• » Name: Meka Soul
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Why Nas Will Never Make It

Growing up as a child I was never really into hip-hop as I am now, although I’m not as into it now as I was around my high school, junior college and regular college years. Raised in a Nigerian household of primarily women, I was likely to be caught bobbing my head to the likes of Lucky Dube or Lisa Lisa & The Cult Jam before, say, Kool G Rap or the D.O.C. If anything, my distaste for all things West Coast rap music related stemmed from a theory as an adolescent that West Coast rap makes you retarded.

I now see that I was off by a couple time zones.

It was in fact a pair of Left and South Coast controversies which initially exposed me to the music in the first place: 2 Live Crew’s obscenity case and N.W.A.’s spat with the Feds. Back then I was intrigued at the gall these two acts had to stand up to the government with a proverbial middle finger wagged in their direction, and still managed to come out on top of it all.

Nowadays the slightest bit of intimidation from the likes of a bloody tampon feminist, indignant congressman or Bill Cosby will cause a rapper to fold quicker than envelopes under pressure; like Lou Ferrigno on coke. This disturbing phenomenon could explain why there’s so many bitchmade personas running around rap today and why, despite all the vapid promises of bringing hip-hop back, rap will still continue to involve petty beefs about silly shit, like what shitty city a rapper was raised in, or why rocking jeans the size of a pasta stick has now become the thing du jour.

Which was why I had a smidgen of hope for Nas’ latest album to drop. Granted my favorite album from him happens to be something I haven’t really listened to in quite a while, or the fact that I haven’t really been too engrossed by anything of his since “2nd Childhood,” I actually wanted his album to be named Ni**er, not so much for the musical value than for the gigantic “Fuck you” to the trigger-happy censors that plague today’s media, similar to that one Eazy-E album where you had to scratch off that gunk they use on lottery tickets to reveal the entire title. Alas, thanks to the shakedown tactics of radical groups coupled with the departure of one Shawn Corey Carter, not only are fans stuck with what will likely be another mediocre album from an artist who reached his peak with his first album, there will be another blown chance to actually “save” this shit sammich called hip-hop.

Thank God(dess) for the Internets; I can go back to listening to my Cult Jam classics with ease now.

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