No Gangs. No Guns. No Sale?

The Black Eyed Peas are huddled around a low table overflowing with pizza and soggy Japanese take-out, but at the moment the Los Angeles rap trio is gnawing instead on a frustrating and familiar challenge: Why do even the lamest hard-core rap acts seem to sell more albums than hip-hop artists who resist violent cliches?

The group’s leader, Will I Am, finally hits on a metaphor. “Nobody likes to eat peas,” he practically shouts. “Nobody wants to eat something that’s good for them. They want the sugar, they want the stuff that’s going to rot out their teeth. Our music is like vegetables.”

He laughs, shrugs, then adds, in a slightly more serious tone, “There’s something wrong with humans. They want some s--- that ain’t going to benefit nothing.”

The Black Eyed Peas are part of a wave of music that, if put into a box, might be labeled “positive rap,” and includes artists such as Jurassic 5, Common, the Roots, Mos Def, Slum Village and Dilated Peoples. All receive critical acclaim, but none has come close to rivaling the stardom or sales of top hard-core rappers. The last Puff Daddy album, considered a flop, has sold 1.4 million copies, while none of these artists has been able to even come close to the platinum level of 1 million.

“I’m not mad that gangsta sells that much,” Will says. “Hey, I’m glad hip-hop is selling. I’m not mad at [those artists], but I am mad at corporations, the record companies. Those are the people that are limiting hip-hop’s diversity with just one form of music.”

In the rap world, radio stations, record companies and fans devote the lion’s share of their money, time and attention to “gun-totin’, bling-bling, gangsta, street-life stuff,” as Will puts it. In the pantheon of the genre’s superstars, the biggest names--2pac, Dr. Dre, Ice Cube, the Notorious B.I.G., Snoop Dogg, Nas and now Eminem--all put out music steeped in violence and death, anger and insult.

“There’s obviously a level at which the rebellion and the rage is what people hear and react to at a really visceral level,” says Alan Light, editor in chief of Spin magazine. “That’s still one of the appeals of rock ‘n’ roll and much of the reason that hip-hop stole a lot of the energy and momentum from rock ‘n’ roll in the last decade. That thrill, that danger. I don’t think there’s any way around that.”

Hip-hop is beginning its third decade as a pop music force, and as a whole it remains a wide-ranging, colorful landscape of musical strains and styles. But the dominant commercial peak on that landscape is hard-core rap, and it casts a long shadow. “It’s not easy in the valley,” says the Chicago rapper Common. “But I think it will get better.”

There is cause for his optimism.

The huge success of Lauryn Hill’s “The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill,” a 1998 album that has sold 5.9 million copies and won four Grammys, showed that a humanistic, soulful brand of hip-hop can ascend to the heights of pop. That built on the similar success Hill had with the Fugees and the solo accomplishments of another alumnus of the group, Wyclef Jean. Hill’s success seems to dovetail with the careers of Erykah Badu and Macy Gray, R&B-leaning; artists who have stirred uplifting hip-hop into their soul food mix.

Others, though, say that hard-core rap has become just that--the hard core of the rap world, so solid, entrenched and lucrative that other factions of the genre struggle to be seen as anything more than novelties or niche, boutique acts.

“I embrace all aspects of hip-hop,” says Fred Jordan, producer of “DFX,” MTV’s hip-hop show. “Any inroad created by the music creates more opportunity for others. I view it as trying to reach the masses more. But after awhile, you would think that fans want an alternative from ‘I have my gun, I have my car, I have my gold,’ whatever.”

That said, Jordan still praises hard-core rappers for bringing to light the realities of inner-city life. He is enthused especially by the success of OutKast and Mos Def, acts that deliver eclectic, intelligent hybrids of hip-hop without losing the gritty, street edge. Jordan was hopeful that OutKast’s strong sales might signal an openness among fans that would help De La Soul, a veteran act that offers vivid but nonviolent hip-hop, with its acclaimed comeback album last year.

“I was totally expecting it to be through the roof,” Jordan says glumly. “I finally thought that music had caught up to them, but they were also still ahead of the curve. But once again we see that it didn’t translate to commercial success.”

Jimmy Iovine, chief of Interscope Records, has seen his company sell millions of albums with hard-core acts such as 2pac, Dre and Eminem. Now his company is trying to break Jurassic 5 and Black Eyed Peas, but Iovine says that with audiences used to the glitter and grit of hard-core, the positive rappers have an extra challenge: Without the familiar imagery or shock-value aspects on their side, they must more than match the music of their gangsta rivals.

“Their songs have to be so much better, they really do,” Iovine says. “They have to do better just to get through.”

*

There is irony, perhaps, in the fact that two leading lights in the positive rap movement--Jurassic 5 and the Black Eyed Peas--hail from the same Los Angeles neighborhoods that famously served as ground zero for West Coast gangsta rap. How strange is it that this new California love comes from the crib of hard-core?

