A former student sent this guest blog in. This young sister is incredibly talented. Devyn Wray was a brilliant student who wrote powerful essays, and I’ve seen her perform – in my class and at a Black History Month event at Hunter where Susan Taylor spoke. She is truly gifted, and yet she experienced this:
Last summer, I was allowed the opportunity to audition for a new reality show tentatively titled, The Female Rapper Show. With the success of Ego Trip?s White Rapper Show on VH1, it seemed only natural that a follow-up to the series would be looming in the wings somewhere. Luck would have it that I could possibly be a part of the show. I must confess my excitement at being giving the chance to flex my skills as an emcee for all the world to hear. I told everyone: friends, family, customers (I was working at Starbucks at the time), passersby on the street, I mean everyone who knew me knew that I was auditioning for this show.
When the day finally came to audition, I got all gussied up in a nice blouse, jeans and some new Converses. Yes! I was ready to spit hot fire and get on television! The auditions were held in a quaint restaurant in soHo. Upon my arrival, I immediately sized up my competition. There were some women there that looked like they were auditioning for Flavor of Love 3. There were plenty women of color. Most of them were scantily-clad, rocking the newest in stripper gear. Those that didn?t look like they were about to slide down someone?s pole, sported more manly attire i.e. fitted hats, baggy white tees and jeans. There were a few white women and Latinas sprinkled in the mix as well. I took comfort in the fact that I was one of the only ones there that looked like I had something to contribute to Hip-Hop from an artistic and intellectual standpoint.
The casting directors and film crew were screening girls in a booth that had been sectioned off by a mere curtain from the rest of the eatery so everyone could hear the auditions taking place. For the most part, I took great pains to control my laughter and astonishment at how terrible the majority of these ?emcees? were. This is not to say that I think I?m that good. I am confident in my ability but, I am also a fan of good Hip-Hop and I know it when I hear it and the stuff that was coming over that curtain was not it. Now don?t get me wrong. There were a few contenders there. One of which, whose name is Eternia, killed it in her audition. She is a Canadian-based emcee and she auditioned with a beat-boxer that she?d brought along. I was certain that she would make it on the show and after hearing her flow, I began thinking up rhymes in my mind to get at her because she was obviously going to be my fiercest competition.
When finally, at last, my time came to audition, I got behind that curtain, gave my name, age and spit a hot 32 bars. I could tell that I had the casting directors in the palm of my hand. It was of no surprise to me that the following Monday, I was called to come in for a second interview at VH1. Yes! I thought, my time has finally come. Two of the casting directors were Black women. Yes! I thought again, they?re already on my side! I shined in this interview. I told them how I?d just graduated from college with a B.A. in Africana Studies and that I?ve pretty much been rapping since I could write a coherent sentence. I told them how bad it is right now for female emcees since there are no notable names to speak of actually selling records. I went on about how hard it is for females in this industry to gain respect in this male-dominated industry and how it was my mission as an educated Black woman to represent my sisters in the most positive light possible. We discussed the Black female image in the media and how Hip-Hop is at once our political/social voice and the genre that has begun to denigrate us both in videos and in the lyrical content of Black males. We talked about Kim, Foxy, Lauryn, I mean?.it was deep.
I left the office with the firm belief that I would not only be cast but, that I would win and be the champion of Black sisters everywhere waiting for a voice like mine to come and quell the negativity that has dominated Black music since?.well, for quite some time now. Needless to say, I was devastated when I wasn?t cast. Several of my friends said it wasn?t meant to be. ?They only want chickenheads on that show, that?s not a show for you?, my friend Tracey told me. I was beyond consolation. I couldn?t be comforted. I couldn?t understand why I wasn?t chosen. There were Black women who I connected with making casting decisions! I just didn?t get it until?I saw the first show.
I tuned in for the first episode at the behest of my friends. They swore I?d at least be shown for a few seconds during the audition part of the show. Ego Trip?s Miss Rap Supreme has turned out to be one of the most sordid and distasteful reality shows I have ever laid eyes upon. Granted, I have never seen one episode of the show in its entirety but, from what I?ve heard from those few I know that do watch it and from commercials I?ve seen for upcoming episodes, I am so happy that I was not cast for this show. The women that were chosen for this show epitomize all that is wrong with Hip-Hop and the role that women of color play in the industry. There is not one woman on that show that I would trust to represent me as an emcee or as a Black woman. It bothers me that Black women assisted in the casting of a show that seeks to further denigrate the Black female image in Hip-Hop music. What is most troubling about a show like this, hosted by MC Serch and YoYo (who should know better than to even participate in this foolishness), is that people will watch it and think that these are actual examples of what female emcees are.
It is hard enough to gain respect in an industry that doesn?t believe in women having the ability to rhyme and sell records without taking their clothes off, without having a show like this perpetuating the stereotypes that all Black women are lascivious, scantily-clad, drug addicts with dirty weaves and criminal records. Can anyone say nappyheaded hos? Where is Don Imus when you need him? How is this show even allowed to be on television? I can?t begin to articulate my disgust with the producers for allowing this show to make a mockery of my music and my sisters. This is not to say that the women on the show are not as much to blame for their reckless behavior as VH1. However, I find it very hard to believe that VH1 and the makers of Miss Rap Supreme didn?t know what they were trying to accomplish when they chose the women they chose to represent what females in Hip-Hop are supposed to look, sound and act like.
