Yesterday, my latest piece, “Where Did All The Female Rappers Go?” went live at NPR.  In this one, I look at the significant decline of women in mainstream rap music and consider some of the reasons for it.  I was fortunate enough to interview hip hop pioneer MC Lyte, who was very candid about her disappointment in the current industry climate for women.

The piece ends with the upside:  the “underground.”  I’ve been listening to a lot of women who are far more talented than many of the artists (e.g., 2 Chainz, Waka Flocka Flame) who are on major labels.  There are a number of really skilled MCs out there, but check out Awkwafina, Ruby Ibarra, Nitty Scott MC, and Gifted Gab for some different styles.

When Charis Kubrin and I wrote our op-ed for the New York Times on the use of rap lyrics in trials, we knew it would get attention, but had no idea how much. Over the last week, we’ve been giving 2-3 interviews a day, and media outlets across the world have been reporting on this issue.  I am gratified to see that this issue is getting international attention, and I hope this is the beginning of a broader conversation about an ongoing injustice in our court system.

Here’s a sampling of the coverage so far:

Charis and I were on this HuffPost Live panel with Georgetown law professor Paul Butler and Lehigh professor James Peterson to discuss rap lyrics as evidence:

Vibe Magazine published this video that highlights our op-ed and asks larger questions about the use of rap as evidence:

The WGBH show Basic Black did this segment on our op-ed.  A really great discussion by a distinguished group of scholars from the Boston area (a special shout out to Prof. Emmett Price for his support and encouragement):

Here’s an interview I gave on rap-as-evidence to the CBC radio show Q with Jian Ghomeshi:

Meanwhile, here’s an interview Charis Kubrin gave on the same topic to NPR’s On the Media:

This is just a small sampling of the coverage, and more is to come.  The question now is how to turn this exposure into action…stay tuned.

In this op-ed for the New York Times, Charis Kubrin and I use the upcoming NJ Supreme Court case  State v. Vonte Skinner as our point of departure for a broader discussion of the (mis)use of rap music to put people in prison.  We recently completed an academic article on the subject, and we hope to draw attention to this issue in the coming months.

Two weeks ago, I testified as an expert witness for the defense in the People of the State of California v. Alex Joseph Medina.  Medina is being charged with first degree murder, and although he was only 14 when he allegedly committed the crime, he is being charged as an adult and faces life without parole if found guilty.  I was called to testify because prosecutors introduced a number of his “gangsta” rap lyrics as evidence at the trial, arguing that they should be read as “journals” or real-life chronicles of his behavior. (Coverage of the case can be found here and here.  The Ventura County Star did this piece on my testimony.)

Of course this treatment of rap music is absurd, something I spent the entire day on the stand trying to explain.  And yet, as I’ve pointed out a number of times (including on this blog), this is an increasingly common prosecutorial tactic: treat rap lyrics as literal evidence so that their authors (almost always young men of color) look like vicious criminals in front of a jury.  It’s so common, in fact, that I am serving as an expert in two other cases, both of them scheduled for trial in the spring.

Right now, I’m in the middle of working on an article with Charis Kubrin, a professor of criminology, law and society at UC Irvine who has also served as an expert witness in more than one of these cases.  We’re hoping that our work will help shed light on the pervasive use of art to put people in prison.

In the meantime, keep an eye on the NJ Supreme Court, which is set to hear a case on exactly this issue.  The ACLU of New Jersey filed this amicus brief, which provides valuable context for the upcoming Supreme Court case.

I wrote this piece for The Atlantic and it went live yesterday afternoon.  Unlike many of my other articles, this is one that asks as many questions as it answers.  In particular, I am interested in whether the decline of sample-based hip hop, which was weakened by ridiculous copyright rules, was at least partly responsible for the concomitant decline in socially conscious mainstream rap. (Not dealing with the “underground” here, where artists like Immortal Technique, dead prez, Jasiri X, Rebel Diaz, Brother Ali, and others are clearly doing political work with their music.)  My idea is that sampling provided a crucial connection to a musical and political past, reminding rappers and audiences alike that they were part of a broader creative tradition.  Without this mindset–the sense that you’re part of something bigger than yourself–I wonder if it’s easier to revel in mindless self-aggrandizement the way many mainstream rappers do.

I’ve already gotten a lot of feedback on this, almost all positive.  However, some people have accused me of trashing today’s music based on my old-person nostalgia for “golden age” rap.  There might be a grain (just one) of truth to that.  But at least I’ve got good people backing me up–I interviewed legendary producers Hank Shocklee (of the Bomb Squad) and Pete Rock for this.

I just did this interview with Sean Moncrieff at Dublin, Ireland’s Newstalk Radio about graffiti culture, politics, and contemporary rap music. I enjoyed the interview and was grateful for the chance to continue to draw attention to the 30-year-old murder of artist Michael Stewart.

