (2), is 11, “one and one,” which again might refer to the song title. Again, the digit sum of 11 is 2: wisdom, water and woman. Now, turning our attention to the 3 dollars and 6 dimes – it is a small sum of money, but might refer to something of much greater value. Three dollars possibly points to the first 3 numbers and the foundation of the Supreme Mathematics, knowledge, wisdom and understanding. The number 6 refers to equality, physical and mental balance and the ability to deal with all things equally. It also refers to the 6 planes of life mastered by “the black woman.” In addition, it is the number of the remaining 6 steps of the Mathematics, which

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means that she has all the 9 steps, a complete cipher. Also, a dime is 10 cents, thus she has 3.60 dollars or 360 cents, implying that she has 360 degrees, the full circle of knowledge, wisdom and understanding.14 When counting “one, two, three,” exclaiming “Damn, y’all feel that,” Badu acknowledges the feel of the music and its rhythm while at the same time counting the three first numbers and the foundation of the Supreme Mathematics: knowledge, wisdom, understanding, sun, earth, moon, and the family unit of man, woman and child. However we break down Badu’s lyrics, woman, wisdom, and the full circle of knowledge seem to be at the core, emphasizing her strength and knowledge of self as an artist and human being.

6.3.2.2 A New Amerykah In some interviews, Erykah Badu acknowledges that she supports the NOI and Louis Farrakhan. A Final Call interview reports her commitment to the NOI’s Millions More Movement and Louis Farrakhan. She describes the Millions More Movement as “Kingdom come” and “mathematics and science beginning to fit together,” continuing: I understand The Minister’s whole plight, bringing all religions and groups and communities, and ways of thinking and ways of life together, because that’s what I’m about and all I had to do was hear that and, of course, I’m going to support that wholeheartedly, and whatever the Minister does… I really see that he’s an anointed leader. I want to share my platform and my celebrity and whatever it is that I have to give, to move that along, because I believe that, too (D. Muhammad: 2005).

There are quite a few references to the NOI on New Amerykah Part One (4th World War). The album title itself envisions a new America, a nation of which Badu is able to be a part as she inscribes herself in its name. Throughout the album, she criticizes the state of present day America. This is also reflected in the booklet, illustrated by EMEK. A gun-toting Uncle Sam greets the listener on the first pages of the booklet, and a drawing accompanying the song “My People” shows a group of people without heads lined up in military fashion in front of a skeleton with a dollar sign on its skull. The skeleton stands behind a rostrum with the eye and pyramid symbol of the Great Seal of the United States, also found on US dollar bills. The original words “annuit cœptis” – ”providence favors our undertakings” – are replaced with “corruptis corruptis, ” implying that the USA is a corrupt nation. Thus, we see a headless people governed by money, by corruption, by Death. While Badu is never one-dimensional and programmatic, certain of her songs echo the teachings of the NOI. For instance, interpreted in sequence, “Soldier,” “The Cell” and “Twinkle” become a wakeup call and a diagnosis of the 14 In other hip-hop lyrics, “dime” might also refer to a “fly-looking” woman, scoring 10 out of 10 points in beauty.

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social ills affecting especially the black communities of the USA, a wakeup call typical of NOI preaching. “Soldier” laments the destructive and deadly forces afflicting the black community: dirty cops killing youths in the ghetto, young blacks sent to the killing fields of Iraq, those “baptized when the levy broke” – referring to hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. She “got luv fo’ my folks,” including “bowties with the Final Call,” NOI members selling the NOI newspaper. They are called to be soldiers and “we gone keep marchin’ on until you hear dat freedom song.” A bleaker story is told in “The Cell,” an educational tale about how drug addiction is like a genetic disease, afflicting especially poor families. The song’s main character is Brenda, a pretty and delightful girl, a “light skin honey with cinnamon smell/girl was so enticing, make a nigga choose hell.” Her mother, though, was addicted to cocaine, her “daddy on space ships with no brain,” and her sister “gone numb the pain the same.” Brenda’s drive for “shine new things, diamond gold chains, diamond gold rings” brings her to prostitution. To numb the pain she turns to “cough syrup in coke cans.” This refers to a mixture known as “purple drank” popularized by southern rappers, blending cough syrup containing the addictive ingredient codeine with a soft drink.15 Brenda then turns to cocaine like her mother and dies of an overdose. “Why the same DNA strand?” asks Badu, and continues, “Brenda died with no name/Nickel bag coke to the brain/will they ever find the vaccine?” She concludes that the “rich man got the double barrel/po’ man got his back to the door/code white stands for trouble.” By naming her Brenda, Badu makes a link to 2Pac’s “Brenda’s Got a Baby” discussed in the previous chapter. Through the example of a young girl, both songs imply that certain social problems run in families; with few other options available, access to social acceptance and material goods is acquired through the use of one’s body, which combined with being neglected by one’s family leads to lack of self-esteem which in turn might lead to drug addiction. By referring to DNA and asking if they will ever “find a vaccine,” Badu explicitly makes Brenda’s condition a social illness for which she is not individually to blame, evoking the notion of the “culture of poverty” as developed by Oscar Lewis in the 1960s (Lewis: 2002). Why are people not free, why are they killed, why do some numb their pains with drugs? In “Twinkle,” Erykah Badu provides an answer. “They don’t know their language/they don’t know their God,” she states. Because of slavery, “their grandfathers and grandmothers work hard for nothing/and we still in this ghetto/so they end up in prisons, they end up in blood.” This is so because “they keep us uneducated, sick and depressed.” Herself, she is something quite different, empowered, as she “started with a rhyme from old ancient times/ descendant of warlocks, witches with ill glitches.” While not explicitly

15 Houston-based rappers popularized this addictive drink in their lyrics; some have died from overdosing on it. New Orleans rapper Lil Wayne is notorious for promoting cough syrup drinks in videos and songs.

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referring to NOI or NGE teachings, this complies with the doctrine of the 85, 10 and 5 % of “Lost-Found Muslim Lesson No. 2.” But Erykah Badu does not reproduce the teachings of the NOI. In describing her own faith, she offers glimpses of a personal, strongly independent and nondogmatic spirituality rooted in her own life experience. The self-affirming “Me” is a case in point. Musically, the track is soft-toned and relaxed, resembling what is often referred to as nu-jazz, a blending of electronic and acoustic sounds. Most if not all of the instruments are played live; trumpeter Roy Hargrove provides subtle jazz flavor. Badu’s voice is manipulated and distorted, resulting in a dreamy, space-like sound. The song has autobiographical elements: “had two babies with different dudes/and for them both my luv was true,” she sings. Announcing that she turned 36 years old this year, she reflects on how time has passed and marked her body, “my ass and legs have gotten thick yea.” But, she asserts, “It’s all me.” Known for her head wraps, her enigmatic appearance and studies of kemetic and Five Percenter knowledge, she asserts once again, “the Ankhs, the wraps, the plus degrees/and yes, even the mysteries/it’s all me.” Looking back on her career, she acknowledges that it has been difficult for her to be herself and evolve personally as she constantly had the media’s attention: “Sometimes it’s hard to move you see/ when you grow up publicly.” Still, “if I had to choose between/I chose me.” Now, mature and secure of herself, Badu recognizes how she has evolved spiritually: “I used to pray to God above/but now I’m filled with so much love.” In other words, she no longer has need of a distant God in the sky; she has love for herself and feels loved by others. She can still feel uncertain; there are “so many leaders to obey.” Also, in this “world of greed and hate/they may try to erase my face.” But she knows that “millions spring up in my place;” she is in all and all is in her. She adds, “I was born on Saviour’s Day, so I chose me;” she salutes Farrakhan, because “you are me.” All Music Guide lists her birthday as February 26th, which is the date the NOI celebrates Saviour’s Day in honor of Wallace Fard Muhammad. Thus, it seems, Erykah Badu has found a spiritual home in the NOI, where she still can be all that she is, including hip-hop. However, as we will see in the following, maybe hip-hop is even bigger than religion? 6.3.2.3 Hip-hop as healing Music journalists as well as hip-hop artists have declared the death of hip-hop many times. In 2006, Nas released Hip Hop Is Dead, lamenting the commercialization of hip-hop. Twelve years earlier, Common portrayed hiphop as a woman led astray in “I used to love H.E.R,” blaming gangsta rap for diluting hip-hop (Resurrection, 1994). Erykah Badu, on the other hand, declares hip-hop “Love of My Life,” (Worldwide Underground, 2003) and even believes hip-hop has healing powers and is bigger than religion. Confusingly, there are two songs with this name on the same record, and both celebrate hiphop. “Love of My Life Worldwide” features fellow singers and rappers Queen

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Latifah, Angie Stone and Bahamadia. Here, the three MCs salute hip-hop and brag about their style. However, “Love of My Life (An Ode to Hip Hop),” offered as a bonus track, is a direct response to Common. She samples from his chorus, and he appears with a guest verse. Therefore, a short resum of his song is needed. Common describes hip-hop as a young girl he falls in love with. She got “so much soul… not a church girl, she was secular” but she was not about the money, she was “Underground, original, pure untampered and down sister,” and he wished he could “do her.” This girl grew up, became Afrocentric, and was “into that tip about stoppin’ the violence,” referring to KRS One and the “Stop the Violence” movement. She moves to the West Coast, probably earning more money there. He gets worried because she now says that pro-black and Afro-centricity are outdated and out of style, but it is still all right: “black music is black music and it’s all good/I wasn’t salty/she was with the boyz in the Hood.” However, things change as she is told that “if she got an image and a gimmick,” she could earn money. Before, she would “only swing with the inner-city circle;” now she is everywhere, always “smoking blunts and getting drunk,” being a “gangsta rollin with gangsta bitches.” She is letting “all these groupies do her,” and he sees “niggaz slamming her, and take her to the sewer.” Despite this, he is going to “take her back.” In Badu’s song, the gender roles are reversed: “I met him when I was a little girl he gave me poetry.” Whenever she needed advice, “he gave me his shoulder, his words were very nice.” She knows she is not the only one, and sometimes their relationship is distant, as they keep “in touch through his friend Mike,” perhaps a wordplay on microphone. Still, she knows there are no others, “my love is his and his love is mine.” Her friend has become the love of her life, as she repeatedly confirms in the chorus: Love of my life, you are my friend Love of my life, I can depend Love of my life, without you baby Feels like a simple true love, yeah

Common describes his relationship with hip-hop in sexualized and at times quite derogatory terms. Moreover, he reproduces patriarchal stereotypes of sexuality. Hip-hop is at first a girl “pure and untampered.” She might have relationships with others, but that is cool as long as he is in control. However, she crosses the line, getting high and letting “groupies do her.” He is the only one that can save her, by taking her back. He is the agent. Erykah Badu’s language is neither sexual nor possessive. She acknowledges her friend for giving her poetry and offering a shoulder when she needed advice. The relationship is based on mutuality, both have agency. Badu also offers Common an opportunity to respond. In his guest verse, he modifies his earlier verses. He refers to his own song: “Y’all know how I met her/We broke up, got back together/To get her back, I had to sweat her.” But he can understand that she “needed cheddar” (money), and “looking for cheese that don’t make her a

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hood rat.” Still, the relationship is uneven; he sweats her, he remains untainted, he is the patriarchal figure bringing her back into the fold. Erykah Badu concludes in b-girl manner, “Love of my life, you be boy and I be girl. Love of my life, it don’t stop until the break of dawn”, reminding us that hiphop is not only about rap. In “The Healer,” Badu goes one step further, claiming that hip-hop has healing powers, that hip-hop is even bigger than religion. Badu’s chanting, pentatonic melodic line, the sound of an Eastern string instrument – maybe the Japanese Shamisen – accompanied by a descending line with glockenspiel and bass in unison and a group of female voices chanting, creates a meditative atmosphere. The descending line and female voices are sampled from “Kono Samurai” performed by the French-Japanese group Yamasuki (Le Monde Fabuleux des Yamasuki, 2005). “Humdilila Allah Jehova, Yahweh, Dios, Ma’at, Jah, Rastafara fire, dance, sex, music” chants Badu in the opening of the chorus, before coming to “hip-hop.” She chants names forGod from different religious traditions, starting with the Muslim greeting, alhamdulillah, “All praise to God” or “God is the Greatest,” continuing with three names from Judeo-Christian tradition, Jehova, Yahweh and Dios, the latter in Spanish probably to signify Catholicism. Ma’at is the name of the Ancient Egyptian goddess of truth, revived in contemporary African American spirituality, while Jah and Rastafara refer to Rastafarianism. While fire, dance, sex and music are not specifically religious, they can be consuming, analogous to religious passion. All these names and words are chanted in a flowing style, but each time she says “hip hop,” it is always heavily emphasized, placed on the four and one beat. The phrasing thus seems to indicate that hip-hop is either a fulfillment of or even an alternative to these religions. Hip-hop, she states, “is bigger than religion, (hip hop)/it’s bigger than my Nigga, (hip hop)/it’s bigger than the government (hip hop).” The first verse appears surreal and dreamlike, we ain’t dead said the Children don’t believe it we just made ourselves invisible underwater, stove top, blue flame, scientist come out with your scales up get baptized in the ocean of hungry when niggas turn into gods, walls come tumblin’…

The second verse is equally surrealistic but might offer a clue: “we been living through your internet/you don’t have to believe everything you think… We’ve been programmed/wake up we miss you they call you indigo, we call you Africa.” The invisible children possibly refers to the experience of being socially invisible, growing up as an African American in a white society, as narrated in Ralph Ellison’s classic novel Invisible Man (Ellison: 1995). In such a context, one strategy would be to make oneself invisible, trying to blend in and deny one’s cultural and ethnic roots. But as the second verse implies, this is a project that is neither

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possible nor desirable. What one wants to make invisible is still there, programmed, part of your internal network. “They call you indigo” might refer to the notion of “Indigo children,” a concept popularized in the 1990s of children having special, psychic gifts (see Whedon: 2009, 60–76). Badu offers a different name, Africa. “Reboot, refresh, restart, fresh page, new day, old G, new key,” concludes Badu, while electronic sounds are becoming louder and make the music more dissonant, and suddenly it ends. A possible interpretation is that “African-ness” should not be made invisible any longer, but rather be awakened. Hip-hop makes it possible to live fully, to be who you are, to fulfill whatever religions promise and to enable a new start. While these interpretations of Badu’s songs are tentative and only a few of many possible interpretations, it is clear that Erykah Badu is an original and unconventional artist who does not reproduce doctrines. Rather, as this exploration of her art has shown, she expands and transcends doctrinal elements from both the Nation of Gods and Earth and the Nation of Islam. She defies strict gender roles, while accentuating her woman-ness. In so doing, she creates a space for herself, a space where she can be herself and quite possibly a space where others will also find a way to be whole and human. Erykah Badu’s work defies categorization, both in terms of art and spirituality. While referring to NGE and NOI concepts, her language is far more poetic and open than any of the work discussed so far. This does not prevent her from criticizing institutional racism and oppression and flavoring it with NOI doctrine, especially in her later works. Nevertheless, even when referring to the NOI and the NGE, she emphasizes a woman’s perspective. She breaks down the hierarchical family structure of the NOI and the NGE and highlights the strength, creativity and wisdom of women.

