ABSTRACT CAVAZO, RODNEY BO. Fear of a Hip-Hop Planet: Rap Nationalism, The Gangsta, and the Making of the Dirty South. (Under the direction of Blair LM Kelley) From the streets of New York, to the inner cities of Los Angeles, to the Gaza Strip, hip-hop music has touched a diverse range of people from all over the world. Hip-hop music and culture has grown in popularity all over the U.S. and the globe, crossing race, class, and gender lines like few other art forms have before. Hip-hop music exists on a continuum of historically black musical traditions and draws from various moments in the history of black resistance. My project will focus on an examination of the several important mainstream hip-hop groups and also positioning hip-hop music within a long history of black cultural traditions. Additionally I seek to gain a better understanding of how these particular artists presented their version of black masculinity, and how they opposed what they perceived as oppressive power structures and white masculine constructions. Through three case studies that explore distinct moments in hip-hop history, the thesis will trace the shifts in hip-hop identity over time. The project begins with an exploration of the politically conscious rap of Public Enemy that examines the ways that the group drew both from historic forms of black cultural nationalism from the black arts movement and a savvy, self-crafted business model. The project then explores the roots of the gangsta chic that seems dominant in current mainstream hip-hop through an analysis of the group N.W.A. The project concludes with an exploration of the shifting of hip-hop culture southward, through a discussion of the Atlanta-based group OutKast that examines the diverse representations of black masculinity presented by the group. This project frames hip-hop as a form of performance; that is, artists not as everyday people, but as hyperbolic representations of black life. Hip-hop music has reflected some peopleâ

Is Gangsta Rap just black noise? Or does it play the same role for urban youth that CNN plays in mainstream America? This provocative set of essays tells us how Gangsta Rap is a creative "report" about an urban crisis, our new American dilemma, and why we need to listen. Increasingly, police, politicians, and late-night talk show hosts portray today's inner cities as violent, crime-ridden war zones. The same moral panic that once focused on blacks in general has now been refocused on urban spaces and the black men who live there, especially those wearing saggy pants and hoodies. The media always spotlights the crime and violence, but rarely gives airtime to the conditions that produced these problems. The dominant narrative holds that the cause of the violence is the pathology of ghetto culture. Hip-hop music is at the center of this conversation. When 16-year-old Chicago youth Derrion Albert was brutally killed by gang members, many blamed rap music. Thus hip-hop music has been demonized not merely as black noise but as a root cause of crime and violence. Fear of a Hip-Hop Planet: America's New Dilemma explores—and demystifies—the politics in which the gulf between the inner city and suburbia have come to signify not only a socio-economic dividing line, but a new socio-cultural divide as well.

Brothers Gonna Work It Out considers the political expression of rap artists within the historical tradition of black nationalism. Interweaving songs and personal interviews with hip-hop artists and activists including Chuck D of Public Enemy, KRS-One, Rosa Clemente, manager of dead prez, and Wise Intelligent of Poor Righteous Teachers, Cheney links late twentieth-century hip-hop nationalists with their nineteenth-century spiritual forebears. Cheney examines Black nationalism as an ideology historically inspired by a crisis of masculinity. Challenging simplistic notions of hip-hop culture as simply sexist or misogynistic, she pays particular attention to Black nationalists’ historicizing of slavery and their visualization of male empowerment through violent resistance. She charts the recent rejection of Christianity in the lyrics of rap nationalist music due to the perception that it is too conciliatory, and the increasing popularity of Black Muslim rap artists. Cheney situates rap nationalism in the 1980s and 90s within a long tradition of Black nationalist political thought which extends beyond its more obvious influences in the mid-to-late twentieth century like the Nation of Islam or the Black Power Movement, and demonstrates its power as a voice for disenfranchised and disillusioned youth all over the world.

Rap music from New York and Los Angeles once ruled the charts, but nowadays the southern sound thoroughly dominates the radio, Billboard, and MTV. Coastal artists like Wu-Tang Clan, Nas, and Ice-T call southern rap &“garbage,&” but they're probably just jealous, as artists like Lil Wayne and T.I. still move millions of copies, and OutKast has the bestselling rap album of all time. In Dirty South, author Ben Westhoff investigates the southern rap phenomenon, watching rappers &“make it rain&” in a Houston strip club and partying with the 2 Live Crew's Luke Campbell. Westhoff visits the gritty neighborhoods where T.I. and Lil Wayne grew up, kicks it with Big Boi in Atlanta, and speaks with artists like DJ Smurf and Ms. Peachez, dance-craze originators accused of setting back the black race fifty years. Acting both as investigative journalist and irreverent critic, Westhoff probes the celebrated-but-dark history of Houston label Rap-A-Lot Records, details the lethal rivalry between Atlanta MCs Gucci Mane and Young Jeezy, and gets venerable rapper Scarface to open up about his time in a mental institution. Dirty South features exclusive interviews with the genre's most colorful players. Westhoff has written a journalistic tour de force, the definitive account of the most vital musical culture of our time.

Offers an overview of "Dirty South" rap--a phenomenon centered around cities such as Atlanta, Miami, and New Orleans--covering such groups as The Neptunes, Timbaland, OutKast, Lil Jon, Ludacris, and Cee-Lo.

Illustrates the ways that the “war on crime” became conjoined—aesthetically, politically, and rhetorically—with the emergence of gangsta rap as a lucrative and deeply controversial subgenre of hip-hop In The Mark of Criminality: Rhetoric, Race, and Gangsta Rap in the War-on-Crime Era, Bryan J. McCann argues that gangsta rap should be viewed as more than a damaging reinforcement of an era’s worst racial stereotypes. Rather, he positions the works of key gangsta rap artists, as well as the controversies their work produced, squarely within the law-and-order politics and popular culture of the 1980s and 1990s to reveal a profoundly complex period in American history when the meanings of crime and criminality were incredibly unstable. At the center of this era—when politicians sought to prove their “tough-on-crime” credentials—was the mark of criminality, a set of discourses that labeled members of predominantly poor, urban, and minority communities as threats to the social order. Through their use of the mark of criminality, public figures implemented extremely harsh penal polices that have helped make the United States the world’s leading jailer of its adult population. At the same time when politicians like Ronald Reagan, George H. W. Bush, and Bill Clinton and television shows such as COPS and America’s Most Wanted perpetuated images of gang and drug-filled ghettos, gangsta rap burst out of the hip-hop nation, emanating mainly from the predominantly black neighborhoods of South Central Los Angeles. Groups like NWA and solo artists (including Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, and Tupac Shakur) became millionaires by marketing the very discourses political and cultural leaders used to justify their war on crime. For these artists, the mark of criminality was a source of power, credibility, and revenue. By understanding gangsta rap as a potent, if deeply imperfect, enactment of the mark of criminality, we can better understand how crime is always a site of struggle over meaning. Furthermore, by underscoring the nimble rhetorical character of criminality, we can learn lessons that may inform efforts to challenge our nation’s failed policies of mass incarceration.

What is the "G-Code," the Gangsta Code, and what is the meaning behind its expression in gangster rap lyrics? How does this code influence the attitude and actions of young people across the sociological spectrum of American society? We fear the unknown. To many in the mainstream--white as well as black--rap and hip-hop culture represent a vast and frightening unknown. That fear is greatly exacerbated because in most instances it involves sons and daughters, nieces and nephews... grandchildren. If, however, we step into the void of that unknown and acclimate ourselves to the unique conditions within it, the fear dissipates.