Auto-Tuned out, random thoughts on hip-hop

So, apparently T-Pain can actually sing and is not hiding behind that abortive invention known as Auto-Tune:

Unfortunately, artists who use Auto-Tune have been stinking up their already mediocre songs since Cher first used it on “Believe” back in 1998, and hip-hop/R&B, with a few exceptions, is still producing music and videos like this that cater to every known stereotype and cliché about black culture in America:

Seriously, I can’t think of a time between 1995 and 2010 where this video and this song, with their well-worn, low-hanging-fruit-type themes — money, alcohol, partying in the club, etc. — wouldn’t be out of place. I don’t want to cast too wide a net here, but it’s almost as if the hip-hop genre — and I recognize there are important exceptions like Jay Z, Kanye West, Mos Def, etc. — hasn’t moved on or found anything else interesting to contemplate in 20 years. If that is true to some degree with hip-hop, it’s definitely true of R&B.

Questlove, in his essay series, “When the People Cheer: How Hip-Hop Failed Black America,” was on point in his critique of hip-hop, noting in particular that when the genre became mainstream, or “ubiquitous” as he dubbed it, the genre seemed to lose part of its identity and reverted back to the same themes in which, “The winners, the top dogs, make art mostly about their own victories and the victory of their genre:”

Twenty years ago, when my father first heard about my hip-hop career, he was skeptical. He didn’t know where it was all headed. In his mind, a drummer had a real job, like working as music director for Anita Baker. But if I’m going to marvel at the way that hip-hop overcame his skepticism and became synonymous with our broader black American culture, I’m going to have to be clear with myself that marvel is probably the wrong word. Black culture, which has a long tradition of struggling against (and at the same time, working in close collaboration with) the dominant white culture, has rounded the corner of the 21st century with what looks in one sense like an unequivocal victory. Young America now embraces hip-hop as the signal pop-music genre of its time. So why does that victory feel strange: not exactly hollow, but a little haunted?

I have wondered about this for years, and worried about it for just as many years. It’s kept me up at night or kept me distracted during the day. And after looking far and wide, I keep coming back to the same answer, which is this: The reason is simple. The reason is plain. Once hip-hop culture is ubiquitous, it is also invisible. Once it’s everywhere, it is nowhere. What once offered resistance to mainstream culture (it was part of the larger tapestry, spooky-action style, but it pulled at the fabric) is now an integral part of the sullen dominant. Not to mention the obvious backlash conspiracy paranoia: Once all of black music is associated with hip-hop, then Those Who Wish to Squelch need only squelch one genre to effectively silence an entire cultural movement.

And that’s what it’s become: an entire cultural movement, packed into one hyphenated adjective. These days, nearly anything fashioned or put forth by black people gets referred to as “hip-hop,” even when the description is a poor or pointless fit. “Hip-hop fashion” makes a little sense, but even that is confusing: Does it refer to fashions popularized by hip-hop musicians, like my Lego heart pin, or to fashions that participate in the same vague cool that defines hip-hop music? Others make a whole lot of nonsense: “Hip-hop food”? “Hip-hop politics”? “Hip-hop intellectual”? And there’s even “hip-hop architecture.” What the hell is that? A house you build with a Hammer?