How Music Changed The World
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MICHAEL JACKSON KENDRICK LAMAR BEYONCE RIHANNA TUPAC
Jackson changed course of music, society
For the past decade or so, it almost seemed like public displays of eccentricity were all there was to Michael Jackson, who unexpectedly died June 25. But there was a time when Jackson was thought of primarily as a groundbreaking artist, not a celebrity oddball. That time was 1983, when Jackson’s omnipresence on the pop charts was revolutionary because no African-American artist had ever achieved that high a level of success. Jackson earned his pop icon status by creating music that transcended genres; he also redefined the roles of music videos and dancing in popular music. No matter what else Jackson did (and he did a lot), his musical legacy will always rest on the album “Thriller.” That was Jackson’s landmark 1982 release that became the biggest-selling album of all time. It moved over 100 million copies and spawned six hit singles — unheard of at that time. “Thriller’s” first single was the deceptively easygoing duet with Paul McCartney, “The Girl Is Mine.” Sure it sounds like a lounge ballad now, but since it showcased singers from different races pledging their love to a woman, its allusions to an interracial affair were pretty daring. Jackson was just getting started breaking boundaries. The next two singles, “Billie Jean” and “Beat It,” brought both social consciousness and rock guitar to the dance floor. It was then that his career started to really explode. These songs both spent several weeks at No. 1 and broke MTV’s “color barrier” (the channel had previously refused to play African-American artists, claiming it was a “rock station”). More hits followed, including “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’,” “Human Nature” and “P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing).” Jackson had “Thriller’s” title track made into a long-form music video that modernized the medium, making it a more credible art form. White rock acts had dominated in the early 1980s, so when Jackson became the biggest “rock star” of all, he opened doors for artists who otherwise might have been marginalized. A natural talent
Jackson was able to capture the public’s fancy because he had an almost frighteningly natural ability to sing. At age 11, he sang lead on the No. 1 songs “I Want You Back,” “ABC,” “The Love You Save” and “I’ll Be There” with more mastery and passion than most adult vocalists. Depending on the song, he could make his voice soar to evoke sensitivity or roar to conjure James Brown.
When disco arrived, Jackson was ready, leading his brothers through the adult-oriented hits “Dancing Machine,” “Enjoy Yourself” and “Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground).” You can hear echoes of these records in Prince (whose first hit, “I Wanna Be Your Lover,” was a Jackson knockoff), the Bee Gees and Justin Timberlake. Around 1978, Jackson and Quincy Jones formed a partnership that would give birth to the singer’s best-known solo efforts. Their first album together, 1979’s “Off the Wall,” delivered four Top 10 hits. Two of those, “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough” and “Rock With You” went to No. 1 just as disco was dying, proving Jackson could again traverse genres. “Don’t Stop …” was also penned solely by Jackson, who was by now a first-rate songwriter. By 1980, Jackson’s star had eclipsed that of his band, so the solo success of “Thriller” wasn’t totally unexpected. It was the Beatlemania scale of Jackson’s popularity that threw people. It also threw Jackson, who soon began showing signs of the eccentricity that would unfortunately come to define him. That shouldn’t diminish the impact of “Thriller.” After millions of people watched Jackson moonwalk to “Billie Jean” in his March 1983 performance on the “Motown 25: Yesterday, Today, Forever” TV special, they were ready for performers who offered dance moves and wilder rhythms. Thus the stage was set for Prince and Madonna to break out nationally. Before Jackson, the only dance music MTV played was British. After “Thriller,” the channel embraced hip-hop and, eventually, rap. It took a half decade for Jackson to return with 1987’s “Bad” album. Although it didn’t sell as much as “Thriller,” it had more No. 1 singles — five in all. Sadly, by this time people were paying less attention to the music (which cleverly blended rock and R&B), and were instead wondering why Jackson’s face kept changing so dramatically with each new album cover. And yet Jackson soon became known as the “King of Pop.” The moniker was purportedly thought up by PR people, but like the Rolling Stones’ “world’s greatest rock ’n’ roll band” appellation, it stuck because there was truth to it. Jackson’s innovations might have slowed down, but his hits didn’t. The best of the later ones were the most wistful, like “Remember the Time” and “Will You Be There,” both of which seemed to expose the humanity behind Jackson’s showbiz façade. Jackson’s unexpected death will no doubt reignite interest in the “tabloid fodder” aspects of his life. Like Elvis Presley, though, Jackson was far more than the sum of his eccentricities. He was a professional artist at an age when most people are in grade school. And he had already changed the course of music — and to a degree, society — at a stage of life when most people are just starting to make their mark on the world.
