My connection to Hip-Hop has always been a tragic one. The genre that I profess my love and loyalty to was unintentionally introduced to me by my late father. With no will left in place, I inherited an invaluable heirloom from the man who was killed days after my second birthday — the gift of music. Stacks of dusty records and cassette tapes vacated the closet in our crowded apartment building. I combed through the plastic crates brandished with his name to gain a better sense of a man I barely remembered. I found letters addressed to my mother enclosed with old photographs that revealed his fascination for gold chains and Kangol hats. Through music, I discovered pieces of my father that I would grow to protect and nurture. I imagined him scratching and mixing the records in a harmonious fashion as he schooled me on the significance of every record he purchased.
Admiring his collection, I anxiously blew the dust off the pile labeled Friday Night Hip-Hop. Placing the needle on the vinyl, I jumped at the sound of the frequency and vibrations. The sweet yet gritty sounds of A Tribe Called Quest, Big Daddy Kane, CPO and the artists that followed the rap alphabet lit a fire in me that refuses to go out. Enamoured by Biz's boom and the effortless cool Slick Rick exudes, I was always equipped with pen and paper in hand. Lyrics were furiously written down in an effort to memorize every bar, every hook and every word.
My curriculum extended past school hours in an effort to mimic the distinctive, ostentatious flows and match the pain and fury heard on wax. I eventually graduated to the Boombox and was comforted by the sounds of my father's voice on old mixes that highlighted his evenings as a DJ. Endless feelings of loss and heartache were alleviated whenever I listened to his playlists. The companionship that I so desperately desired from my father was perfectly encapsulated in each antique he left behind.
From vinyl records to compact discs, my love for the art form grew without fail. Days and nights spent getting acquainted with Tony’s Friday collection blossomed into my own compilation. Years later I added Lil' Kim, Missy Elliot and countless others to the repertoire in a quest to maximize my knowledge and understanding of self. As a result I uncovered the various ways in which these women crafted their own narratives in a male dominated genre.
I clamoured to their lyrics, which celebrate womanhood unapologetically and boasted about the wonders of my femininity. Disrupting the status quo and notions of patriarchy and misogyny, these women reimagined the numerous ways individuals look at sexuality and respectability, which only heightened my intrigue. Although my introduction operated strictly through a masculine lens, I appreciated my newfound understanding on all the facets that comprise of the culture I love. The outspoken voice I carry today wouldn't be here if the Queen's, MC's and Shanté's hadn't laid the foundation down for me.
Despite my exploration into the genre beginning with the unsettling feelings surrounding my father's death, Hip-Hop continues to pay homage to his memory in more ways than an obituary ever could. With every play I unintentionally celebrate his legacy. Thanks to Hip-Hop, I forged an undying, everlasting connection with my father that speaks to me from the depths of his grave.
Y'all Don't Hear Me: Reconciling Religion With Rap
Rapper bbymutha reminded me of a sound I had forgotten about - “cool gospel.” Her tweet mentioned Winans Phase II and Trinitee 5:7, two groups from the early 2000s who many believed were meant to channel secular collectives like Jagged Edge and Destiny’s Child. As a child I wasn’t allowed to listen to Rap/R&B, and groups like Winans Phase II and Trinitee 5:7 were the alternative. Yet although I was discouraged from listening to secular music, the music I was able to listen to was so obviously influenced by it.
In 2003, when I was 8 or 9, my mother was ordained as a minister. And she was not the only family member to be heavily involved in church. My Great Aunt was our pastor, two of my aunts were licensed as ministers as well and our immediate family went to church whenever the doors opened. Jesus was life.
Consequently my exposure to certain sounds was limited and I’d get chastised for listening to rap at home. I vividly remember the ‘Romeo Must Die Soundtrack’ and a Chingy CD being thrown in the trash. Tragic.
The availability of MP3 players during my middle school years provided me with more freedom to listen to what I wanted. I enjoyed the sounds of Hip-Hop musicians, particularly Lil Wayne, Gucci Mane, and a slew of old school artists. This didn’t sit well with my mom - she freaked out when she saw “Gangsta Bitch” by Apache on the family computer. For years I had to balance faith with my passion for music.
