I’m not your stereotypical hip-hop fan.
I’m a 31-pushing-32-year-old married white man living in suburban South Carolina with a day job, a tiny daughter and what I believe to be a large mortgage. I do not wear a gold chain. I do not own brand-name clothes with that brand name vomited all over the front for everyone to see. My pants sag below respectable levels only because my gut no longer allows my jeans to make it to where they should be affixed on my waist. I love
Bob Dylan, I want to be Woody Allen and I still love me some rap music.
I say I’m not your stereotypical hip-hop fan because it’s not my stereotype. I know better than that. I know that Jay-Z
has had 10 albums debut at No. 1 (tied with Elvis and second only to The Beatles) because his fan base is comprised of more than one demographic. I also know that most successful rap music is successful because it falls in line with generally accepted accounting principles and stereotypes most of America is willing to consume. Jay-Z has helped create the prevailing stereotype of today’s rap music and its artists: a successful black man who has graduated from street hustler to clever businessman Cassanova with Bill Gates riches.
Congratulations to Jay-Z and all others like him, but to me that type of music is as boring as Pat Boone reading the estate sale ads. That’s not the rap music I enjoy. I like clever, non-stereotypical hip-hop groups like
Tanya Morgan, who I took my whiteness to witness live last week in Asheville, North Carolina.
Let’s start with the name. The three men didn’t call themselves the Kold Krush Kash Money Krew or the Hot Dog Mafia, instead they gave themselves the name of a woman who sounds like she should be in your grandpa’s country music collection filed under “Tanya Morgan and
Roger Whitaker Sing Your Country Christmas Faves.” On the first track of the CD Tanya Morgan sold me out of their cardboard box they rhyme that the unique name is their way to counteract “the lack of respect hip-hop got for women/man they treated like they worthless/y’all discussing details, come and dig past the surface.” After decades of the ill treatment of women on records, Tanya Morgan’s view is refreshing.
Unfortunately, that kind of intelligent, thoughtful outlook is not generating Jay-Z level popularity and financial success. Granted, Asheville is not the Hip-Hop Capital of the South -- it’s known more for its hairy women and hippy drum circles than video vixens and turntables -- but I was disappointed that fewer than 20 people (all white, including two albinos) saw Tanya Morgan’s performance. And I’m almost certain that only my drunk friend and I were there intentionally to see Tanya Morgan.
I felt bad about the small turnout, so when I saw the three members of the group unceremoniously walk into the club carrying their cardboard box of CDs and T-shirts to sell, I introduced myself, told them how much my tiny daughter and I love their album, and apologized that more people weren’t there to witness what was bound to be the greatest hip-hop show Asheville had ever seen.
They told me they’d played all over the South in the last few weeks and never knew how many people would be in the audience. This had to be one of the smaller crowds, but it didn’t bother them. They were just glad to be doing what they loved.
After their energetic performance in front of a handful of hippie-dancing hipsters, there was no dramatic exit to a tour bus amid a throng of screaming groupies. They hopped off the front of the stage and milled about. We sat at the bar and talked about music, Prince, kids and the Carolinas. It was very cool.
As the night wound down some people filtered in from a much larger venue up the street where another hero of mine, Hank III, grandson of the legendary Hank Williams and son of Hank Jr., had just finished performing. Apparently, a near riot occurred among the country music fans at that show.
How’s that for a stereotype?