How Kendrick Lamar Is Proof Hip-Hop Can Influence Society In Big Ways
When injustice permeates society, sometimes the only way to accurately convey the array of emotions it catalyzes among people is via song. Music is a potent and indispensable form of protest. The pain and rage produced by the persistence of inequality, violence, racism and oppression in the United States has generated some of most powerful songs of the past century. In 1962, Bob Dylan wrote what is arguably the most famous protest song in history, “Blowin' in the Wind.� It was a poignant and potent reflection on the sentiments of one of the most tumultuous periods in 20th century America. As Time puts it: Dylan made people look both inward and at the discordant world around them. His voice signaled that of a new generation, one ready to confront the injustices of the time and unwilling to settle for war or indifference. The song struck such a nerve, it inspired other great musicians to write their own protest songs.
“A Change Is Gonna Come,” which Sam Cooke composed and recorded in 1964, was a direct response to Dylan's work. When Cooke first heard “Blowin' In The Wind,” he reportedly stated, Jeez, a white boy writing a song like that? Cooke was tragically and fatally shot two weeks before the song was released, but it went on to become an anthem of the civil rights movement and a song that continues to inspire hope to this day. Dylan and Cooke were hardly the first to write protest songs, and they certainly wouldn't be the last. Many musicians, from Creedence Clearwater Revival and Neil Young to Marvin Gaye and Curtis Mayfield to N.W.A and Rage Against The Machine, would follow in their footsteps. The beauty of musical protest is it's not confined to any single genre. Today, Kendrick Lamar is continuing the tradition. His most recent album, To Pimp A Butterfly, is a politically-charged response to the racism, violence and police brutality that continues to plague society. It's very telling the album deals with many of the same themes as other notable protest songs written by the artists mentioned above, among others, yet arrived decades after those were composed. The US has certainly made some progress in establishing a more equitable society, but obviously still has a way to go.
America is currently embroiled in what some have characterized as a new civil rights movement, with #BlackLivesMatter as its rallying cry. The high profile deaths of Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Walter Scott and Freddie Gray, together with others, have incited palpable discontentment across the country. Lamar's album is a timely meditation on the convoluted emotions and events surrounding this movement. “Blacker The Berry,” arguably the most powerful and emotive track, was written in direct response to the death of Trayvon Martin. As Lamar recently explained: These are issues that if you come from that environment it's inevitable to speak on. It's already in your blood because I am Trayvon Martin, you know. I'm all of these kids. It's already implanted in your brain to come out your mouth as soon as you've seen it on the TV. I had that track way before that, from the beginning to the end, and the incident just snapped it for me. Like Bob Dylan and Sam Cooke in the 60s, Kendrick Lamar has tapped into a deepseated dissatisfaction with the status quo in American society. And it's already having an observable impact. To Pimp a Butterfly has been a massive success and widely applauded, with the Guardian calling it, “the album hip-hop had been waiting for.” It's intelligent, articulate and pertinent, so much so teachers are using it to discuss race with their students.
