The Hippest Trip in America (16 page)

Over the last decade, our country has invested almost nothing toward creating the kinds of opportunity which would allow such citizens to eventually better their lives, their surroundings and ultimately their futures as Americans. I tend to wonder if we shouldn't be far more concerned about eliminating poverty, violence, despair and hopelessness from low income African-American communities than about eliminating Gangsta Rap. In spite of its many critics and detractors, rap music has, indeed, been very effective and in some ways a Godsend in providing entertainment relief and in many cases economic relief to a largely forgotten community. On the other hand, it goes without saying that anyone who sells any form of entertainment which is either anti-social or illegal in nature and cannot be indulged in except behind closed doors, is engaged in what could be defined as pandering. This same standard should also apply regarding hard core or Gangsta Rap.

Therefore, any recording artist or record label who creates or sells any record which is anti-social, profane, violent or sexually explicit in nature to such a degree that it cannot be listened to in public without offending others or cannot be listened to by youthful fans of such music in the presence of an adult authority figure, in a certain sense, is also engaged in pandering. I recently heard a well known Gangsta rapper explain his philosophy during a TV interview. He said, “I make music for poor people and there are far more poor people than rich people! So, as long as I satisfy poor people, I'll always have a job!”

I viewed this explanation as quite intelligent and well thought out; but clearly a case of pandering to the naivete of youthful record buyers who are intrigued by anti-social commentary. At this time I am not prepared to say which is more perverse between pandering by certain political ideologues who do it to appease those who are turned on by pro–law and order, anti-urban development, anti-welfare and tax cutting rhetoric or pandering by recording artists and record companies to youth who think it's hip to listen to Gangsta Rap. If I were asked, “Should governmental steps be taken to curtail hard core or Gangsta Rap; or to clean up rap lyrics; or to make recording artists or record companies pandering to the rebelliousness of youth illegal,” I would say no to all three. Consumer pandering within reason is, of course, an accepted practice in America with respect to entertainment distribution. Movie studios and home video movie distributors openly pander to customers who enjoy somewhat anti-social or sexually explicit entertainment.

Most major distributors of such entertainment do, however, exercise a reasonable degree of social responsibility through the almost universal use of a well designed rating system. Rap music does not need to be censored. Rap music and all other recordings do need to be rated just as movies are. Records by recording artists which are violently or sexually explicit or which promote illegal (drug or firearm use or and other anti-social behavior) should be clearly marked and identified “X-rated.” The “parental guidance” sticker system presently being used in the recording industry is simply not enough. The MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America) rating system allowed the movie industry to separate exploiters and panderers from legitimately creative filmmakers. The same result can occur with regard to the music industry with the support and participation of the RIAA (Record Industry Association of America).

As the situation now stands, there is no real stigma attached to the creation, marketing or advertising of a profane or anti-social record or LP. Individuals and companies which now openly pander to youth consumers who are attracted to anti-social recorded product would market such product with far less pride of accomplishment in the face of a strong rating system. A strong rating system will also place somewhat of a stigma on consumer ownership of such product regardless of the consumer's age. While a rating system may not completely solve all of the problems concerning hard core or Gangsta Rap recordings, such a process may be well worth considering as a place to begin. Thank you.

A blowup of the sexually suggestive cartoon album cover to Snoop's 1993 album
Doggystyle
was on a stand, an illustration of the nastiness that gangsta rap represented. Despite Cornelius's harsh words for gangsta rap, Snoop Dogg never lost his love for
Soul Train
. When asked about the show's impact on him growing up in Long Beach, Snoop had a unique perspective. He said, “A lot of my homies, when we go to jail, we measure our time by how many
Soul Train
s you got left. I got my five
Soul Train
s. That means you're getting out in five weeks. I got seven
Soul Train
s left—I'm getting out in seven weeks. As sad as it is, it was a good feeling because when you in jail, you had to have something to keep you up, and
Soul Train
kept a lot of brothers up. That was the main effect they had on Long Beach that I remember.”

It was just this kind of jailhouse perspective that made gangsta rap popular and everyone in the black music mainstream uncomfortable. But Cornelius, being a businessman, would have Snoop on episode #743 in 1993 to perform “What's My Name” from that same
Doggystyle
album, which won best album at the 1994 Soul Train Awards. Snoop made a very heartfelt tribute to the show: “I ain't mad 'cause I didn't win no Grammy. This is the black folks' Grammys!”

Throughout the late 1980s and beyond, those clean versions of rap songs by Snoop and others made it possible for
Soul Train
, as well as radio stations, to play some of the hooky but hard-core rap hits of the day. But true hip-hop fans knew that what they heard on TV was the watered-down version, and that the lip-synched performances on the show were inferior to the kinetic music videos in rotation on MTV, BET, and elsewhere. Don's discomfort with gangsta rap haunted the show, so despite its commercial viability, its graphic content really made it inappropriate daytime-TV fare. This wasn't the O'Jays or Al Green. The times had changed. Hip-hop wasn't Cornelius's music and never would be.