6.4 Rap and mainstream Islam As hip-hop traveled the world and found fertile ground in Muslim areas of Africa and Asia, a global scene emerged of rappers embracing traditional denominations of Islam. One of the most vital hip-hop scenes outside the USA is in Dakar, Senegal, where an estimated 90 percent of the rappers are Muslims, including the influential group Positive Black Soul. Even in countries of Europe where Islam is a minority religion, there are prominent Muslim rappers such as Akhenaton of the Marseilles-based group IAM, Muneera Rashida and Sukina Abdul Noor of UK’s Poetic Pilgrimmage and Isam Bachiri and Waqas Ali Qadri of the Danish hip-hop group Outlandish. Also in the USA, a growing number of rappers are inspired by mainstream Islam. Some, in the manner of Christian rappers, target a Muslim audience and possible converts. With releases such as Not Afraid to Stand Alone (2007), the Washington, DC-based group Native Deen blends elements of Islamic faith

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with soft musical landscapes, often flavored by Eastern percussion. Others take part in the secular music scene, blending issues relating to Islam with other topics. Among US rappers aligning themselves with Sunni Islam are QTip and Ali Shaheed Muhammad of the now-disbanded A Tribe Called Quest, Everlast of House of Pain and Mos Def. Everlast, being a white, Catholic-raised Irish American, challenges the stereotype of Islam as being a “black thing” in the US. However, most of his solo work is closer to rock than hip-hop, as he sings and plays guitar on albums such as Whitey Ford Plays the Blues (1998) and Love War and the Ghost of Whitey Ford (2008). Underground scenes and networks promote hip-hop, and hip-hop artists of mainstream Islamic faith, websites, blogs and Internet discussion forums provide space for Muslim fans of hip-hop music to engage in heated debates over how to relate Islamic faith with what is going on in the hip-hop culture. As H. Samy Alim points out, hip-hop is part of a transglobal umma, an Islamic network in the spirit of the Prophet Muhammad’s vision of a Muslim community where “citizenship was based on faith rather than on contemporary nation-state distinctions, or rather, on how colonizing cartographers cut up the global landscape” (Alim: 2005, 265). The combination of hip-hop and mainstream Islam is not without friction. While the Islamic world at large has produced a wealth of musical heritage, some fundamentalist schools of thought are critical of all musical practices except for prayer or recitation of the Qur’an.16 As there are no direct references to music in the Qur’an itself, Muslim scholars and theologians have developed different strategies concerning music over the centuries. Those critical of music liken music to “idle talk,” as described in Sure 31,6: ”But there are, among men, those who purchase idle tales, without knowledge (or meaning), to mislead (men) from the Path of Allah and throw ridicule (on the Path): for such there will be a humiliating Penalty” (Shiloah: 1995). When discussing music, most traditions do not include the singing, or “beautiful recitation” of the Qur’an, which is generally permitted. Music thus refers to instrumental music, whether for devotional purposes, listening or dancing and all singing that is not for the recitation of the Qur’an or call to prayer. Some followers of Ibn Abi’l-Dunya (823–94) regard music as a diversion from devotional life and vehemently oppose all musical practices. Some even hold that music is an invention of the devil, enslaving the soul of man to passion and worldly pleasures like drinking and fornication (Shiloa: 1995, 34 f). Other traditions value the ability of music to uplift the spirit, while still warning against music that distracts from God. The theologian Abu Hamid al-Ghazzali (1058–1111) finds music permissible when used to encourage pilgrimage (for those permitted to make a pilgrimage), to incite to battle and to inspire courage on the day of battle, to evoke lamentation and sorrow, to arouse joy, to elicit love and longing under circumstances where singing and the playing of instru16 See for instance Otterbeeck (2004) and Baily (2004).

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ments are permitted and, finally, to evoke love of God. Music is not permitted, however, when performed under certain circumstances by women, when played on instruments expressly forbidden, when the song’s content is contrary to the spirit of religion, when the listener is ruled by lust or when music is listened to for its own sake (ibid., 43 f). These different strategies resonate with those developed within Jewish and Christian traditions, and variations of these positions can be found in the hip-hop community. On the restrictive side is Mutah Beale, known as the rapper Napoleon of 2Pac’s group the Outlaws before his conversion to Islam: My goal is to help the Youth and the Community avoid the pitfalls of the hip-hop culture. Through my experiences and learning I want to benefit the youth with knowledge of the what the real life in streets is all about and how to avoid getting involved in it… I was a entertainer and my sole lively-hood depended on selling music but since I gave up music (since its haram) I had to find other halal methods of income. So, I go around the world giving lectures to youth and youn[g] adults about the beauty of Islam and negative effects of the hip-hop culture.17

Rapper and actor Mos Def, on the other hand, finds a parallel between rapping and the rhythmic recitation of the Qu’ran (Alim: 2006, 267). Aware of the controversy surrounding music in some Islamic traditions, the website Muslimhiphop.com states that they consider music halal as long as it does not “contain content which violates the principles of Islam,” such as sex, violence and profanity, providing Internet resources in support of their viewpoint.18 Some rappers of mainstream Islamic faith are critical of the Nation of Islam and the Nation of Gods and Earths, finding their doctrine to be a perversion of true Islam. Many Islamic rappers outside the United States agree with Akhenaton of IAM when he states that he is unable to recognize the Islam of some of his fellow US rappers (Swedenburg: 2001, 74). Mos Def expresses similar sentiments: I think the NOI, in general, is an organization that is just capitalizing off the misery of black folks. As a Muslim, I think they are a terrible wedge in the American public’s understanding of true Islam. That’s part of the reason why they receive such wide media coverage – as long as America or some part of the global community believes that the NOI represents true Islam, people are not going to be receptive to Islam (in Wang: 1998).

In the following, I will look into the influence of mainstream Islam on hip-hop through the work of Mos Def. He is not a rapper confining himself to a Muslim audience. As both an actor and a rapper, he is working in the secular entertainment industry, but makes no secret that his art is inspired by his faith. 17 From the “About Me” section of Beale’s website “Napoleon Outlawed,” http://napoleonoutlawed.com (August 18, 2010). 18 Music in Islam section on http://www.muslimhiphop.com/ (August 19, 2010).

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6.4.1 The Ecstatic Mos Def Growing up in Brooklyn, New York, Mos Def began his career in the 1990s, appearing with De La Soul and Lyricist Lounge. He formed Black Star with fellow rapper Talib Kweli and released Mos Def and Talib Kweli are Black Star (1998). To date, Mos Def has released four solo albums, including Black on Both Sides (1999), The New Danger (2004) with his heavy metal band Black Jack Johnson and Grammy-nominated The Ecstatic (2009). He is an accomplished actor, appearing in films such as Monster’s Ball (2001) and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy (2006). Now going under the name Yasiin Bey, he declared early in 2016 that he would retire ”from the music recording industry as it is currently assembled today,” and release his final album by the end of the year (Brandle: 2016). Mos Def represents a younger generation of socially and politically engaged rappers addressing a diversity of issues. “Katrina Clap (Dollar Day)” (2005) criticizes the government for its poor handling of the hurricane Katrina catastrophe. A rarity in hip-hop, Mos Def offers environmentally aware commentary. “New World Water” (Black on Both Sides) addresses the globally uneven access to clean water. The single “Ain’t My Fault” (2010) was a fundraising collaboration with New Orleans musicians in the wake of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill scandal in the Gulf of Mexico.19 Stylistically, Mos Def fits well within the jazz/bohemian genre as defined by Adam Krims. He regularly features samples large enough to easily identify the original source, which can be everything from 1970s soul and recordings by African musicians like Fela Kuti to film dialogues and speeches by Malcolm X. Quite often he also adds live instrumentation to the tracks, playing drums and percussion himself and collaborating with musicians such as Weldon Irvine, a legend of the New York jazz and funk scene. His heavy metal band Black Jack Johnson, comprised of stellar black musicians, is featured extensively on The New Danger.20

19 The song and video were recorded at the legendary Preservation Hall in New Orleans, and feature, among others, Trombone Shorty and Lenny Kravitz. “Ain’t My Fault,” a classic and frequently sampled New Orleans funk tune composed by drummer Smokey Johnson, is played live accompanying Mos Def ’s new rap lyrics. 20 Weldon Irvine (1943–2002) was bandleader for Nina Simone and composed many songs, including the civil rights anthem “To Be Young, Gifted and Black” recorded by Simone, Danny Hathaway and a host of others. His eclectic mix of jazz and funk is widely sampled, and several hip-hoppers cite him as a mentor, including Q-Tip. Black Jack Johnson features the drummer Will Calhoun and bassist Doug Wimbish of Living Colour, both prominent members of the Black Rock Coalition – Wimbish also played on many of the Sugar Hill Gang sessions – guitarist Dr. Know of the punk rock band Bad Brains and keyboardist Bernie Worrell of George Clinton’s Parliament Funkadelic.

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6.4.1.1 Black on Both Sides – different meanings of black “Against the canvas of the night/appears a curious celestial phenomena/called Black Star, but what is it?” asks Mos Def on “Astronomy (8th Light)” (Mos Def and Talib Kweli are Black Star). Yes, the “Black Star,” what is it? It could refer to Marcus Garvey’s steamboat company, but there are no other references to Garvey. Given the song title, “Astronomy,” a likely reference could be contemporary astrophysics and quantum physics, where some researchers have developed a theory of “black stars” as an alternative to black holes (see Barcel /Liberati/Sonego/Visser: 2009). The enigma of this theoretical concept, or “curious celestial phenomena,” works as a backdrop for the rappers’ explorations of different meanings of black. The music is relaxed and jazzy, with repeated drum and bass patterns and angular guitar statements, spiced with extensive scratching throughout. Weldon Irvine lays out sparse chords on electric piano. The modal harmonic feel, with chords not resolving as in traditional functional harmony, combined with the repetitive and sparse beat, creates an infinite and open atmosphere suiting the cosmic overtones of the song. Talib Kweli and Mos Def associate freely around the different connotations of black, a color of pride, of flesh and blood, of family and people. “Black people unite,” says Talib Kweli and continues: “black, my family thick… black is the color of my true love’s hair,” citing a popular folk song. Mos Def asserts that the black star is “commonplace and different/intimate and distant.” It is black like the veil that the muslimina wear” and “black like the planet that they fear, why they scared,” referring both to head garments worn by Muslim women and Public Enemy’s Fear of A Black Planet. Black is a color imbued with the pains caused by racism and oppression: “black like the slave ship that later brought us here/black like the cheeks that are roadways for tears” and “black like the perception of who on welfare/black like faces at the bottom of the well.” Most of all, however, black is a color of spiritual significance: “There’s so much to life when you just stay Black and God,” says Kweli. Mos Def continues, “Some man wan ask ‘Who am I?’ I simply reply, The U’n’I V.E.R.S.A.L. magnetic/work to respect the angelic,” implying that each individual represents a cosmic force. In the chorus, repeated several times at the end, Mos Def does some intricate mathematics: Now black people unite, and let’s ALL GET DOWN ow everybody hop on the one, the sounds of the two It’s the third eye vision, five side dimension The 8th Light, is gonna shine bright tonight

While “one” and “two” refer to the beats in the music and represent cues for dancing, the third eye is the “spiritual eye”, and “five side dimension” might refer to hip-hop’s fifth element, “knowledge,” or maybe the five pillars of Islam. The meaning of the eighth light however, is enigmatic. Still, the

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sequence of numbers is significant – one, two, three, five, eight – as they constitute the first numbers in a so-called Fibonacci sequence, where each number is the sum of the previous two. This pattern is related to the notion of the “golden ratio,” which has inspired thinkers and artists for centuries (Schimmel: 1993, 29). Whatever the metaphysical reference might be, it also refers to the rhyming of Talib Kweli and Mos Def, because they are also black stars, as their band’s name makes clear: Mos Def: You know who else is a Black Star? (Who?) Me! Talib Kweli: You know who else is a Black Star? (Who?) Me! Both: You know who else is a Black Star? Who? We! And we be shinin and shinin, when we rhymin and rhymin (2x)

Mos Def offers another mathematical lesson in “Mathematics” (from Black on both Sides), where each of the two verses are structured as counts to ten. Nevertheless, even as these counts have spiritual connotations, they are different from Brand Nubian’s recounting of “Supreme Mathematics.” Ten holds a special place in many spiritual traditions, often connoting completeness (Schimmel: 1993, 180–88). The song is medium tempo, with a harsh, distorted sound. A collage of sampled voices, all relating to numbers and mathematics, makes up the chorus. There is James Brown counting in a song, rapper Fat Joe shouting “It’s all about mathematics,” and a short sample of Erykah Badu singing “do your math” from “On and On.” Mos Def knows his math; it is rooted in science, hiphop culture and spirituality: “It’s five dimensions, six senses/Seven firmaments of heaven to hell, eight million stories to tell/Nine planets faithfully keep in orbit/with the probable tenth, the universe expands length.” His words “possess extra strength;” his ink is “so hot it burns up the journal,” aiming at “powerliftin’ power-less up.” Thus, he applies his skills to address the “social hurdles” affecting hip-hop and the black community, such as the prison system and the surveillance and fortification of inner cities; “Killing fields need blood to graze the cash cow.” However, all this money spent on security and prisons fails to make people feel any safer: “sixty-nine billion in the last twenty years/spent on national defense but folks still live in fear.” Mos Def continues: “nearly half of America’s largest cities is one-quarter black/That’s why they gave Ricky Ross all the crack/Sixteen ounces to a pound, twenty more to a ki.” During the height of the crack epidemic, Ricky “Freeway” Ross was the most famous drug kingpin in Los Angeles, grossing more than $1 million a day (Quinn: 2005, 208 f). In other words, it seems as though Mos Def is suggesting that the crack industry targeted the black population of large cities such as Los Angeles. We are in the “Terrordome,” Mos Def contends, again referring to Public Enemy, with crack mothers and crack babies, AIDS patients, prisons filled with young teens serving life sentences, where kids play their PlayStations with expertise, but do not know how to read.

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The second verse begins with another count to ten: Yo, it’s one universal law but two sides to every story Three strikes and you be in for life, mandatory Four MC’s murdered in the last four years I ain’t tryin to be the fifth one, the millennium is here Yo it’s six million ways to die, from the seven deadly thrills Eight-year olds gettin’ found with nine mill’s It’s 10 P.M, where your seeds at?

As Mos Def underlines, the law might be universal and equal for all, but it affects people differently. He refers to the controversial “three strikes law” applied in several states, where people might face lifelong sentences after three convictions – even in cases involving lesser crimes. Hip-hop culture reflects this brutal reality, as Mos Def refers to “four murdered MC’s,” 2Pac, Notorious BIG, Big L (see chapter 4) and Stretch, known for his work with 2 Pac, are four MCs shot in the four years prior to the release of this song. The reference to seven deadly sins, “thrills,” implies that immorality is deadly, too. Easy access to handguns is equally as deadly, making it possible for eight-year-old kids to carry 9-millimeter guns. Low wages, high unemployment and increased surveillance are other factors Mos Def points to that statistically affect the black population more than others. Mos Def concludes his mathematical lesson with the following observation on systemic racism: “The system breaks man, child and women into figures/Two columns for who is, and who ain’t niggaz.” But numbers are not real; they have no feelings. Thus, “when you push too hard, even numbers got limits.” “Rock N Roll,” (Black on Both Sides), examines how the music industry has exploited black music and governs our perception of styles as being either “black” or “white.” Rock for instance, is generally perceived to be a “white” genre, as most rock stars are white. Mos Def, like Ice T, is engaged in rock and opposes this notion.21 In the chorus, Mos Def provokingly aims at “the king of rock,” Elvis Presley: “I said Elvis Presley ain’t got no soul.” And people might dig the Rolling Stones, “But they ain’t come up with that style on their own… everything they did they stole.” Mos Def argues that white rock stars appropriated their music from black artists. Musicians such as Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Bo Diddley and Jimi Hendrix represent true rock ‘n’ roll. Rather than listening to white hardcore bands like Limp Bizkit and Korn, he prefers black bands such as Fishbone and Bad Brains, the latter a pioneering punk rock band founded in 1977. He also makes a little swing into jazz, “Kenny G ain’t got no soul/John Coltrane is rock ‘n’ roll.” Saxophonist Kenny G, probably the most selling instrumentalist worldwide, is a controversial figure among jazz aficionados because of his ultra-polished smooth 21 Ice T’s band Body Count stirred controversy with their song “Cop Killer,” provoking police officers and some politicians to boycott rap concerts and ban rap records, ignoring the fact that Body Count is a rock band.