In conclusion, I just wanted to use this space to thank my friends and family for loving me and understanding what it is that I hope to achieve as an emcee and writer. I love Hip-Hop for what it was and for what I know that it can be. I see now that the first step in overcoming the way that we are viewed as people of color in the media is to first take a step back and look at ourselves. All the Black women I know are beautiful and smart and strong. All the female emcees I know are lyrically gifted and have strong intellectual voices that come through their music in creative ways. It is a travesty that VH1 chose not to depict us in that light.
Devynity
Emcee.poet.
www.devynity.com
www.myspace.com/devynitythemc
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I applaud her. I wish there were more people (not just young women, black women, black people…plain people) like her. But what did she expect? These shows are not about reality. They are about “sordid” entertainment. Escapist garbage, feeding stereotypes. In other words–ratings on the cheap. A carnival, in other words, full of freaks.
As for talent, how many American Idol winners truly have REAL careers now? Why not? Because the show’s about ratings and demos and commercials, that’s why. Not cherrypicking the best folks.
Nevertheless, stories like this help the rest of us grow the balls to say: “No, we aren’t haters. We just think TV can do better, and BLACK FOLKS can do better. Whatever happened to shame?”
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What in the hell were you doing trying to get on TV in the first place, given the state it’s in? Any reality show is guaranteed vaudeville. Though I applaud your dreams, Devynity, you need to have much higher standards. The problem from the start is being so bent on celebrity (i.e., telling EVERYONE about the audition w/out a casting guarantee) and being on the screen. That’s why so many of who you speak of are willing to make such asses of themselves. We’re shopping around our talent in the wrong places, chasing pipe dreams, including in the literary industry. Tila Tequila, Miss Rap Supreme, etc. Even celebrities are throwing up their families onscreen for the extra cash. This culture’s going down the toilet unless we start creating our own venues…and tempering our astronomical egos.
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As a woman who also shares an affinity for hip-hop and believes in its power to motivate, educate, and empower, I definitely feel this sister’s pain at wanting hip-hop, as seen on television, etc., to represent her differently.
Call it hope. Idealism. But I can’t fault her for wanting to see change within the very engine/machine that is working against her art, her person, and her sanity.
Many womenhiphoppers have a similar moment of clarity (which usually is as heartbreaking) when we realize that the hip-hop industry really ain’t built for us. We realize that no matter how dope we are, the industry may never hear us. May never represent us. May never respect us despite our demands. Despite our campaigns. And while this reality is frustrating, maddening, upsetting, you gotta move on.
This isn’t to say that you stop fighting the machine. No. You continue to fight. You continue to raise your voice. But your strategy changes. You concentrate on being focused so you can move crowds, go into schools and tell youngsters how hip-hop really got started, show educators how they can harness the power of hip-hop for good or represent your *true* hip-hop. You focus on being the hip-hop you want to see. You focus on being the black woman you don’t see on television, the one you want others to know. You focus on bettering your community. You don’t give up on you. You don’t give up on your belief in hip-hop. You begin to eradicate the effects of the machine.
You remain sane. You rock, rock on.
Felicia Pride, author of The Message: 100 Life Lessons From Hip-Hop’s Greatest Songs
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I want to thank everyone for reading and responding to what I had to say. I just wanted to address some of the criticisms. Yes, I may have been naïve in believing that I would be cast on the show simply because of my talent, however, I think that my being appalled at how Black women are depicted on television is valid. I am more upset with the fact that the show is out there portraying female emcees as caricatures of what we really are rather than significant contributors to the art form than not being cast. Of course, being an artist that wants to get out there, being on television is ideal. Some of the responses I have read, both on this blog and a few others, make it seem as if it is easy to get on television or have your song played on the radio and that I was merely hungry for celebrity when that is not the case either way. I have been performing since I was 13 and in every meeting that I?ve had with anyone in the industry pertaining to my career was first and foremost about my appearance as opposed to what I had to offer creatively. I am not upset about not being on the show. I am upset that it is okay for a show like this to be on television. Everyone keeps saying, ?what did you expect, it?s VH1? and ?it?s the nature of the machine?. Well if we know that, then what are we doing about it? We?ve become to accustomed to how it is we are portrayed in the media.
I have friends that couldn?t wait to get home to watch the season finale of Flavor of Love 3. Why? What does that show do for you that you just have to go home and watch it? We?re contributing to the problem. No, I haven?t watched a full episode of Miss Rap Supreme. I don?t watch BET. Nor do I watch Flavor of Love or any other show that depicts Black women as money-grubbing, ignorant s**** because I can?t bear it. You can argue that it is entertaining but, I don?t find any amusement in that. If there were at least 1 or 2 sisters on the show making a positive statement lyrically, I would be okay with the show but, there aren?t. You can be a talented emcee and still not say anything. There are several Black men making a lot of money for not saying anything. That is a problem. Once upon a time, emcees were rewarded for their intelligence. Smart rappers were sought out and we loved them. I may?ve been a bit harsh in citing Don Imus in regards to the women on the show but, like Dave Chappelle said, ?you may not be a h* but, you sure are wearing a h*?s uniform? and that?s as real as it gets. If we know that these shows feed on ratings and we know that we are poorly represented on these shows, why do we continue to watch them? I took a class on Malcolm X while working toward my degree at Hunter and there was a student there from Oregon. She was white and she shared with the class that there were no Black people where she was from. She told us that the only real knowledge she had of Black people came from shows she watched on Comedy Central and MTV/VH1. If the only knowledge I had about Black women came from shows like Flavor of Love and Miss Rap Supreme, what would I think Black women were? Just a thought. Thanks again.
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Thanks for your comment, Seve. I know you are one Gen Y-er who knows what’s going on in Hip Hop today, and your insight is right on time.