 

DANCER PROFILE:
Rosie Perez

 

Rosie Perez came out to sun-kissed California from Bushwick, Brooklyn, a burnt-out, impoverished neighborhood in a tattered borough, bringing a fierce warrior attitude that was reflected in her take-no-prisoners dancing. Short and curvy with reddish hair, pouty lips, and a high-pitched voice with a thick Nuyorican accent, Perez was a unique and, to some, disquieting presence on the
Soul Train
set.

“Rosie came on the show, and she was just so hot and so sexy,” Crystal McCarey said. “That girl could dance. She could move. You know, females will be females. They're catty. When Rosie came, I think that some of the other dancers were a bit intimidated, and they weren't friendly or kind to her.”

McCarey befriended the new girl and advised her not to worry about what the other dancers thought of her. “Rosie was a very sweet lady, but she was one hell of a dancer. I would have to say that I thought I was hot stuff, too, but when I saw Rosie, I was like, Oh, my goodness. She got that fire.”

It wasn't only women who had complicated feelings about the Brooklynite. The Cutty mack himself, Louie “Ski” Carr, would sometimes let Rosie and some other dancers stay at his apartment on weekends
Soul Train
was taped. “Her girls and her used to change, sleep over, and go to the next show,” Carr said. That sense of fellowship didn't always translate to the studio. “We was cool, but on the
Train
it was a chance to just be yourself and do your thing. She was doing her thing, and I was doing my thing. There's actual footage of us boogying and having that friendly competitiveness. Rosie was aggressive and sexy and a little street, like a machine gun. Just do her move strong. Men love strong women, plus she's beautiful.”

 

Rosie Perez's fierce New York–styled dancing made her an immediate fan favorite.

 

Perez's
Soul Train
career began, like so many others, at a Los Angeles nightclub. The nineteen-year-old had initially come west to help a struggling cousin with her two young children. When that arrangement proved too stressful, Rosie began working part-time jobs while attending classes in three different LA-area universities as a biochemistry major. She got some stability when she landed a job working as secretary and babysitter for the family behind Golden Bird fried chicken.

Along with some girlfriends, Rosie was at a club called Florentine Gardens when Chuck Johnson inquired if she'd like to be on the show. Skeptical New Yorker to her core, Rosie replied, “Yeah, right.” Johnson said, “No, really,” and handed her his card. She remembers standing on the floor at Florentine Gardens “screaming my head off. I was like,
Ahhh!
To be so young and being a teenager, being asked to go on
Soul Train,
it was just—it was mind-blowing. He said, Will you come, will you show up on Saturday? I said, Can my girlfriends come? And he said, What do they look like? I thought that was so rude. Thank God they were hot. So we all got to go, and that's how I got on
Soul Train
.”

“The first time I went on,” she continued, “it was bittersweet because I did not know that we were going to be waiting outside of the gates of the studio and jockeying for position. I was like, ‘Oh, we're outta here.' We were about to leave. The talent scout from
Soul Train
was like, ‘No, no, no, you, short one. Come in.' I said, ‘Well, I'm not coming unless all my girlfriends get in.' That was great, but it wasn't great for me because he let us in, we didn't have to wait on line. So when the rest of the people came in, instant hatred. It was really crazy.” That introduction to the show was likely the root of the disdain McCarey spoke about. “There was really great people,” Perez said, “but there were a few that were real bitter.”

 

Like most popular
Soul Train
dancers, Rosie Perez was the toast of LA parties.

 

Perez, who had come from a New York City street dance aesthetic where unisex sportswear was the norm, arrived at the studio in jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt, and staffers told her it wasn't proper
Soul Train
attire. Instead they pointed out a girl in a super-short dress. Rosie had wisely brought a sexier change of clothes. Not only did they like what she'd changed into, but the producers immediately placed Rosie on a riser, where the camera was sure to find her.

Don selected Perez to do the
Soul Train
scramble board, yet another honor for the novice. When Rosie spoke in that now famous Brooklyn-meets–Puerto Rico accent the host asked her, “Is that how you really talk?” Embarrassed, Perez did her best to lose the accent. Perez's good fortune, not having to wait in line and getting a riser spot on her first day, made the New Yorker a target for some old heads on the set.

Perez:
I think that the girls were jealous because of that. We were all very, very young. Not only the girls there were jealous. There was also boys that were jealous, and these were people who saw
Soul Train
as a springboard to further success. I did not view it that way. I just viewed it as “Oh my God, we're on
Soul Train
!” In hindsight I understood why they were jealous. I don't know if it was jealous as much as angry, because they were on
Soul Train
for years and years and years, and these kids, they used to practice for hours, their dance moves, their dance routines, what they were gonna do going down the
Soul Train
line. They would spend hours picking out their outfits.

Though viewers and other dancers characterize Perez as an aggressive dancer, she feels that she held back while on the show.

Perez:
Don Cornelius did not want to see how I really danced—I was doing hip-hop, and it was foreign to people out in California. They only knew about popping and locking, so they were not keen on hip-hop dancing. Don was like, “No, no, no. You're a girl.” I was like, What? This is really weird. Then I had to dance in high heels, and I never danced in high heels before, and I had this little tiny short dress, and it's riding up my ass and I'm like, Oh my God. I couldn't move. As you can see from the tapes, I had absolutely no style whatsoever on that show. The first couple of times, I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I was just excited and nervous and scared and just elated. That was my style. A bunch of nerves just oozing out of my body.