“I think that’s dope,” says a laughing Chali 2na of Jurassic 5. “If you believe in cause and effect, then you know. When you push, something is going to push back. Everything travels in that circle. You had positive hip-hop back in the day--it rose in the East and now it’s setting in the West. . . . Street rap wasn’t the central part when it started and it won’t be the center later. Hip-hop is like the seasons, and the seasons change.”

Hip-hop originally sprang from the sidewalks of New York City as dance music, with DJs creating sonic collages with their turntables and MCs speed-rhyming to create a new chapter in the long oral-history tradition of the African American community--rapping. This new music meshed with break-dancing and graffiti to create the subculture known as hip-hop.

The early music was often fun, but tracks such as 1982’s “The Message” by Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five hinted that street-life parables and cautionary glimpses of crime and drugs would mix in among the party beats. Pioneering rap act Run-DMC brought inner-city images and morality plays to songs such as “Hard Times” and “It’s Like That,” and Philadelphia rhymer Schoolly D’s work brought in a tough-guy braggadocio. Public Enemy’s sound and political messages were a major jolt. Then the music went West: Compton’s N.W.A, above all, created the lexicon of the hard-core music that would be labeled gangsta rap.

“N.W.A created a blueprint for how you make and sell gangsta music,” says Will I Am of the Peas. “They started a whirlpool. Now, to a marketing person, it’s the easiest thing. It’s like making a violent movie--we just need a couple of explosions, shoot a bunch of guys, put in a chase scene, a sex scene. . . . It’s dumb but people are entertained by it. Explosions. It’s the same thing with music. Say something about somebody else, cuss, talk about guns.”

There have been notable exceptions to the “only violent rap sells” axiom. Hammer and Will Smith sold millions of albums with pop-leaning, sometimes cartoonish rap, but the former was widely scorned by the hip-hop community and the latter grappled with music credibility issues as film became his focus. The Beastie Boys too are a major hip-hop force, and, with the exception of some satirical mayhem in their early work, they have done so with nonviolent lyrics. But the best-selling rap albums of 2000--discs by Eminem, Nelly, Dr. Dre and DMX--owe far more to the N.W.A tradition.

While the music of N.W.A was also harsh, graphic and violent, it is viewed as a watershed moment for its commentary on the realities of inner-city life. Now, though, artists such as Jurassic 5’s 2na wonder if that purposeful and important element remains intact in much of today’s best-selling hard-core works. Much of it, he says, seems to merely aggrandize money, guns, sex and gangs.

“We put out music that doesn’t display these things, that doesn’t glorify violence or sex or misogyny,” 2na says. “We aren’t those people. So it does disturb me. N.W.A were exposing situations in the neighborhood that nobody knew about, that’s one thing. . . . But now, I don’t know. Take Jay-Z, that cat is amazing on the mike, but what he’s saying, I’m not agreeing with. I had to try to run from shots to escape that s---. I don’t agree, but I do respect him as an artist.”

2na is a parent now and he worries about the way his 8-year-old son processes the images and messages of hard-core (“He’s a tape recorder; he hears it, he knows it”), but he feels strongly that all areas of hip-hop must be protected. He says this music, more than any other today, reflects the troubles and hopes of a community that is defined not so much by skin color, as by spirit and life situation. “It brings negativity to light, yes, but hip-hop is also the nightly news for the inner city.”

But then, a few heartbeats later, he searches for a way to describe the dominant theme in best-selling hip-hop, the celebration of thug life delivered with an enticing backbeat that has mesmerized young fans from all walks of life. He finally settles on calling it “that thing, that monster that exists right now.”

*

It seems fitting that Jurassic 5, an act that has been showered with critical praise for its craft and humanistic themes, got its start at a club called the Good Life, a fountainhead for L.A. underground rap talent in the early 1990s. There is irony, however, in the earliest inspiration for this high-minded group: fury and bitter envy.

“We couldn’t get a record deal because of all that gangsta rap s--- that was popping, that’s all anybody wanted to hear,” 2na recalls with a chuckle. “Our themes varied, but because of that it was all mostly anger at those gangsta cats. We couldn’t get a chance because of them. We were a misfit club going against the grain. And we were mad.”

2na says he’s not mad anymore, but it would be hard to blame him if he retained some rage. His group’s first full-length album, “Quality Control,” earned glowing reviews upon its release last year and the group’s concerts have a building buzz as one of the hot tickets in live rap.

But seven months after its release, “Quality Control” has fallen out of the Top 200 and sold only 271,000 copies. Hard-core stars such as Jay-Z routinely top that total in less than a week. And even hard-core albums that were panned by critics and viewed as commercial flops--such as the most recent albums from Puff Daddy or Lil’ Kim--have easily outpaced “Quality Control.”

