In the dingy, weed smoke-fogged basement of a Detroit hip-hop joint sits B-Rabbit, an aspiring rapper played by Eminem in his silver screen debut, 8 Mile. Donning a gray zip-up hoodie and a fervid look in his eyes, Rabbit anxiously sifts through rhymes under his breath while the bass of a J. Dilla beat throbs in the background. It’s 1995, and the only way to make it big as an independent emcee is to garner local respect through battle rapping, song features and persistent touring.
8 Mile ends with B-Rabbit demolishing three opposing battle rappers en route to a shimmer of hip-hop glory. Watching the closing scenes through the glaze of a computer monitor, it’s tough to ignore the irony.
The rise of YouTube and social media has all but made 8 Mile an antiquated, fictionalized account of what it means to come up as a hip-hop artist. Today, just about every rapper establishes and maintains a career through prevalent use of Facebook, Twitter, Skype and a slew of other digital vehicles for engagement. Gone are the days of frantically mailing demos to record executives; here are the days of private messaging them.
“It’s integral, it’s like the big newsletter, the dispatch plug that you use to reach fans,” says Brooklyn emcee Soul Khan about the use of social media in today’s rap game. At 27 years old, Khan has released five solo EPs and a digital album and credits his current success to heavy Internet marketing.
“[A social media-intensive hip-hop community] transcends global boundaries, and that’s fantastic. The supply chain is no longer limited to what a distribution company can get out to your market,” he notes. Khan boasts more than 22,000 likes on Facebook, nearly 250,000 YouTube views on a music video for the single “Fahrenheit” and more than a million hits on a filmed rap battle with fellow New York emcee Q.P., hosted by the digital hip-hop community GrindTimeNow.net.
Soul Khan’s debut LP, Soul Like Khan, was distributed in cooperation with the mixtape promotion blog 2DopeBoyz.com, an increasingly popular trend in today’s hip-hop industry. Citing such a move as “the online equivalent of brand synergy,” Khan never pressed a single physical copy of the album.
“You never thought that hip-hop would take it this far.” – The Notorious B.I.G.
“You’ve got everyone watching now, from Jay-Z to athletes everywhere,” says Pittsburgh rap battler Real Deal, who readies the release of his sophomore solo LP, Fight or Flight Mode. “And with Twitter and everything now, it’s like, ‘you have to check this out, boom, link.’”
That “boom, link” mantra has emcees finding new opportunities faster than ever before. Countless rappers are creating audiences through social media, a route to fame for those who lack industry-backed promotion or don’t fit the stereotypical hip-hop mold.
"Before Facebook, if you wanted to contact someone, you had to go through all these different channels," says SESP junior Jalen Motes. “But now, you can be like, ‘who’s that one dude I heard that one time?’ Type his name into Google and send him a message."
After performing shows around campus, Motes has linked up with Medill sophomore Omar Jimenez for an upcoming mixtape collaboration. Motes says that maintaining a Twitter following allows artists to blow up and keep a pulse on their fans, and using the Internet is an effective way to sharpen Motes' craft while juggling the responsibilities of a busy Northwestern student.
New York rapper and R&B crooner Tarik notes that his artistry was instantly thrust forward by his participation in Coors Light’s “Search for the Coldest” competition, an Internet showcase that received more than 10,000 digital submissions. Using the showcase to perform for the likes of hip-hop moguls Ice Cube and Fabolous, Tarik reflects on how the Internet can catapult careers.
“It’s like putting my phone number on the Internet,” he says. “It’s how you stay in the back of people’s minds.”
Although he’s only been recording music for three years now, Tarik already enjoys more than 300,000 YouTube views on a music video for his song “Weatherman.” In an 8 Mile-era, such minimal experience would have likely translated to independent struggle and little to no local exposure, yet the power of sharing and linking has Tarik on the verge of blowing up big.
And with new opportunities to stay in the public spotlight come new opportunities to make a sustainable living off of hip-hop.
“It’s much easier to get signed, and even if you don’t get signed, it’s much easier to make money off rap and hip-hop and build yourself a fanbase,” Real Deal says.
Real Deal notes that he’s experimented with both online and offline album promotion, but adds that simply linking to iTunes or CDBaby on social media is far more impactful than a local release party.
“On a national level, I wouldn’t be anywhere near where I am [without YouTube],” he says. “I can’t imagine many artists that it hasn’t been beneficial to if used the right way.”
For California-based rapper and GrindTimeNow co-founder Lush One, however, adding links and straying from offline promotion doesn’t kill underground hip-hop’s DIY aesthetic.
“No matter how big you are on the Internet, if you don’t matter in the real world, that’s an indication [of an artist’s real skill and merit],” he says forebodingly. “People still want that raw, uninhibited style of indie.”
Signed to EverReady Records and now working with Canadian online battle community King of the Dot, Lush has released two solo albums and four collaborative LPs. He recently completed a multi-continent tour with fellow underground rapper Chinese Man, and has DJed for the likes of Kendrick Lamar. Yet Lush acknowledges that without the power of social media, his audience likely wouldn’t extend beyond Los Angeles.