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jazz style. Mos Def delineates a musical genealogy linking rock ‘n’ roll with hiphop, going back to the music of the slaves, represented by the singing of his great grandmother: (Huh) My grandmomma was raised on a reservation (Huh) My great-grandmomma was, from a plantation They sang – songs for inspiration They sang – songs for relaxation They sang – songs, to take their minds up off that fucked up situation

He is a descendant of slaves, of “those folks whose backs got broke” the “builders of your street.” “I am hip-hop,” claims Mos Def, and hip-hop is “heavy metal for black people.” He is also rock ‘n’ roll and has “been here forever, they just ain’t let you know.” Musically, most of the song follows a laid back hip-hop beat, but turns to a quick-paced punk style at the end with live guitar, bass and drums. The vocal delivery changes accordingly, as Mos Def shouts out in a punk-like delivery: “You may dig on the Rolling Stones, but we send they punk ass home!/Who am Iiiii/rock ‘n’ roll!! (repeated).” 6.4.1.2 Hip-hop, spirituality and Islam Mos Def opens each of his solo albums with the Islamic prayer “Bismillah-ir Rahman ir Raheem” – “In the name of God, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.” This is the opening verse of the Qur’an and in Muslim tradition is prayed before important tasks. Thus, Mos Def signifies not only that he is a Muslim, but also that the following music is dedicated to God. The song “Champion Requiem,” (New Danger) begins with this prayer, continuing: If you see or hear goodness from me then that goodness is from The Creator You should be thankful to The Creator for all of that ‘cause I’m not the architect of that I’m only the… the recipient If you see weakness or shortcoming in me it’s from my own weakness or shortcoming and I ask The Creator and the people to forgive me for that

On “Umi Says” (Black on Both Sides) Mos Def describes the struggle of being an imperfect, ordinary man with a calling to be a leader and to fight for others. His heavily reverbed voice is reminiscent of reggae and dub, while the music is slow-paced and jazzy, featuring Weldon Irvine on Hammond organ and will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas on electric piano. Mos Def confesses that he has something pressing and important to say; he will not write it down, but he will tell it right now. “Tomorrow may never come, for you or me/life is not promised/tomorrow may never show up,” he states, so you “better hold this very moment very close to you.” What he has to share is wisdom from his

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mother (umi) and father (abi): “My Umi said shine your light on the world/ Shine your light for the world to see/My Abi said shine your light on the world/ Shine your light for the world to see.” He is not to be afraid, not to hide his light, but let it shine for the world. Sometimes he gets discouraged, as people around him are weak. He wants to cry, feeling like he is going insane. Sometimes he just wants to live a quiet life with his wife and children. He does not want to be in any war or be a soldier. What umi and abi said are also the words of his ancestors, his elders and his “dreamers”: “shine your light for the world to see.” All that matters is that he wants black people to be free. The conclusion resembles Rastafarian spirituality: Black people unite and let’s all get down Gotta have what, Gotta have that love Peace and understanding One God, one light One man, one voice, one mic Black people unite come on and do it right

Of course, with a little hip-hop twist, as it is not only one God and one light, but also one man, one voice and one microphone. An album title such as The Ecstatic might in itself refer to religion and faith, as ecstasy is part of mysticism within many religious traditions. The Sufis of Islam, for instance, might inspire spiritually inclined hip-hoppers with their emphasis on poetry, rhyme, music and dance.22 While Mos Def makes no direct references to Sufism, the poetry is generally more intricate than on earlier albums. The spiritual foundation of Mos Def ’s music is made clear in the less than one-and-a-half minute long “Priority.” The track builds on a sample contributing a good spirited, gospel flavored groove, from Bobby Hebb’s “Flower” (Love Games, 1970). The soulful piano introduction and elegiac horn arrangement creates a fitting musical backdrop for Mos Def ’s spiritual message: Peace before everything, God before anything Love before anything, real before everything … Quiet water major waves Steer the course, make a way And come ashore on a greater day

If these elements are at the foundation of your life and given priority, you’ll have “love power” to “slay the hate.” Typically, Mos Def applies his spirituality to his art. What is true about the reality of God and love is also true about the 22 French rapper Abd al Malik, for instance, describes his encounter with Sufism in his spiritual autobiography (Malik: 2009, 98–126).

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way he rhymes. One can never be quite sure if he raps about the one or the other, as he continues, “full flavor in the native strain/now put that on your brainy brain/full exposure to favorite slang.” He makes shout outs to “Brooklyn finest, preservation to beat box” before he concludes once again with “Peace before everything, God before anything (…) Priority. Love Power.” Like a Sufi, Mos Def blends the art of poetry with the spiritual. “Supermagic” is more ambiguous, opening with a Malcolm X sample stating, “you’re living in a time of extremism, a time of revolution, a time of change.” The music is built around a sample of Turkish singer Selda Bagcan’s “Ince Ince” (Selda, 1976). During the 1970s and ’80s, Selda Bagcan was among Turkey’s most profiled protest singers, regularly imprisoned during the 1980s for her political engagement. Musically, she fuses traditional folk music with elements from psychedelic rock, electronica, punk and funk. Thus, the edgy guitar figure and funk heavy bass Mos Def lifts from this song are hard hitting and unsettling, complimentary to the notion of unrest and struggle established by the Malcolm X sample. The lyrics are quite ambivalent, too, blending elements from different spiritual spheres: Super magic black origin freshly out of dopeness Definitely out of dopeness, sketch another opus Knock off your set, Brooklyn we keep ’em open The heavens expand the stars advance feel the boogieman Mojo hand healing power like Bang

“Supermagic” seems to be a cosmic power, black in origin, a creative force that is fresh and “out of dopeness” – that is, cool and awesome. It is a power that makes the heavens expand and the stars move, definitively a power connected to the Almighty. But Mos Def blends in spiritual concepts associated with darkness, such as the boogieman and what is perceived to be black magic. “Mojo hand,” originally a small bag worn as a charm for protection, luck or love, has its origins in African American voodoo beliefs. The boogieman or bogeyman, a fictional monster frequently used to scare children, appears quite frequently in Mos Def ’s lyrics. In “The Boogie Man Song” (The New Danger) he is affectionately described as a creature desperately longing to be loved, touched and cared for in a world that is “cold and ugly.” He is the “most beautiful boogieman… low and lovely” begging to be “your famous nightmare.” Mos Def plays on the duality of the boogieman, powerful but lonely, feared but misunderstood. Thus, the boogieman might metaphorically represent the black man and how he is perceived in a white society. In other songs, like “Casa Bey,” the boogieman is one of Mos Def ’s many nicknames, the “Bed-Stuy Boogie Man.” “In “Supermagic,” both the mojo hand and the boogieman represent the cosmic, creative force, while at the same time carry the ambiguous meanings of these concepts. In addition, as Mos Def and his rhyming are of this cosmic power, he is an ecstatic suited for the time of revolution and change professed by Malcolm X.

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References to hip-hop abound in Mos Def ’s lyrics. He quotes and samples from significant rap tunes, and hip-hop seems to be the lens through which he interprets life in the city and, quite often, matters of faith. As the bismillah introduces each of his albums, all of his works might be interpreted as expressions of faith whatever the topic. Many of his songs seamlessly interweave faith and hip-hop. “Fear Not of Man” (Black on Both Sides) is a case in point. The title in itself has religious connotations, but is also the title of a Fela Kuti song sampled here. “You know what’s gonna happen with hip-hop? Whatever’s happening with us,” states Mos Def. Hip-hop is not “some giant living in the hillside coming down to visit townspeople.” Rather, “we are hiphop.” Thus, hip-hop is a reflection of ourselves. Instead of asking where hiphop is going, one should ask oneself, “Where am I going?” Hip-hop is about the people and will not get better until the people get better – “If we doin’ all right, hip-hop is gonna be doin’ all right.” But how are people going to get better? Mos Def argues that people need to understand that they are valuable in themselves, not because of money or because they are sexy. “They valuable ‘cause they been created by God and God makes you valuable.” This is not easy to recognize, though, as societies and governments “tryin to be God, whishin’ that they were God… I guess the Last Poets wasn’t too far off when they said that certain people got a God complex.” This refers to the Last Poets and their song “White Man’s Got a God Complex” (This Is Madness, 1971) Mos Def ’s solution is a mixture of rhythms and faith in God, as presented in the chorus: All over the world hearts pound with the rhythm Fear not of men because men must die Mind over matter and soul before flesh Angels for the pain keep a record in time which is passin’ and runnin’ like a caravan freighter The world is overrun with the wealthy and the wicked But God is sufficient in disposin of affairs Gunmen and stockholders try to merit your fear But God is sufficient over plans they prepared

Fear not of men, they might seem to be in control over this world, ruled by the rich and wicked, by those with a “God complex.” Ultimately, however, God is in control. Money and sexy looks might be dominating the hip-hop industry now, but when people have faith in God and realize their true value, hip-hop will be all right, too. Mos Def is well versed in mathematics and science, but draws from quite different sources than the Five Percenter rappers, including from contemporary astrophysics. His criticism of racism and racist structures in society is as fierce as the NOI and the NGE inspired rappers but does not seem to suggest any form of black nationalism. Each of his albums begins with prayer, bismillah and Islamic thought informs much of his music. Thus, his art also appears spiritual even when he is not referring to explicitly religious or

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spiritual concepts. As Mos Def interweaves spirituality, social commentary and love for music and poetry into his art, he can be placed in the tradition of great Sufi poets like Rumi and Al Ghazal. Representing the most traditional form of Islam in this chapter, Mos Def is paradoxically also the one who presents the most open and ecumenical spirituality. There are few references to doctrine, and his spirituality is expressed in poetic, exploratory language. The music is an indispensable part of Mos Def ’s work; his collaboration with stellar musicians and eclectic choices of samples root the spiritual dimension in the physical and sensual. Chapter summary In this chapter, I have explored songs by rappers linked with three different Islamic traditions, the Nation of Islam, the Nation of Gods and Earths and Sunni Islam. As the NGE builds on much of the same doctrinal traditions as the NOI, there are doctrinal similarities between the rappers inspired by the NOI and those inspired by the NGE. They criticize racism and oppressive structures dominated by whites in education, government and economy. They are also critical of Christianity and its concept of a mystery God, while at the same time they build on and reinterpret concepts of biblical scripture. The material, although limited, confirms the continuity between the NOI and the NGE inspired rappers, reflecting their respective affiliations. As noted, Public Enemy seems to be more politically than religiously influenced by the NOI. Interestingly, it seems that the difference between rappers inspired by the NOI and rappers inspired by the NGE to some extent reflect the different power structures of the two movements. Public Enemy acknowledges the NOI and the leadership of Louis Farrakhan, and they refer to his teachings. Louis Farrakhan acknowledges the importance of rappers, engages in conflicts between rappers and invites them to NOI gatherings. But Farrakhan is the leader, and he is the theologian. Brand Nubians and Wu-Tang Clan on the other hand, while not being leaders, are certainly teachers. Like all Five Percenters who have demonstrated their ability to show and prove, they preach sermons over the mic and bring the message out to the initiated as well as the uninitiated. Their role as teachers is further underscored through the publication of theological treatises such as Lord Jamar’s The 5 % Album and RZA’s The Tao of Wu. Spiritually, what we have explored in this chapter is a politically and socially charged spirituality, combined with an activist approach. In addition, we see a hybrid spirituality not only drawing on hybrid traditions like the NOI and the NGE, but also a hybridization that is taken a step further by including concepts from indigenous traditions, kemetology, martial arts and popular culture. Erykah Badu and Mos Def both offer examples of a poetic and eclectic musical approach to spirituality, rich with historical and contemporary references, open to multiple interpretations. While Badu is in the tradition of the NGE and the NOI, Mos Def

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roots his approach in a context of traditional Sunni Islam. By so doing, he seems to have a more universal outlook than other rappers explored here.

PART THREE

7. Remix “Hip hop is not music…” Toni Blackman rhymes in her poem “tagging your heart not walls” (Blackman: 2002). “It is not dance, it is not djing or writing…it is not the boom bap, the boom-boom bap, but the way the boom bap feels when it vibrates through.” With these few words she points to the indefinable character of art’s connective energy. The energy that makes a mural not just another mural, a breathtaking b-girl move not just another move, and a rhyme and a beat not just another rap. It is the energy that gives the feeling of being touched, moved at a deeper level, being part of a greater whole. It is something that can be recognized in all forms of art, not just hip-hop. To some extend it has to do with commitment, being committed and dedicated to an art form for a long period of time. Whatever it is, it is an energy that makes jazz and blues people feel at home when they hear certain ways of singing or playing an instrument, the gallery goers when they see certain strokes, colors and shapes and hip-hoppers when the DJ juggles the vinyl and scratches or when they see the markers and spray cans applied in certain ways on the city’s surfaces. It is personal, spiritual – and elusive. It is so much easier to write that hip-hop is DJing, rhyming, writing and dancing and leave it at that. Much of the same could be said of lived spirituality. It is tempting to “inventory the countless forms of spirituality” as Elisabeth Hense puts it, to identify and classify elements of spirituality, finding “family resemblances” (see Chapter 2). But this would not bring us closer to the experience of connectedness, affirmation, awe, being whole, healing, meaning, sense of direction, purpose or whatever one experiences as spiritual. Thus, Blackman’s poem is a powerful reminder of what is difficult, maybe impossible to grasp in a text, “the way the boom bap feels when it vibrates through” whether it is lived hip-hop, lived spirituality or both. Although the pages of this book are silent, I hope the previous explorations have provided a glimpse of the rich mix of spirituality in hip-hop. To construct a coherent, unified “spirituality of hip-hop” is a fragile project. Hip-hop spiritualities navigate in the in-betweens of the annunciation story of Lauryn Hill and 2Pac’s Black Jesuz, the black nationalist rhetoric of Public Enemy and the celebration of Females in Hip-Hop and Babes in Boyland, the science of Brand Nubian and the explorations of Erykah Badu, the gospel rappers’ praising of the Lord and Harlemworld’s celebration of Old School hip-hop culture. In the murals and rap songs explored, one can see the contours of spiritual strategies, strategies to cope with often harsh urban realities and forces of oppression. Since oppressive practices are also embedded in hegemonic religion, some of these strategies are subversive, creatively navigating between systems of dogma and lived experience.

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For these concluding pages, I would like to take a step back from the close readings of the previous chapters and reflect in more general terms on how hiphop cultural expressions adds to our understanding of spirituality. As I have contextualized hip-hop spirituality in situations of struggle and oppression, I want to explore different spiritual survival strategies embedded in hip-hop cultural expressions, how they make space for subversive, empowering spirituality. I also want to see what a difference a rhyme, a groove, a shape makes, what it means for hip-hop spirituality to be embodied in hip-hop esthetic practices. To evoke Brand Nubian and the title of this work, it is not only about the ministry, but also about what the dance does to the ministry. First, I will resituate this project in the field of spiritual studies, suggesting how the study of popular culture and hip-hop expands the horizon for research on spirituality. I revisit the comparative models of spirituality and liberation spirituality outlined in Chapter 2, suggesting how the study of hiphop culture might add to exiting theories of spirituality. Then I turn to the model of hybrid spirituality, exploring how the songs and walls previously studied suggest different spiritual strategies to cope with oppressive forces like racism and sexism. The third section will look at hip-hop spirituality and hybridity from a different angle, as embodied in esthetic practices characteristic of hip-hop.

7.1 Mapping hip-hop spirituality Hip-hop spirituality does not take place in a vacuum. Previous chapters provide many examples of hip-hop engaging with a variety of spiritualities, from established religion to spiritualities derived from African and LatinAmerican vernacular traditions. Thus, typologies of spirituality as provided by Frans Jespers, Linda Woodhead and Paul Helaas are helpful in placing hiphop spirituality in a larger spiritual landscape. Spirituality of liberation as developed by Jon Sobrino and James H. Cone offers tools in understanding the liberative possibilities of hip-hop spirituality. 7.1.1 Types of hip-hop spirituality How, then, does hip-hop spirituality fit in with existing models of spirituality? Is it “Classical engaged spirituality” or “holistic spirituality,” Religion of difference or “spiritualities of life”? Frans Jespers’ provisional typology of popular western spirituality, ranging from established religion to spiritual fragments like “separate spiritual symbols in films and ‘pop music,’” offers twice as many categories as Woodhead and Helaas. One could argue that he thus makes a more nuanced system, better equipped to grasp the characteristics of hip-hop spirituality. Lauryn Hill and Erykah Badu, for instance, could

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be labeled examples of “holistic ordinary spirituality,” and Nation of God and Earths-inspired spirituality within “holistic engaged spirituality.” But that does not bring much to the table. Moreover, Jesper’s category of “spiritual fragments” is problematic in many ways. Not only does it not do justice to the coherence of spiritual elements in much of my material. It is also seems like a contradiction in terms, as spirituality suggests a connection, a whole, the opposite of fragment. Although hip-hop spirituality neither fits easily into the model of Woodhead and Helaas, I prefer it because they emphasize the interpretive act of categorizing. Their types are not internally exclusive and might be found both inside and outside of the major world religions. Thus, their model also makes it possible to follow the different hip-hop spiritualities as they flow through the categories. The Christian rappers are probably the ones that fit most easily into their model. They generally reflect a type of Christianity that emphasizes the transcendence of God, the weakness of humans and the prescribed character of good and evil, as in “Religion of difference.” As they tend to emphasize individual experience as well as scriptural authority, they are probably closest to the subcategory “experiential religion of difference.” The spirituality of 2Pac bears some resemblance to religions of humanity, with its focus on humanity, compassion, and the search for a divinity that ”looks like us.” He also emphasizes ethics, even if contextualized in a ”thug life.” Elements of all three categories can be found in the work of Lauryn Hill. On one hand, her lyrics are deeply rooted in biblical scripture and present a transcendent deity of religions of difference, but they also impart the compassion and the ethical emphasis characteristic of the religions of humanity. On the other hand, her strong focus on personal growth, healing and liberation is more in line with spiritualities of life. The Nation of Islam is an influential presence in hip-hop culture. In itself, the NOI falls between categories. At one level, it resembles religions of difference, as it appears to be authoritative, operates with clear distinctions of good and evil that are not up to individual judgment and finds valuable wisdom and guidelines in the past. When it comes to the transcendent nature of God, however, it is more blurred. God is not “a spook in the sky;” but who, or what, is God? – Allah or Fard Muhammad? NGE and rappers adhering to their doctrine seem to fit more easily into the spiritualities of life type. As they argue, the divine is located within the black man, whose inner self has to be liberated from a lower self formed by racist teachings of external institutions like schools and churches. Also, NGE emphasizes the here and now, while also having a focus on ethics. However, they would be in a company of strangers if one looks at the examples of spiritualities of life cited by Woodhead and Helaas, as their overall outlook is from an Anglo-American perspective. African, Caribbean and African American derived religions such as the Nation of Islam, the Nation of Gods and Earths, Rastafarianism and Santeria are

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beyond their scope.1 It is difficult to say whether inclusion of such religious traditions would have altered their model; it probably would make their argument for overlaps even stronger. More importantly, however, it would have strengthened a perspective from below. By highlighting the making of theology not only outside or “below” the hierarchy of ordained religious leaders and privileged positions within academic institutions, but also a spirituality growing out of struggle, oppression, racism and colonialism, spiritualities of life would perhaps appear in their most naked form as spiritualities of survival and resistance.