For over 200 years, religion has aimed to comfort Black people in America. It was and is the outlet through which many of us express ourselves, interact with people like us and our source of hope. When Hip-Hop came onto the scene in the 1970s it functioned in a similar way. The music became an outlet for expression, with artists discussing social issues and bonding - a move reminiscent of the activism and fortitude present in the Civil Rights and Black Power movements and the church.
However, this reality doesn’t remove Hip-Hop from criticisms of imcompatibility with the Christian Gospel. That’s not to say Hip-Hop is perfect, far from it. From new school rappers like 6ix9ine pleading guilty to one felony count of Use of a Child in a Sexual Performance in October 2015 to the violence that led to the deaths of 2Pac and Biggie, Hip-Hop is not exempt from abusive and inherently problematic figures.
But while the genre is frowned upon for its references to sex, drugs and violence, these very things happen in the church and are met with silence. The late Reverend C.L Franklin, pastor of New Bethel Baptist Church and father of Aretha Franklin, allegedly impregnated a 12 year old girl. A musician at my former church smoked weed regularly. A Detroit based pastor shot and killed a man after a heated altercation.
Neither is perfect. And although Christians have come up with their take on rap, supporting artists like Da T.R.U.T.H.– some still can’t exactly tolerate the “purified” version of hip hop. For them, the music is still viewed as the antithesis of the inspiriation and holiness that the religion represents. Yet as a child who was interested in Black culture, I wanted to listen to the music that brought us together and uplifted us as well. Isn’t that what Christianity is all about?
Ivy Sole Talks Hip-Hop Preservation And Representation: "When You Have A Piece Of Culture You’re Supposed To Protect It"
From Ivy Sole’s “Rollercoaster” Music Video
The title track of her debut LP Overgrown finds Ivy Sole musing on the being just that, larger, older and beyond one’s normalized state of being. It’s a feeling many of us experience in our 20’s, where much like a garden whose plants have grown larger and beyond their smaller size, we reflect on our youth and come to terms with the fact that our adulthood has surpassed the range of our early years. The Charlotte born and raised and Philly made rapper describes it well.
The first time I heard of Ivy Sole was also the first time I saw her perform: at a sold out Daniel Caesar show at The Rotunda in Philadelphia where she was the opener. Her songs captivated the room almost immediately, with those who knew her singing along to every word and those who didn’t picking up the chorus the second time it came around. I’ll never forget how loudly the girls in front of me sang “I can be the one if you let me” as Sole performed “Enough.” I’ll also never forget Sole saying “aye” and holding her mic out for them to hit the notes along with her.
It was an important sight to see, Black women breathing life into other Black women. Couple that with the lyrics on her first project Eden that I binged when I got home, and you’ll find that her music is equally as rejuvenating as she is onstage.
If Eden was the rebirth that saw Sole embarking on her own in music, and East and West were the blooming of her artistry, then the Ivy League graduate’s Overgrown is the self-analyzing next step.
The Gumbo spoke to Sole about growing up in the church, the representation of women in Hip-Hop, and the importance of controlling your narrative.
You are an Ivy League graduate and you’re from North Carolina. How did your education and upbringing influence your desire to be a part of Hip-Hop?
I went to Wharton because I wanted to make sure that no matter what I would always be able to make some money. My original plan when I was in high school was to be a doctor, but I took physics and I hated it. And I realized I wanted to be a doctor more for what that meant. For the legitimacy. No one’s going to question your work or profession if you’re saving lives in any way, shape or form. This was around the time the Mac Millers and the J. Coles started to pop on the Internet. And I thought, school has always been my hustle. I can go to a place that has a really rich beautiful history and still get a really popping degree out of it. It felt like a win-win.
As far as North Carolina, Charlotte is my home. It’s something that I have grown to love a lot more than I did when I was younger. I had no strong feelings about it being from the south or North Carolina when I was younger…But in my newfound adulthood I really appreciate growing up in a place that doesn’t have any preexisting notions other than people thinking that people in the south are ignorant.
Specifically growing up around gospel and jazz and soul music almost exclusively for the first eight or nine years of my life is so important to me as far as want I want to bring [to my music] melodically and vocally.
All of those musical influences, when did you fall in love with Hip-Hop?
