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sparkplug
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I was busy when I first started this thread, so I wasn't very specific about my question. OK, is rap music? When I say rap, that includes the beats. Maybe I should have said hip hop instead of rap, so if a mod could change it, that would be nice. Anyways,back to the question. If rap/hiphop isn't music, is it poetry set to a beat? Or is it worthless garbage? If the beats in rap/hiphop are replaced with live instruments, is it music then?
I find polls to be restrictive, so thats why this isn't a poll. Alright, now I hope the topic of this thread is more clear.

Last edited by sparkplug on 09-04-2002 at 09:44
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sparkplug
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quote: Originally posted by MacTBone
No, it is an extension of the Beatnik Poetry from way back when.
If there is no melody, it cannot be classified as music. Meaning, some percussion pieces can still be classified music because they vary the timbre of the drum and don't play the same thing ala normal background beat. I can still remember watching Bill Bruford play Caravan on a regular drum set. It's amazing how much you can do with just a set if you let your imagination take control.
Not to mention that dubbing yourself over someone else's song does not make you a musician. |
Go check out the Philly based rap group The Roots. They fuse jazz and rap together to make some pretty good music. And they all play instruments. I would also consider the Dj's turntable to be an instrument. For proof of this go listen to someone like DJ Shadow or Dan The Automator. Yes, most rap DJs sample music, but the truly talented ones turn it into new music, by cutting, scratching, fusing different samples to create new music.
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sparkplug
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I dont really listen to gangsta rap alot, but 2pac is pretty good. But there is a lot of intelligent rap that is slept on by everybody. Socially concious emcees like Talib Kweli and Mos Def as well as political rap groups like Dead Prez and Public Enemy are very talented but they get ignored by alot of people just because they arent 'gangsta'.
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sparkplug
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''I might have failed to mention that this chick was creative
but once the man got you well he altered her native
Told her if she got an image and a gimmick
then she could make money,and she did it like a dummy
Now I see her in commercials and shes universal
She used to only swing with the inner city circle
But now she be in the burbs lickin rock and dressin hip
And on some dumb sh*t , when she comes to the city
Talkin bout poppin glocks servin rocks and hittin switches
Now shes a gangsta rollin with gangsta b**ches
Always smokin blunts and gettin drunk
Tellen me sad stories, now she only f**ks with the funk
Stressin how hardcore and real she is
She was really the realest, before she got into showbiz
I did her, not just to say I did it,
But Im commited, but so many n**gaz hit it
But shes just not the same lettin all these groupies do her
I see n**gaz slammin her, and takin her to the sewer
But Im gonna take her back, hopin that the sh!t stop
Cause who Im talkin bout yall, is hip hop.''
That was Chicago rapper Common Sense using his relationship with a woman as a metaphore for the current state of rap. Pretty artistic if you ask me.
Last edited by sparkplug on 07-04-2002 at 07:24
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mactbone
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Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven
Sep 2001 time: 23:18
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This is as close as I get to rap - hip hop.
Clutch
Careful with that Mic
quote: So tell me, when you took the practice Scholastic Aptitude Test
Did you know the answers, or did you just guess?
You rely on gimmicks to amuse your fans,
and act all urban to jack up your SoundScan.
What's the matter with you? How come you rhyme monosyllabically?
Is atrophy shrinking your entire vocabulary?
Your style's like garbage cans,
meant to be taken out on a weekly basis.
Ever since your first record
you've been in a state of suspended animation.
You look like Snuffaluffagus and Australopithecus.
Me Cray, you Abacus.
But enough about me, let's talk about you,
And how single-handedly I redefined the science of Radio Astronomy,
Making Noble prize winners question their notions of reality.
Oh, but I digress... You play sorry, I play chess.
King's pawn to B3, Checkmate, Go get some Percasets.
Careful with that mic, Weezy.
Do you really think it's that easy?
Mmmm... This is really good ice cream! You want some of it?
Oh, My bad, I didn't know you were Lactose Intolerant.
Makes you pass gas, frightens all the girls away.
Oonly friends you keep are those you pay.
Always on the ready for the wack snack attack,
I carry sandwiches around in a straight-edged style Jansport Backpack.
Got the gadget Q gave Bond.
Take control of your mind, make you jump in a pond,
Go "Quack Quack" and flap your arms,
leave you confused, but completely unharmed.
Careful with that mic, Weezy.
Do you really think it's that easy?
Do you really think it's true,
That up above they can't hear you?
Now both you and I know
that the past ten years have been rather intense.
I'm ashamed to admit
that I've been fooled by the seductions of violence.
People walking around with ugly Auras.
At times I'm even tempted to seek the advice of Dr. Laura,
But I ignore her.
So I take a deep breath and count to ten,
Aint' gonna let it get under my skin.
Take a deep breath and count to ten,
Think of all the nice places that I've been.
Like back when I was waging peace against the Visigoths,
I was tutored in the ancient mysteries
by a wisened Philosoph,
Learned the Polyrhythm of Celestial time,
Aand wait for the one to come and get it done
to finish the ryhme.
Careful with that mic, Weezy.
Do you really think it's that easy?
Do you really think it's true,
That up above they can't hear you?
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Drake Tungsten
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Knee deep in alien womyn...
Oct 2001 time: 14:18
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Tupac was truly a poet.
