Feature
URB
September 2007
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Hip-hop is a market force like few other genres, one that’s coined more terms for cash than the U.S. Mint. It dominates the charts, and the entrepreneurial enterprises of its stars, from movie roles to merchandise, seem ubiquitous. Jay-Z’s “I’m not a businessman/I’m a business, man” line has never seemed more apt, especially after he made more than $200 million selling Rocawear. But are most hip-hop icons going to be cashing in throughout the long haul?
Classic rock bands still make vast amounts of money. At a time when Dennis Hopper is a pitchman for retirement planning, it’s clear that members of the Boomer generation reach for their wallets when marketing messages play to their self-styled rebellious image. Still a significant segment of the music industry, older rock acts are coasting on a perfect confluence of wealthy fans, touring opportunities and deep catalogs of older albums that still sell.
Music will always mint new millionaires, but today’s big-name hip-hop artists may not enjoy the same kind of late-career windfall enriching rock bands. The game is changing, and these shifts may affect rappers’ incomes later in their careers.
ONLY MOVING G-UNITS
Many classic rock albums still sell at an amazing clip, guaranteeing artists future royalties and income. But in comparison, the market for classic hip-hop is flat and underdeveloped. According to a New York Times article, Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Millions… only sells hundreds of copies each week. Add the financial strains of sampling, which requires clearances and diverts potential revenue to copyright owners, and sometimes labels shy away from selling older releases.
“It can be an expensive proposition,” says Bill Gagnon, a vice president at EMI who was involved in the label’s recent N.W.A. and Gang Starr greatest-hits releases. “From the record company’s standpoint, lots of attorneys are involved getting sample clearances. Is it worthwhile given the costs?”
Digital downloading and distribution, where the disposable single is king, also hurt sales and have even infl uenced the way labels approach artists. New York entertainment lawyer Christopher Chase says labels want to be involved in more than records. “The way the industry is going, bigger labels want to get a piece of everything,” he says. That includes tour revenue and merchandising—a significant shift because those are traditional cash cows for artists.
By far the steadiest and largest stream of income for many aging rocks acts is touring. The Rolling Stones are perennial road warriors and, in 2006, raked in $138.5 million. But Gary Bongiovanni, editor-in-chief of the concert industry magazine Pollstar, says big-name hip-hop acts haven’t established a lasting presence on the road.
“We haven’t seen any tremendous changes to the number of hip-hop tours going out,” said Bongiovanni. “There apparently isn’t the same public appetite to see those artists live as there is to hear their music in a recorded fashion.”
Hip-hop, in many ways a studio medium, often doesn’t translate well onstage. Grinding it out on tour may seem like a waste of time to up-and-coming rappers who believe they can score national exposure with one hot single. The Black Eyed Peas, who made $19.4 million from concerts this past year, had the highest grossing hip-hop tour in 2006, which, to put it in perspective, was about $1.7 million less than blue-collar comedian Larry the Cable Guy.
Why the disparity? Chang Weisberg, the founder and promoter of the Rock the Bells tour, feels the genre needs more acts like Brother Ali and Murs, guys willing to tour relentlessly to earn the title of MC. He also thinks venues need to book more hip-hop shows, creating a “minor league” where acts can pay their dues and develop performance skills.
“Live Nation and House of Blues would like nothing more than to supply fans with their fix,” says Weisberg. “There just needs to be demand. The live experience is at the top of the food chain. You can record it, and you can pirate it, but that cipher you can’t recreate via the Internet. People are always going to want to see quality shows.”
The final piece of an artist’s portfolio, licensing and marketing, might be the savior. Every platform is fair game, from shoes and energy drinks to movie careers and Russell Simmons’s prepaid debit cards. As the record industry continues to suffer, alternative revenue sources are becoming a well-treaded road for financial gain. But few rappers reach the celebrity status needed to secure such profitable deals. And even if they get the cash, that’s no guarantee it will be wisely invested for the future.
HELPING OUT THE OLD SCHOOL
Of course, the financial health of hip-hop today means little to the pioneers who started the movement in the early ‘80s and who are now approaching retirement age. According to DJ AJ Scratch, a New York native who co-wrote the lyrics to Kurtis Blow’s hit “If I Ruled the World,” many aren’t getting the respect they deserve. Or the scrilla.
“As big as rap is today, why would the pioneers have to go job searching when something they created is a billion-dollar industry right now?” Scratch asks. “That’s like Mick Jagger waiting tables to make ends meet.”
Scratch organizes a yearly dinner for other pioneers—some of whom are getting by on regular Joe jobs—at a Harlem sports bar. Of course, some are doing well. Grand Wizard Theodore, revered for inventing the scratch technique, teaches at the Scratch Academy and DJs multiple times a month, especially overseas. Like jazz musicians before them, many pioneering hip-hop acts find better economic opportunities in Europe. In the United States, Theodore says, the pioneers can be ignored.
“Those getting gigs are the Doug E. Freshes and the Biz Markies,” says Theodore. “They’re considered old school. They don’t consider us old school. When you say pioneers, you’re talking about people doing hip-hop before hip-hop was on wax.”
And unlike jazz or blues musicians, no safety net exists to assist aging artists without financial assets. Theodore says when guys such as Daryll C of the Crash Crew and Keith Cowboy from Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five passed away, a fund should have existed to pay for their funerals. He says pioneers have been talking about setting one up for years, but it’s never come together.
Both the Jazz Foundation of America and the Renew Our Music Fund in New Orleans, foundations funded by private donations, provide financial assistance to deserving musicians and may be models for future hip-hop funds. Wendy Oxenhorn, executive director of the Jazz Foundation, says the organization takes a holistic approach to helping with medical costs, rent issues and much more. Renew Our Music, set up in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina to provide aid to the Big Easy music scene, has given community grants to hip-hop artists (the Jazz Foundation has also provided assistance to hip-hop artists).
Because hip-hop elders are only in their 50s, the situation isn’t dire, yet. But the disparity between pioneering acts and multimillion-dollar stars is evident, especially at a time when the genre is increasingly receiving offi cial notice. The Smithsonian even started a hip-hop initiative in February 2006. According to Bill Adler, a pioneering hip-hop journalist and publicist who now runs the Eyejammie Gallery in Manhattan, rappers are beginning to look back.
“There’s a growing sense of history within hip-hop, and it’s a relatively new feeling within the culture because it’s so young and forward-looking,” says Adler.
As rappers face a somewhat uncertain future, it’s instructive to re-examine the lessons of the pioneers. As the genre continues expanding into an established, global cultural movement, it’s vital to remember that the creativity and hustle that started things can’t be faked.
“The game has really changed,” says Theodore. “You have guys only getting into the game for the money, which isn’t bad. But the rappers today do hip-hop from nine to five. We eat, sleep and drink hip-hop, you know?”