Moreover, a week ago, activists attending a Black Lives Matter conference at Cleveland State University became upset after police removed an allegedly intoxicated 14-year-old from a bus. As they attempted to block the squad car holding the teen from leaving the area, an officer pepper sprayed the crowd. In response, the activists began chanting a portion of what has debatably become the most popular track on Lamar's album, “Alright.” It seems “Alright” has now become the anthem of Black Lives Matter, which is quite fitting given the song touches on police brutality but still radiates positivity. Correspondingly, at the BET Awards in June, Kendrick Lamar made a big political statement by performing “Alright” atop a police car. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qambx3W6znc Subsequently, Geraldo Rivera appeared on Fox News and lambasted Lamar for the performance, stating, This is why I say that hip-hop has done more damage to young AfricanAmericans than racism in recent years. This is exactly the wrong message. Rivera found one of the lyrics in the song, “And we hate po-po/ Wanna kill us dead in the street, fo sho,” particularly problematic. This sort of argument is nothing new, and it's embedded in a misconstrued perception of what hip-hop represents, which Lamar highlighted in his apt and well-articulated response to Rivera's comments:
How could you take a song that's about hope and turn it into hatred? The message is ‘we gon' be alright' it's not the message of ‘I wanna kill people.' The problem isn't me standing on the cop car, I think his attempt is deleting the real problem, which is the senseless acts of [cops] killing these young boys out here. I think for the most part it's avoiding the truth, it's reality, this is my world, this is what I talk about in my music and you can't dilute that. Me being on a cop car, that's a performance piece after these senseless acts. Hip-hop is not the problem, our reality is the problem. This is our music, this is us expressing ourselves. Rather [than] going out here and doing murder myself, I want to express myself in a positive light, the same way other artists are. Simply put, hip-hop is an artistic response to the harsh truths individuals like Rivera seem determined to deny. Kendrick Lamar is not the first hip-hop artist to write protest music, nor is he the only rapper or artist producing politically-charged tracks in relation to Black Lives Matter. J. Cole, for example, wrote an insightful and emotional track, “Be Free,” in response to last summer's disturbing events in Ferguson. From hip-hop's earliest days, numerous artists have utilized the genre as a platform for expressing the unsettling realities of the inner city and the systemic mistreatment of blacks in America. This is particularly evident with songs like “The Message,” released by Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five in 1982, as well as Public Enemy's “Fight The Power,” released in 1989.
With that said, there is no artist currently having a larger impact than Lamar in terms of the social movement currently sweeping this country. Lamar is revitalizing music as a form of protest and disproving notions hip-hop poses a danger to society. His album, To Pimp A Butterly, has emerged as the unparalleled soundtrack to Black Lives Matter. Not long ago, Questlove, drummer for The Roots, wrote an impassioned plea to the musicians of this era: I urge and challenge musicians and artists alike to push themselves to be a voice of the times that we live in‌ I really apply this challenge to ALL artists. We need new Dylans. New Public Enemys. New Simones. Lamar has answered this challenge. He's the voice of this generation and proof hip-hop can change America for the better. .Citations: Top 10 Protest Songs (Time), Someday Well All Be Free 100 Hours Of Soulful Protest Music (NPR), 10 Best Protest Songs Of All Time(Rolling Stone), The Birth of a New Civil Rights Movement (Politico), 500 Greatest Songs of All Time (Rolling Stone), Kendrick Lamars Alright Chanted by Protesters During Cleveland Police Altercation (Pitchfork), Geraldo Rivera Blames Kendrick Lamar for Americas Racial Divide (BET), Kendrick Lamar Puts Geraldo Rivera in His Place (BET), Kendrick Lamar I am Trayvon Martin Im all of these kids (The Guardian), A Visit From Kendrick Lamar Best Day Of School Ever (NPR)
WHY BEYONCE SPEAKS FOR A GENERATION
“The woman that every woman aspires to be.” That’s how one of my university peers describes Beyoncé. And she speaks for many. Few musicians today have inspired a genuine cult of personality. But Beyoncé, the undisputed wearer of pop music’s crown, has done just that. “All hail Queen Bey!” cry her horde of devoted fans, who call themselves the BeyHive, an apt name for the followers of a star who generates such deafening buzz. When she dropped her self-titled album out of the blue in December 2013, I witnessed the spectacle of ‘Beyoncé syndrome’ first hand. On a tense night during final exams, I watched in awe as my fellow students set aside term papers and study guides to get drunk – ‘drunk in love’, that is. Students swarmed to every computer in the library to watch Beyoncé gyrate across a beach and profess her love for her megastar husband Jay-Z. As an outside observer, I marveled at the new video album’s infectious effect and wondered about its cause. What makes Beyoncé so gripping? Why is her voice – in song, speech, and even silence – so resonant for so many, especially millennials?