2na, a spiritual man, says that merely shows the work that lies ahead. “Rome wasn’t built in a day. The change will not be drastic. It’s not going to be a quick right turn.”

One of the challenges facing positive rap is commercial radio. In this age of conglomeration and bottom-line pressures in the radio industry, the playlists around the country show less and less of the regional variation that helped push new music in the past.

MCA Records President Jay Boberg says it was an uphill battle to get radio attention for the Roots and Common, the two acts in this movement that have enjoyed the most success on the airwaves.

“It was very, very tough,” Boberg says. “These were acts that were perceived [by radio programmers] to be underground and street, and they were really hesitant. They didn’t feel that the groups meant anything to their audience.”

Eventually, some stations took a chance on the Roots’ “You Got Me” and it clicked, becoming a modest radio hit and “the first song from this evolving genre that had really had a commercial radio breakthrough, Boberg says. Common’s “The Light” built on that success and Boberg hopes this new strain of hip-hop will be a challenging music that finds a mainstream audience in the way alternative rock did after beginning as an underground current in the 1980s.

“I remember when we signed R.E.M. [to IRS Records], people within my own company thought, ‘This guy can’t sing, you can’t understand a word he says,’ ” Boberg recalled. “Three or fouryears later, everybody wanted to be like R.E.M. and this is the same thing. I believe that. Mos Def and Common and the Roots are clearly leaders. We’ve staked a fairly strong commercial post in the ground here on the belief that in a few more years this will be bigger.”

If it does take off, does that signal fan fatigue with the themes of hard-core? Not necessarily, Boberg says, noting that pop music is “a river, not a lake,” an evolving art with constant movement among genres that aren’t always interrelated.

“I don’t think I’d put it on anything else being old or not good . . . this is just the evolution, and our goal is to be at the front of that evolution,” Boberg says. “But it’s not necessarily the most commercially viable place to be.”

The Roots have sold 749,000 copies of their most recent album, “Things Fall Apart,” while Common’s last disc, “Like Water for Chocolate,” has topped 635,000 copies--making them the most successful discs in this new movement, which Boberg calls “musical, conscious hip-hop.” Those totals are solid but not spectacular, and on their own they’re not enough to change the minds of radio programmers.

Despite MCA’s commitment, Will from Black Eyed Peas says most record companies have also stacked the deck against acts that try to stray from the genre’s hard-core mainstream.

Does that anger extend to Interscope Records, a label that signed Jurassic 5 and the Peas but also has a long history of success with and devotion to the gangsta rap arena? “Yeah, I’m frustrated with them too. It’s like that with everybody--you get lazy. You don’t want to take risks with other things.”

In the new Santa Monica offices of Interscope, Iovine is wearing his trademark low-slung cap and sipping hot tea, and his head is bobbing as he watches the new Black Eyed Peas video, “Request Line.” He’s clearly pleased with the finished product, which features guest Macy Gray, a catchy hook and a translucent, futuristic set splashed with a 1970s funk look.

“A lot of this music you’re talking about feels like 1970s soul music with Marvin Gaye or Curtis Mayfield, and there’s always plenty of room in my library for that,” Iovine says.

The executive acknowledges that the music industry often displays a herd mentality--”People bang stuff to death if it makes money”--and that has made hard-core the single sensation in hip-hop in recent years. But he says labels’ investments in this crop of positive rap is a signal that interest is percolating in a new sound with an old-school flavor.

The record industry probably wouldn’t mind making money with rap acts that have the humanistic vibe of, say, a Mayfield or Stevie Wonder. That might help in the face of the ongoing barrage of criticism from politicians, activists and others who view hard-core rap’s language and imagery as poisonous to young minds.

Iovine’s history with controversial acts--led by Eminem and Marilyn Manson--makes him no stranger to the culture wars, but he says his belief in Black Eyed Peas and Jurassic 5 has nothing to do with that.

“We try to get the best people doing the best stuff, no matter what it is,” he says, adding that artistic expression is too important and ephemeral to catalog and tuck into conceptual boxes.

Money, at the end of the day, is the north for the music industry’s compass, and it will take album sales and concert sell-outs to influence the direction of rap music. Critical acclaim and upbeat publicity are nice, but hits are the business.

“It takes a great song to make it happen,” Iovine says. He cites “Ain’t Nothing but a G-Thang,” the Dr. Dre-Snoop Dogg song that became one of the most celebrated singles of the 1990s and launched a new wave of rap stars and sensibility. “It takes a nuclear missile like that to break a new thing.”

Light, the Spin editor, says that mood and angst play a part in the changing winds of the pop music scene as well. Hard-core rap--along with rap-rock, the aggro sensation in the rock arena--suggests America’s youth may be more interested in rage than grooves at the moment.

