Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Drop the Hip-Hop…We’re Just Journalists

If you’ve taken offense to the title of this post you obviously haven’t been listening to the radio. The music that has lent itself to this over-populated genre of journalism isn’t what it used to be. To put it bluntly: HIP-HOP MUSIC IS WACK.

Haven’t you wondered why many of the heralded writers of yesterday have cashed out their Hip-Hop Journalist cards to become consultants, talking heads and (God forbid) authors of books that most people aren’t going to read?

We’re not saying that these folks aren’t talented. No, not at all. What we’ve refused to realize until now is that Hip-Hop has infiltrated the masses, which means that there are a lot more demands to supply. With more demand comes a decrease in quality. So, if you’ve gone to j-school and now find yourself trying to rationalize the impact of the fucking Chicken Noodle Soup song…something must not be right.

The door to the Hip-Hop journalism world is no longer protected with a velvet rope, discouraging wannabees from trying to infiltrate. The door is now a revolving one. Every doe-eyed kids who “wrote well” in high school and has an undying love for Hip-Hop but doesn’t know the founding elements is spewing their myopic views on life and music via blogs (like this one, but trust we have a substantial amount of dirt under our nails).

Before you go calling us traitors think about this:

For all the CDs you’ve copped for free, all the celebs you’ve interviews, all the “industry” parties you’ve attended, does any of that make you a good journalist? When you apply to a newspaper or non-urban magazine do you think they care that you had the exclusive Busta Rhymes interview?

Hell No!

So all’s we sayin’ is broaden your horizon. Don’t aspire to be apart of something that has limits. Pick up the Wall Street Journal every once in a while. Pitch to white magazines (the pay is WAY better anyway… trust us). Figure out a plan for yourself before the red light in the palm of you hand starts to blink.

Sidebar: Looks like now that DSW is callin’ the shots a lot of “seasoned” scribes are being nostalgic. How about looking for hot new talent instead of living in the past. This is a young man’s game—unfortunate but true.

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Forty Million Dollar Slaves: The Rise, Fall, and Redemption of the Black Athlete
By: William C. Rhoden