Zach Ardente
Writing In The Visual
Arts
Multimodal Narrative
I
Am a White Rapper
You know that cocky asshole white rapper everyone who’s gone
to high school in this millennium knows? The one who won’t even pretend
to listen to the “haters”?
The one whose shoes always match his shirt, and even though his raps may not be
“original”, or “good”, he guarantees he’ll be the next sensation? Yeah? Well I
envy that guy. I know it may sound lame, and obviously I don’t envy him for his
rap skills, but I envy him for always keeping his chin up, even though he
sucks. You see I am in that strange, up-‘n-coming sub genre of white, college
student rappers. My passion is producing music, making beats, and of course,
rapping. I can rap, and this is what
separates me from that white boy we all know. That and deep down I am ashamed
of this skill.
Just
like most white boys who grew up in the late 90’s and early 2000’s, I
thoroughly enjoyed blasting the Notorious BIG’s Kick in The
Door with all the windows
open in my mid size sedan. My 12-inch subwoofer served two purposes: grabbing
people’s attention, and once they noticed me, showing them I was all business.
I fell in love with Hip Hop, and decided to start creating my own. Now, here I
am, 7 years later. The beats are made. Prepared. Waiting for my verses, and I
have nothing to say. How can I pretend that I could ever be better than Tupac,
or Jay-Z, or could relate to more people than Slug of Atmosphere? I can’t shake
this constant questioning of whether or not I have what it takes to make it.
Now I’m starting to realize that it is rooted in my guilt and shame. I truly
love hip hop, but our relationship is kinda like that feeling when your
significant other is really drunk and acting like a complete asshole, and you
can’t help feeling embarrassed even though you know it’s not right to be
embarrassed of something you love. Why can’t I be like early 2000’s Jay Z and
just “brush my shoulder off”?
Because I care too much what other
people think. More specifically, I care too much what the people close to me
think. I cannot verbalize an explanation for why I care, but I do, I care a
lot. I find myself being inspired and writing a verse that I know I will never
release because I don’t think people I know will like it. I am stuck in this
perpetual role of the victim, the weird-o, black sheep. Honestly, there was
nothing I wanted more than to be like the normal, athletic kids I grew up
around. The funny thing about that is they could never respect my passion
because I was white, and it was rap. In fact, they worked very hard to make
sure I knew that they didn’t respect me, or what I did. Directly after I
released my first mixtape, they would frequently tell me I wasn’t black, that I
sucked, that I was no longer cool because “I did art”. That was the only
reason. Even the student body President in my “small tight knit community” of a
private school would take time out of his day to find me, walk by me in the
hallway, and call me a faggot. This constant ridicule and demeaning talk
created this strange complex with how I go about executing my songs. I no
longer write for me, I write to prove these kids wrong. To prove to them that I
can do this, in the hopes that one-day they will accept me and listen to my
music. That being said, this summer I decided that for my own self-respect, I
would end this vicious cycle, and accept that these kids and I are no longer
friendly. I have a passion, and I am going for it with all I have. I am not a
victim. I cannot be ashamed.
On that note, I have a better
question. Why can’t people be more accepting? Why do people feel the need to
roll their eyes at me every time I say I rap? No, I am not that asshole
white-boy rapper who strictly raps about weed, rims, and clothes they don’t
have. Don’t assume I am. Why does someone in my family have to bring up that my
rap videos on the internet will ruin my chances at getting a job every single
time I see them? I mean Jesus, no wonder why I have no confidence that I’ll
make it. Why can’t they just stick to hello, how are you? Are they that ashamed
of me? I guess they don’t understand that Hip Hop isn’t just “for black people”
anymore. Pretty much nothing is “just for blacks” or “just for whites” in our
society, and it’s best that way. I know it’s not following suit in our
traditional Italian family to decide to become an artist, and to express myself
with hip hop, but that’s just how it’s going to be. Whether I’m dirt poor, or
rich as hell, I will be equally happy. That’s why I won’t let my family bother
me anymore. I am who I am, and until they accept that, they can be pissed off
all they want. I am driven to change the way people in general perceive white
rappers. I am not a victim. I am an
artist. I cannot be ashamed.
These thoughts run through my head
at the speed of light while I sit here staring at this blank piece of paper
trying to write my next verse. I confess I will always care about how my family
perceives me, and if the general public will ever respect me. That being said,
I will no longer allow so much of my energy to go towards gaining these peoples’
acceptance. I have finally come to terms with not needing their approval. I am
going to do this for me, not them. As one of the handful of accepting people in
my life-my noble grandpa-always says, “never be a victim. This is America.
There are opportunities all around us.” I will live by these words. I will no
longer allow the stigma of the “white rapper” to haunt me. I will be like that
cocky asshole rapper we all knew in high school and I will always keep my chin
up. I will always be confident that I am going to do something with my passion
and talent. I will not doubt. I will sit here and write this verse and I will
be proud of the end result. I have a confession: I am a proud white rapper.
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