On the north side of Milwaukee, a billboard for local rapper Lil’ Gucci looks down on the neighborhood, and it tells those who walk by, "If U ain’t got it, then U broke," a message about the rapper’s new album, serving as a constant reminder that, even in the last bastions of inner city art, commercialism conquers all — and every kid who sees the ad on the way to school invariably asks himself, "How do I get on a billboard?"
For the up-and-coming rock band, there’s the EP hastily recorded on a four-track stashed in some basement. Indie rappers, on the other hand, plot their rise through mixtapes, collections of tracks recorded over beats from popular songs.
How could those at the forefront of criticizing pop-rap for its lack of creativity release a countless barrage of tracks capitalizing on familiarity bred by countless radio replays? Milwaukee mixtape artist James Jones’ — or Mad Static as known by his fans on mixtape sharing website Datpiff.com — explanation is one part truth and two parts rationalization.
"If there’s a song out getting attention and I can’t stand the artist, I’ll take the beat and make it better," he said.
To Jones, the Lil’ Gucci billboard does little more than tell the youth that, to rise above the hood, you’ve got to dedicate yourself to the status quo. Plus, whenever possible, add the prefix “lil’” or “young” to your name — the calling card for sellouts. Lil’ Gucci’s lyrics, for example, include philosophical gems like, "My rims so tall I think I gotta climb a ladder/ My car so wet I think I got a bad bladder."
Still, there is an undercurrent of guilt in many mixtape veterans when explaining why they reuse beats from artists that sound exactly the same (literally) as Lil’ Gucci — especially in an age where the primary topic of conversation in underground rap is the degrading state of the art.
Mad Static himself actually stumbled into the craft. Before Jones ever recorded a song or even the means to attempt it, he came upon the beat for Nas’ legendary battle track "Ether." After penning new verses to it, Jones moved on to more conventional pop tracks. Even though his lyricism quickly earned a group of fans, his listeners became annoyed with replays of songs long since worn out in the clubs.
Established rappers who put out mixtapes do so between original full-length albums, with the goal of keeping a buzz around their names. Underground rappers, on the other hand, often rely on mixtapes as their exclusive public front and fizzle out when the act gets tired. Facing that prospect, Jones went to work on a solo album, Written in Blood.
All of this begs a question about mixtapes: Do they work? Not for everyone, of course, but they’ve fueled Mad Static’s career even if he remains unsigned. His first mixtape posted on Soundclick.com, got just more than 300 downloads. His most recent release, the more poppy Summer Solstice, now has more than 1,000.
Culture wars?
Many prominent local emcees blame the inability to break through without a gimmick on a de facto hip-hop ban in Milwaukee clubs. Right now, the story is consigned to rumor and innuendo within the hip-hop community, but it’s widely considered fact.
"They try to turn away as many black people as possible," Jones said of many clubs and music venues in Milwaukee. "And whenever hip-hop is played, you know shit is gonna go down."
Still, despite his obvious concerns with the policy, Jones doesn’t think the alleged ban is ridiculous. It’s hard to blame a small business owner for taking every step necessary to retain a liquor license. If playing crunk music or gangsta rap attracts criminal elements and leads to fights, there’s no incentive to keep playing it. And when the only hip-hop music that gets airplay promotes the divinity of materialism, an endless cycle is spawned wherein rap cannibalizes itself. It’s reminiscent of the underground proliferation of pop-rap beats via mixtapes which strengthen the very producers that intellectual rappers despise.
To this band of rebels, pop-rap reinforces a point MTV and BET make to young blacks every day: To fit into the community, you’ve got to be a caricatured tough guy who peddles women and rims as currency.
"I’m not gonna fabricate shit because it’s popular," Jones said, now passionately excoriating some of his fellow rappers. "These dudes say they throw hundreds at strippers, but the next thing I know, I see ’em on my block looking crusty as fuck."
Of course, there’s a more bare-bones reason for putting out mixtapes — they’re cheap and fast. So for an underground artist looking to keep his name in the public eye, a rapid-fire succession of mixtapes is a tempting proposition.
"It’s like, anything goes: It’s all you," Jones said. "You gotta do a certain type of song to get airplay, especially in Milwaukee… whack ass rappers."
Bassey Etim ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in political science and journalism. His first solo album is bogged down in post-production.