I think there were two distinct moments. When I was younger I used to spend a lot of time at my step grandmother’s house and I had an older cousin who would watch BET damn near nonstop. And my mom didn’t want us to watch that, she wanted to shield us from it. But I remember when I was nine or ten “Oochie Wally” came out and I remember hearing that loop and I was like this is it! This is what I’ve been missing? This is what my mother’s been trying to keep from me?
And then when I was 16 my homie put me onto Blu & Exile’s album ‘Below The Heavens.’
Yes! That is one of my favorite albums!
That changed my whole life. That was the first time I got introduced to Miguel…And I felt like [Below the Heavens] was so current. [Blu] was talking about depression, loss, grief, being Black. And I was like “you’re telling the hell out of this story” and that’s when I started wanting to tell stories.
That just made my whole day man.
Real ones know! I was on YouTube abusing the replay button for “In Remembrance.”
Ha! Now when we talk about Hip-Hop, despite women being so prominent in the genre and the culture, we aren’t really the gatekeepers. How do you feel about the representation of women in Hip-Hop?
First and foremost I think the music business is a microcosm of American society. It’s not surprising that we’re not in these spaces, it’s just disheartening sometimes that the person making the decision doesn’t share the same context [as] you as far as what the music means to them. So you have a lot of instances where a white dude from Cleveland or Milwaukee who found Hip-Hop when he was 14 as a way to rebel is now making the decisions for a genre that is rooted in so many identities that he will never really be able to empathize with.
And more than that I think that when you have a piece of culture you’re supposed to protect it and you’re supposed to uplift it. And I personally don’t trust many people with the preservation of Black culture, so I would love to see the people who have been preserving it up until this point, i.e. Black women, in these positions.
That’s so true and important. Especially when people don’t look like you, you’ll see a white dude making making these decisions and you’ll go “hmm…”
Haha yeah. It’s like I don’t know dog, I don’t know bruh.
Identity is everything. How does your identity as a Black queer woman play a role in the music you’re making?
I just want to be honest. The music that has always been the most impactful in my life has always been honest to a fault. I don’t think I gain anything personally or professionally from hiding the things that are true about me. When I’m talking about love - my most recent relationship was with a woman - so if I’m talking about love 9/10 I’m talking about or woman. Or a man, not recently, but either one of those things are possible.
As far as queer Black artistry I think it’s important because there are so few people getting highlighted. As a broad umbrella it would be Blackness, under that umbrella it would be queerness. So interacting with the world as a Black queer person necessitates a different perspective. It’s important to listen to people who have this perspective, especially if it’s rooted in their truth.
That is a good ass answer.
Thank you! Like Frank Ocean, he’s killing shit. BROCKHAMPTON. Kelela, her last album, we have people that are coming up. But it’s the same thing about women being gatekeepers, it’s going to take time. But I’m glad we’re in a time where people aren’t letting their insecurities about queerness get in the way of really great artistry.
I wanna switch gears, I always ask everyone this. Who’s in your Top 5?
Damn this is hard! Definitely on my Top 5 would be Andre 3000, or just OutKast in general because I think Big Boi gets the short end of the stick as far as comparisons are concerned. I definitely put K. Dot on their. He’s been instrumental in making me commit to never settling for subpar bars.
Gotta put Hov on there, mostly because if you ever sit down and read his lyrics. When I was in high school I fell in love with English, hated it at first. But we used to have annotate, and for a project we had to annotate lyrics and what he was doing with written words put me on my ass. I’m going to put Lauryn on there. There’s a lot of contention around her right now.
I know! I got on Twitter and saw what was happening and I was confused. I had no idea.
Yeah I thought it was production drama, I didn’t know writing drama. That’s a whole different ballgame.
Very different. Who else you putting on the list?
Number 5? I’d probably put Blu up there. I think Blu is one of the master storytellers of our time. I think I would not be rapping today without Blu.
What do you have coming?
I hope to get this tour popping either late this year or early in 2019. Just more music, more life.
Where do you see yourself ten years from now?
I would love to be in a place where I’m not only making music but cultivating younger artists because that’s a passion of mine. Really bringing back the true meaning of an A&R. I would love to have a normal life and have paid off all of my student loans. I wouldn’t mind a Grammy (laughs). And just to shoot my shot a Pulitzer would be crazy. Kenny put the world on notice.
Listen to Overgrown below.