7.1.2 Hip-hop spirituality as spirituality of liberation For emphasis on physical and spiritual survival, liberation theology has much more to offer. Both James H. Cone and Jon Sobrino argue in favor of a spirituality of survival, a lived spirituality rooted in experience and reality. Jon Sobrino’s three prerequisites for a spirituality of liberation seems also to be prerequisites for most of hip-hop culture, especially his “true to the real” and “fidelity to the real.” In different ways, 2Pac, Lauryn Hill, Public Enemy, Brand Nubian, Erykah Badu and Mos Def provide honest and personal reports of reality, addressing issues ranging from racism, violence, crime, sexism and unjust distribution of wealth to emotional tribulations. Reality is even sonically represented in samples of sirens, gunshots, and news clippings. These artists are persistent in their commitment to reality, continuing to address social ills. There is also honesty and faithfulness to reality in writing, bearing witness to people who are victims of poverty, violence, slow and sudden death. “Zapatismo-Chiapas” (fig 2), the memorials of Willy and Carela (fig 10) and some of the 9/11 memorials (fig 17 and 18) are examples from my material. Memorial murals are direct responses to actual events. Additionally, the art of writing deals with reality in a very specific way as it takes place on the surfaces of the city, in constant dialogue with its surroundings. In the material I have explored, the Christian rappers stand out as exceptions, as they deal to a far lesser degree with historic reality. True, dc Talk and Grits address racism, but not as extensively and persistently as other rappers do. In compliance with their conservative evangelical background, they are generally more concerned with the afterlife than the here and now, as I will return to. The HipHopEMass, however, has more in common with liberation theology, committed as it is to the people of the neighborhood and the world in which they are living. In my discussion of Sobrino in Chapter 2, I pointed to the possibility of art being a response to the “more of reality,” as it bears witness to reality as more 1 They include a section from Matthias Gardell’s book on the Nation of Islam but cite only his discussion on black nationalism. The NOI is mentioned only in the passing; the NGE is not mentioned at all. (Woodhead/Helaas: 2000, 224–5, 291–2.

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than death and destruction. Art in itself, I will argue, regardless of its “content” being of an uplifting or destructive nature, is something “more,” because it bears witness to the creative capabilities of human beings, making something “more” out of material reality. Hip-hop culture in general seems to point to something “more,” in its insistence on community, being together, having fun. This community can be mobilized to take action and be socially responsible, as exemplified by hip-hop-movements and activists, thus bearing witness to the hope found in taking action together. Several of the artworks explored previously also explicitly refer to the “more of reality.” Lauryn Hill’s “To Zion” and Erykah Badu’s “Love of My life,” to cite only two, both deal with something real – childbirth and hip-hop culture – but this real also contains the seed of something more – hope and spiritual nourishment. Much of the material in the preceding chapters gives detailed descriptions of black experience, thus providing “sacred documents of the African American experience,” as Cone argues (Cone: 1997, xi). Like Cone, Public Enemy and Brand Nubian builds on Malcolm X and Black Power, and have similar analyses of racism in power structures and culture. Thus, Public Enemy’s “Can’t Truss It,” (Apocalypse 91), “Burn Hollywood, Burn” (Fear Of A Black Planet) and “Party For Your Right To Fight” (It Takes a Nation of Millions…) as well as “Black Star Line” (In God We Trust) and “Concerto in X Minor” (One For All) by Brand Nubian are just a few examples of such “sacred documents” with sharp narratives of racism. These artists stay within a black nationalist framework, critical of church and Christianity, while Cone integrates the impulses from Malcolm X into a black Christian spirituality. Moreover, as we saw in Chapter 5, he provides a theological ground for perceiving the blackness of Christ. Jesus is one with oppressed blacks, and suffers with oppressed black people through history and in present time. As he states, “God takes color seriously… and discloses his will to make us whole – new creatures born in the spirit of divine blackness and redeemed through the blood of the black Christ” (Cone: 1997, 125). In the context of black church and black Christian spirituality, this is a substantial contribution to a hybrid spirituality that takes suffering, race and racism seriously. 2Pac takes Black Christ and the “God of the Oppressed” a step further, outside the confines of established church and theology. The “Black Jesuz” of 2Pac walks about in troubled inner city areas, sits in prison cells and knows the specific struggles of thug life. 2Pac’s God might even make room for G’s in heaven, providing a heavenly mansion or “ghetto heaven,” “a place to rest” and “finding peace through this land of stress.” Both Cone and Sobrino writes in the context of Christian theology and specific church traditions. Although I will not pursue this further, I would suggest that the work of Mos Def, for instance, suggests possibilities for Islamic spiritualities of liberation with a socially engaged spirituality.

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7.2 Hybrid strategies for spiritual resistance Approaching hip-hop spirituality through the framework of liberation theology makes much sense. In many instances, one can argue that hip-hop spirituality is liberation spirituality, liberation spirituality for younger generations. Like hip-hop, liberation spirituality employs explicit hybrid strategies. This is perhaps most explicit in the work of Cone, because he joins together a variety of spiritual traditions from black church experience, Malcolm X and Black Power, hegemonic “white” academic theology, spirituals, blues, black folklore and popular culture. Liberation theology enables criticism of non-liberative elements, such as misogyny and glorification of violence, guns, drugs and excessive materialism. On the other hand, some examples of Christian rap could be criticized for the lack of substantial response to injustice and oppressive forces. Liberation theology is rooted in Christianity, in church and academic theological institutions. The scope of hip-hop spirituality is wider, because it includes other religions as well as no religion at all. Thus, I will argue, the framework of hybrid spirituality adds complexity to the understanding of hiphop spirituality, as it uncovers layers of intersected, oppressive forces. This approach not only explores the “third space” between “oppression” and “liberation,” “secular” and “sacred,” and “body and “spirit,” but also between institutional religion and vernacular culture, embodied in rhythm, colors, shapes, sounds, rhymes and moves. The main point of hybrid spirituality as a concept is not so much to see how hip-hop spirituality blends elements from diverse traditions, but to better understand how lived, embodied spirituality works and how hybridity actually might be strategies in response to complexities of life. For instance, how do you deal with the discrepancies of realities in inner city life and what is taught in church, mosque or school? How do you spiritually deal with racism, sexism and misogyny, violence, drugs, poverty, lack of self-esteem? How do you make sense of a world that does not seem to make sense? The material explored in this book depicts both a variety of realities and spiritual responses to them. Rather than making a detailed comparison of how each artist or each work of art relates to specific spiritual challenges, I will propose a model of hybrid strategies for spiritual resistance. By drawing examples from some of the material, I will outline three such strategies: 1) doctrinal strategies, centering spirituality in doctrine, whether religious or political 2) cultural strategies, centering spirituality in constructions of cultural heritage, and 3) experiential strategies, centering spirituality in personal experiences. The purpose of this model is not to identify and classify spiritual expressions. Instead, it is an interpretational move to understand how spiritualities of resistance might be formed from collective, external

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(doctrinal or cultural) or individual (experiential) sources. As we will see, these strategies are not only overlapping, but also intertwined. 7.2.1 Doctrinal strategies of resistance “Students enroll, while Jamar teach class/Seminar I give, is for you to live/Not try to keep your mind captive,” spits Lord Jamar in “Dance to my Ministry.” Here, a doctrinal strategy is made explicit. As Felicia Miyakawa thoroughly demonstrates, NGE rappers see themselves as teachers, dispersing NGE and black nationalist teachings through their work (Miyakawa: 2005). The previously explored material covers a wide spectrum of doctrinal strategies. Brand Nubian structures whole songs around the Supreme Mathematics, lessons of Walace Fard Muhammad are quoted at length and some tunes are even sermons with a groove. Public Enemy likewise frames their message with many references to NOI and black nationalism. In addition, gospel rappers such as dc Talk and Elle R.O.C. interpret the Christian Gospel through the lens of Evangelical Christianity. By exploring doctrinal strategies of resistance, I want to see how spiritual strength is found in the authority of one or more sets of doctrinal systems, whether it is religious or political. The NOI and NGE inspired rappers and the rappers inspired by Evangelical Christianity are worlds apart, artistically and in other aspects as well. But what I am interested in here is how different they understand resistance and spiritual survival. Simply put, black nationalist, NOI and NGE inspired hip-hoppers are concerned with resisting racism and other oppressive forces in this world, while hip-hoppers inspired by evangelical Christianity seem to be more concerned with resisting destructive forces of a transcendent world, with spiritual survival of the soul in anticipation of a world yet to come. Another difference is the nature of doctrine, at least as it is perceived. Again, simplified to make a point: in an evangelical Christian context, the word of God is authoritative and absolute and is ideally transmitted “as is.” Authority in a NGE context seems to be far more fluent. Some of its doctrine, like the Supreme Alphabet and Supreme Mathematics are more like interpretational tools and authority is dependent on the individual’s ability to “show and prove.” 7.2.1.1 Survival in this world In mobilizing against racism and instilling self-esteem in oppressed black people, Brand Nubian evokes Afro-diasporic heritage from ancient Egypt to present day thinkers and activists. “Black Star Line,” for instance, serves as an introductory lesson to the teachings of Marcus Garvey. Taking a cue from his work for repatriation to Africa, Brand Nubian argues for a spiritual reorientation to Africa. Walace Fard Muhammad’s teachings figure prom-

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inently in their work, like the doctrines of the five percent being poor righteous teachers and on black people being the original people, as in “The meaning of 5 %” and “Dance to my Ministry.” Brand Nubian also makes use of his criticism of Christianity as a religion that has been used to oppress black people. “Ain’t No Mystery” is a case in point, building on “Lost-Found Muslim Lesson No. 2,” question 10: “Who is that Mystery God?” For 400 years, black people have served the Mystery God, Brand Nubian states, and all they got “was hard times, hunger and nakedness.” They were “beaten and killed by the ones who say ‘look to the sky for your piece of the pie’ and didn’t want to tell you that God is within self.” But God “ain’t no mystery,” they assert, “know that the black man is God.” The Supreme Mathematics and Alphabet are applied to enlighten and edify oppressed people. Lord Jamar goes through the numbers from 1 to 9 in “All for One” showing that if you “know the ledge of wise and dumb and understand your culture of freedom …” Even with fewer references to NGE teachings in the work of Wu-Tang Clan, it is still very much present in songs like “Wu-Revolution” and “Sunshower.” The inclusion of clips from martial arts films add new layers of spiritual hybridity, linking ancient Eastern spirituality and martial arts with contemporary urban street life. That, I will argue, also makes the doctrinal strategy ambiguous, which a quote from RZA demonstrates. On one hand, this is a dialogical, inclusive move, as when he says, “Today I’m not a Muslim. I’m not a Buddhist. I’m not a soldier of any one religious sect … I would say that the only religion I practice is universal love.” On the other hand, this openness is already latent in NGEs search for science and knowledge, and RZA underlines his argument with applying the Supreme Alphabet: “My way of Life is Islam. But there’s an acronym they use for Islam which is I, Self, Lord, And Master. Or, I like to say, I Stimulate Light And Matter” (RZA: 2005, 53. See Chapter 6). Public Enemy’s visual references and shout-outs to NOI in videos, stage performances and on album covers adds weight to their persistent criticism of deeply embedded racist structures in society. “Hitler Day,” exposes the racist and at times cruel historical background for public holidays like Thanksgiving and Memorial Day, much like Elijah Muhammad would criticize Christmas Day (E. Muhammad: 1974, 168–72). “Can’t Truss It” recounts the cruel history of slavery. As Chuck D cites the number “1555,” he evokes Elijah Muhammad’s story of John Hawkins and the slave ship Jesus. And “Party For Your Right To Fight” refers to “original Black Asiatic man/Cream of the earth” and NOI’s creation myth. Still, Public Enemy seems less concerned with the religious aspects of NOI than the black nationalist thinking. “Know who you are to be black,” they say (“Party For Your Right To Fight”). The overall spiritual message of Public Enemy seems to be one of empowerment to African Americans as a collective. By showing strength in numbers and through knowledge of black people’s origin and history, African Americans will find spiritual strength to fight racism and unjust racist structures. They seem to be appealing to black people as a collective. The sermons and lessons of Brand

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Nubian and Wu-Tang Clan, also seem to have an individual appeal. They have a message to individuals who want to be spiritually awake, as they set out to “wise the deaf dumb and blind.” There is an element of conversion and initiation, as they drop science and go through the lessons. In molding spiritual strategies to resist and fight racism, all three groups find argumentation and authority in doctrine with a black nationalist leaning. In so doing, however, they also reproduce sexist stereotypes inherent in these teachings, as Charise L. Cheney points out (Cheney 2005: 31–4, 100–2). On the one side are the crack heads, the gold diggers, the mindless television slaves and prostitutes of Brand Nubians “Slow Down” and Public Enemy’s “Sophisticated Bitch” and “She Watch Channel Zero.” On the other side is apologetic “Sincerely” of Brand Nubian, praising all black women as queens, raising kids. This binary of the fallen and the virtuous woman, the whore and Madonna, is of course not limited to black nationalism. It is found in the Babylon–Zion motif of Old Testament prophets (see for instance Isa 47:1–3 and 62:5) and has been a staple in Christian preaching and ethics for centuries, and is kept alive by gospel rappers such as dc Talk. 7.2.1.2 Survival from this world Spiritual survival finds its most dramatic metaphor in the end skit of Elle R.O.C.’s I Die Daily. Accompanied with the beeps of an EKG monitor, we get the impression she is lying on her deathbed, searching for her soul. Death, it turns out, is her survival: death of the old body, death of the flesh. Because, she reflects, “if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the spirit you put to death the deed of the body, you will live.” What she stands up against, is not racism, sexism or other oppressive forces. It is the temptations of this world, the invitations passed out by Satan (cf “I Die Daily”), the life of the flesh. Her survival is through Jesus Christ, and “Scripture with a 50/50 mixture/of prayer to my Father.” Like Brand Nubian and Public Enemy, she is a teacher, “shooting knowledge from the heart genuine/feeding you food that won’t stunt your growth nutrients in each line/your divine purpose is what I wanna make sure you find” (“Seasons”). Her tunes are entrenched in Biblical scripture and imagery from Christian hymnology. Taking a cue from Martin Luther King’s word on racism as “not only sociologically unjust, but morally wrong and sinful,” dc Talk will tear down the walls of segregation, it’s time “for God’s people to take a stand” (“Walls”). Both dc Talk and Grits are vocal against racism, but the real spiritual battle is against Satan, worldly temptations and the life of the flesh. “Like Sodom and Gomorrah this world will fall,” raps dc Talks, and promises “total destruction” for “all who have mocked the name of Jesus, the Savior and Lord” (“Final Days,” dc Talk). In this world, it is easy to be governed by greed. But if “you gain the whole world” you will “lose ya soul.” The choice should be easy, as “all

