A Suburban Girl’s Guide To Music That Doesn’t Suck 08.30.08: If You Don’t Know, Now You Know

Posted by Vanessa Willoughby on 08.30.2008

When I was ten years old, the Spice Girls came to town. It was my father, not my mother, who bought two tickets and endured an hour and forty-five minutes of Lycra cat suits and Girrrrl Power. Today, it’s due to my father that I’ve moved on from the world of bubblegum pop.



The Notorious B.I.G.
Ready To Die
1994

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My Dad was born in 1951. His early childhood took place during Elvis-mania, Cold War fever, the reign of silver screen heartthrobs like James Dean and Marlon Brando. He was in high school when Kennedy was assassinated; he can remember the day when Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. He was witness to history: to Woodstock, the Civil Rights Movement, the first lunar landing, the British Invasion, American Bandstand. Thus, I'm always surprised when I find myself trading music with him. You always hear about the old stereotype of parents hating their kids' music. But fortunately, my Dad loves music as much as I do. Some of the most recent CD's he's bought? The new Gnarls Barkley, The Allman Brothers, Kanye West, and AC/DC. Sitting next to his Al Green CD is Dr. Dre's The Chronic. The other day, we were in the store and he picked up an Alice Cooper CD he'd wanted to buy.

"You know, I saw him in college? When he first came out, I thought he was a girl," he laughed, scanning the back cover.

On the contrary, my Mom is content with strictly Top 40's and pop industry sure things like Madonna and Mariah Carey. All of the music she owns could fit in a small shoebox. I stopped trying to talk to her about music long ago, as the subject seems to bore her just as much as books. When I was ten years old, the Spice Girls came to town. It was my father, not my mother, who bought two tickets and endured an hour and forty-five minutes of Lycra cat suits and Girrrrl Power.

Today, it's partly due to my father that I've moved on from the world of bubblegum pop.

I suppose that I've inherited his open-mindedness, albeit a little later in the game. It's a win-win situation; he introduces me to bands and artists I've been told are legendary. I introduce him to the bands stashed on my laptop, including all of the indie and alternative rock bands with the sort of names that make him scratch his head with confusion. We may not always like the same music, but I would rather disagree with him than cut myself off to all new possibilities. Most of the friends I have could care less about discussing the merits of vinyl vs. mp3, the joy of losing yourself in a really good show, of the top three Otis Redding tracks. Don't get me wrong. I love my friends, I really do. But I have yet to befriend someone that perceives music as more of a necessity, than a past time. This, of course, is nothing I could change or take personal offense against. I know that everyone in the world isn't going to like the same bands as me or harbor the same sort of fanaticism towards music. For example, M., one of my friends, probably couldn't tell you the difference between Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix. One of her favorite "musicians" is Miley Cyrus. As my grandmother used to say, if you have nothing nice to say, then don't say anything. So, concerning M.'s musical preferences, I'll keep my mouth shut. However, I'm trying my best to improve her musical savvy. So far, my efforts are totally useless. Nevertheless, I'm going to keep trying. I did convince her to go to a Cat Power concert, so I guess all hope's not lost.

Anyway. Sometimes, when I'm sick of everything I own, I pilfer my Dad's collection. It was there that I found Biggie's Ready To Die album.



Rap is not my favorite genre, but I do believe that it's a legitimate and important form of music. How could I not? I'm a writer, after all. And like any other type of music, rap is all about self-expression, of painting a story through the power of words. Depending on the talent and skill of the MC, rap can be just as potent as a novel. In order for the lyrics to gel with the beat, you've got to have some kind of vocal flow. Your rhymes have to stay in synch with the beat, or the entire rap is ruined. It's more than just sitting down and reading poetry; it's about mastering the relationship between the beat and your own voice. And although some people think that today's rap scene is all about consumerism and a quick buck, the origins of rap are humble. Look back to the very beginning and you'll find that the mission revolves around spreading a message. Grandmaster Flash, Curtis Blow, Slick Rick, Run-DMC, all the way up to the emergence of NWA, Ice-T, Snoop and Dre. Maybe the message wasn't always pleasant, maybe it wasn't something you always wanted to hear, but so it goes.

Ready To Die is an album that was born from the streets and depicts all its shades. I wasn't raised in a tough neighborhood, but I can still understand and appreciate the magnitude and emotional weight of what Biggie's discussing. The album is honest, raw, no-holds-bar and at times, optimistic. It contains one of the tracks that put Biggie on the map, "Juicy. Having clearly used his own experience as material, "Juicy" is about one man's rise from poverty to super stardom. The track could've read as yet another chronicle of rags to riches, but the sincerity in his lyrics prevents this from happening. The central point of the song is not about amassing a huge amount of wealth, but rather, the struggle and the journey that preceded this luck. In order to understand the man himself, you must first look at his past, rather than the present. And despite all this, it's the most uplifting song on the entire album. In the intro, Biggie dedicates the album to all the teachers who told him he'd never amount to anything, all the people who lived above the buildings that he was hustling from, and all the people in the struggle. This doesn't capture quite everything that Ready To Die is about, but it comes close enough. Like an urban Jay Gatsby, Biggie talks about the ups and downs that come with fresh fame and financial prosperity. Tell me, how does this differ from any of the classic heroes in literature? No matter the race, the creed, or the color, this song and the songs on Ready To Die chronicle the eternal pursuit of the American Dream.

The pursuit of the American Dream is something that's been discussed countless times throughout history, literature and film. But the details of the American Dream can change according to the perspective. And in this case, the one described throughout Ready To Die is not swollen with images of white picket fences, a golden retriever, and 2.5 perfect children.

"Everyday Struggle" is the antithesis to "Juicy," as Biggie says, "I don't wanna live no more/Sometimes I hear death knocking at my front door/I'm living everyday like a hustle." Like the down and out blue collar workers living in Bruce Springsteen songs, "Everyday Struggle" captures the mental and physical exhaustion that comes with living life on the edge. And yes, I just compared The Boss to Biggie Smalls. And yes, I do think my analogy works. Unlike some of today's rappers, I don't think that Biggie is glamorizing his lifestyle. He's not wearing bullet wounds like war medals or bragging about body counts like high school trophies. In this case, the struggle is the struggle of simply existing. He says, "I'm seeing body after body/And Mayor Julliani/Ain't trying to see no black man turn to John Gotti."

For me, Ready To Die is an example of rap at its finest. An album that's able to mix great beats with tongue-twisting rhymes. Its focus is actually on the punch of the lyrics, rather than how many tricks the synthesizer can add. The contrast between the booming baritone of Biggie's voice and Diana King's dance-hall vocals in "Respect" is a smooth combination. And of course, discussing this album wouldn't be complete without mentioning the hit "Big Poppa."

Yes, the album is slapped with a Parental Advisory sticker for a reason. There are numerous mentions of drugs and sex and violence and suicide. But honestly, listening to the album as an entirety, it doesn't feel like these subjects are brought up just for the sake of shock value. As the old saying goes, "A good writer starts off with writing about what he knows." In this case, Biggie's not describing subjects to gain audience respect or "street cred," like some past phonies (coughVANILLA ICEcough).

Some people may ask: Is Biggie only a legend because of the circumstances of his death? Well, just listen to any of his albums. I could sit here and babble on and on about why he deserves the title. But I won't. Because why listen to me when you can listen to the man himself? I think the words speak for themselves.