“I feel very blessed to have gone this route,” Lush says when asked of his career in online battle rap and beyond. “It’s an all-encompassing movement...We’ve created a whole new industry accidentally.”
“Too many rappers and there’s still not enough emcees.” – The Beastie Boys
Although the rise of social media has opened the door for Lush and a handful of other new artists, it seems that doorway is becoming dangerously overcrowded.
“I’ve been told there’s too many rappers, and I’ve been told there’s too few fans,” Soul Khan raps on “See Again,” a song by New York-based collective The Brown Bag All-Stars lamenting the genre’s over-saturation.
“I honestly think more agency needs to be assumed and more responsibility needs to be taken. If you don’t have something unique to offer, just get out of the way...it’s frustrating that it’s a cycle because you have too many rappers bringing up too much stuff,” Khan says. “There’s no filter, so you’re kind of walking through some rubbish.”
“No shift + control + option, my click (clique) says to log off,” adds fellow Brown Bag artist Koncept on the song’s second verse. Wordplay aside, the song echoes a growing concern over the disintegration of the art through open sourcing.
Koncept cites a search engine-optimized style of hip-hop as the sole problem with the genre’s relationship with social media. “[Aspiring rappers] are trying to be like this artist who did this...they try to jump in and do the same thing,” he says. “You achieved what? You achieved being something you’re not. You do have an over-flooding; you do have people making music that shouldn’t be.”
Koncept’s work has been featured on MTV, while his debut album Awaken was recently released on Soulspazm Records. Although he’s shared stages with old-school legends like Big Daddy Kane, Koncept still identifies himself as a product of what he calls the “blog era.”
“People are trying anything for YouTube fame to catapult their stardom,” Real Deal says of digital overcrowding. Like Koncept and other artists trying to adhere to the genre’s traditional roots, Real Deal fears that hip-hop is compromising fresh content with corny filler on YouTube and related media.
In 8 Mile, an inferior or gimmicky emcee is quickly silenced by B-Rabbit and his technically-sound rapping cohorts. In one memorable scene, a battle rapper played by Xzibit is rebutted and immediately dismissed by Rabbit outside a food truck. In today’s age, it seems like Xzibit’s character would scoop up enough “LOLs” and Facebook likes to stay neck-and-neck with Rabbit, regardless of artistry or message.
“I control the crowd, you know I hold it down.” – Rakim
Outside of Manhattan’s Irving Plaza, a line of hundreds of hyped-up concert goers wraps around two street corners. The temperature approaches freezing point, while the official show time remains more than an hour away. Yet there’s no denying the unbridled enthusiasm that already suffocates the block.
Tonight’s performer is Hoodie Allen, a rapper from Long Island, N.Y. that came up through digital mixtapes and relentless social media promotion.
Wearing thick-rimmed glasses and a bright orange ski hat, Brooklyn resident Jennifer Williams recalls first hearing about Hoodie through Twitter posts and YouTube sponsorships. At just 14 years old, Williams likely wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow if the Brooklyn-raised Beastie Boys walked past the Plaza.
“He tweeted the link to his New York show,” Williams says of how she found her tickets. “Without social media, I probably wouldn’t have heard of him.”
As the line inches closer to the entrance gates, you get the sense that Hoodie should be praising the hip-hop Gods for shares, re-tweets and Wi-Fi connections.
“I get his tweets to my phone,” laughs Long Island native Gabriella Mateo, while New Jersey resident Anthony Peronece adds that he tweets at Hoodie constantly, acknowledging the artist’s vow to re-tweet or reply to all of his fans.
Inside Irving Plaza, Allen speeds through a set of new jams and fan favorites. It’s almost eerie to see the songs performed without a “related videos” sidebar or an option to re-blog and share.
Still, the live element of hip-hop is alive and well this Saturday night. Allen’s lyrical dexterity and vocal presence is admirable, and although Hoodie has performed the Twitter trend-turned-song “#WhiteGirlProblems,” he’s also made an effort to freestyle on everything from Jay-Z beats to AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck.”
“When I think of home, my remembrance of my beginning.” – Mos Def
For better or worse, hip-hop’s digitalization has torn down physical barriers. The Internet knows no geographical boundaries, and similarly, much of the hip-hop produced in today’s Internet age lacks regional flavor. The 1990s, often tagged as hip-hop’s “golden era,” are perhaps best known for a violent coastal feud between Bad Boy Entertainment-led New York and a Death Row Records-led California. And it certainly wasn’t hard to know what side you were listening to, with grimy, bass-laden production conjuring images of Brooklyn streets, while G-funk slaps and smooth synths painting a picture of a hazy Los Angeles.
Today, Internet-based hip-hop has created an envelope of “YouTube rappers” with their own sound, regardless of what city the featured rhymer reps. Toronto’s D-Pryde and Kansas City’s XV, two of YouTube’s most popular DIY rappers, are practically interchangeable in beats and cadence, while Pennsylvania’s Asher Roth and Boston’s Sam Adams sound as if they’re rapping from adjacent suburban bedrooms.
As it becomes increasingly impossible to rise to fame while skirting YouTube and social media, will a 140-character milieu cause the death of one of hip-hop’s most charming nuances, the stylistic differences in regional emcees?