Beyoncé is a true Renaissance woman: a musician, a business mogul, a feminist, a mother, and a brand whose cultural gravity seems to emanate not from any one of these talents but from all of them in concert.
The business behind the art
“The woman that every woman aspires to be.” That’s how one of my university peers describes Beyoncé. And she speaks for many. Few musicians today have inspired a genuine cult of personality. But Beyoncé, the undisputed wearer of pop music’s crown, has done just that. “All hail Queen Bey!” cry her horde of devoted fans, who call themselves the BeyHive, an apt name for the followers of a star who generates such deafening buzz. When she dropped her self-titled album out of the blue in December 2013, I witnessed the spectacle of ‘Beyoncé syndrome’ first hand. On a tense night during final exams, I watched in awe as my fellow students set aside term papers and study guides to get drunk – ‘drunk in love, that is. Students swarmed to every computer in the library to watch Beyoncé gyrate across a beach and profess her love for her megastar husband Jay-Z. As an outside observer, I marveled at the new video album’s infectious effect and wondered about its cause. What makes Beyoncé so gripping? Why is her voice – in song, speech, and even silence – so resonant for so many, especially millennials?
Beyoncé is a true Renaissance woman: a musician, a business mogul, a feminist, a mother, and a brand whose cultural gravity seems to emanate not from any one of these talents but from all of them in concert.
The lasting impact of Rihanna
In 2005, a skeptical Jay Z, then-CEO of Def Jam Recordings, sat in his office awaiting the arrival of Robyn Fenty, a 16-year-old from Barbados. A demo of the Bajan's music produced by American musician Evan Rogers, who discovered Fenty while vacationing in her home country, intrigued the rapper enough to invite her in for an audition. Her vocals — forceful yet expressive, raw yet controlled — were like candy, but one song, "Pon de
Replay," seemed so utterly massive that Jay Z worried whether she could be more than a one-track artist. Still, on that fateful February day, Fenty strutted into the audition room and immediately caught Jay Z's eye with her commanding presence. All it took was one Whitney Houston cover and two of Rogers' original pieces, and Jay Z saw a mountain of potential. He immediately signed Fenty to a six-album record deal with Def Jam, and she began her evolution into arguably the most commercially viable pop star of our time: Rihanna. The Anti-Rihanna In 2016, Rihanna, who turned 28 on Saturday, is markedly different than her budding 16-year-old self. She's shed the carefully crafted dance-pop of "Pon de Replay" for the darker, trap-influenced "Bitch Better Have My Money." Once critiqued for sounding and looking too much like BeyoncÊ during the formative years of her career, Rihanna has since paved her own way, developing a shadowy, abrasive aesthetic and, on her latest album, Anti, sonics that range from reggae to progressive rock to hip-hop. In many ways, Rihanna's latest release could be viewed as a turning point. Not that she needs to revitalize her career — she's already sold the secondmost singles of any female artist behind Madonna and boasts 13 No. 1 singles on the Billboard Hot 100 — but rather that, at this point, she is developing a style that is both unique and alluring.
