The Rap on Chuck D
By Andrew Wallenstein
A friend with whom I share an affinity for rap music once showed me his CD collection. Perusing the titles, I noticed he had not one album by Public Enemy, an influential hip-hop group I revered.
To me, that's like calling yourself an astronomy buff and not owning a telescope.
When I asked why, he explained that he couldn't in good conscience pay for any of PE's recordings given the anti-Semitic comments some of the group's members had made over the years. I was taken aback. While I admired his high-minded stance, I also felt ashamed of my pride in owning everything the band had ever released. It was as if I was a Jew colluding with a terrorist organization.
I recalled the episode after a recent media report gave me a nauseating pang of déjà vu: PE was again facing criticism from the Anti-Defamation League due to controversial lyrics on the group's latest album, "There's a Poison Goin' On." Ten years ago, PE made headlines after one of its members attributed worldwide corruption to the Jews. A song about the incident contained lyrics that were considered equally offensive.
Ten years ago, I excused the hatemongering coming from PE frontman Chuck D., a man I considered a personal hero. Not anymore.
How this white Jew from Long Island developed an admiration for a black rapper who may very well hate me is a strange turn of events indeed. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that, like myself, Chuck D. (born Carlton Ridenhour) is from Long Island, or "Strong Island," as it's referred to in rap parlance. But the truth is, my upper-middle-class haven of Oceanside and his economically depressed hometown of Roosevelt might as well be on different planets, despite the fact they are roughly 15 minutes away from each other.
Still, you can see posters of Chuck D. on the wall in the bedroom I grew up in. I first encountered him as a teenager who rarely missed an episode of "Yo! MTV Raps." I had been captivated by black culture long before it went mainstream, since the breakdancing craze of the late 1980s. Friends found the fascination odd. A kid who relished being different from everyone around me, I found it an interesting outlet for self-expression.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not what some might call a "wigger." I don't wear baggy jeans that seem to be falling to my ankles or involuntarily sprinkle my speech with Ebonics. Hip-hop music appeals to me simply because of the innovative sound and inventive wordplay employed by a decreasingly select few in the genre.
There's not a music critic alive who wouldn't include Public Enemy in that cream of the crop. Their sound is a distinctive mix of Chuck's booming voice and an intense polyrhythmic blizzard of beats and loops many a parent would classify as noise. SPIN magazine recently hailed their third album, "Fear of a Black Planet," the second best album of the decade.
But it wasn't just Chuck's musical prowess that impressed me. While most rappers rap about girls or guns, he concerns himself with social issues, especially race. The oppression of American blacks is his music's most resounding theme, and the anger with which Chuck raps about it calls to mind Malcolm X. Using music as a soapbox in the 1980s instead of the 1960s was unusual enough to make an impression on me.
Not long after I got acquainted with PE, the band drew international attention due to a Washington Post interview with band member Professor Griff. After he blamed Jews for "the majority of wickedness that goes on across the globe," PE was forced to fire him. Subsequently, Chuck penned a blistering song called "Welcome to the Terrordome," in which he addressed the controversy:
"Crucifixion ain't no fiction
So called chosen frozen
Apology made to who ever pleases
Still they got me like Jesus"
As the Anti-Defamation League saw it, Chuck was bringing up that classic staple of anti-Semitism, Jewish culpability for the murder of Jesus Christ, a figure he apparently identified with on account of the harsh treatment he received due to the Griff incident. Delusional or not, there's little argument that "Terrordome" is a remarkable piece of music. Breathtaking in its ferocity, the song is black rage distilled into sound.
Having to choose between moral rectitude and incredible art is a tough decision for anyone to make. It's not as if Chuck D. is the first person to hopelessly confuse art and anti-Semitism either; William Shakespeare and T.S. Eliot beat him to that. The comparison might seem highfalutin -- and it probably is -- but Chuck D. is no lightweight. A respected voice in the black community, he lectures at colleges and serves as a correspondent to FOX News Channel.
As for how I turned a blind eye to his anti-Semitism, he did deny the accusation and claim his lyrics were misinterpreted. "Never question what I am, God knows," he thunders in "Terrordome." So I didn't.
Fast-forward a decade later. Hip-hop music is the best-selling genre on the billboard charts, but the wealth hasn't spread to Public Enemy. MTV acknowledges them as the godfathers of rap but rarely plays their videos. Younger, less serious-minded acts have surpassed their success. Their albums keep coming, but few are listening.
PE is also no longer with Def Jam Records, the label that put them on the map. They re-signed with a new label that put out their new album exclusively on the Internet. Chuck D. claims he took this alternative route to protest the profiteering of record companies who rob their artists of royalties. But with top-selling artists like DMX and Jay-Z, Def Jam may not even have wanted a has-been like PE on their roster anymore anyway.
Maybe he has a legitimate gripe with his former label, but the lyrics that Chuck chose to address the matter is inexcusable. The new song at the center of the controversy is "Swindler's Lust," a play on words evoking "Schindler's List." If that alone doesn't arouse suspicion, examine some lyrics:
"Mo dollars and mo cents for the big six
Another million led to bled claimin' they innocence
Is it any wonder black folks goin' under"
Who the "big six" is or whether its placement near the word "million" is intended to evoke the victims of the Holocaust is debatable, but Chuck's intentions aren't. He's baiting the media and Jews (he may think we're one of the same). Anti-Semitism brought Chuck his first brush with international fame, and this is a transparent ploy to reclaim former glory. He's even managed to work anti-Semitism into a new band he started as a side project, called, ahem, Concentration Camp.
In a way I feel sorry for him. Although popular hip-hop has sunk to crass superficiality, Chuck refuses to lower himself. But like one of his heroes, Rev. Louis Farrakhan, his rhetoric is tainted by hate. The worst part is, I don't even believe Chuck genuinely loathes Jews as much as he loves controversy. A compulsive provocateur, he's not anti-Semitic, just pathetic.
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