In 1979, hip-hop went pop with Sugarhill Gang’s groundbreaking “Rapper’s Delight,” the genre’s first-ever Top 40 hit. Built on a sample of Chic’s “Good Times,” the song proved that hip-hop, like disco, could resonate with audiences seeking feel-good dance music.
But a year after that, in 1980, Bronx school teacher and rapper Brother D and his crew Collective Effort posed a powerful question over the beat from Cheryl Lynn’s 1978 disco smash “Go To Be Real.” While the track maintained the groove derived from Marty and David Paich’s “Got To Be Real” production, Brother D got real, asking, “How We Gonna Make the Black Nation Rise?”
In the song, Brother D and company speak on the varying plights of the Black American, such as unemployment, the Ku Klux Klan, and how America was built on stolen land by a stolen people. Two years later, in 1982, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five would address similar topics on their critically acclaimed hit “The Message,” the first political rap song to earn widespread attention.
These expressions of discontentment were far from new in the psyche of the Black American, but they were seminal in the sense that they helped situate hip-hop as a medium through which artists could not only reinvigorate classic hits and get people dancing but also champion Black liberation and consciousness.
Throughout the ’80s and ’90s, as hip-hop reached its “golden age,” artists like KRS-One, A Tribe Called Quest, Queen Latifah, Public Enemy, Bahamadia, and Black Star would continue this legacy, cultivating what we now know as “conscious hip-hop.” This subgenre is characterized by its concern for social and political issues, as well as by its rejection of the drugs, sex, violence, and materialism that many associate with mainstream rap.
In recent years, conscious hip-hop has faced scrutiny, as some feel that proponents of the music are pretentious in their approach to spreading knowledge, or that they have contradicted their condemnation of racism by espousing other forms of oppression, such as homophobia and misogyny.
But hip-hop, at its core, has always been “conscious”—not just with regard to the oppression that plagues Black and brown communities, though this is understandably the proxy. Through hip-hop, rappers have expressed their consciousness of the thrill that comes with money, along with the problems that, at times, come right alongside it. Consciousness of sex, not only as a means of pleasure but as an assertion of power. Consciousness of community, love, drugs, violence, corporate greed—and wordplay that gets heads bobbing and bodies moving.
When folks lament the state of conscious hip-hop and the perceived lack of modern rappers occupying this lane, they are often referring to those whose music contains overt sociopolitical messaging. But hip-hop holds a mirror up to society, reflecting the values of the world around us and how they fare in our fights to exist. It is not the end-all-be-all to liberation, but it certainly inspires listeners to seek change and interrogate their compliance with oppressive structures.
As the genre continues to evolve, it is vital to recognize that there are still rappers coming out the gate with important things to say—regardless of whether they adopt the label of the “conscious rapper.”
Superstars J. Cole and Kendrick Lamar are the most visible examples of modern-day conscious hip-hop.
Though Cole is no stranger to the more braggadocious style of rap, his discography is filled with songs that comment on society’s issues. On his 2016 album 4 Your Eyez Only, he speaks on the rampant violence in the Black community. Rapping primarily via the perspective of “James McMillan Jr.,” the name given to a slain friend of his, Cole explores the mindset of a young Black man who turns to drug dealing as he grapples with the prospects of family, love, and death.
On “Neighbors,” a song inspired by a real-life experience with his house being raided by SWAT, the rapper makes it clear that his celebrity status does not make him exempt from experiencing racism.
Some things you can’t escape:
Death, taxes, and a ra-
-cist society that make
Every nigga feel like a candidate
For a Trayvon kinda fate
Similarly, Lamar often uses his music as an outlet for reflecting on society’s ills. “Alright,” a 2015 hit that came off the critically acclaimed To Pimp A Butterfly, is the modern-day protest anthem. Those involved in the fight against oppression and police brutality are likely to be heard chanting, “We gon’ be alright!” amongst their rallying cries.
But consciousness often entails a sense of introspection, something that’s also present in Cole and K-Dot’s music. On “The Heart Part 5”—the fifth installment of Kung Fu Kenny’s “The Heart” series and a single off his latest project, 2022’s Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers—Lamar raps over a sample of Marvin Gaye’s classic hit “I Want You,” reflecting on how “the culture” copes with pain.
History repeats again
Make amends, then find a nigga with the same skin to do it
But that’s the culture, crack a bottle
Hard to deal with the pain when you’re sober
By tomorrow, we forget the remains, we start over
That’s the problem
He goes on to say:
Our foundation was trained to accept whatever follows
Dehumanized, insensitive
Scrutinize the way we live for you and I
Enemies shook my hand, I can promise I’ll meet you
In the land where no equal is your equal
Never say I ain’t told ya, nah
In the land where hurt people hurt more people
Fuck callin' it culture
The reflective nature of “conscious hip-hop,” whether it relates to one’s self, the culture, or the powers that be, is what makes the subgenre resonate with its listeners. But K-Dot and Cole are not the only ones keeping this type of music alive.
Noname is a prime example of a rapper who uses her music and platform to speak on various issues negatively impacting the world. Since releasing her debut mixtape, Telefone, in 2016, the Chicago native has spoken on everything from colonial violence to the beauty standards projected onto Black women. In “Casket Pretty,” a track off Telefone, the rapper alludes to the risk of violence and death faced by her Black and brown peers while spitting over a mellow beat.
