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A slightly-on-the-cool-side spring day in North Philly. On Dauphin Street (somewhere near N. 20th) a Black man in his early twenties is perched on top of an overturned milk crate-a street corner sentinel. He stands there statuesque, surveying the deteriorated neighborhood in front of him. A couple of his homeboys are content to stand idly by on either side of him (at street level) and they are studies in dispassionate disinterest. The audio portion of the scene is supplied by a large radio/cassette player, richtering out an Eric B. & Rakim rap, as if to further fracture the concrete beneath. The music provides the primary animation for this otherwise still-life scene. Paralysis alongside pulsation. The man on the milk crate has a message, yet he continues to silently stare straight ahead, oblivious to the curious glances of passersby. Surely he has something to say, but he is content to let the rap say it for him. And it is saying it well. It is his nation's anthem, and as the low booms burst in the air around him, one cannot help but sense the irresistible and dynamic resonance between this man and that music.

That scene left an impression on me as I passed by. I hadn't seen anyone stand on top of something on a street corner for a long time. Such an action inevitably creates an air of expectancy. "Is he gonna say somethin?" "What's he gonna do...preach?" I'd like to suggest that this YUB'M (young urban Black male)-who is more likely than not finding himself in a position of powerlessness-has found something of a power outlet. In rap music he's found an art form that was conceived and has flourished in the crucible of his oppressed condition, and has forcefully and articulately reached far beyond his contained existence (and impacted the larger society in the process). It also has quickly produced role models/ spokepeople who have succeeded in turning the limitations of the urban Black American condition into a marketable commodity. As one rapper put it, "Picture that!"

Rap rarely elicits a neutral response from its listeners (willing or unwilling!)-but whether one likes it or not, its cultural impact can never be discounted. In this article we'll try to define it, trace its historical development (working back to its West African antecedents), and semiotically examine it in its present form. From there we'll take an in-depth look at one particular rap group that is held in high esteem by just about every other rap group (no small accomplishment in this business)- Public Enemy. We'll conclude with some suggestions for those seeking to minister to this particular culture. I want to thank the young people and young adults whose vital interest in, assistance with, and discussions about rap helped me develop a deep appreciation for its importance in their lives.

Rap: What It Is

Rap can probably be best defined as the indigenous and characteristically urban musical art form of African American youth. It originated with a people group called the YUB'M-an acronym for the young urban Black male. Rap is the distinctive language/music of this particular group. While it is true that there are a number of female individuals and groups (as well as white groups) who have come onto the rapping scene, this musical form retains its distinct YUB'M identity. When one considers what it really means to be a member of the tribe of YUB'M (socially, economically, and culturally), it becomes clear why authentic rapping can only come from this particular people group. Rap provides a viable cultural dynamic for the YUB'M, enabling him to creatively overcome seemingly insurmountable odds. Living with poverty, racism, and oppression will take its toll on any people, but in this instance it really is to the glory of God that this people group has turned these adverse experiences into creative expression. Max Salazar puts the matter this way:

There is a loose correlation between hard times and the expansion of social activity, particularly in the music and dance spheres. Thus, music continues to serve as an alternate to misery, as a support system for survival during difficult times.

Rap serves not only as a cultural support system, but also provides a penetrating analysis of the current social situation. It also contains profound insights into human nature, creatively expressed in urban/Bantu thought forms. It is secular street preaching. Some raps are didactic in nature, functioning as a catechism for the street. Many are testimonial in nature-a rapper boasting of his speed, strength, and superiority (all in the verbal, physical, mental and/or sexual arenas).

Others are message-oriented, dealing with Black nationalistic themes, drug abuse, violence, safe sex or staying in school. Many deal with love-its joys, struggles, uncertainties and disappointments. There are even raps where one artist "answers" a previous release by a competing artist, although the emphasis now seems to be more on expressing unity within the culture for the sake of the race. Rap artists are seeking to raise the very issues that most institutions (the church included) have failed to deal with. But because it comes to the older generation in strange garb (like punk and heavy metal), it is a victim of that old adage about not being able to be heard for what it is because of the way that it behaves.

Urban Bantu Text

In answer to the question, "Which comes first-the delivery or the text?," I'd opt for delivery. Tone of voice, use of street Black English, "homeboy" gesturing and posturing, cleverly executed choreography, the "right" clothing and a healthy dose of street bravado are all important components which generate as much of the message as the text itself. The medium or means of communication is the message, and the authority of the message resides in the personality and stage (or video) presence of the artist(s).

In terms of text, rap uses more words than the average popular song because it is spoken and not sung. The words are vivid, pithy and terse, carefully crafted to stimulate the imagination of the listener in order to maintain momentum. It is artful, urban-Bantu storytelling. The rhymes are extremely clever- skillfully composed, reworked and refined until the stuff practically "says itself." The stuff is memorable. Small or extended segments are easily recalled when the listener encounters an appropriate situation.

One summer I was a passenger in a vehicle that was about to pass a couple of kids riding tandem on a dirt bike. The driver said, "Listen to this," as he quoted a couple of lines from a Public Enemy rap out the window just as we were passing the kids. Without missing a beat the kids continued the rap (accurately mimicking the lead rapper's bass inflections), even after we were out of earshot. Rap writers have successfully tapped into what J.B. Phillips said:

If words are to enter men's hearts and bear fruit, they must be the right words shaped cunningly to pass men's defenses and explode silently and effectually within their minds.

The writer of Ecclesiastes put it this way:

Not only was the Teacher wise, but also he imparted knowledge to the people. He pondered and searched out many proverbs. The Teacher searched to find just the right words. (Ecc. 12:9-10a NIV)

Rap is marvelously intricate and highly interactive-not unlike the street institution that helped give it birth. It places a premium on quickness (especially in regard to thinking on one's feet) and demands active listening to experience it in "full effect." The usually steady rhythmic delivery occasionally gives way to displaced or extended syllabic accents, reflecting real or simulated improvisation. As in most pop music, a recurring phrase or line functions as a chorus-usually the title of the piece is taken from that segment.

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Bob Hepburn is an urban worker laboring in Paterson, New Jersey, under the auspices of AIM International. His ministry with young adults and urban youth concentrates on discipleship and leadership development. He is currently working on his M.A. Miss. degree at Westminster Seminary. Address: P.O. Box 1212, 38 Belle Ave., Paterson, NJ 07509.


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