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done for self in this world will pass,” but “all done for Christ in this world will last” (“Things of This World” Nu Thang). Grits warns against the Antagonist, “the serial spiritual murder” promising the world (“The Return of the Antagonist,” Grammatical Revolution). Sexism and misogyny as oppressive forces are not on the agenda of any of the Gospel rappers in my material. dc Talk warns that some women can even lead you astray. Girls “of the worldly that’s shady,” they state in “That Kinda Girl” (Free at Last). Like Brand Nubian and Public Enemy, they turn to Jezebel stereotypes to describe temptresses of this world: women that drink, smoke, curse and seduce. But unlike many black nationalist inspired rappers, Gospel rappers do not promote sexual promiscuity or brag about sexual prowess. Marriage is the God-prescribed context for sex. Even so, Grits provide nuanced narratives on love and relationships, even on the difficulties of being divorced. 7.2.2 Cultural strategies of resistance With samples from African American oral and musical traditions – including Malcolm X, Louis Farrakhan, James Brown, Marvin Gaye and Cannonball Adderley – Brand Nubian centers spirituality in a black cultural heritage. Similarly, Queen Yonasda constructs a link to indigenous culture by framing her work with samples of her mother Wauneta Lonewolf. Both exemplify a cultural strategy of spiritual resistance. This, however, is a tricky concept since “religion” and “spirituality” are both intrinsically intertwined with culture and are cultural constructs in themselves. What I want to explore here is how cultural strategies of spiritual resistance enables to uncover the multilayered nature of spiritual hybridity. As Homi Bhabha states, “all forms of culture are continually in a process of hybridity” (see Chapter 2). Murals like “ZapatismoChiapas” and “Hijos de Borik n” document these complex processes of hybridity implied by colonialism, racism, class struggle and globalism. With imagery from ancient Aztec to present-day Zapatistas, the former provides a glimpse of conquest and resistance through the centuries (fig. 2). By placing the Aztec sun symbol in the center of the mural, Mexican heritage is rooted in pre-colonial, pre-Spanish and pre-Catholic ancient mythology, further underscored by the mythological eagle rising out of the flag. The Aztec sun symbol is in itself a reminder that imperialistic conquest is nothing new, as the Aztecs themselves were conquerors. Thus, the present day struggle of the Chiapas and Zapatista movement against neo-colonialist forces is contextualized in a mythological and historical frame of conquest, imperialism and colonialism. The icon of Our Lady of Guadalupe embodies the ambiguous role of church and Christianity in Mexico and Latin America at large. The church was part of the colonizing power. Christianity was largely forced upon the indigenous people, who had to repress ancient beliefs. By many accounts, Our Lady of Guadalupe helped establish Christianity among the indigenous

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people, making the colonization process easier. On the other hand, Our Lady of Guadalupe became the favored symbol for the resurgence against Spanish rule led by the Roman Catholic priest Miguel Hidalgo in 1810. Later, Emiliano Zapatista adorned his revolutionary banners with her image. Thus, Our Lady of Guadalupe has historically moved between at least three levels of power: first as a symbol of the colonial power, establishing the Spanish kingdom and the Catholic faith, then as a symbol of Mexican independence from Spanish rule, and finally as a symbol of “the people” and their revolution against the Mexican government. The symbol remains ambiguous today, as Socorro CastaÇeda-Liles outlines (CastaÇeda-Liles: 2008). According to liberation theologian Virgilio Elizondo, Our Lady of Guadalupe represents “liberation to the socially marginalized,” and epitomizes the “narrative of birth/resurrection experience at the very beginning of the crucifixion of the natives, the Africans, and their mestizo and mulatto children.” She is the “mother of a new humanity,” not “a dogma of Christian faith” but “a mestizaje (mixing) of faiths – ‘la azteca’ and ‘la espaÇola’” (ibid., 158). As a symbol of femininity, she is highly ambiguous, manifesting traditional patriarchal ideals of femininity beyond perfection. But she is also a symbol of a strong and powerful woman in which many women are able to find strength and solace (ibid., 158 ff.). CastaÇeda-Liles also gives examples of Our Lady of Guadalupe in contemporary Chicana feminism, where she is disassociated from traditional Catholicism and identified with pre-Columbian, Aztec goddesses (ibid., 167 ff.). In the context of Spanish Harlem, New York, the representation of Our Lady of Guadalupe icon in the “Zapatismo Chiapas” mural plays on the icon’s multilayered connotations and ambiguities, past and present – including a few new ones, such as representing “Mexican” and “Latino” minorities in a city of many different ethnicities and cultures. “Hijos de Borik n” (fig. 3) unfolds a similarly complex history of imperialistic conquest and ethnic struggle. Raquel Z. Rivera demonstrates how Puerto Ricans in hip-hop have navigated between categories of “blackness” and “latinidad” (Rivera: 2003, 185 ff.). The imagery in PRISCO and CLARK’s mural deconstructs the very notion of “Puerto Rican.” Clearly, “Puerto Ricanness” is not erased, as the Puerto Rican flag is clearly visible, but the many layers of meaning embedded in “Puerto Rican” are excavated and nuanced by the pre-colonial imagery that is used. The Spanish dimension of Puerto Rico is subverted by the letter piece, “Hijos de Borik n,” because “Borik n” was the island’s name before Spanish colonization. Nationalist Puerto Ricans in the middle of the nineteenth century referred to themselves as “Borincanos” or “BorinqueÇos” (Haslip-Viera: 2001, 2). Beginning in the late 1960s the Ta no movement emerged and grew in Puerto Rico and especially in the United States, reviving the heritage of the island’s indigenous people. Pre-Columbian culture and religion were explored and revitalized, culminating in the establishment of Ta no tribes during the 1980s and 1990s. But, as Jorge Duany points out, the quest for indigenous roots is not without

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problematic ideological implications (Duany: 2001, 76). Since the Spanish massacred the island’s indigenous population, what remained of the Ta no population and their culture is still a matter of debate. In addition, the intellectual and institutional promotion of Ta no heritage has downplayed the cultural contribution of people of African descent, brought to Puerto Rico as slaves by the Spanish. Duany acknowledges the positive effects of the Ta no revival, creating “a strong ideological front against colonialism,” and also enabling people of Puerto Rican descent to “feel a deep continuity between the past, present and future of their collective selves, as suggested by the use of the highly emotional native terms Borinquen, borinqueÇo, borincano, and boricua” (Duany: 2001, 76). On the negative side, he argues that the official view of national culture on the Island glosses over inner conflicts and bolsters the myth of a “racial democracy based on mestizaje. According to this view, the Ta nos and the Africans fused imperceptibly with the Spanish to form a new cultural amalgam that overcame racial and ethnic fissures. And yet, a close analysis of both the hegemonic discourse and institutional practices on Puerto Rican identity reveals the systematic overvaluation of the Hispanic element, the romanticization of Ta no Indians, and the underestimation of African-derived ingredients (ibid.).

In the context of New York’s graffiti and hip-hop culture, however, PRISCO and CLARK’s reference to Borik n and Ta no heritage points to an ethniccultural strategy that navigates between what Raquel Z. Rivera describes as a “Hispanocentric discourse of nationhood” prevalent in discussions of “Puerto Ricanness” in the US, and “blackness.” (Rivera: 2003, 41). By mixing Ta no with hip-hop imagery, they add a different dynamic to ethnic discourses, opening up for new cultural mixes and identities. The sacred symbols of the Ta nos, such as the turtle and the circle representing the sun, moon and the sacred Cohoba tree, are additional reminders of Christianity’s oppressive role in colonialism, as they refer to a spirituality existing before the Spanish introduced Catholicism. These murals move from the ancient to the present along narratives of complex ethnic cultural identities. Murals celebrating hip-hop provide examples of cultural strategies foregrounding contemporary culture. Also these can evoke a sense of roots, like “Harlemworld” honoring old school hiphop pioneers and styles. “Babes in Boyland” honors both contemporary and old school female writers, thus elevating the contributions of women in hiphop. Erykah Badu narrates her lifelong relationship with hip-hop as a spiritually nourishing culture in “Love of My Life (An Ode to Hip Hop)”. While not perfect, hip-hop has given her poetry, advice and lifelong support. As Lauryn Hill demonstrates in “Everything is Everything” hip-hop chronicles the life of the city, the love, the disappointments, the struggle and hopes of its peoples. Hip-hop and its urban environments have made her an “Abyssinian Street Baptist” more powerful than “two Cleopatras.” Afrika Bambaataa’s Universal Zulu Nation and KRS One’s writings are

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examples of comprehensive cultural strategies, fleshing out hip-hop’s ancestry, ways of life, moral conduct, esthetic practice and worldviews. In this, they also employ doctrinal strategies, but they are more open and ecumenical than those previously discussed, making room for people of many faiths and convictions. Their expressed goals are to uplift marginalized people and fight racism and other oppressive forces. Thus, they criticize oppressive practices of institutional religion, but encourage all spiritual engagement that gives strength. 7.2.3 Experiential strategies of resistance As Gwendolyn Pough points out, autobiographical narratives can be an act of “claiming a place in society” as well as a “vehicle for social change and justice” (Pough: 2004, 103). Autobiographical narratives play a prominent role in spiritual literature, from medieval mystic Theresa of Avila’s The Book of Her Life to contemporary writers, including a number of hip-hoppers (see Queen Latifah: 2000; Reverend Run: 2000; RZA: 2009). Individual experience is at the very core of spirituality. What I want to explore as experiential strategies of resistance is spiritual authority centered in personal life-experiences. One might relate to different sets of dogma or cultural constructs of spirituality, but they are tested, questioned, eventually rejected or reshaped through personal experience. One case in point is 2Pac. As I discussed in chapter 5, the impact of his narratives are fueled by a notion that he speaks from experience, even though his verses are not necessarily autobiographical. “Growing up as an inner city brotha… my pops never knew me,” he spits in “The Streetz R Deathrow,” giving credibility to dark stories of despair and violence. In “Young Niggaz,” he narrates his upbringing, where the “neighborhood was full of drive-bys,” all his “homies living short lives.” He remembers childhood days filled with play and fun, but with a dire lack of legitimate opportunities, which in turn led to gang activity and drug dealing. At times, 2Pac relates compelling moral tales, such as “Brenda’s Got A Baby.” Here, the tragic fate of a young girl is contextualized in poverty, dysfunctional family relations, drug abuse and oppression. Influenced by the ideologies of the Black Panther Party and other revolutionaries, 2Pac also employs doctrinal strategies. Even then, he contextualizes his thinking in life experience. Spiritual conceptions of “Heaven,” “God” and “Black Jesuz” are reimagined through life experiences of the ghetto. He envisions a “Thugz Mansion” where he can hang out with his homies and people he looks up to. Through scattered references and collaborative works, sketches of a “Black Jesuz” emerge, a “ghetto saint” who knows the life and struggles of the ghetto. “Black Jesuz” does not represent any institutionalized religion; it does not matter whether he is Christian or Muslim. Rather he is envisioned in the image of 2Pac and the people around him, wearing jewelry and tattoos. This ghetto saint knows the pain they feel and “understand where we coming from.”

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Quite different examples of experiential strategies of spiritual resistance are found in the work of Erykah Badu and Lauryn Hill. As we saw in Chapter 6, Erykah Badu draws on black nationalist, NGE and NOI teachings, but in a highly personal and non-doctrinal way. Similar to black nationalist thinkers, she sees the social ills afflicting inner city community as the result of slavery, which divested black people of their culture and religion: “they don’t know their language/they don’t know their God” (“Twinkle”). But references to NGE and NOI are sparse and oblique. In “On and On” she skillfully applies NGE’s numerical and alphabetical practices, all the while asserting her capabilities and adequacy as woman. She is water and wisdom with 360 degrees of knowledge, a foundation of being, a life-giver, complete and equal. Her cipher, her mental capacities are unstoppable and eternal, going “on & on.” She highlights a sharing of wisdom and knowledge between women across generations, and a nourishing, affirmative spirituality shines through her work. An experiential spiritual strategy is expressed most clearly in “Me.” “It’s all me…” she states, as she narrates her spiritual journey and stages of life, “I’ll just let it go and be, be, be me.” The “Ankhs, the wraps, the plus degrees/and yes, even the mysteries/it’s all me,” she sings; the spiritual quest of her past was and still is part of her. She has matured spiritually, but not changed radically. Critical of all those “leaders to obey” and no longer praying to a “god above,” she is “filled with so much love.” Her spirituality is embodied in lived life, organically influenced by life experience. She even comments on how her body changes as she grows older. Self-affirmed and not dependent on external authorities, she is now able to trust her inner, spiritual strength. She is loaded with “rhyme from ancient times,” being a descendant of ancient, wise and powerful women. Thus, she is also able to be unapologetically proud of having two kids with two different men. “For them both my luv was true” she sings, even though she does not comply with the NOI’s prescribed husband-and-wife family structure. In a similar vein, Lauryn Hill grounds her spiritually charged rhymes in personal experience. She details her upbringing in “Every Ghetto, Every City,” dense with time- and place-specific references: root-tonic and beef patties, cartoons and Kung Fu movies, tag games and biking in the park, the sounds of Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick. Although not without turbulence, these were the smells, sounds and environments that nurtured her spiritually. Few tunes in Lauryn Hill’s production – and hip-hop in general – offer such a personal testimony of existential choices, spiritual guidance and divine purpose than “To Zion.” By framing her own pregnancy and childbirth in the biblical annunciation narrative, she underscores a universal, divine dimension in childbirth. Being a young woman at the start of her career, people around her advise her to be smart, use her head and choose her career. “Instead,” she replies, “I chose to use my heart”– giving birth to her son. Elements from different spiritual traditions meet in this song, traditional Christian hymnology and biblical imagery as well as Rastafarianism. Also, her appropriation of the Mary/Jesus constellation is somewhat reminiscent of

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how contemporary Chicana artists transform the Our Lady of Guadalupeimagery (see CastaÇeda-Liles: 2008, 171ff). The motherhood narratives of Hill and Badu contribute to third wave feminist criticism of traditional white feminism. “In the United States, motherhood as a constellation of social practices, a social institution, and an American cultural icon remains central to multiple systems of oppression,” writes Patricia Hill Collins. Because “social class, race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, and nationality comprise intersecting dimensions of oppression, not all mothers are created equal” (Collins: 2006, 55). Western feminism has rightly pointed out “that the mother-glorification that originated within the idealized, middle class nuclear family lies at the base of many social practices that subordinated all women in such societies,” she states. However, quoting Cheryl Gilkes, “where white feminists identified the family as a primary site of oppression, black women, in spite of the troubles that intrude on their family lives, do not” (ibid., 138 f.). Collins points to policies and media-bred stereotypes singling out African American women as “unfit mothers.” Those “unfit mothers” are cast in popular media and reproduced in hip-hop as well, as “welfare queens,” “baby mamas” and so on. Marlo David Azikwe contends that even as hip-hop feminism has evolved considerably over the last two decades, motherhood is still an issue rarely addressed in academic writing or hip-hop lyrics (Azikwe: 2007). When demonstrating strength, female rappers more often than not emphasize their sexual power rather than their ability to give birth. Thus, Lauryn Hill’s “To Zion” is a rare exception, describing motherhood as a deliberate and empowering choice. According to Azikwe, Lauryn Hill addresses the power of procreative choice in her song “To Zion”… about the difficulty she faced in making this decision and how she ultimately finds another avenue to empowerment via the subject position as mother. Finally, Hill places mothering and children within the collective struggle for justice (ibid., 362).

In “To Zion,” I would add, Hill’s empowered position as a mother is further strengthened by a spiritual dimension. While her application of the annunciation story might easily have cemented a traditional role of divinized motherhood, Hill is able to realize herself both as mother and artist despite the expectation of others. Doctrinal, cultural and experiential strategies for spiritual resistance and survival are intertwined in all sorts of ways. Still, based on my readings of the artworks, they seem to meet different ends. Tentatively I will suggest that doctrinal strategies appeal to action or conversion; cultural strategies connote community and belonging, while experiential strategies open for recognition of self. These three lines of strategies point to a structure of spirituality: selfrecognition, belonging and action – or, an inward movement to selfknowledge, a relational movement of community-making and an outward movement of making change. This structure can be infered from the liberation

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theologies of Sobrino and Cone, but also older spiritual traditions (Sheldrake: 2010, 93–112).

7.3 Bring the Noise. Subversive esthetic practices and spirituality A primary dimension of hip-hop spiritual hybridity is how it is embodied in esthetic practices that in turn become an integral part of that spirituality. No matter what doctrine or religion it relates to, hip-hop spirituality is rhythmic, dancing and moving. It takes place primarily outside churches, mosques and prescribed places for prayer and meditation. Its teachings are formulated not in books and long treatises, but in tags and murals, body movements, fiveminute-long songs. The boom-bap as it vibrates through, is a powerful, vibrant expression of existence, an empowering statement: “I am!” Thus, there is a deep spiritual dimension in hip-hop’s esthetic practices as they evoke states of flow, a sense of connection and enhanced existence. However, as I briefly discussed in the Introduction, applying referential meaning to esthetic expressions is problematic, especially with music. What I set out to do is to meditate on a more general level concerning how esthetic practices characteristic of hip-hop reflect or yield space for certain spiritual strategies. My meditation will focus on how hip-hop’s esthetic practices relate to subversive spiritual strategies and how these practices and strategies relate to the larger landscape of spirituality.

