Gritz N' Gravy: What Fiddy & Kanye Can Learn From Tony Wilson
Published: Tuesday - September 11, 2007
Words by Gritz
50 Cent (Photo: Interscope)
Here are some thoughts that have been on my mind during the lead-up to The Big Day. In honor of Kanye, I have written it in the style of a rant that probably only makes a little bit of sense! Read it and then go cop those albums, players!!!!
On August 10, TV presenter and music impresario, Tony Wilson, died of a heart attack at the age of 57. Standing at the epicenter of the Britain's burgeoning punk scene in the 1970s, he played an integral role in launching iconic bands like the Sex Pistols, the Happy Mondays, and New Order. After organizing a showcase for local bands at Manchester's Factory Club and managing a number of acts, he formed Factory Records, a spin-off label that would go on to release some of the most influential and post-punk records of the '80s. As that venture fell into bankruptcy, he pooled resources with his Factory co-owners and the members of New Order for another culturally relevant, but fiscally ill-conceived endeavor: the opening of Hacienda, a mega-club that would see the rise of rave culture, the "E" revolution, and even Madonna, who made her UK debut there. The hedonistic scene, driven by imported drugs and pulsing dance-rock, was dubbed "Madchester," and Tony Wilson was "Mr. Manchester" himself.
For me, however, Wilson will always evoke images of a long-haired, smirking Steve Coogan, who channeled the Mancunian's sardonic wit and heady recklessness in Michael Winterbottom's 2002 biopic, 24 Hour Party People. To be honest, I hadn't seen a real photograph of Wilson until the obits started rolling in last month. But the spirit that Coogan captures, it seems, contains a certain distilled truth about the type of man that could facilitate such vast cultural momentum without reaping the financial rewards. In spite of his Cambridge education, he lived and breathed the gritty, working-class streets of Manchester, and he never condescended to the art that it generated. If anything, he let his intellectualism blind him practical concerns of running a record label.
In a legendary incident, Wilson decided to pay so much for the cover art on the Happy Mondays' "Blue Monday" 12-inch that the label lost money of every sale. It was designed by Peter Saville and he thought the concept was worth the price. Check out the scene from the movie:
Tomorrow, a month after Tony Wilson's death, 50 Cent and Kanye West will release their albums on the same day, and you can bet that both camps will "count the cost of music" right down to the last penny. (Kanye did solicit some rather impressive cover art from Takashi Murakami, but I'm guessing he didn't take a big hit on it.) With album sales dwindling across the boards and hip-hop struggling to resuscitate its image within the media, the head-to-head showdown between the two superstars is being cast "a great thing for hip-hop music." But it seems that the hype surrounding the event -- fueled by rumors of a nonsensical debate and 50's declaration that he will end his solo career if Kanye outsells him -- will only ensure that it is a great thing for the bank accounts of the two men involved. Last night's MTV Video Music Awards, where 50 and Kanye got onstage together to present an award, distilled just how stupid it is. After a slight gasp from the audience, they recreated their Rolling Stone cover shot then simply said, "Here are the nominees" while pretending to be mad. No jokes were made, and there was no trash-talking. This "competition" is so devoid of creativity and so focused on image that this "moment" was the best the artists -- or the show's producers -- could muster.
Don't get me wrong, I have been amped about these albums for long time. I've been checking various websites daily for new leaks, watching every video and listening to every interview of these guys hyping up themselves up. I won't deny that they are very good at it -- 50 and Kanye are funny, smart, and engaging personalities. And from what I've heard so far, I think Curtis and Graduation can easily be two of the most best albums of 2007 (admittedly not an overly impressive distinction).
But 50 and 'Ye insult their audiences by suggesting that the September 11 release date motivates them to put out the best product possible. The only reason 50's album is being released on this date is because his first two singles -- "Straight to the Bank" and "Amusement Park" -- failed to take off like he wanted them to; meanwhile, Kanye only recently switched his release date from September 18. And while 'Ye may have tweaked a few things and had Timbaland toy with the drums on "Stronger," both albums were essentially completed before the release date showdown even became an issue. Almost everything that's happened since the summer has been part of the marketing of the albums rather than their creative development. And yet even when you stop to think about this fact, it's almost impossible not to buy into the circus -- it has been that well-calculated. And, for some reason, the public cares about sales, even though this should only be of concern to the artist and the label.
So the question remains: How did hip-hop get to a place where "greatness" is synonymous to sales wars and mastery of the hype machine? To a place where 50 Cent can, with almost laughable candor, speak of his work as product first, club soundtrack second, and art... well, as a distant afterthought.
