What hanging out with Hindi rappers taught me
The evolution of vernacular rap in India is going to be a hugely exciting thing to follow.
I got into rap music late. The reason for this being that not much rap was released on cassette in India. Thinking back to the eighties and early nineties, when it came to new releases, all that comes to mind are white rock bands. And conservative country music.
Unheard acts
Iconic acts like RUN DMC and NWA went unheard. Even the pirates were not interested.
EMI India released a compilation album called Rap City, which featured UB40 and Red Hot Chili Peppers – not the best introduction to the genre. We got Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer of course, and that, pretty much, was where it ended. Dr Dre’s The Chronic went number one on the Billboard charts in 1993, introducing the world to the likes of Snoop Dogg. What we got in India was the entire back catalogue of Garth Brooks, the king of white boy commercial country.
The first introduction to rap came by way of Eminem’s albums (released in the Noughties), all of which had their lyrics censored, the four letter words being blanked out by some inventive scratching of the turntable. So in a way even this didn’t amount to a full introduction to the genre. Then came the internet and changed everything.
Off late, I’ve become interested in Hindi rappers. It’s my first language; I was in a reasonably good position to judge the quality of wordplay, the range of references. I got to know some of them personally. This happens when you are seduced by someone’s art. You track down the maker and become friends. Desi rappers have clearly observable characteristics and traits.
One, the bulk of Hindi rap in India takes Eminem as its starting point. The generation I’m talking of had access to the Internet but somehow the vast tradition of black hip hop was never an influence. Two, if you’re hanging with a rapper you’re either a homie (a “follower”) or the enemy. As homie, your job is not to question the rapper ever. Never say that you like a rival rapper in the presence of your friend, the rapper. All other rappers are sworn adversaries. It’s a touchingly innocent universe.
Three, the rapper’s ego is paramount. As an old-fashioned writer of books and columns I’m always crippled by nagging self-doubt. This is partly the reason I’m fascinated by rappers as a breed – they’re the opposite. They believe the world revolves around them. If they have self doubt they conceal it well. It’s not for the world to see.
Unbridgeable gap
Four, the English-speaking band scene and Hindi rappers have nothing to say to each other. There is an unbridgeable class and language divide, only broken in the rarest of cases like when Aditya Parihar aka Faadu and Menwhopause collaborated on On A Boat. It was a one-off. It was brilliant. On the whole, the public school-educated big city band kids live in their own arrogant bubble, which the vernie rapper spits on. It’s grist for his mill.
Five, rappers are always in a state of versus. It’s me against the world – “duniya”. The world doesn’t get the rapper. One day it will. And the rapper will be king. It’s not clear at times what is wrong with the world but the world is always an enemy until it provides you with unconditional love. And “followers”.
Six, like priests, rappers have a sense of their flock. They wake up in the morning and address their flock. Stuff like “keep listening guys, I’ll break the Internet tomorrow”. Often, they keep their promise. Seven, the stock theme of rappers is “I am the best”. Reams of lyrics are devoted to saying ‘I am the best’ in as many different ways as possible.
Two categories
Eight, Hindi rappers split themselves into categories. Those who sing about girls, bling and fast cars, and those who don’t. The latter take the moral high ground in their lyrics – we are not into the trappings of rap. It’s not very clear if this is a case of temperament or a lack of choice, what in Hindi is called “majboori ka naam Mahatma Gandhi”. I mean if they had the bling would they say no? Time will tell. Nine, there is a lot of copying and plagiarism in rap.
One underground rapper like Vivek Arora cracks it with a stupendous original like “Mere Bhai Log”, and spawns another twenty songs by lesser rappers all called “Mere Bhai Log”. Ten, rappers are always obsessing about the number of views they’ve got and checking the same on their phone all the time. Every time I meet a good rapper, I’ve noticed a marked air of inevitability – they were born to do this. They are incapable of much else. They’ve put their money where the mouth is.
It’s a sizzling scene, transforming rapidly. Superstar rappers like Raftaar are backing younger ones like Vivek Arora, who has now been rebranded as Karma. Their rap is the vox populi. Once they are put on the big stage will millions connect? The evolution of vernacular rap in India is going to be a hugely exciting thing to follow. Watch this space.
(Courtesy of Mail Today)