... Well except most of it turned out to be lame hype, these shivered images we'd all formed reading about rap and posses, listening to Ice T's war raps, Public Enemy's prolegomena to any future uprising. [...]
[...] It's way too easy for the pale to hurry across the deck, past the thick, light-wobbling window, and not once hear rap as anything but the weird anthemic march of one Other'd nation, marginalized and yet trapped in our own metropolitan center, a nation that cannot secede and may not assimilate…
[...] A stereotype [...] is just a false synecdoche, a token of the conceptualizer's ignorance or laziness, not of some certain distorted features' representative power. [...]
[...] Rap's highly self- and history-conscious unfamiliarity, its image of inaccessbility to established markets or truly teeming-mass appeal, is often reduced by critics to the kind of 'surly musical hostility' that, like Punk's, quickly loses its novelty for those outside, can become for Us like …
[...] how sex and violence and yuppie toys represent perfectly the urban black lifedrive to late-80s American glory. (This latter many older blacks despise as less dull than just a disgusting recidivism to a pre-King/Malcolm vision, like your kid pawning your Purple Heart to buy rubbers and gin.)