7.3.1 Subversion, noise, repetition and break Determining what is characteristic of hip-hop esthetic practice is in itself an act of interpretation. Generally, these are understood as breaking with classical Western practices, while at the same time being in continuum with African and African American practices. Tricia Rose, for example, takes a cue from black filmmaker Arthur Jafa and emphasizes flow, layering and rupture in line, as “shared approaches to sound and motion found in the Afrodiaspora” (Rose: 1994, 38, see also 65–72). Jafa understands these characteristics as applying to hip-hop esthetic in general, not only music. Rose follows up this point: In hip-hop, visual physical, musical, and lyrical lines are set in motion, broken abruptly with sharp angular breaks, yet they sustain motion and energy through fluidity and flow. In graffiti, long-winding, sweeping, and curving letters are broken and camouflaged by sudden breaks in line. Sharp, angular, broken letters are written in extreme italics, suggesting forward or backward motion. Letters are double and

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triple shadowed in such a way as to illustrate energy forces radiating from the center – suggesting circular motion – yet, the scripted words move horizontally (ibid., 38).

There are, however, other esthetic practices of hip-hop, also pointed out by Rose and others. They include inventive uses of technology and an appreciation of distorted sounds (see Rose: 1994; Keyes: 2002, 145 ff.). My meditation will be centered on subversive uses of technology, noise, repetition and the break – the latter similar to Rose’s “rupture.” To give contour and contrast to these characteristics, I will evoke concepts from Western esthetic philosophy. This, I admit, is a speculative endeavor, and I have to make some overt simplifications. As art, hip-hop continually challenges and expands esthetic possibilities, not necessarily within these concepts. Nor are Western esthetic philosophy and musical practice monolithic, and these concepts also figure in certain strains of Western esthetic practice. I agree with the notion of James A. Snead, which I will return to shortly, who suggests that the difference between European and black culture is “not one of nature, but of force” (In Rose: 1994, 68). 7.3.1.1 Subversive uses of technology Hip-hop emerged in a troubled time, a time of transition, including the era of technological change. In the words of Tricia Rose: “[W]orked out on the rusting urban core as a playground, hip-hop transforms stray technological parts intended for cultural and industrial trash heaps into sources of pleasure and power” (Rose: 1994, 22). Not everyone would agree with this bleak depiction of hip-hop’s origins. But whatever the context, it is striking how hiphoppers find new uses of old technology and appropriate new technology in ways not intended or foreseen. Cut Chemist of Jurassic Five points to the subversive element of DJ practices as invented by pioneers like Grandmaster Flash and Grand Wizzard Theodore: “You’re never supposed to touch it [the vinyl]. Your parents: “Don’t touch it, don’t touch the record, you’d gonna ruin it” (chapter 2). In hip-hop, the turntable was transformed from an instrument of sound reproduction, to a musical instrument in itself. Composing music from samples of other people’s work is another example of subversive use of technology, as it destabilizes hierarchical orders of music production. Again, technology developed to repair mistakes in a recording session, became a featured compositional tool in a musical art form largely based on digitally reproduced samples. In Western esthetic discourse, where originality and the individual artist are favored, the concept of reproduction has a low status. In his famous essay, “The work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” Walter Benjamin argues that through mechanical reproduction, the artwork loses its “aura” and “detaches the reproduced object from the domain of tradition” – instead of a single object of art, there is now “a plurality of copies.” He continues,

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To an ever greater degree the work of art reproduced becomes the work of art designed for reproducibility … But the instant the criterion of authenticity ceases to be applicable to artistic production, the total function of art is reversed. Instead of being based on ritual, it begins to be based on another practice – politics (in Schumacher: 2004, 448).

In sampling practices of hip-hop, however, preexisting material is not only reproduced, it is creatively rearranged to new artistic ends. As Greg Tate puts it, the “advent of hip-hop can be said to have contributed… radical acts of counterinsurgency, turning a community of passive pop consumers into one of creative … producers” (in Bartlett: 2004, 400). Similar subversive appropriations of new technology are found in writing. Spray cans with paint were originally developed for industrial use, to apply paint evenly on surfaces. But in the hands of skilled writers, spray cans became the preferred tool of art. They also experimented with changing caps to achieve different artistic effects (Cooper: 2008, 41). Taking place mainly outside galleries, writing challenges power and taste structures of the institutional art world. Occurring on publicly and privately owned city surfaces, writing navigates between art and crime, adding another layer of subversion. Hip-hop, grounded in African-American experience of slavery and racism, draws from a rich heritage of subversive spiritual practices. Andrew Bartlett discusses how subversive uses of technology in hip-hop have their parallel in the slaves’ use of new textual technology such as the Bible. Building on John Lovell’s research on how Biblical scripture was disseminated through spirituals, Bartlett writes Rather than the literal learning of the Biblical text, there was, Lovell observes, a “thin Bible” … spread throughout Southern plantations as the highest textual technology that afforded singing opportunity (masters were placated by religious texts being sung) and momentary empowerment … A “regular system” of dissemination made performative space available for the carefully cultivated Biblical references, paired up with potent ideological commentary (Bartlett: 2004, 395).

Thus, subversive spirituality both makes space for a sustainable spirituality within a dominant, oppressive spiritual structure and carries the potential for change. 7.3.1.2 Noise “Rap music’s primary force is sonic,” states Tricia Rose, and links the “distinctive, systematic use of rhythm and sound” to “a rich history of New World black traditions and practices” (Rose: 1994, 64). Thus, the sonic force of hip-hop spirituality must not be ignored. While spirituality and spiritual practices are popularly associated with silence and a quest for inner peace, the sonic dimension is inherent in many spiritual traditions, at times quite loudly. In Biblical scripture,

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God sounds as thunder (Job 37:4, Ps 104:7), holidays were announced with the awesome sound of the shofar, also applied for processions and temple service (Lev 25:9, 2 Sam 6:15, Ps 150:3). A variety of percussion, horns, stringed instruments and sounding bowls are used in spiritual practices of the world and indigenous religions, for contemplation, processions or dance. “Bass, how low can you go – Death Row!” shouts Chuck D. He is referring to the vibrational energy of deep punching bass favored by many of hip-hop’s musical producers. Rose emphasizes volume, density, and the “quality of low-sound frequencies” as “critical features in rap productions” (Rose: 1994, 75). She refers to the practice of “working in the red” and a preference for distorted sounds (see chapter 2). In a wider sense, distortion is an esthetic practice valued in other hiphop art forms as well. The wild style of writing favors the distortion of letters, making letter pieces often unreadable to people not familiar with the style. Artists like DONDI and RAMM-ELL-ZEE deconstruct and re-invent the alphabet, dissect and manipulate the letter forms. Or, in the words of LEE, wild style artists celebrate the power of the letter through “movement dynamism.” LEE also points out how this practice is linked to both music and social structures, as wild style is “another form of dancing, body language… Those letters became sculptures of our life, our family structure” (see Chapter 2). Loudness, distortion and the incorporation of extramusical sounds like sirens and gunshots, can be summed up as noise. In much Western thinking, “music” and “noise” are understood as opposites (Nattiez: 1990, 45–54). Noise represents chaos, is arbitrary and unpleasant, while music represents harmony, order, structure and pleasant sound. Musicologist Jean-Jacques Nattiez points to how composers throughout history who have incorporated “noise” in their music, have either liked “to be considered revolutionaries, or have come to be regarded as such by others” (ibid., 47). Jacques Attali follows this line of thought in Noise. The Political Economy of Music (Attali: 1985). “More than colors and forms, it is sounds and their arrangements that fashion societies,” he postulates, “With noise is born disorder and its opposite: the world. With music is born power and its opposite: subversion” (ibid., 6). He continues: “noise had always been experienced as destruction, disorder, pollution an aggression against the codestructuring messages (ibid., 27.) Thus, Noise is the source of … mutations in the structuring codes … noise carries order within itself; it carries new information… The presence of noise makes sense, makes meaning. It makes possible the creation of a new order on another level of organization, of a new code in another network” (ibid., 33).

Nattiez however, reminds us that “the border between music and noise is always culturally defined – which implies that, even within a single society, this border does not always pass through the same place; in short, there is rarely a consensus” (Nattiez: 1990, 48). Loudness, distortion and noise in hip-hop musical practice might thus have a variety of connotations. There is certainly a layer of revolutionary and subversive power, as When Chuck D of Public

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Enemy shouts “Bring the noise.” It might also be understood as a reflection of a chaotic, “dissonant” reality. Not to forget, wild style lettering, deep bass and distorted sounds are visual and sonic markers for community. 7.3.1.3 Repetition Another feature of hip-hop esthetic is repetition. As stated in chapter 2, tagging as many places as possible has been part of writing esthetics since the beginning, a practice still honored by contemporary tag and throw up artists. Similarly, hiphop music is cyclical in nature, based on looped samples. Repetition is integral to most musical practices, crucial in perception of form and coherence (Begbie: 2000, 156). However, late modern/postmodern thinkers such as Theodor W. Adorno, Jacques Attali and Zygmunt Bauman, understand repetition in the context of industrialized mass reproduction, as being in opposition to individual creativity (Adorno: 1990; Attali: 1985, Baumann: 1992). Attali makes the distinction of representation as something arising from a singular act, such as a concert performance or a “meal la carte in a restaurant,” while “a phonograph record or a can of food is repetition.” He continues One provides a use-value tied to the human quality of the production; the other allows for stockpiling, easy accessibility, and repetition. In representation, a work is generally heard only once – it is a unique moment; in repetition, potential hearings are stockpiled (Attali: 1985, 41)

Zygmunt Bauman understands repetition as a postmodern strategy to cope with the finality of death. “In the world in which disappearing has replaced the dying,” he writes, “immortality dissolves in the melancholy of presence, in the monotony of endless repetition (Baumann: 1992, 175). He builds on Attali’s distinction of representation and repetition, placing representation in the world of individuality, and thus also of individual immortality. In our world it is confined to the realm of wealth, luxury, distinction. Outside that realm is only the mass-produced immortality, immortality for the masses; a widely accessible mass copy, a pastiche of “the real thing,’ bearing a tinsel likeness to the precious-metal original. Repetition, we may say, is the poor man’s representation; similarly, the disappearance which makes repetition possible is the poor man’s immortality. But now, at least, each poor man is allowed to dream of partaking in the immortality (or the market version of it), once that immortality, in its mass version, has been translated as a never ending possibility of the repetition. The hauntingly elusive value of quality, once the impenetrable shield of privilege, is no more a secure defense against quantity (ibid, 176 f).

James A. Snead understands repetition as a strategy of maintaining a sense of security, continuity and identity that exist in all cultures. The difference is how cultures relate to it. European culture “secrets” repetition, he argues, and

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understands it in terms of progression or regression, accumulation or stagnation, while black culture celebrates repetition (in Rose: 1994, 68 f). He continues: In black culture, repetition means that the thing circulates, there is an equilibrium… In European culture, repetition must be seen to be not just circulation and flow, but accumulation and growth. In black culture, the thing (the ritual, the dance, the beat) is there for you to pick up when you come back to get it (ibid., 69).

The last point is relevant to how repetition is valued in hip-hop. As Scloss points out, there is in hip-hop “a logic of music repetition as artistic differentiation: the producer’s creativity lies in the ability to harness repetition itself” (Schloss: 200 138). In this context, repetition is somewhat related to distortion, as it transforms what is repeated. Schloss explains: On the most basic level, looping automatically recasts any musical material it touches, insofar as the end of a phrase is repeatedly juxtaposed with its beginning in a way that was not intended by the original musician. After only a few repetitions, this juxtaposition, along with the largely arbitrary musical patterns it creates, begins to take on an air of inevitability. It begins to gather a compositional weight that far exceeds its original significance (ibid., 137).

These insights can be applied to writing as well. The repetition of tags and throw ups on different places transforms city surfaces, juxtaposes and makes connections that were not originally there. The transformative power of repetition is recognized in spiritual traditions, as exemplified by the practices of chanting, mantras, prayers for specific times of the day and cyclic feasts and holidays. Repetitions allow for patterns, for order, for rhythm and for deepened involvement with the mystery of being. In the words of a Jesuit priest, The repetitions are efforts to engage mystery, to center on the depth of riches within revelation, and to discover how God specifically invites this particular man or woman to find the meaning of a gospel event for him or her (Gray: 2012).

In his treatise Theology, Music and Time, Jeremy S. Begbie makes theological sense of repetition by interpreting liturgical repetition of the Eucharist in light of musical repetition. He points, for instance, to how an initial sounding of a musical theme is “circumscribed and bounded. It begins and ends.” He continues: the subsequent repetition of the theme is not a matter of extracting the theme from its temporal relations and re-locating it, as if we could wrench it from ‘that time’ to ‘this time’. It is embedded in a field of contingencies – other notes, phrases, elaborations – which are intrinsic to its identity. Most important, it has a unique dynamic quality by virtue of its relation to a hierarchy of metrical waves. No later appearance of the theme will have this same quality (Begbie: 2000,169).

Similarly, the “crucifixion of Jesus took place in relation to a specific combination of historical contingencies.” Thus,

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Every Eucharist relates not only directly in an over-arching wave to the death and resurrection of Christ, but also … to every previous Eucharist. Our reception of any Eucharist will be shaped, sometimes quite radically, by our accumulated experience of previous celebrations (ibid., 169 f).

Contrary to the views of Attali and Baumann, then, repetition can be understood as a both creative and individual strategy with deep spiritual implications. In hip-hop esthetic practices, repetition facilitates coherence, community and continuity as well as difference and destabilization of hierarchical structures of taste, authorship and meaning making. 7.3.1.4 The break Closely related to repetition is the break, the rupture, sudden discontinuity, or “cut” as James A. Snead terms it, is. “The ‘cut’ overtly insists on the repetitive nature of music, by abruptly skipping it back to another beginning which we have already heard” (Snead: 1998, 71). Snead points to James Brown as exemplary of “cut” practice: The format of the Brown “cut” and repetition is similar to that of African drumming after the band has been “cookin’” in a given key and tempo, a cue, either verbal (“get down”…or “Watch it now”) or musical (a brief series of rapid, percussive drum and horn accents), then directs the music to a new level, where it stays with more “cookin’” or perhaps a solo – until a repetition of cues then “cuts” back to the primary tempo … The ensuing rupture does not cause dissolution of the rhythm: quite to the contrary, it strengthens it, given that it is already incorporated into the format of the rhythm (ibid.).

As we saw in Jafa’s original formulation and Rose’s expansion, the break or rupture in line can be applied to hip-hop esthetic in general. But as the break and repetition marks time, it is specifically relevant to hip-hop’s musical practices.2 Rose describes the break beats as “the points of rupture in their former contexts, points at which the thematic elements of a music piece are suspended and the underlying rhythms brought center stage” (Rose: 1994, 74). Felicia Miyakawa expands on this by understanding rupture not only as a rhythmic process, but also a textural change involving both melodic and percussive layers. Textural ruptures might serve both structural and expressive purposes: highlighting formal elements of the composition like verse, chorus and interludes, structural repetition of four and eight bar phrases and emphasizing specific moments of the lyrics. Together, repetition and rupture constitute the groove (Miyakawa: 2005, 81–98). Thus – paradoxically – the discontinuity of the break, the rupture, has also a function of 2 However, Snead also includes examples from other black cultural expressions, such as literature (1998)

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integration and re-integration. The rupture integrates textural layers and, in addition, provides an opportunity to “pick up when you come back to get it.” Spiritually, the relation of the break (cut) and repetition to time is closely linked to ritual experience, which Snead points to: The black church must be placed at the center of the manifestations of repetition in black culture, at the junction of music and language … Both preacher and congregation employ the “cut.” The preacher “cuts” his own speaking by interrupting himself with a phrase such as “praise God” (whose weight here cannot be at all termed denotative or imperative but purely sensual and rhythmic – an underlying “social” beat provided for the congregation). The listeners, in responding to the preacher’s calls at random intervals, produce each time it “cuts” a slight shift in the texture of the performance. At various intervals a musical instrument such as the organ and often spontaneous dancing accompany the speaker’s repetition of the “cut” (Snead: 1998:72).

