10 QUESTIONS : Queen Latifah

Q ueen Latifah has been proclaimed the monarch of female rap ever since the 1989 release of her first album, “ All Hail the Queen, “ which some consider a feminist manifesto.

Selling nearly 500,000 copies primarily to rap’s hard-core audience, it has been one of the most influential rap collections of recent years and inspired many women to try rap. Latifah’s new album, “ Nature of a Sista ‘ , “ may extend her popularity into the pop mainstream (see review on Page 76).

Born Dana Owens in a working-class, East Orange, N.J., neighborhood, Latifah, 21, started rapping in her mid-teens. Tommy Boy Records, impressed by her demo recordings and anticipating the female rap boom triggered by the success of Salt-n-Pepa, signed her in 1988.

A Muslim cousin nicknamed her Latifah, which means delicate and sensitive in Arabic, when she was a youngster. Adding Queen at the beginning of her rap career was her idea--a proud acknowledgment that many blacks are descended from African royalty. Tall and imposing, Latifah indeed has a regal bearing.

She’s more than a rapper. Many fans regard her as a philosophical and political leader, delivering a message that’s spiritual and uplifting--especially to black women. Her provocative, street-savvy raps--like the sassy “Ladies First”--rail against sexism and encourage women to act and think for themselves. (Latifah will be opening for Ziggy Marley at the Greek Theatre Sept. 18 and 19, the Santa Barbara Bowl Sept. 20, San Diego’s Open Air Theatre Sept. 21 and Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre Sept. 22.)

Articulate and outspoken, Latifah aired her very pointed views on a wide range of rap-related issues and some social and political subjects.

Question: You’re considered a leader--both by the rap community and young black women. Are you comfortable with that?

Answer: Yes and no. Being considered a leader can be a hassle. Some people put you on a pedestal and don’t let you be human. It’s like they see themselves in you--they see their best self in you and they expect perfection from their best self. When you’re in that position, you want to live up to it. You don’t want to slip or do the wrong thing. You’re forced into feeling you should be perfect. That’s not a comfortable thing.

But on the other hand, the power of that position feels good. It’s a great feeling to know that people listen to you--that what you say makes a difference to them. But like I said, a burden comes along with that power. It’s not quite that bad for me because I’m basically a good person. But I’m no saint. I can slip--just like anybody else.

Q: Given this leadership role, why do you seem to avoid addressing political issues specifically?

A: I make an effort to keep politics out of my music because rap is music, not school. Rap should be fun for the most part. I don’t mind speaking my mind--at certain times--but I don’t want to get overbearing and come on like a teacher. I’ll put a line in here and there with a political point, but I’m not going to do a whole album like that--or whole songs like that. That’s bad business and I am really into the business aspect of things. Kids listen to music to get away from all that preaching and people telling them what to do.

Q: If you ever decided to get into political rap, what topics would you deal with?

A: I’d rap about some of the serious problems kids today are facing--particularly young black kids, because they don’t have enough people looking out for their interests. There’s that critical problem of teen-age pregnancy. Kids need to be given condoms to cut down on the pregnancies. Women are in danger of losing their right to abortion--which is a horrible shame. That’s really going to hurt black women in particular. Also, I think many parents--far too many black parents--are irresponsible. They don’t teach their kids, don’t provide the proper guidance. I could talk for hours about political issues I’d rap about.

But that brings up another point. How do you rap about these issues and make it rhyme and make it clever and interesting and musical? If I ever figure that out, maybe then I’ll get into political rap.

Q: What’s the origin of your Afrocentric image?

A: Being Afrocentric and proud of my heritage, that’s something I grew up with. My mother always taught me that. When I started rapping, I wanted to make it part of my image. In the beginning, they gave me money to go shopping for clothes for promotion pictures. Back then, rappers were wearing sweat suits and sneakers and gold chains. That wasn’t me. I wanted something that was dignified. I went to this store and bought an African-style outfit. At the time rap didn’t have that much dignity. So I figured it was up to me to provide a little.

Q: What first turned you on about rap?