So I ****ed your *****
You fat mutha-****a {Take Money}
West Side
Bad Boy Killers {Take Money}
You know who the realist is
N*ggas we bring it to {Take Money}
[ha ha, that's alright]
First off, **** your *****
And the clique you claim
West side when we ride
Come equipped with game
You claim to be a playa
But, I ****ed your wife
We bust on Bad Boys
N*ggas **** for Life
Plus Puffy tryin' to see me weak
Hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior Mafia
Some mark ass *****es
We keep on coming
While we running for yah jewels
Steady gunning
Keep on busting at them fools
You know the rules
Little Ceasar go ask you homie
How i'll leave yah
Cut your young ass up
See yah in pieces
Now be deceased
Little Kim,
Don't **** with real G's
Quick to snatch your ugly ass, off the streets
So **** peace
I'll let them n*ggas know
It's on for Life
Don't let the west side
Ride the night [ha ha]
Bad Boys murdered on Wax and kill
**** with me
And get your caps peeled
You know, See
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, Uhh
Who shot me,
But, your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
N*gga, I hit 'em up
Check this out
You mutha-****as know what time it is
I don't know why I'm even on this track
Y'all n*ggas ain't even on my level
I'm going to let my little homies
Ride on yah
***** made ass Bad Boys *****es
{ahh yo, yo, hold the **** up}
Get out the way yo
Get out the way yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little move pass the mac
And let me hit 'em in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right
For setting up traps
Little accident murderers
And I ain't never heard of yah
Poise less gats attack when I'm serving yah
Spank the shank
Your whole style when I gank
Gaurd your rank
Cause I'm a slam your ass in a pang
Puffy weaker than a ****in' block
I'm running through n*gga
And I'm smoking Junior Mafia
In front of yah n*gga
With the ready power
Tucked in my Guess
Under my Eddie Bower
Your clout petty sour
I push packages ever hour
I hit 'em up
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, Uhh
Who shot me,
But, your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
N*gga, We hit 'em up
Peep how we do it
Keep it real
Its penitentary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle
All you n*ggas getting killed
With your mouths open
Tryin' to come up off of me
You and the clouds hoping
Smoking dope
It's like a Shermine
N*ggas think they learned to fly
But they burn mutha-****a you deserve to die
Talking about you Getting Money
But its funny to me
All you n*ggas living bummy
While you ****ing with me?
I'm a self made Millioniare
Thug livin', out of prison
Pistols in the Air {Air} [Ha Ha]
Biggie remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch
And beg the ***** to let you sleep in the house
Now its all about versace
You copied my style
Five shots couldn't drop me
I took it and smiled
Now I'm back to set the record straight
With my A-K
I'm still the thug that you love to hate
Mutha-****a I'll Hit 'Em Up
I'm from N E W jers.
Where plenty of murders occurs
No points to come
We bring drama to all you herds
Now go check the scenerio
Little Ceas'
I'll bring you fake G's to yah knees
Copin' please with these to de janerio
Little Kim is yah
Coked up or doped up
Get your little Junior Whopper clique smoked up
What the ****?
Is you stupid?
I take money,
crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my clique looting, shooting, and polluting your block
With fifteen shot,
Cocked glock to your knot
Outlaw Mafia click moving up another knotch
And your Pop star pops and get dropped and mopped
And all your fake ass east coast props
Brainstormed and locked
You's a B-writer
Pac style taker
I'll tell you to face, you ain't nothing **** but a faker
Soften the Alize with a chaser
Bout to get murdered for the paper
Idi Amin approach the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke [uhh]
Toting smoke, we ain't no mutha-****in' joke
Thug Life, n*ggas better be known
Be approaching
In the wide open, gun smoking
No need for hoping
It's a battle lost
I gottem crossed as soon as the funk is boping off
N*gga, I hit 'em up
Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run [ha ha]
They don't wanna see us
Whole Junior Mafia clique
Dressing up to be us
How the **** they gonna be the Mob?
When we always on out job
We millionaire's
Killing ain't fair
But somebody got to do it
Oh yah Mobb Deep [uhh]
You wanna **** with us
You Little young ass mutha-****as
Don't one of you n*ggas got sickle-cell or something
You ****ing with me, n*gga ?
You **** around and catch a siezure or a heart-attack
You better back the **** up
Before you get smacked the **** up
This is how we do it on our side
Any of you n*ggas from New York that want to bring it,
Bring it.
But we ain't singing,
We bringing drama
**** you and your mother ****ing mama.
We gonna kill all you mother ****ers.
Now when I came out, I told you it was just about biggie.
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother ****in opinion
Well this is how we gon' do this:
**** Mobb Deep,
**** Biggie,
**** Bad Boy as a staff, record label, and as a mother ****in crew.
And if you want to be down with Bad Boy,
Then **** you too.
Chino XL, **** you too.
All you mother ****ers,
**** you too.
(take money, take money)
All of y'all mother ****ers,
**** you, die slow mother ****er.
My fo' fo' (.44 magnum) make sure all yo' kids don't grow.
You mother ****ers can't be us or see us.
We mother ****in' Thug Life riders.
West Side till' we die.
Out here in California, n*gga
We warned ya'
We'll bomb on you mother ****ers.
We do our job.
You think you the mob, n*gga, we the mother ****in' mob
Ain't nuttin' but killers
And the real n*ggas, all you mother ****ers feel us.
Our **** goes tripple and four quadruple
You n*ggas laugh cuz our staff got guns under they mother ****in' belts
You know how it is and we drop records they felt
You n*ggas can't feel it
We the realist
**** 'em.
We Bad Boy killas.
"Hit Em Up" by Tupac. Most beatiful thing I've ever heard... 
Seriously though, rap is music. I don't like it all, but that's true for any type of music. I particularly like the more "intelligent" acts like the Roots, Black Eyed Peas, and a Tribe Called Quest. My current fave is Leaders of the New School. Busta Rhymes rapping about school? 
edit: Censored every usage of the N-word. There were a lot.
Last edited by Drake Tungsten on 07-04-2002 at 07:40
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