[November 30th
marks the 35th
anniversary of the release of Michael Jackson’s Thriller, one of the most popular
and influential 1980s albums. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of
such albums, including Jackson’s and other greats from the decade. I’d love
your AlbumStudying thoughts, on these or any others, in comments!]
On the two
protest albums that probably changed rap—and definitely changed America.
I don’t pretend to be an expert
on rap—not that I would claim to be an expert on most of the topics about which
I write here (John
Sayles and Bruce
Springsteen, maybe, but not most of them), but I am particularly less-well-informed
when it comes to the multi-decade history and evolution of rap. When someone
who grew up on the genre, like Ta-Nehisi
Coates, writes about
it, it quickly becomes clear to me how many of the artists who were
influential to him are barely (if at all) familiar to me, and how uniquely unqualified
I thus would be to judge which artists or records have been the most
significant in rap history. But on the other hand, one of the genres with which
I’m most familiar is American political and protest music—the more my
Springsteen tastes started to include his most explicitly political albums and
songs (like most of The Ghost of Tom Joad,
an album that I hated on first listen and have come to love), the more I both
delved back into artists like Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, and Tom
Waits and came to appreciate contemporary ones like Rage Against the Machine
and Ani DiFranco. And so I feel entirely qualified to assert that Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back
(1988) is one of the greatest political and protest albums in American history.
Although I was too young to
recognize it at the time, 1988 seems to have been the single most important
year in rap’s transition from an underground, fully counter-culture genre to a
dominant force in popular music—the Beastie Boys had started the shift a year
or two earlier, but ’88 saw the release of both Public Enemy’s album (their
second, but the first had been Def Jam Records’ worst-selling album of all
time, so it was this second that really broke them) and N.W.A.’s
Straight Outta Compton. While
there are certainly points of connection and overlap between the two albums, their
central voices and styles are hugely distinct, and can perhaps be captured in
their two best-selling singles (which I use side by side in my Intro to
American Studies course on the 1980s): N.W.A.’s
“Fuck Tha Police,” an intentionally extreme, vulgar, and violent response
to police brutality and profiling; and Public Enemy’s “Don’t
Believe the Hype,” a sophisticated and media-savvy response to critics’ and
mainstream musical outlets’ stereotyping of the group. I think there is most
definitely a place and role for both songs in our understanding of (among other
things) South Central Los Angeles, life for young African American men, and
race in the 1980s, but it is unquestionably easier to fixate on the extremes in
N.W.A. and thus miss the serious and social questions behind them; whereas
Public Enemy’s song, like their entire album, forces us to engage seriously and
meaningfully with its central themes and perspectives.
Which doesn’t mean it isn’t fun.
The real genius of Nation of Millions,
what puts it in the same conversation with works like “This
Land is Your Land,” “The
Hurricane,” and “Born
in the U.S.A.,” is that it weds tremendous popular appeal with cutting
political critiques and radical messages; it’s got a beat and you can dance to
it, but while you’re doing so your perspective and understanding of American
identities and communities, present and past, are being significantly impacted
and (at least for someone not a product of inner-city Los Angeles; or, to put
it more exactly, at least for me) significantly altered. Political protest
music doesn’t have to feel pedantic (I’m looking at you, Neil Young’s “Southern
Man”) or explicitly divisive (ditto, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama”); it
can instead unite its listeners across any and all categories and identities,
bringing audiences together and to their feet and then hitting them in their
collective consciousness. In the final verse of “Don’t Believe the Hype,” Chuck
D raps that he and the group will “rock the hard jams, treat it like a
seminar/Teach the bourgeoisie, and rock the boulevard,” and that’s exactly the
balance that the whole album achieves.
If working with
college students day in and day out for the last decade and a half has taught
me anything, it’s how centrally important music is to their lives and
identities and perspectives; pop culture in general has a big influence, of
course, but while I have some students for whom that means movies and some for
whom it’s TV, some who are all about various websites and some who read a ton
of science fiction (to cite only four of the many pursuits and obsessions I
encounter), I would say that music is hugely significant for pretty much every
one of them. And that makes it especially important than American Studies
scholarship pay particular attention to an album like Nation of Millions, a best-selling work of popular music that
managed to engage, with sophistication and humor and intelligence, with some of
our nation’s most pressing and complex questions. Next AlbumStudying tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you
think? Other ‘80s albums you’d highlight and analyze?
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