On a hung-over Saturday, there is literally nothing better in the world than eating microwaved Totino's Pizza Rollstm and watching videos of South African crypto-rave-rap.
Your official introduction to the greatest thing on the Internet:
Taxijam presents Die Antwoord from taxijam on Vimeo.
The first time I stumbled upon the (unintentionally?) comedic rap stylings of Die Antwoord (warning: NSFW sound), I was mildly intrigued, but I couldn't force myself to slog through all five and a half minutes of that first video -- it seemed to teeter too precariously on the edge of painful ridiculousness. But after having read a few articles about them on Pitchfork (1,2), I'm starting to come around. The most amazing thing about this band is that its positioning in the liminal space between conceptual art and "third-world" rap (so hot right now) only underscores the tremendous mutability and potentiality of the gangsta aesthetic. The entire concept of hustling, with its insistence on impresario-like showmanship, carries with it a not-so-secret tinge of unabashed fraudulence. The subtext is straight out of P.T. Barnum's playbook: a sucker (favorite rap insult) is born every minute, and we're here to make money off of them. And yet, paradoxically, the lyrical content of rap is all about genuineness, of keeping it real and representing... something -- usually, a neighborhood, city, state, or coast. As I mentioned in my previous discussion of subcultures and nationalism, the link between turf and self is a seductively universal one.
In the hands of non-Americans, though, the bipartite structure of charlatanism and solemnity is taken to a whole new level ("next-level," to use Die Antwoord's parlance) as the inherent artifice of the rap persona is highlighted and the contradiction factor ratcheted up a few notches by the use of American-born rap to rep a "genuine [insert nation] style." And yet, as with Lil Wayne's consciously ridiculous take on "Fuck Tha Police," heightened self-awareness and promiscuous appropriation does not necessarily equal worse or degenerate art. I would argue that, on the contrary, by doing away with kitschy sentimental notions of earnestness and originality in the lyrical voice (I mean, seriously, nobody wants Ke$ha to think she is Keats), rap as a genre is more liberated, more thoroughly postmodern, and has much more potential to create bizarrely awesome new things. This has its ups and downs, of course (cough, Ke$ha), but in the end, I think we can all agree that the freaky carnival side-show that is Die Antwoord makes the world a better place. Totally zef.
No comments:
Post a Comment