Why White stars are ripping off rap and R&B

Ebony, June, 2003

AS the legendary baseball philosopher Yogi Berra once said, "It's deja vu, all over again ."

Al Jolson did it in the 1920s. Sophie Tucker did it in the 1930s. Elvis Presley did it in the 1950s, and the Beatles and Rolling Stones did it in the 1960s.

This disturbed a number of people who said, with Langston Hughes, "You've taken my blues, and my jazz, and my gospel, and gone."

And the taking is not over.

For in 2003, White singers and performers are still looting the historically Black music sanctuary of hip-hop, R&B, soul jazz and the blues.

White Soul crooner Robin Thicke is being described as the next Stevie Wonder.

Remy Shand is being touted as the updated version of Maxwell.

Justin Timberlake is constantly being compared to perhaps the most imitated Black entertainer of all time, Michael Jackson.

Jonny Lang, who has toured with the one and only B.B. King, is being promoted as the Great White Hope of all Blues guitarists.

And perhaps the biggest story in music this year, superstar rapper/actor Eminem became the first hip-hop artist ever to win an Oscar for his music.

All aforementioned artists are White; they're all at the top of their game in what was traditionally a realm dominated by Black talent; and, of course, they're all enjoying immense critical and commercial success, leaving many comparable (or even more talented) Black artists in the dust.

Some music critics and music lovers alike accurately contend that music is the great equalizer, a fluid, forever-changing art form that should not be confined to one race or the other.

They say music is the great equalizer. But therein lies the problem--the music is shared freely between races and cultures and is the great equalizer. But the music business is still separate and unequal. If you don't believe it, ask the scores of talented Black artists who perform Black music but never make it to first base within the recording industry, or ask the few Blacks who do make it but don't enjoy the same levels or crossover commercial success that White artists do.

Dwight Edwards, associate professor of music at Atlanta's Emory University, says it's shamefully ironic that throughout the annals of time, White artists with limited talent and vast resources have become fast millionaires by impersonating Black performers, whereas some of the greatest Black artists, performers and lyrical geniuses die practically penniless.

Professor Edwards compares it to the economics of slavery.

"When African-Americans were producing the cotton for the cotton industry--and keep in mind that the entire industry rested on the backs of the labor of the people--African-Americans did not reap the benefits," he says. "Now we've replaced cotton with soul music."

But why the resurgence of Blue-eyed soul now?

For starters, Black culture is and has always been the original reservoir of music and dance, says Chicago Cook County Commissioner Jerry (the Iceman) Butler, a singer, songwriter and publisher.

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. When these White kids start singing the way that Black kids have been singing for years, its because they say there's something good, something pure and something rich in this, and I want to learn how to do it," Butler explains. "R&B is the marriage of gospel, blues, and jazz, all into the same pocket to make up the new music form. So, instead of White folks making rhythm and blues, they made rock and roll, which is rhythm and blues by another name. We're doing the same thing with hip-hop today, but we don't disguise it with another name, we come on out and say, here's some White folks bringing hip-hop."

It's ironic that in the past 25 years, the only new music created in America came from the Black children who emerged from the disenfranchised neighborhoods of the Bronx, N.Y., Compton, Calif., and Chicago.

And now, in case you haven't noticed, the world has turned on its axis, and it's become very hip and very commercial to be a young angry Black man from the ghetto. It's even more profitable, some critics say, if you're disenfranchised, angry White guy who speaks, dresses and acts like an angry young Black guy and otherwise identify yourself with Blacks.

"The Black male outlaw identify is a commodifiable character open to all who would like to perform it," explains Carl Hancock Rux in the book, Everything But the Burden, What White People Are Taking from Black Culture. "White culture watched the evolution of the hip-hop character from afar before the hip-hop character knew that were watching at all. Thus, hip-hop culture has evolved into another classic ready-to-wear American original."

Rux says rap star Eminem is the poster boy for the new White bad boy American classic. And Eminem, like many other White urban entertainers, is very upfront about where he got his urban inspiration--he studied his mentor, hip-hop producer and icon Dr. Dre.

"Growing up, I was one of the biggest fans of N.W.A., from lips-synching to wanting to be Dr. Dre and Ice Cube," he explains. "He is the biggest hip-hop producer ever."