Emphasizing repetition and break, the flow of black and Afrodiasporic worship and ritual is thus quite different from the prescribed ordo of Western Catholic and Protestant liturgy. In the juncture of flow and rupture, Rose finds a “blueprint for social action and affirmation” enabling sustainable and transformative narratives. The ruptures of hip-hop can “prepare you for a future in which survival will demand a sudden shift in ground tactics” (Rose: 1994, 39). In itself, the break is rich with spiritual significance. The heightened tension and the promise of release is a peak experience in a Maslowian sense, a moment of energizing outburst and embodied affirmation of self. The momentary disruption of all layers except the intense “cookin’” of the rhythm section creates a state of heightened awareness, a sense of connectedness. Also, the break signifies a peculiar in-betweenness of time, a potential space of play, a third space of possible new beginnings. Thus, the break is at the heart of creation. The break is intrinsic to hip-hop’s own creation myth, where DJs, bboys and b-girls constantly reinvent and push the limits of their art. The break, “the cut” or whatever it is named, signifies creativity in all its pains and pleasures, chaos and order. In a Christian theological context, it is but too tempting to state: “in the beginning was the break.” On that note, it is time to end by returning to my own beginning.

7.4 …and having fun. Outro I began my work with a statement: “theology is a creative form of art,” and the notion that, like all other creative forms of art, theology “needs to have its ears and eyes on the street, checking the pulse, engaging in dialogues.” Throughout the pages of this book, I have tried to keep my ears and eyes to the street quite literally. I have explored creative theology and spirituality as shaped by hip-

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hop artists responding to urban environments. In doing this, I have engaged in dialogues at the very heart and center of theology: on the nature of God, on human existence and on the relation between human beings, experienced realities and a possible divine reality. These dialogues are shaped outside religious institution and established religious doctrine, outside academy, even outside esthetic practices of established religion. There are certainly references to scripture, religious imagery and religious esthetic practices. But the esthetic practices of hip-hop culture – the grooves, moves, rhymes, shapes and wildstyles of hip-hop – emerged in the streets, on the subways, on the walls, in the playgrounds, in school yard ciphers and jams, outside ordained time and space frames of religious, academic and cultural institutions. Thus, an academic exploration of hip-hop spirituality, with Western Christian theology as its starting point, is layered with hybridity. First, while hip-hop culture celebrates hybridity and the juxtaposition of seemingly disparate esthetic and spiritual elements, the hybridity of the starting point has to be acknowledged as well. The very construction of “Western Christian theology” signals a complexity of hybridization, of “destabilized structures of power,” of “third spaces” and “in-between spaces” to use Homi Bhabha’s terminology, between Western/Christian/Theology. Then there is the third space, in between space of this construction of theology and hip-hop culture, which again challenges my previous notion of “outside of…” What is outside of what? The power structure between academic discourse and hip-hop culture is also destabilized. In the words of another postcolonial thinker, Gayatri Spivak: In a certain sense, I think there is nothing that is central. The centre is always constituted in terms of its own marginality. However, having said that, in terms of the hegemonic historical narrative, certain peoples have always been asked to cathect the margins so others can be defined as central … In that kind of situation the only strategic thing to do is to absolutely present oneself at the centre (in Soja: 1996, 135).

Taking center in hip-hop culture, academic and religious institutions become the “outside of…” – the periphery. An impulse to meditate on one’s own hybridity, otherness, in-betweenness is thus one of the benefits of a hybrid spirituality approach, making way for third spaces and new, negotiated structures of power. Then again, there is the hybridity of hip-hop spiritualities, the third spaces between institutional religion and inner city experiences, spirit and flesh, beats and poetry, Malcolm X and Hail Mary, Mystery God and dancing ministry, childbirth and Ankhs, murals and movements, dogma and dance, wisdom and wordplay – and a multitude of other destabilizing in-betweens. What we find in exploring hip-hop spirituality is neither coherent structures of doctrine, nor manuals guiding you to inner peace, harmony with the universe or to a better self. Hip-hop spiritualities are filled with contradictions, things that do not add up, breaks and ruptures. Thus, its celebration

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of hybridity provides for a spirituality that does not need to be smooth and coherent, but is able to reflect and adapt to the multifaceted life of the city and its people. Hip-hop spirituality also celebrates the creative impulse, the impulse to expand the horizon of what is, to envision other possible beginnings and endings in the interlocking moment of “the break.” I would like to end by again meditate on hip-hop’s early slogan, “Peace, Unity, Love, and Having Fun.” In this work, “fun” has connoted hip-hop’s esthetic practices. But “having fun,” is also a much overlooked category in both theological thinking and scholarly research on spirituality. Religion, theology and spirituality are perceived as serious business. Moreover, fun destabilizes power structures and is a threat to institutions of power, as exemplified by European medieval carnival traditions. Thus, fun is feared by fundamentalists of all categories, political and religious alike, who equate fun with sin originating in the desires of the flesh, haram, as oppositional or counterproductive. Having fun, however, is integral to human life. It is a response, a way to come to terms with conditions of life. Having fun is a necessary part of a spirituality of survival, as evidenced by the emergence of hip-hop in bleak urban settings. Fun connotes the desire to come together, to be a community. Faced with the grave seriousness of institutional religion, of systemic racism and sexism, massive capitalist usurpation of urban centers and other structures of oppression, having fun is a subversive strategy to carve out spaces of freedom, to experience the affirmative “I am!” of “the boom bap.”

Acknowledgements Many institutions and persons have contributed with support and encouragement in the work of this book, to whom I am deeply grateful. Thanks to Norwegian Research Council for generous financial support. They have funded my PhD studies, my stay as a visiting research scholar at Union Theological Seminary in New York, as well as the publication of this book. Thanks to Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlag and the board of editors for the Research in Contemporary Religion for accepting my manuscript and valuable advice in making this a better book. Special thanks to Trygve E. Wyller for following the final stages and kindly pushing my limits. The Faculty of Theology, University of Oslo has been my academic home, both as a student of theology and later when writing my PhD dissertation. Thanks to all the professors, fellow students and later on my own students for academic nourishment. Special thanks to Trond Skar Dokka, my tutor during the PhD work. Thanks to Union Theological Seminary of New York for generously providing a nourishing and challenging academic as well as spiritual home during my stay in New York. Special thanks to professor James H. Cone for inviting me and asking challenging questions, to professors Janet Walton and Troy Messenger for enriching work on worship and spirituality and librarian Betty Bolden for providing such good spirits. The people of Union Theological Seminar have changed me in profound ways. I would also like to thank Toni Blackman whose spirituality and wisdom is a continuous inspiration. Thanks to Felicia M. Miyakawa for providing a critical reading and most valuable comments to early versions of my manuscript. And thanks to Tim Challman for copy editing and kind support. In exploring lived spirituality, I can think of no better place to work than the City Mission of Oslo and Tøyen Church. Thanks to colleagues and all the people I am so blessed to work with. Lastly, I would like to thank my wife and children, Ingunn, Tobias and Johannes, who have travelled with me into hiphop culture as well as other life projects. They inspire me deeply. All thanks to God, the Creator, Liberator and Giver of Life.

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Video BAMBAATAA, A. (2002): Afrika Bambaata: Zulu Nation. Video collection, CineVu. SHAKUR, T/SWAIN, K. (dir.) (2006) I Ain’t Mad At Cha. Bonus material on DVD Tupac: The Complete Live Performances DVD, Eagle Vision. CONEY, J. (dir.) (2003) Space is the Place. Sun Ra and the Intergalactic Arkestra, Plexifilm. FITZGERALD, K. (dir.) (2000) Freestyle: The Art of Rhyme, Palm Pictures. SHAKUR, T. (2003) Malcolm X Dinner Speech, Atlanta 1992, bonus material on L. Lazin (dir.) Tupac: Ressurection. Paramount Pictures. SILVER, T./CHALFANT, H. (dir.) (2003) Style Wars. Plexifilm.

Colorplates List of illustrations Fig 1a–1f Fig 2a–2d Fig 3a–3d Fig 4 Fig 5a–5e Fig 6a–6e Fig 7a–7f Fig 8a–8b Fig 9 Fig 10a–10c Fig 11a–11b Fig 12 Fig 13 Fig 14a–14e Fig 15a–15d Fig 16a Fig 17a–17c Fig 18a–18c Fig 19

“Peoples Wall” by James Top Productions “Zapatismo Chiapas” by unidentified artists “Hijos de Borik n” by PRISCO and CLARK “Females Hip Hop” by TOO FLY, ACB, SHIRO and INDIE “Babes in Boyland” by TOO FLY, QUEEN ANDREA, FEVER, DIVA, MUCK, DONA and INDIE “Harlem World” by VIRUS, SERVE, PART, WEN (COD) and DEZ. “Grafitti Hall of Fame by YMI CREW” by SEK 3, NATIVE, AINT, CERN, SPACE, NAMES, PART and DEZ. “Rip Culata,” artist unidentified “RIP Ruby Caocho,” artist unidentified “RIP Willy and Carela,” artist unidentified “Rip mural for Mike” by TRACY 168 “Rip mural for Anton O Nicki” by TRACY 168 “RIP Jam Master Jay” by TSA and others “RIP Big Pun and Mad Mark” by TATS CRU, “RIP Tito Puente, y Sigue la Bomba and 9–11 memorial,” triple mural by Wanda Raimundi-Ortiz and Wilda Gonzalez “Rip Pope John Paul II” by CHICO “New York, New York” by TATS CRU 9–11 Memorial, artist unidentified “Allegory on Love,” by LEIA

All photos by author.

Colorplate 1: “2004 Peoples all” by James Top Productions

fig 1a, Overview fig 1b, name scoll

fig 1c, Malcolm X

fig 1e, Muhammad Ali and Miles Davis

fig 1f, Aaliyah with RIP for Jose

fig 1g, The Original People with pyramids

Colorplate 2: “Zapatismo Chiapas” artist(s) unidentified

fig 2a, Overview

fig 2b, Chiapas

fig 2c, zapatismo, portrait of Subcommandante Marcos

fig 2d, Our Lady of Guadalope with angel dressed as a Zapatist

Colorplate 3: “Hijos de Borikén” by Prisco and Clark

fig 3a, Overview, Hijos de Borikén

fig 3b, artwork information

fig 3c, Hijos de Borikén with Taino symbols. Note the spray can motif on the stone

fig 3d, turtle, blue castle with tower formed as spray can

Colorplate 4: “Females Hip Hop” by TOO FLY, ACB, SHIRO and INDIE

fig 4

Colorplate 5: “Babes in Boyland” by TOO FLY, QUEEN ANDREA, FEVER, DIVA, MUCK, DONA, INDIE and others

fig 5a, Overview

fig 5b, pink angel, TOO FY signature, FEVER and DIVA letter piece

fig 5c, Letter piece by MUCK, two crystal bowls with futuristic cityscapes and reference to PINK

fig 5d, tribute to CHARMIN

fig 5e, “Babes in Boyland”

Colorplate 6: “Harlem world” by VIRUS, SERVE, PART, WEN (COD) and DEZ

fig 6a, “Harlemworld,” overview

fig 6b, Advertisement for T-Connection arrangement

fig 6c, KAY SLAY (DEZ)

fig 6d, Subway line No 3, Voices of the Ghetto, STAY HIGH 149

fig 6e, NOC 167 letter piece

Colorplate 7: “Graffiti Hall of Fame by Ymi Crew” by SEK 3, NATIVE, AINT, CERN, SPACE, NAMES, PART, and DEZ

fig 7a, Mount Rushmoe of rap, Graffiti Hall of Fame, overview

fig 7b, Center of mural. Empie State Building

fig 7c, Ice ceam car, kids. PART, letter piece

fig 7d, Girl with soap bubbles. Note the Arabic signs and Al Yazeera logo

fig 7e, 2Pac, Jam Master Jay, Big L, Notorious BIG and Big Pun. KAY SLAY (DEZ) letter piece

fig 7f

Colorplate 8: “RIP Culata” unsigned, artist(s) unidentified

fig 8a, RIP Culata

fig 8b, RIP Culata Colorplate 9: “RIP Ruby Caocho” unsigned, artist unidentified

Colorplate 10: “RIP Willy and Carela,” artist unidentified

fig 10a, RIP memorials for two young men, overview

fig 10b, RIP Will, artist signature at right

fig 10c, RIP Caela AKA Moreno

Colorplates 11–12: RIP memorials by TRACY 168

fig 11a, RIP memorial for Mike

fig 11b, (left) unfinished piece

fig 12, RIP memorial for Anton O Nikçi

Colorplate 13: RIP Jam Master Jay

Colorplate 14: RIP Mad Mark and Big Pun by TATS CRU

fig 14a, RIP Mad Mark and Big Pun, overview

fig 14b, Big Pun

fig 14c, Big Pun, detail

fig 14e, Mad Mark, detail

fig 14d, Mad Mark

Colorplate 15: RIP Tito Puente, y Sigue la Bomba and 9-11 memorial triple mural by Wanda Raimundi-Ortiz and Wilda Gonzalez

fig 15a, Overview

fig 15b, RIP Tito Puente

fig 15c, Y Sigue La Bomba

fig 15d, RIP 9-11, with Wilda Gonzalez Colorplate 16: RIP Pope John Paul II by CHICO

fig 16a

fig 16b

Colorplate 17: “New York, New York” by TATS CRU

fig 17a, overview

fig 17b, Statue of Liberty

fig 17c, Gound Zero, rescue workers

fig 17d, Twin Towers night vigil

Colorplate 18: 9/11 memorial unsigned, artist(s) unidentified

fig 18a, overview

fig 18b, skyline with date

fig 18c, Skyline, God’s eye, two beams of light representing Twin Towers

Colorplate 19: An allegory of Love by LEIA

fig 19a

fig 19c, detail

Index

“A Dream” (DeBarge) 170f. A Tribe Called Quest 183, 212, 219, 239 Aaliyah 117f. ACB 124 Adams, K. 25 Adderley, C. 213, 262 “Adventures of Grandmaster Flash on the Wheels of Steel” (Grandmaster Flash) 55 African Caribbean spiritualities and hiphop 17 Afrika Bambaataa 27, 32, 45–47, 54, 65f., 70, 72, 126, 198, 201, 264 Afro-futurism 70 Ahmadiyyah Islam 30, 79f. “Ain’t No Mystery” (Brand Nubian) 215, 260 Alim, S. 16, 201, 239 “All For One” (Brand Nubian) 216 “Allah and Justice” (Brand Nubian) 216f. Allah (Clarence 13 X) 100f. Allah School in Mecca Street Academy 101 “And The Feeling’s Good” (Jose Feliciano) 159 “Apple Tree” (Erykah Badu) 230 “As the World Turns” (2Pac) 175 “Astronomy (8th Light)” 242 Attali, J. 271f. Austin, J. 48 Azikwe, M. D. 267 “Bad Tune” (Earth, Wind and Fire) “Bam Bam” (Sister Nancy) 152 Banes, S. 61 Baraka. A. 62, 151 BARBARA 62 51, 113, 125, 147 Bartlett, A. 270

219

Bauman, Z. 272 “Be Mine” (Grits) 184 Begbie, J. S. 273 Benjamin, W. 269 Bhabha, H. 27, 39f., 44f., 262, 276 Bible, the 19f., 37, 63, 67f., 74, 76, 84f., 91f., 96f., 104, 111, 153, 156, 174, 176, 182, 184, 196, 270 Big Daddy Kane 101, 203, 211 Big Pun 129, 138 bismillah 98, 245, 248 “Bismillah-ir Rahman ir Raheem” 245 Black Jesuz (2Pac) 20, 28, 148, 169, 172f., 175f., 199, 257, 265 black nationalism 16, 27, 41, 44, 81f., 99, 205–207, 212, 248, 256, 259, 261 Black Panthers Party 20, 28, 82, 87, 162, 165, 206, 208, 210, 213, 265 Black Power Movement 20, 257f. “Black Star Line” 20, 257 “Black Star Line” (Brand Nubian) 212 Blackman, T. 253 Blakey, A. 79 “Blasphemy” (2Pac) 173 Blyden, E. W. 78 Brand Nubian 29, 38, 101, 201, 211–219, 221, 225f., 243, 253f., 256f., 259, 261f. “Brenda’s Got A Baby” (2Pac) 168, 234, 265 Brent, R. “Riskie” 148 Brown, J. 37, 45, 55, 60, 243, 262, 274 “Burn Hollywood, Burn” (Public Enemy) 203, 257 “Can’t Truss It” (Public Enemy) 202, 257, 260 CastaÇeda-Liles, S. 263 Cepeda, R. 17