All of my niggas is casket pretty
Ain’t no one safe in this happy city
I hope you make it home
I hope to God that my tele’ don’t ring
Referring to the epidemic of police brutality in her city, she goes on to rap about the “badges and pistols” that “rejoice in the night” after claiming another Black body.
Don’t hold me, don’t hold me when niggas is dying and dying
And I’m afraid of the dark, blue and the white
Badges and pistols rejoice in the night
And we watch the news, and we see him die tonight
This hyper-consciousness of the realities that come with existing as a Black person in America has continuously defined her music. In her latest project, 2023’s Sundial, the rapper discusses the importance of community-building, her dreams of revolution, and the NFL’s ties with the military industrial complex on “namesake.” She also critique’s society’s compliance with capitalistic forces.
I don’t wanna see death no more, let’s fight
They got the devil hidin’ in plain sight
That’s you, that’s me, the whole world is culpable
Why complacency float the boat the most?
Born in Huntsville, Alabama, but raised in Chicago, Mick Jenkins reflects on what it means to exist as a Black person in America. On “What Am I To Do?”, a single released in promotion of his sophomore project, 2018’s Pieces of a Man, he ponders the paradox of suffering at the hands of those expected to “protect and serve.”
What’s a nigga to do?
’Cause I be screaming black they’ll beat me to blue
Put it on TV then tell you what’s true
What’s a nigga to do?
What’s a nigga to do?
When you call the police but the trigger’s on you
The poet-turned-rapper never expresses an aversion to mainstream hip-hop, but in “Different Scales,” a track off the 2020 EP The Circus, he makes it clear that substantiality is necessary when making music. Further, he insists that not everyone who claims to be “woke” truly lives up to the label.
Cutting through the bullshit, my nigga, it’s nothing to shine
It’s nothing to stunt, it’s nothing to rhyme
You elevating minds or you fucking the blind and ducking the smoke?
Sup with the swine but wanna be goat, you really just sheep
You wanna be woke, you really just sleep
A London-born rapper, singer, and actress, Little Simz is not one to sugarcoat—she gets straight to the point. On “Venom,” a track off her 2019 album GREY Area, she speaks on the difficulties of being a woman and maintaining mental health in a patriarchal society. She opens the track by saying:
Life sucks and I never tried suicide
Mind’s fucked even more than I realise
Time’s up, keep it moving when she arrives
If you ever heard what I heard in my mind
She makes it clear that, no matter how good she might be, her womanhood can be weaponized and used to invalidate her artistry.
Fuck those who don’t believe
They will never wanna admit I’m the best here
From the mere fact that I’ve got ovaries
It’s a woman’s world, so to speak
Pussy, you sour
Never givin’ credit where it’s due ’cause you don’t like pussy in power
Known for his experimental style and unique raps, Danny Brown keeps it real and raw. Hailing from Detroit, the rapper has used his music as an outlet for vulnerability, speaking on topics such as the “Downward Spiral” that often accompanies drug addiction and alcoholism.
But on his latest project, Quaranta (2023), he tackles topics such as the current state of hip-hop and how much it’s changed since his debut in 2011. Particularly, he addresses how the music both saved his life and put it in jeopardy on the title track, “Quaranta.” Like many to come before him, he found the lifestyle was not all that it was cracked up to be.
This rap shit done saved my life
And fucked it up at the same time
That pain in my heart, I can’t hide
A lot of trauma inside, you can see it in my eyes
Could’ve ended it in seconds, just time on my side
Show must go on, bought a ticket, take the ride
Songs are life, but a dead dream
Think he made it, everything ain’t what it seems
On “Jenn’s Terrific Vacation,” a track that features Kassa Overall and samples Goodie Mob’s classic “Cell Therapy,” he raps about the predatory nature of gentrification.
Tell me what to do when the block gets slow, and the money get low, but the rent rise up
Nowhere to go when they telling you no when there’s nowhere to go where we gon’ end up
They all looking for a payday
Now it’s no sunshines, and the skies grey
Hip-hop and its accompanying culture is not what it was 50 years ago, but its conscious origins have not disappeared. Even mainstream rappers like Lil Baby, generally known as a trap artist, released the protest anthem “The Bigger Picture” in the wake of George Floyd’s death. On “dark days,” the poignant closing track off his new album american dream, fellow Atlanta (via London) trap star 21 Savage moves away from his usual bleak, violent lyrics and urges teens to love themselves, stay in school, and avoid the street lifestyle that’s claimed too many of his friends. “You can hug that block all night,” he raps, “It ain’t gon’ hug you back.” And Megan Thee Stallion, known for more sexually explicit music, called out the lack of justice for Breonna Taylor in “Shots Fired,” off 2020’s Good News.
Not everyone who speaks on societal issues claims to be a conscious rapper, and artists need not align themselves with the subgenre in order to address topics like racism, the patriarchy, and overall marginalization.
Alongside the aforementioned MCs, contemporary rappers like Jimmy, Avelino, Rapsody, and Saba will continue to cultivate new classics and expose new generations to music that moves the body and stimulates the mind.