After years of largely finely produced dance-pop and R&B, Anti flips the script. No longer are Rihanna's vocals impeccably in tune and aligned with pounding electronic beats. Instead, she scales to the ceiling of her vocal register in "Higher," as her gravelly voice cracks and strains over refined string instruments. The album's cover artwork features a distorted image of Rihanna as a child with a crown covering her eyes. Along with being a stark departure from prior records, which noticeably had her face emblazoned on them, it strives for artistic depth. She's willing to try out new styles, too, as evidenced by "Same Ol' Mistakes," a cover of a song by Tame Impala, a psychedelic indie rock group from Australia, and the lo-fi "Consideration," on which she pairs up with neo-soul singer SZA. Some things, of course, remain constant. Just as she was in her provocative 2011 single "Cockiness (Love It)" ("Suck my cockiness/ lick my persuasion"), she still clings to her proclivity for the perverse and the debaucherous in "Sex With Me" ("I'ma need you deeper than six, it's not a coffin"). She's still just as carnal as ever, and she's pretty damn proud of it. But on the whole, Anti has given birth to the "Anti-Rihanna," who, after more than 10 years in the business, is starting to recognize her staying power and opportunity to take musical risks. But rarely has Rihanna focused solely on her music. The CEO Rihanna Over the past 11 years, Rihanna has developed business credentials that rival her musical ones. She starred in the 2012 feature film Battleship,
signed on as a co-owner of the streaming service Tidal, agreed to endorsement deals with multiple companies such as Nivea and Budweiser and has produced six fragrances, including one for men. You can argue about what level of control Rihanna has over her music, which is mostly written and produced by other artists, but it seems she is in full, steely control of her business ventures. In that sense, she provides an important example of an independent woman for millions of young girls across the world to look up to. But it also reveals the trajectory of the music industry, which often prioritizes the profitability of artists over their creative freedom. Rihanna is a symptom of this. She often comes across as a CEO of herself. She's determined to forge a brand, forever seeking out opportunities for public exposure and, in the name of profit, adhering to what she knows her customers will purchase. She's also an adept networker, collaborating with big shots like Kanye West, Jay Z, Eminem, Nicki Minaj, Calvin Harris and Paul McCartney. Sure, she might be scantily clad and lusted-after, but in her profession that's just business attire. The revenues speak for themselves. The Influential Rihanna Once finding inspiration in artists like Madonna, Rihanna has now sown seeds of influence among many contemporary artists. Canadian pop-duo Tegan and Sara revealed that their 2013 single "I Was A Fool" was largely inspired by Rihanna's massive hit "Umbrella." In 2010, Demi Lovato said
that while recording Unbroken, her third studio album, she drew inspiration from Rihanna's R&B sound. And while she can't take all the credit, Rihanna's often profane discography has nudged R&B toward an edgier, less mild-mannered style. Yet, her largest impact is yet to come. Most teenagers and young twentysomethings probably feel like Rihanna has been around forever, accompanying us as we awkwardly danced at our middle school homecomings, a little less awkwardly celebrated at our high school proms and partied into the wee hours of the night our freshman years of college. But for those aged 10 today, she has literally always been a fixture in the music scene. There is no pre-Rihanna and post-Rihanna for these kids; there is only one, never-ending stream of her hit songs. Music listeners across the world have either grown a fondness for Rihanna, learned to ignore her or, as a result of being exposed to her music since birth, just can't imagine modern music without her. Either way, she has the skills, the smarts, the spotlight and, as suggested by Anti, a real shot to put out something new, something daring and something that could shape artists for generations to come.
TUPAC
Who Was Tupac Shakur? Tupac Shakur was a sensitive, precociously talented yet troubled soul who came to embrace the 1990s gangsta-rap aesthetic and paid the ultimate price — he was gunned down in Las Vegas on September 7, 1996 and died six days later. His murder has never been solved. He began his music career as a rebel with a cause — to articulate the travails and injustices endured by many African-Americans, often from a male point of view. His skill in doing so made him a spokesperson not just for his own generation, but for subsequent
ones who continue to face the same struggle for equality. In death he became an icon symbolizing noble struggle, though in life his biggest battle was sometimes with himself. As fate drove him towards the nihilism of gangsta rap, and into the arms of the controversial Death Row Records impresario Suge Knight, the boundaries between Shakur's art and his life became increasingly blurred — with tragic consequences.