318

Index

CERN 128 Chalfant, H. 61 “Chameleon” (Herbie Hancock) 166 CHARMIN 113, 125, 147 Cheney, C. L. 41, 201, 206f., 261 CHICO 142 Chuck D 72, 202–210, 260, 271 “Circular Motion” (Elle R.O.C.) 194 CLARK 123, 263 Clay, E. 21 Cleage, A. 172 Cleaver, E. 206 Clinton, G. 55, 71, 241 Cohen, J. 17 Collins, P. C. 27, 43, 267 Common 196, 235f. “Concerto in X Minor” (Brand Nubian) 213, 257 “Concrete Jungle” (Bob Marley) 151 Cone, J. H. 14, 37, 172, 254, 256 Cooper, M. 61, 131 CORNBREAD 50 Cross Movement 177 Cut Chemist 57, 269 “Dance To My Ministry” (Brand Nubian) 218f., 219 Davis, A. Y. 27, 42, 150 Davis, D. 130 Davis, M. 118, 171f. dc Talk 28, 149, 177–182, 188, 256, 259, 261f. De La Soul 183, 212, 219, 241 “Death Around The Corner” (2Pac) 163 Delgadillo, T. 40 DEZ 126–128 Dimitriatis, G. 17 DIVA 125 DJ Shadow 57 DONDI 49–51, 271 Doug E. Fresh 154–156, 266 DOZE 53 Dr. Ben Chavis Muhammad 226f., 230 Duany, J. 263 Dyson, M. E. 15, 19, 165

Ecko, M. 114 Elle R.O.C. 28, 149, 177, 192–195, 259, 261 Ellington, D. 118, 148 Ellison, R. 237 EMEK 233 Erykah Badu 29, 62, 101, 201, 226, 230, 233–236, 238, 243, 249, 253f., 256f., 264, 266 ethnographic studies and hip-hop 14, 17f., 24, 201 Eure, J. D. 201 “Every Ghetto, Every City” (Lauryn Hill) 154f., 266 “Everybody Up” (MC Ge Gee) 190 “Everything is Everything” (Lauryn Hill) 31, 264 “Eye In the Sky” (Queen Yonasda) 229 Fanon, F. 204 Farrakhan, L. 27, 29, 76, 85, 88–91, 93, 95, 99, 105, 156, 200, 202, 216, 226f., 233, 249, 262 “Fear Not of Man” (Fela Kuti) 248 “Fear Not of Man” (Mos Def) 248 “Feels So Good” (Brand Nubian) 214 feminism 33–35, 40, 42–44, 87, 263, 267 Fenton, S. 41 FEVER 125 “Fight for Your Right (To Party)” (Beastie Boys) 208 Final Call 89, 226, 233f. “Final Days” (dc Talk) 182 “Final Hour” (Lauryn Hill) 152 Five Percenters see Nation of Gods and Earths Five Pointz 138, 145 Flores, J. 41 “Flower” (Bobby Hebb) 246 “For What It’s Worth” (Buffalo Springfield) 210 Foxy Brown 200 Franklin, A. 37, 41, 150f., 173 “Free At Last” (dc Talk) 179 Fugees, the 150 FUTURA 2000 51, 112

Index Gardell, M. 81 Garvey, M. 82, 93, 212f., 225, 242, 259 Gaye, M. 151, 172, 216, 262 George, N. 41 Gillespie, D. 79, 118 Giovanni, N. 62 Gonzalez, W. 140f. Gospel Gangstaz 177 Graffiti Hall of Fame 25, 109, 115, 124–126, 128 Grand Wizard Theodore 55 Grandmaster Flash 55, 156, 269 Grits 28, 149, 177f., 182–186, 188, 199, 256, 261f. Guillory, M. L. S. 21f. “Hail Mary” (2Pac) 173, 276 Hancock, H. 46, 166 Haney, C. A. 130 Hargrove, R. 235 Harriet Tubman Learning Center 101 Hazzard-Donald, K. 60 “He Got Game” (Public Enemy) 209f. Helaas, P. 34–36, 254–256 Hense, E. 33, 253 “Here We Go” (Grits) 184 hip-hop and religion studies 15, 17f., 21–23 Hip-hop in Africa 16, 238 Hip-hop in Europe 17, 238 HipHopEMass 28, 149, 196–199, 256 “His Eye Is On the Sparrow” 156 “Hitler Day” (Public Enemy) 204 Hodge, D. W. 15, 18–20, 149 Holder, T. 196 Holiday, B. 41, 118, 171f., 230 hooks, b. 27, 42, 90 Horne, L. 118 hybrid spirituality 14, 24, 27, 29, 32, 39f., 45, 148, 219, 249, 254, 257f., 276 hybrid spirituality approach 38 “I Ain’t Mad At Cha” (2Pac) 170 “I Caught The Mic” (MC Ge Gee) 189 “I Die Daily” Elle R.O.C. 194, 261 “I Don’t Want It” (dc Talk) 180

319

“I Luv Rap Music” (dc Talk) 179 “I Want It All” (Queen Yonasda) 229 Ice Cube 167, 183, 201, 203 Ice-T 63 “IMA Showem” (Grits) 183 “Ince Ince” (Selda Bagcan) 247 INDIE 124f. “Inhale 2 Exhale” (Elle R.O.C.) 192 Irvine, W. 241f., 245 Islam and immigration 79 Islam and jazz 64, 79f., 85, 118, 147 “It Takes Love” (Grits) 185 IZ THE WIZ 115 Jackson, P. 15, 18, 20 Jam Master Jay 129, 138 Jamal, A. 79f. JAMES TOP 117 Jespers, F. 35, 254 Jewish hip-hop 17 JOEY TDS 115, 126 Jorge “Fabel” Pabon 60f. Jurassic Five 57, 269 Kabbalah 103 KAY SLAY 127f. “Keep Ya Head Up” (2Pac) 168 Killah Priest 63, 220 Kool Herc 46f., 54, 59, 72, 126 Kool Moe Dee 15 Krims, A. 64, 241 KRS One 22, 27, 32, 46f., 65, 72–76, 154, 167, 198, 236, 264 Ku Klux Klan 167 Kurtis Blow 55, 148, 196 LADY PINK 47, 112, 125, 143f. Lateef, Y. 79f. Lauryn Hill 28, 31, 62, 148–150, 152–156, 158–160, 164, 198f., 253–257, 264, 266f. LEE 51–53, 112, 271 Lee, S. 87, 204, 209f. LEIA 145 “Light My Fire” (the Doors) 151 “Linda Manigua” (Sidestepper) 184

320

Index

lived spirituality 24, 31, 33, 38, 45, 110, 253, 256 “Lost-Found Muslim Lesson No. 1” 222 “Lost-Found Muslim Lesson No. 2” 92, 94, 208, 215f., 223, 235, 260 “Lost Ones” (Lauryn Hill) 152 “Love is the Answer” (MC Ge Gee) 190 “Love of My Life (An Ode to Hip Hop),” (Erykah Badu) 235f., 264 Lyricist Lounge 241 Maas, F. 33 Machiavelli, N. 148 Mailer, N. 147 mainstream Islam 16, 29, 87, 91, 97, 102–105, 201, 238–240 Makaveli (2Pac) 148, 173 Malcolm X 27, 29f., 37f., 56, 62, 81, 85–89, 95, 100, 117f., 150, 159, 165–167, 172, 174f., 202, 205, 208, 211, 215, 222, 225, 241, 247, 257f., 262, 276 Marcos; Subcomandante 120f. Marley, B. 151, 160, 171 Martin Luther King, Jr. 37, 56, 62, 74, 76, 81, 117f., 167, 180, 208, 227, 261 “Mathematics” (Mos Def) 243 MC Ge Gee 28, 149, 177, 188–191 McCloud, A. B. 80 McMurray, A. 225 “Me” (Erykah Badu) 235 “Meaning of the 5 %” (Brand Nubian) 216 MERES ONE 115 “Millennium” (Grits) 187 Miller, I. L. 17, 51 Miller, M. R. 18, 21f. Missy Elliott 21f., 156 Miyakawa, F. M. 16, 26f., 58, 64, 100–102, 211f., 216–219, 221, 259, 274 Moltmann, J. 19 Moorish Science Temple 30, 80, 82–84, 232 Morgan, J. 42f. Mos Def 29, 201, 239–249, 256f. Mother Ship (NOI) 89, 96 MUCK 125

Muhammad, E. 83–96, 98f., 104, 207–209, 211f., 216, 218, 260 Muhammad, W. F. 83–85, 90, 92, 95, 99, 101, 235 Muhammed, W. D. 87 Murray, J. T. 143 Murray, K. L. 143 NAMES 128 Nas 171, 196, 235 Nation of Gods and Earths (NGE) 16, 27, 29f., 42, 52, 67, 71, 78, 99–105, 156, 200f., 211–221, 223, 224-6, 230–232, 235, 238, 240, 248f., 255f., 259f., 266 Nation of Islam (NOI) 15f., 27, 29f., 51, 65, 67, 71, 78, 80f., 83–93, 96–105, 117f., 156, 200–204, 207–211, 213, 215f., 221–223, 225–230, 232–235, 238, 240, 248f., 255f., 259f., 266 NATIVE 128 Nattiez, J.-J. 26, 271 Newton, H. 213 NICER 139 “Night of the Living Baseheads” (Public Enemy) 56 Noble Drew Ali 82, 84, 91, 93, 104 NOC 167 113, 127, 147 “Nu Thang” (dc Talk) 179 Numark 57 O’Brien, J. 17, 24 “On and On” (Erykah Badu) 231, 266 “One Love” (Whodini) 203 “Opposites” (the Last Poets) 204 Our Lady of Guadalupe 122, 262, 267 Outlawz, the 175f. “Over The Rainbow”(Arlen/Harburg) 191 2Pac 17, 19f., 27f., 30, 129, 132, 138, 148, 156, 161–176, 198–200, 234, 240, 244, 253, 255–257, 265 PART 11, 107, 115, 126, 128, 251 “Party For Your Right To Fight” (Public Enemy) 208, 257, 260 Pate, A. 25, 63

Index “Peace, Unity, Love and Having Fun” (Afrika Bambaataa) 45, 277 Peale, N. V. 76 Perez, L. E. 40 Perkins, W. E. 15, 201 PHASE 2 47–49, 51f. PINKSMITH 143f., 147 Pinn, A. B. 18, 21 “Planet Rock” (Afrika Bambaataa) 54 5 Pointz 25, 115, 124, 146 “Pollywannacracka” (Public Enemy) 207 Pope John Paul II 142 Pough, G. 150, 155, 160, 226, 265 “Pow Wow” (Queen Yonasda) 228 Pratt, G. 162, 167, 210 Princess Diana 35, 130, 132 “Priority” (Mos Def) 246 PRISCO 123, 263 Public Enemy 15, 29, 38, 56, 58, 201–205, 207–209, 211, 225f., 242f., 249, 253, 256f., 259–262, 272 Puente, T. 139 QUEEN ANDREA 125 Queen Latifah 41, 154, 236, 265 Queen Yonasda 29, 201, 226–230, 262 Qur’an, the 63, 68, 79, 82, 87, 92, 97, 104, 176, 218, 239, 245 racism 20, 25, 28, 36f., 39, 41–43, 69, 71, 78f., 85f., 89f., 95, 111, 118, 158f., 161, 163, 167, 180, 198–200, 202f., 207, 211–213, 238, 242, 244, 248f., 254, 256–262, 265, 270, 277 Rakim 63, 101, 156, 211 RAMM-ELL-ZEE 49, 52, 271 “Rappers’ Delight” (Sugarhill Gang) 55 Rastafari 17, 160, 237, 255, 266 “Resurrection” (Public Enemy) 209 “Return of the Antagonist” (Grits) 186 Revelation, Book of 187 “Revelation 33 1/3 Revolution” (Public Enemy) 209 “Rightstarter (Message To a Black Man)” (Public Enemy) 207 ritual theory and hip-hop 21

321

Rivera, R. Z. 263f. Rose, T. 58, 268–270 Run DMC 129, 138, 148 RZA 102, 104, 220f., 223–225, 249, 260, 265 “Sacred Geometry” 70 sampling 16, 26, 56f., 163, 192, 211, 216, 227, 270 Sanchez, S. 62 Santana, C. 159 Santino, J. 131f. Schloss, J. 57, 59 Sciorra, J. 131 Scott-Heron, G. 62, 166, 222 SEK 3 128 Senie, H. F. 131 SERVE 126 Shaolin 104, 220, 223, 225 “She Watch Channel Zero” (Public Enemy) 205 Sheldrake, P. 40 SHIRO 124 “Sincerely” (Brand Nubian) 214, 261 “Slow Down” (Brand Nubian) 213 Smith, E. 15, 18, 20 Snead, J. A. 269, 272, 274f. “So Many Tears” (2Pac) 169 Sobrino, J. 36, 254, 256 “Some Seek Stardom” (the Fugees) 157 “Sophisticated Bitch” (Public Enemy) 206, 261 “Soul Sister” (MC Ge Gee) 189 SPACE 128 Spady, J. G. 16, 201 Spencer, J. M. 15 spirituality and Liberation Theology 36–8, 256–8 spirituality of resistance 39, 256, 258, 262, 266f. spirituality of survival 256 spirituality studies 31–33 spontaneous memorials 130–132, 143 STAY HIGH 149 52, 127, 147 “Street Serenade” (Queen Yonasda) 229

322

Index

“Struggle in Progress” (Queen Yonasda) 229 “Strugglin” (Grits) 186 subversive spirituality 14, 44, 268, 270 Sufism 246 sufism 80, 247, 249 Sun Ra 70, 96 Sunni Islam 30, 86f., 117, 239, 249f. “Sunshower” (Wu-Tang Clan) 223 “Supermagic” (Mos Def) 247 Supreme Alphabet 100, 102f., 216f., 259f. Supreme Mathematics 71, 100–103, 211, 216–218, 231f., 243, 259f. “‘T’ Stands for Trouble” (Marvin Gaye) 216 Ta no 123, 263f. TAKI 183 50f. Talib Kweli 241–243 TATS CRU 115, 124, 138f., 144 Temple of Hiphop 47 “Temple” (the Fugees) 156 “18th Letter (Always and Forever)” (Rakim) 63 “That Kinda Girl” (dc Talk) 181, 262 “The Beast” (Fugees) 158 “The Boogie Man Song” (Mos Def) 247 “The Cell” (Erykah Badu) 233f. “The End” (Grits) 187 The Gospel of Hip Hop (KRS One) 72, 74–76 “The Healer” (Erykah Badu) 237 The Hip Hop Declaration of Peace 72 the Last Poets 62, 166, 204, 213, 248 The Lord’s Prayer 175 “The Message” (Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five) 55 “The Nation’s Anthem” (Poor Righteous Teachers) 217 the Native Tongue 212 “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” (Gil Scott-Heron) 222 theology as art 13, 275 theomusicology 15 “Things of This World” (dc Talk) 182, 262

third space 14, 39f., 44f., 148, 258, 275f. “This Love of Mine” (Elle R.O.C.) 193 “Thugz Mansion” (2Pac) 171, 265 “To Zion” (Lauryn Hill) 159f., 257, 267 TOO FLY 124f. Toop, D. 56 TRACY 168 111, 133, 136f. “Trust” (MC Ge Gee) 191 turntablism 21, 56 “Twinkle” (Erykah Badu) 233f., 266 Tyner, M. 79 “Umi Says” (Mos Def) 245 Universal Zulu Nation (UZN) 65–67, 69f., 73, 126f., 264

27, 32, 47,

Vega, J. De La 114 VIRUS 126 VULCAN 51–53 Waaijman, K. 33, 35 “Walk Tall” (Joe Zawinul) 213 “Walls” (dc Talk) 180, 261 Wauneta Lonewolf 226, 230, 262 WEN 126 “We’re Marching to Zion” (Isaac Watts) 160 West, C. 15 “What do You Have To Say” (MC Ge Gee) 190 “When DC Talks” (dc Talk) 178 “When The Revolution Comes” (the Last Poets) 213 “White Heaven/Black Hell” (Public Enemy) 204 “White Man’s Got a God Complex” (the Last Poets) 248 Williams, J. A. 163, 171 Woodhead, L. 34f., 254–256 “Words of Wisdom” (2Pac) 166 World Trade Center 110, 130, 132, 143 “Wu-Revolution” (Wu-Tang Clan) 221, 223, 260 Wu-Tang Clan 29, 63, 101, 104, 201, 211f., 219–221, 223, 225, 249, 260f. Wyclef Jean 62, 150, 156–158

Index Yacub 94, 225 Yasiin Bey, see Mos Def “Young Niggaz” (2Pac) 164

Zanfagna, C. 13, 17, 24, 149, 177 Zapatist 113, 119–121, 256, 262f.

323