For Lush One, the regional tastes of hip-hop aren’t vanishing, but blending to create an exciting new product. Lush cites Harlem rapper A$AP Rocky as the perfect encapsulation of hip-hop’s cultural expansion.
“He is a reflection of where hip-hop is at...he’s a human version of the Internet,” Lush says. “He’s collectively a bunch of different styles. You’ve got an emcee from New York who dresses like he’s from Cali and raps over Houston beats with midwest rhyme schemes.”
Although the differences between coasts have diminished immensely, Lush sees the collective hip-hop community getting stronger with the merging of styles.
“Even though the lines have become way more blurred...hip-hop has subcultures that are reflections of their environments.” he says fondly. “There are rich, cultural, unique regions...and at the end of the day, each region still has its elements.”
“Errbody, north, south...we doin’ this thing for hip-hop.” – OutKast
With the shredding of stylistic borders comes a whole new world of collaborations between artists. Koncept recalls that while he’s collaborated with longtime producer DJ Brace on multiple records, the two had never met face-to-face until a recent meet-up in Brooklyn.
“We actually knew each other for two years before we ever met,” Koncept laughs. “When I actually hung out with him for the first time, I didn’t even realize that I had never hung out with him before.” The two had worked together previously on Skype and interacted through social media.
And when it came to executing a joint single with Detroit rapper Royce Da 5’9”, everything was done digitally.
“Nickel nine,” one-half of the duo Bad Meets Evil with Eminem, recorded his verse for the song “Watch the Sky Fall” in Detroit, while Koncept laid down his vocals in New York. The music was then sent to Brace in California for cuts and mastering. When listening to the finished product and recognizing the artists’ chemistry with one another, it’s hard to believe that not a single in-person interaction was involved.
“With the addition of Twitter, you can just reach out. Some of these artists are at your fingertips,” adds Real Deal. The rise of social media has allowed some of hip-hop’s most enticing – and strangest – collaborations to take place. Even a YouTube mash-up of '90s chart-topper Notorious B.I.G. and contemporary radio superstar Wiz Khalifa has over 100,000 views.
“Social media is a great connector on an international level,” says Claudette Roper, a professor at Chicago’s Columbia College. Instructing a course titled “Race, Culture and Media,” Roper notes that she’s closely followed the rise of hip-hop since the days of Sugar Hill Gang.
“Now, we have a global platform where [hip-hop] is being presented,” she says. “It becomes a venue where many people can weigh in. There are many people of other countries who are weighing in, giving us their sense of apathy, their sense of triumph, their sense of keeping it real.” While Roper acknowledges the double-edged sword that is social media, she praises the openness of today’s content community.
“It makes the world a much smaller place,” Lush adds on digital collaborations. For a recent collaboration with Canadian R&B singer Anthony Maserati and Wu-Tang Clan member Raekwon entitled “Lips Like Wine,” Lush notes that he never set foot in the studio with either artist.
“Obviously social media has taken collaborations to a whole new level. Things can be done at real time from across the world,” he says. While Lush points out the loss of raw, face-to-face energy with collaborating artists, he adds that today’s hip-hop allows for more out-of-the-box hook-ups than ever before.
Lush turns to multi-platinum recording artist Drake as a prime example of how collaborations have changed in the Internet age.
“I think Drake is one of the best things to happen to hip-hop, and that’s not just because he’s a homie of mine,” he says. “This is a dude from the Disney Channel who’s perfectly comfortable on any record with Rick Ross and 2 Chainz. That’s everything that’s dope about the modern era in hip-hop.”
"You know what's gonna happen with hip-hop? Whatever's happening with us." – Mos Def
8 Mile’s final moments feature a victorious Rabbit heading back to his late shift at a steel plant, expressing to the zealous members of his crew that minor exposure isn’t enough to warrant a career in hip-hop just yet. Today, that decision likely elicits screams and boos from those watching on Netflix and DVR.
In the YouTube era, 15 minutes of hip-hop fame have become surprisingly sustainable. Internet-based artists like Mac Miller and Tyler, the Creator translated YouTube views to multi-million dollar stardom seemingly overnight.
It’s impossible to say that the integration of social media into one of music’s most beloved genres is a decidedly good or bad thing. Rather, it forces the genre to be more critical and aware of itself and it holds fans responsible for filtering the talents from the gimmicks.
On “Fear Not of Man,” the 1998 debut from popular Brooklyn emcee Mos Def, the question of where hip-hop is heading comes up. In a silky-smooth manner, “mighty Mos” says, “you know what’s going to happen with hip-hop? Whatever happens with us.” It’s a sentiment that rings truer today than ever.
If today’s culture shades toward convenience, gimmicks and SEO content, then hip-hop goes right with it. If, however, today’s digital society functions as a meritocracy, one that evaluates substance beyond a hyperlink, then there’s no reason to believe that another Nas or Tupac Shakur can’t come out of YouTube.
“Ingenuity and originality will rise to the top,” Lush predicts. Just how far up such originality will rise through Facebook news feeds and YouTube playlists is anyone’s guess.