That's a bigger discussion, but ever since before Q-Tip said, "Industry rule #4080: Record company people are shady," there has been an awkward balancing act performed by rap artists who both need the exposure offered by majors but feel exploited financially and stifled creatively. In Fear of a Black Hat, a 1994 mockumentary about a rap crew called NWH (Niggaz with Hats), the group constantly butts heads with its managers and label reps over the release of controversial songs like "Booty Juice" and "Guerillas in the Midst." Their politics and content, however hyperbolized and outlandish, are at the heart of the dispute. If a similar movie were to be made in 2007, you can bet your bottom dollar that money would be at the center of the farce. In spite of Revered Sharpton's "N word" crusades, a parody of creative control would no longer feel relevant.
The problem with rappers these days is that from day one they feel -- if you'll excuse the pun -- the need to wear two hat, that of the artist and that of the entrepreneur. In seizing power back from the labels, they lost sight of exactly why they wanted to do that in the first place. In 2007, selling albums is often seen as some sort of triumph of con-artistry; if you sold well, you did so by hustling your way to the top and somehow beating "the system." Indeed, the most prevalent conceit in rap is that selling music to fans is analogous to pushing drugs on an addict. Where does that place the fans?
For artists on Tony Wilson's Factory Records, control was not an issue. Even when Wilson's business blunders meant that they didn't receive the returns they might have expected, they could hardly accuse him of failing to put his energy behind the project or snatching away their profits. He let them focus on what they were supposed focus on -- making music. On a very real level, thinking about dollars and cents all day does not inspire great creativity. Rappers are becoming boring for the exact same reason that I-bankers are boring. And while it's easier to root for a dude coming up from nothing than a trust fund baby who works at Goldman Sachs, the pursuit of money still dampens originality. "I Get Money" and "Can't Tell Me Nothing" certainly bring different perspectives, but for all his Daft Punk-sampling and love of soft-rock, it's interesting that ‘Ye can only really pop with a money-chasing single.
Another thing that is lost in the current climate of mainstream rap is any meaningful sense of regionalism -- something that Tony Wilson felt very strongly about. 50 may "run New York," but besides a few place names, nothing he raps about has much to do with where he's from. Meanwhile, the strong sense of Chicago that came through on Kanye's earlier songs seems to have dissipated a bit on Graduation. "Homecoming" borrows liberally from the mixtape track "Home," and the inclusion of Coldplay's Chris Martin adds little to the original. Moreover, as Jon Pareles of the New York Times points out, Kanye now suggests that his hometown should be even more proud of him, rather than embracing the love that he does receive. Adding big names just because he can while showing less respect for his native Chi does not seem like a good trend.
Or course, to become bigger than where you're from is laudable, and it makes sense that Mr. West's fame and international lifestyle has broadened his horizons and allowed him to become obsessed with Tokyo, for example. But that's not really the point. Beyond dance crazes like "Lip Gloss" and "Crank Dat," there are very few things in hip-hop that are actually organic to local scenes. The "regionalism" of hip-hop is skewed and often fails to play to its own strengths. It basically means yelling "Such-and-such is the best place!" but has nothing to do with being creatively different.
For Tony Wilson, the firm belief in an organic music scene extended to broader politics. He was an outspoken member of a movement in Britain (fittingly called "regionalism") that called for a regional tier of government. Meaning, he believed in the importance of local voices and heritage enough to do something about it politically. During the VMAs, I had to laugh when Kanye was up for the "Quadruple Threat of the Year" award and they listed "social activist" as one of his "threats." Does going on a rant on TV make you an activist? But that's neither here nor there. You don't have to be political to be an artist or to believe in creating art. But it's just another example of the thoughtless hype and empty accolades that fuel rap superstardom.
I guess the point is that rap music can just be sort of depressing when you think about what is popular and why. Not literally depressing like the lives of many of Wilson's artists. After all, Joy Division's Ian Curtis hung himself, but neither "Curtis" nor ‘Ye have much to complain about. But depressing in the sense that we have gotten to a point where the hype and marketing is so transparent, and the personalities and storylines are so overblown, that neither side has to even pretend that anything real backs up what they are doing. There is no beef. There is no creative competition. No, two big rappers just have albums coming out on the same day, in an age when people don't even go to the store to buy records anyways. The artists and everyone around them have money on their minds first and foremost, and as the reviews roll in from the New York Times to Entertainment Weekly, it seems inevitable yet still disappointing that nothing truly great will come out of this "battle." (To be fair, Rolling Stone loves it. But I think we're all just waiting to hear what BallerStatus thinks...)
Maybe I'm making unfair comparisons, but I guess Tony Wilson's passion for music over business is something I wish I saw more of in hip-hop. Wilson may not have been a marketing genius like 50 Cent, or a savvy businessman like Jay-Z. But he loved the music. He thought and cared about it. And without actually creating himself, he has left a lasting legacy on the sound of protest -- something that hip-hop once aspired to do as well, but has now long forgotten.
Ok, glad that's off my chest! I'm going to preorder Graduation and Curtis on iTunes now so than I can have them in the morning. But I'm not proud of myself...
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