Black Reads: What happened to the rap superstar?
Superheroes don’t come a dime a dozen, and that scarcity is exactly why they were so pivotal growing up. For me, those heroes were and still are the ever-beloved and criticized rap superstar.
Thinking about what it was like growing up with the rise of rap music, lately, it’s been feeling like a disappointment to the culture. That’s my personal opinion; feel free to share how you feel in the comments. We really want to know.
As I’m testing out what is looks like for Blackstack to transition into column writers, B4’s topic pitch was a topic that just made sense. So, I’m not going to do too much talking; I’m going to let the writing speak for itself today.
Do the stars still shine the same?
Written by B4
Even if they don’t wear capes or knock bad guys into next week, we all have superheroes in our lives. The people near and dear to our hearts, who accomplish things we could never dream of. For some of us, those people were presidents, for others, those heroes were aunts and uncles, and many had a mix of the two. Superheroes don’t come a dime a dozen, and that scarcity is exactly why they were so pivotal growing up. For me, those heroes were and still are the ever-beloved and criticized rap superstar.
As a kid obsessed with every lyric and verse, he could spit in the mirror; there was no one more important than the biggest rapper at the time. Growing up, that title shifted between Jay, Kanye, Wayne, Eminem, 50, and a few others depending on the week. Their songs became the backdrops for lunchroom debates, and their beats turned into poorly replicated pencil beatings. Safe to say the heroes I grew up on had a profound impact on who I am, but that’s a given. That’s not what made these dudes superheroes. What makes a superhero isn’t the number of bad guys they beat up or the girls they save. What truly makes a hero is the persona. It’s the level of mystique and responsibility that this crop of rappers had. Jay moved like a boss, Kanye moved like a lovable nerd, Wayne had a banger come out every five minutes, you name it, they did it. There was a level of prestige to how they moved around the industry. They weren’t so easily accessible like the rappers are now.
Even as I bring up accessibility, I don’t believe that’s what killed the rap superstar. I believe its death is far more complicated than blaming the internet. Look no further than Drake, Kendrick Lamar, and J Cole for a definitive example of how accessibility creates a star. All three of these rap hall of famers blew up during the blog era. During this time, we had articles, docuseries, and countless interviews geared around spitters trying to find success. The rise of the internet created a bridge between the artist and the fan that didn’t exist before. And over 15 years later, all three of those artists still hold “larger than life” personas. Which begs the question, what truly killed the rap superstar?
Does my momma know you?
When I think of a superstar, I think of someone who transcends the space they operate in. I think of someone who is truly larger than life. Someone who wouldn’t appear real if they walked in the room right now. There are some who illicit that response, but that feeling is minimal between the MCs. It feels like one or two hold that power when 10 to 12 used to in the old days. A superstar is a Lebron James, a Tiger Woods, a Serena Williams. Even a Patrick Mahomes or a Lamar Jackson qualify as a “larger than life” figure. In the current rap game, there are maybe three to five names who garner that respect, but none feel like living events. When I ask myself why i think back to my mother knowing who Chance The Rapper is. For teens growing up in the 2010s chance was the chosen one. He was gearing up to be the successor to the big three after 2016’s Coloring Book. And for reasons well documented, he never achieved that status, but that isn’t the point. The point is that a young boy from the south side of Chicago had hip hop and the world in his palm. He garnered a level of notoriety and prestige outside of rap music that I haven’t seen since, and I don’t understand why.
It’s a bit hard to quantify that prestige without sounding like a hater or an old head. I’ll be the first to admit that newer artists like Rod Wave, Youngboy, and Veeze are cold as hell. Of all the younger artist it’s ironically Youngboy who comes closest to capturing that mystique. Something about him is ominous, enticing, and captivating all before you hear a word. He, Travis Scott, and Lil Baby are the closest this era’s come to truly becoming a rap superstar. The best way I can quantify the gap between star and superstar is this. Are you known outside of your circle? Would people across the world know you by face alone? Would you get a popstar featured on your song and it help the popstar? A superstar is someone who holds the world in any given moment. Not someone who is wrestling for the world with three others.
I think the death of the rap superstar is a culmination of a few things. The internet has done wonders for the world of hip hop, and there’s no denying that. There’s also no denying that the mystique behind the artist is gone. Before the boom of social media, it was a rarity to see an artist. We didn’t grow up seeing Beyoncé on TikTok or watching Kanye walk down the street on Twitch. When we did get glimpses, they felt like memories we needed to cherish. Now we know more than ever before and probably a bit too much.
There’s also too many heroes trying to be superheroes nowadays. Back in the day, everyone had a distinct place. Some people were stars, and others were all stars. You could climb up a tier for a year or two, but the top spots were etched in stone. Now the top spot no longer truly exists. It’s been filled by a gambit of thrones orbiting a kingdom that no longer exists. You have the superstars of old still kicking, but no one’s come to take their place. No one has stuck their flag in the ground and demanded their turn. Those who tried have fallen to the wayside and only somewhat recovered.
Lastly, I think the rap superstar died when so many of our young stars died. Acts like XXXTENTACION, Pop Smoke, JuiceWrld, and a few others all met untimely deaths. While it’s impossible to say who would’ve risen to the top, it’s easy to say they all had a shot. Perhaps the string of deaths left a vacancy that only a ghost can fill.
Ultimately, I think the rap superstar died the day the mystique went away. When the curtains pulled up and the mask came off, the fans learned a bit too much. When the fans learn a bit too much, we start to judge too harshly. We start calling everyone a tryhard or a loser instead of embracing their art. It might be crazy to say, but did we stan so hard we killed the superstar? Does the blood lay on the same hands that beg for a new king? I’ve struggled to piece together a perfect answer, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe what killed the rap superstar was the fan looking to know everything.
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young mula baby
Why no discussion of female rap superstars?