White Rap’s New Flavor: Vanilla Ice

Is Vanilla Ice the future of rap?

“Hey, man, I don’t know about that,” replied the Miami native with the streaked blond hair, the first white rapper to break into the Top 10 album charts since the Beastie Boys in 1986. “I’m not trying to start any white movement. I’m not starting any wave.”

But this normally cocky young man may be underestimating his impact in the copy-cat pop world.

Now that record executives see that there’s a big market for white solo rappers, the chances are we’ll see a lot more of them.

The Beastie Boys’ bratty mixture of punk and rap slightly opened a door for white rappers, but the group lost momentum with its second album, and none of the other white rappers--from the duo 3rd Bass to female rappers Tairrie B and Misa--have come close to the success of Vanilla Ice, whose debut album has sold more than 2 million copies in less than two months.

One key difference between Ice--who refuses to disclose his real name--and the earlier white male rappers is that he deals in a more polite, mainstream style of rap. It’s more like M. C. Hammer than the tough, urban sound of the Beasties and 3rd Bass.

Charles Koppelman--a veteran record-industry power who was instrumental in launching the careers of the pop vocal trio Wilson Phillips and singer-songwriter Tracy Chapman--recognized Ice’s mainstream potential before signing him to the SBK Records label.

“His raps are wholesome and positive, nothing that’s going to upset anybody,” Koppelman, who runs SBK, said in a separate interview. “He’s a handsome kid, a good dancer--the kind of artist that would attract a strong female following.”

But Ice, whose striking good looks have made him a new MTV hero, bristles at the suggestion that he’s just jumping on the rap bandwagon. He said he grew up in a black neighborhood in Miami, and even went to the same high school as 2 Live Crew’s Luther Campbell. Close your eyes and you’d swear you were talking to some guy from the ghetto--complete with speech patterns and the latest street lingo.

“I grew up on the streets,” Ice said proudly, sitting in a West Hollywood hotel room during a business trip. “I hung out with the black kids. They were hip. I wanted to be cool so I hung with the hip people. . . . I’d rap anywhere I could--house parties, clubs, you name it.”

For a while, however, rapping had to compete with Ice’s other interest: motorcycling. In fact, he only turned to rapping full-time after injuries forced him to retire in 1988 from the professional motocross circuit, where bikers race around indoor obstacle courses.

“I’ve broken both my ankles,” he said. “I’ve had surgery three times on the left one. If I hurt it again there’s a chance I couldn’t walk again.”

Ice’s dramatic climb in rap began early this year when he released an album titled “Hooked” on Ultra Records, a small, independent Atlanta label. “Ice Ice Baby”--a sultry track that borrows generously from the old David Bowie/Queen song “Under Pressure”--got enough radio airplay in the Atlanta area that SBK bought the album and Ice’s contract. SBK then released “Ice Ice Baby” as a single and added some additional tracks to the original “Hooked” album to form the present “To the Extreme” collection.

When a white artist becomes a hit in the pop mainstream with what’s essentially a black art form, he’s likely to be accused of ripping off blacks. But so far, Ice said, he hasn’t been the target of any such charges.

“I’m not trying to say I’m something I’m not,” he pointed out. “Black people understand that. I’m just doing my raps, my way. Rap is black. I recognize that and respect that. I’m just a white guy trying to rap and I got lucky.”