THE NEW YORK TIMES MAGAZINE – The 8.13.23 Issue: In this special issue, Wesley Morris on hip-hop’s 50th anniversary; Niela Orr on the ascendance of female rappers; Miles Marshall Lewis on how hip-hop changed the English language forever; Daniel Levin Becker on the history of bling; Tom Breihan on Too Short’s long career; and Danyel Smith on the rappers we lost.
By MILES MARSHALL LEWIS
In just 50 years, rap has transformed the way the world speaks. Here are five words that tell the story of the genre’s linguistic power.
“I stay woke” — Erykah Badu, “Master Teacher”
By Wesley Morris
We’re celebrating hip-hop’s 50th anniversary this week. Wesley Morris traces the art form from its South Bronx origins to all-encompassing triumph.
As their male counterparts turn depressive and paranoid, it’s the women who are having all the fun.
By Niela Orr
Like American men in general, our top male rappers appear to be in crisis: overwhelmed, confused, struggling to embody so many contradictory ideals. As a result, the art is suffering, too. If the music were any more existentially morose, or stylistically comatose, mainstream hip-hop made by men might be headed the way of hair metal or disco. The narcotized indolence is everywhere; the recounting of opioid abuse is so blasé (the Percs, Xans and Oxys) that these pillbox litanies leave you wondering if the Sackler family sponsored a wing in the rap museum. And then there’s the sense of foreshortened future that’s baked into the genre but has been amplified as gangsta rap branched off into trap, drill and other grittier subgenres. Many of the male rappers are documenting social strife and commenting on the violence that comes with being young, Black, famous men. This thread can be moving and also heartbreaking. When listening to these songs, it is impossible to not ache for their makers, to be afraid right along with them. But the music bears the weight of all that anxiety and grief. Even the occasional Drake smash is not enough to disturb the disquiet.
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