“I think hip-hop has been a diverse community for years and years now,” says Light, who was also editor of the book “The Vibe History of Hip-Hop.” “The party music and the more progressive social commentary wing has never gone away. It waxes and wanes a bit, but it’s also always been part of what’s out there in hip-hop.”

The underground acts in hip-hop--like those in rock--also must balance their artistic and commercial priorities when they decide to compete in the mainstream. Black Eyed Peas members roll their eyes and acknowledge they have lost “backpack rap” fans, the bohemians and purists who scoff at anything that seems aimed at a wider audience.

The Dilated Peoples, after a decade as an independent, underground act, put out their first major-label disc, “The Platform,” last year. Evidence, one-third of the group, says Dilated’s music is still beholden to the high-minded themes of its underground roots, which has made it unsettling and uncertain competing in a marketplace geared toward a very different type of rap.

“We’re not going through the mainstream channels or getting played via TV or radio--that’s OK,” Evidence says. “That’s how we came up, so our view of success is very different. Our music has never been measured by sales . . . but we entered the major-league game. We could have stayed in our bedrooms making music for ourselves forever. And coming into the business, the business is selling records. We realize this, so there is a catch there.”

Dilated Peoples opted to take their music down a different avenue because of the building scene they sense in hip-hop. Evidence points to Jurassic 5, Black Eyed Peas and others in the same sonic neighborhood. “These are groups that are making it to the mainstream, and there are 100 groups in L.A. right now that are just where we were two years ago, hungry and ready for the next step,” he says. “For the light we’re getting, there’s five that are going to get the light next year.”

Surprisingly, Evidence loves listening to hip-hop radio stations that don’t play his music. The crisp, textured production of the most commercial music is so dazzling to his studio ear that the banal topics slide right by. When the money and expertise get behind underground acts, they will be able to match that alluring, top-flight sound. “It’s not just having a great thought, you have to learn to sing a great thought,” he says. “And to not have a dirty drumbeat, but have that drumbeat stand out, like the big cats. I want to make my music, but I want it to match Dre, Timbaland, whoever.

*

One of the more intriguing elements of hard-core rap’s success story has been the mind-set of the fans who consume the music. According to an oft-cited statistic, as many as 75% of rap albums are bought by young white males, most of them suburban. That number has been contested by some and dismissed by others as a product of the nation’s demographic and economic realities (most kids are white and their families account for the most disposable income), but it is a topic that weighs on the minds of the positive rappers, who long for a larger audience but ponder what that audience finds in the music it embraces.

“I don’t understand it,” Common says. “I think it may be that [hard-core] is an escape for them. It gives them a fantasy of a dangerous world. It gives them something they find exciting, and maybe it scares their parents and they like that.”

Will from the Peas says the hip-hop revolution is just a musical reflection of an America becoming increasingly unified in its culture. “The suburbs are becoming urbanized, and urban doesn’t mean black anymore, it means Latino, it means poor white folks, it means some Asian people. . . . The music is a bridge,” he says, giving a nod to the Peas’ new album, “Bridging the Gap.”

Hip-hop is powerful enough to build those bridges, says 2na, and that power must be taken seriously. It’s wasted if hard-core rap forgets its roots in commentary and becomes merely a shallow celebration of the ills of society. When you’re trying to stay positive, that’s a tough thing to watch happen.

“It almost seems like you have to be slightly wicked in some fashion to succeed in this society,” 2na says. “It’s sad. It never seems like the good guy wins. But I’m here to try to do what I can to remedy that. Hopefully, somebody will listen.” *

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A Guide to Some Posses of Positivity

BLACK EYED PEAS: The L.A. trio celebrates hip-hop’s heritage. The three break-dance, boast nonstop of their rhyming prowess and delight in clever wordplay. “I know I’m not the only one that’s filling the void/Creatively hip-hop is being destroyed/A lot of rappers really need to be unemployed/because the topics that them talk about has got me annoyed.”

COMMON: The Chicago rapper loves old-school R&B; grooves, and while he doesn’t shy away from raunch or tough-guy talk, Common’s music has humor, uplifting messages and disdain for thug imagery--especially from bandwagon-jumpers: “You wasn’t saying you was a thug before Pac came/Ten years ago you had a high top trying to be like Kane/Then Snoop released and it became a ‘G Thang.’ ”

DILATED PEOPLES: With layered effects and turntable wizardry, the L.A.-based trio peppers songs with pop-culture references and--nodding to hip-hop tradition--considerable boasting about its skills. Rhymes often visit social and spiritual topics. “Revolution is a cycle to turn, vital to learn/Next time other neighborhoods are liable to burn.”

JURASSIC 5: Spiritual and steeped in old-school hip-hop, Jurassic 5 is like a nonviolent army with an arsenal of vocal tricks and twists. “We are no superstars/who wanna be large and forget who we are/Don’t judge us by bank accounts and big cars/No matter how bright we shine we’re far from being stars.”