I just wrote this piece for NPR on the murder of Michael Stewart, an aspiring artist and model who was beaten to death by NY Transit Police exactly 30 years ago.  His crime? He was supposedly tagging a subway station wall.  The story includes the horrific details of his death, the injustice that followed, and a broader discussion of hip hop and policing.  I end with the words of his mother, whom I reluctantly contacted (afraid I’d stir up emotions she wanted left alone).  I promised her I’d do my best to get her son’s story out there, and this is the beginning…

I just did this segment on HuffPost Live related to the Pledge of Allegiance, which I’ve railed against in the past.  (See, for example, an article I did several months back for Huffington Post.)  As I noted during the interview, the “under God” part, which wasn’t added until 1954, isn’t even the most disturbing aspect of the Pledge.  Its history is at least as unsettling.

In any case, the Pledge is in the news because the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts is considering whether a Pledge with “under God” discriminates against atheists (which of course it does, as well as against anyone who isn’t a Christian).  If the court finds it discriminatory, the flood gates will certainly open for similar suits elsewhere across the country.

Unfortunately, the more important issue–whether we want our children being compelled to endure a state-mandated affirmation of loyalty to their country–will not be addressed by this case.  Neither will the irony of people of color across the country affirming “liberty and justice for all” when that’s never characterized the U.S.  To quote Lupe Fiasco in “Strange Fruition” (a title that echoes Billie Holiday’s song “Strange Fruit”): “Now I can’t pledge allegiance to your flag / ’cause I can’t find no reconciliation with your past, / when there was nothing equal for my people in your math.”

And now, with a little infusion of Lupe, this is a legitimately hip-hop-related blog post as well!

I just did this interview for the Washington Post TV show called On Background to discuss the social and political implications of a hip hop movement that is now 40 years old.  The other members of the panel were Johns Hopkins Professor Lester Spence, whose book Stare in the Darkness has received a great deal of well-deserved attention, and The Washington Post’s Clinton Yates.

The discussions surrounding rap music have, for the last few months in particular, been dominated by Kanye West and Jay-Z, whose recent releases Yeezus and Magna Carta…Holy Grail have transfixed mainstream hip hop devotees who were waiting eagerly for their latest dose of mediocre music from hip hop’s self-proclaimed deities. I’ve listened to both albums, and neither is particularly inspiring (I actually fell asleep a couple of times during Magna Carta) yet the number of column inches dedicated to them has been staggering.  That kind of press goes far–even though most critics agree that Jay-Z comes up short on this latest effort (best review was probably Chris Richards’ at Washington Post), it went platinum the day it was released.  And while Kanye’s album probably won’t match Jay’s numbers (even though it’s somewhat better), he nevertheless got media coverage that was, at times, fawning.  (See, for example, Jon Caramanica’s interview with Kanye for The New York Times.)

Meanwhile, there’s actually a newsworthy record that’s out, even though you might not know it.  I’m actually embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know about it until a few days ago: it’s Killer Mike and El P’s most recent collaboration, Run the Jewels, which was released as a free download by Fool’s Gold Records a few weeks ago.  After R.A.P. Music–arguably the best rap album of 2012–I’ve been hoping that EL P and Killer Mike would get back together, and although I’ve only listened to it a couple of times, Run the Jewels doesn’t disappoint.  Is it as heady or political as R.A.P. Music or EL P’s 2012 Cancer 4 Cure? Maybe not, but it’s got flashes of brilliance that should remind us why these guys are still collaborating.

I don’t just like the album because it appears to take a number of swipes at Kanye and Jay Z (e.g., “I stand on towers like Eiffel, I rifle down all your idols. / Niggas will perish in Paris. Niggas is nothing but parrots”) but because it’s fearless, lyrically potent, and (of course) well produced.  On the surface, the parallels between Run the Jewels and Watch the Throne are apparent (collaborations with similar-sounding-titles), but once you listen to both, the differences couldn’t be more stark.  Whereas Jay Z and Kanye offer slick, recycled images of wealth and mindless consumerism that offer little in the way of thought or innovation, Killer Mike and EL P continue their tradition of attacking social institutions–“DDFH” is a particularly good example (one that naturally appeals to a guy who writes about hip hop and law enforcement)–or approaching more typical rap content in refreshing ways.  In “No Come Down,” for instance, Mike recounts a sexual encounter at a strip club, but not in the played out, bottle popping, bitches-and-piles-of-cash style.  Instead, he twists the narrative into a mushroom-induced hallucination that quickly escapes the confines of the strip club and becomes a psychedelic, metaphysical journey across space and time. Mike’s literary sensibilities (and make no mistake, they run deep in this guy) come through here, reminding us that even a strip club track can be, well, good.

I had the pleasure of interviewing Killer Mike earlier this year, and he’s one of hip hop’s truly impressive intellectuals.  (He has that reputation among people who know him, but I got to hear it for myself.)  That’s why he’s putting out such good music, but also why he’s not getting the recognition he deserves in an industry that often prefers its music to be moronic.  And although I honestly have never warmed up to EL P’s style, even as I admire his talent, I am starting to come around.  I’m not sure he can compete with Mike on the mic, but his rhymes here are solid, and I plan to pay more attention to them as I listen to the album again.  And again.

Is this another R.A.P. Music?  Not quite.  But when a quickly made free download is better than what the titans of the mainstream industry are putting out, it’s definitely worth some attention.