A: I was attracted to the sound and the content and the freedom of rap. To me, it’s like a free art form. It flows--it’s smooth. It can be anything you want it to be--harsh, bitter, funny, you name it. I used to write poetry when I was younger. Rap was just reciting my poetry to music. Just doing that intrigued me. There weren’t that many boundaries to rap when I started. That was a big attraction too.

I never learned how to rap, I just did it. Rap is confidence and timing and a smooth delivery. You have to sound confident and you have to rap on time and don’t fall off the beat--just keep with it. Salt-n-Pepa were a great inspiration to me. I was thinking that if they can do it, so can I.

Q: We hear a lot about how difficult it is fighting sexism in the male-dominated rap world. How tough is it?

A: What sexism? That’s a misconception propagated by the media. I didn’t have one door slammed in my face because I was a woman. That’s something that was propagated by the media because they figured sexism had to be the reason women didn’t make it big in rap until a few years ago.

But the only reason record companies weren’t signing many female rappers four or five years ago is because they didn’t think they were commercial. All one act had to do is show them that female rappers were commercial--which is what Salt-n-Pepa proved--and they’ve been signing female rappers ever since. People forget that this is a business first and foremost. These companies are trying to make money. Even if the executives hated women, they wouldn’t let something like that stand in the way of making money.

Q: To “gangsta” rappers like Ice Cube and N.W.A, women are playthings and connivers. That must make you mad.

A: It does. As far as women being referred to as “bitches” and “whores,” that’s crap. I’m sick of hearing that. They may say they’re talking only about certain women but I don’t buy that. They don’t stop to think about the women they’re offending. For many of the rappers, it’s a state of mind, something they grew up with. These guys have that negative streak in them regarding women. That’s why they say those nasty, vicious things. Even nice guys, like Ice Cube, seem to have that streak. I wish he--and the rest of them--would take care of that problem.

Q: Does anything the gangsta rappers have to say appeal to you?

A: Yes. A lot of what these guys are saying needs to be heard. They’re necessary. They’re bringing reality--the reality of the black culture--to a lot of people, pointing out things and exposing things that might be ignored otherwise. Cops do beat up on people and that needs to be exposed. And in the case of N.W.A, I like their music and their hooks. In spite of what I hate about N.W.A, I hate censorship more. So I have to defend their right to say these things--even things I don’t like.

Q: Considering your wholesome image, do you object to the kind of vulgar raps that some female rappers, like Bytches With Problems and Hoes’ Wit’ Attitude, have been doing?

A: I’m not going to come down on women for cussing because I do it too--but not on records. Now Hoes’ Wit’ Attitude, I have no use for them. To get by with a name that nasty and offensive, you have to be absolutely great musically. But these women don’t impress me at all. If you’re just nasty, and you aren’t making any kind of important statement, then you’re useless.

But (Bytches With Problems), that’s different. I like some of what BWP does. That one song, “Comin’ Back Strapped,” where some guy is beating up this woman and she comes back with a gun and blows him away--I like that. I tend toward the subtle, let’s talk-it-out way of doing things, but sometimes direct action--abrupt and nasty--is the best way.

You see, people forget that in poor black neighborhoods, there are a lot of women who are being mistreated by men. BWP is just saying “Stand up for yourself and don’t be bullied by any man.” I just have some problems with the vulgar way they say certain things.

Q: How about pop-rap--the kind done by artists like DJ Jazzy Jeff and M.C. Hammer. Is that good for rap overall?

A: I think pop-rap is a danger, in one sense, to all rap. By its nature, it’s very watered down. It’s not good for rap to be watered down. Its very essence--its blackness--is lost. A lot of good records don’t get played because they’re not pop enough--meaning they’re not danceable or not soft enough. But rap comes from black people--many of whom are angry and frustrated. Some of the best rap is the angry, frustrated stuff that doesn’t fit the pop mold.

I don’t listen to much pop-rap. Most of it doesn’t have enough substance for me. But if too much of it gets in the mainstream and everybody starts rapping, the black roots of rap will be slowly forgotten and rap may turn into just another bland form of music. I know this is a business and things are done for business reasons--and that’s hard to argue with-- but I’d hate to see such a vital, Afro-American art form go down the drain just so some people can make some money.