Beastie Boys, Cool J Are Still Bragging

Why do so many rap records treat women with such little respect?

Whether the record’s tone is as light-hearted and cartoonish as “Girls Ain’t Nothing but Trouble” by DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince or as smugly sinister as Slick Rick’s “Treat Her Like a Prostitute,” the message remains the same: Women are good for sex and little else.

It’s a view rap’s very language seems to bear out. After all, these guys aren’t rapping about women, but “girlies,” “freaks,” “bitches,” and “ ‘ho’s.”

To some degree, such sexism can be seen as simply an extension of rap’s exaggeratedly male world view--one in which braggadoccio is equated with power and potency. From this perspective, a rapper’s worth is measured by the money he can spend and the women he can have; as N.W.A.’s Ice Cube puts it in “Gangsta Gangsta”: “Life ain’t nothin’ but bitches and money.”

Not that it’s always expressed so blatantly, of course. L. L. Cool J, for instance, is quite subtle about the sexual power plays he recounts through his new album, “Walking With a Panther.” Likewise, the densely layered sound of the Beastie Boys’ “Paul’s Boutique” often makes the group’s sound seem to overshadow its sexual politics.

But then, L.L. Cool J isn’t playing by the same rules as other rappers. Whereas once he was the loudest of the loud, brashly describing DJ decimations in the likes of “Rock the Bells” or “I’m Bad,” Cool J has since developed a delivery that manages to seem just as menacing while barely rising above a whisper.

As he quietly one-ups the macho-man stereotype in “I’m That Type of Guy,” Cool J makes plain that talking softly by no means reflects on manhood. If anything, the braying belligerence of the other “type of guy” is what makes Cool J seem so cool.

Yet even with the change in tactics, “I’m That Type of Guy” still ends up fighting the same battle. Never mind that Cool J boasts about pleasing the women he sneaks around with; what matters most in this rap is that the women “belong” to another man. Consequently, they’re incidental to the action, because the sexcapades are more about the rivalry between two men than the relationship between a man and a woman.

Even when he does talk about those relationships, it’s in such idealized language that there barely seem to be people involved. (Not that this is especially unusual. Freud rather adroitly described this mindset as the madonna-whore syndrome.)

That may be why Cool J swings unexpectedly from the lovey-dovey sentimentality of “You’re My Heart” and “One Shot at Love” to the vicious violence of “Fast Peg” without providing a middle ground. If anything, the romantic warmth of the first two raps makes it all the more chilling to hear him gloat over the execution of the gangster’s moll in “Fast Peg,” as if he felt she was being punished for being so beautiful.

No wonder there’s not much room for women in Cool J’s world. Sure, he likes the ladies--the entire premise of “Big Ol’ Butt” is that the poor guy can’t manage a monogamous relationship because, gosh, he’s just a victim of his own hormones--but only to the extent that they meet his needs.

The fair sex doesn’t fare much better in “Paul’s Boutique,” the new Beastie Boys album.

As before, these three bad boys revel in relating their scams and shenanigans, but somehow, what the Beasties have done seems to matter less than how they talk about it. Although the raps unabashedly boast of sexual conquest--in “Hey Ladies,” the trio actually appears to be under the impression that bragging will ultimately bring them more eager young recruits--their sexual adventurism is just another thread in the fabric of the album’s picaresque narrative.

What makes this arrant sexism all the more appalling is that it stands to undo a lot of the good rap has managed for contemporary African-American culture. Thanks to rappers such as Public Enemy, Boogie Down Productions, Stetsasonic and the Stop the Violence movement, this music has been a significant source of black pride, reinforcing the importance of African-American culture and helping to foster a strong sense of self-worth in young listeners.

Unfortunately, not everyone has undertaken this cause. For every uplifting album such as Boogie Down Production’s “Ghetto Music: The Blueprint of Hip Hop,” there is one like Schoolly D’s “Am I Black Enough for You,” which uses black-power sloganeering as an excuse for the same sort of power games phallocentric rappers have been playing since the beginning.