Shad Reed has been listening to the vets in rap and had some clear conclusions about aging in rap.
Despite it being more than a decade ago, I still vividly remember speaking with DJ Jazzy Jeff for a piece I was writing and him explaining that parents DO understand when it comes to Hip-Hop now.
When I asked him to elaborate (mainly because my mother—God rest her soul—didn’t), he said that people who were parents now were the ’70s and ’80s kids who grew up with Hip-Hop as it fought for its rightful place in popular culture.
But, for a long time, Baby Boomers were the tastemakers, and among them, Hip-Hop was a completely foreign concept. However, by the 2010s, that was no longer the case, and Hip-Hop had firmly woven itself into American society.
The influence of rap music on people making corporate decisions was clear: things had changed. Popularity, time and commerce bridged the gap between the authenticity of Hip-Hop and the American business landscape, for better or worse. But ultimately, it was a gargantuan success in that rap went from bodegas to boardrooms and became a multi-billion-dollar industry.
In the ’90s and even the early ’00s, there was a mindset in the community that once people in Hip-Hop got to a certain age, they either died, “retired” or fell off. Until then, not unlike athletics, rap was seen as a young person’s game.
While many people could still flourish in conventional professions well into their 50s, that was not true for most professional rappers; they mostly faded into obscurity. Again, though, there has been a generational shift; just like how Hip-Hop eventually carved its lane in corporate America, it’s now making it more accessible and acceptable for older and established participants.
Multiple artists over 50 (Eminem, LL COOL J, Ice Cube, Redman, Snoop Dogg, Common & Pete Rock, Fat Joe, MC Lyte) released stellar albums in 2024 alone. There are also podcasts like Drink Champs and Questlove Supreme, which praise artists and people in the culture for their longstanding contributions.
Radio stations also post their interviews online, giving them infinite life, which certainly hasn’t always been the case. Then there are podcasts like WTF with Marc Maron and The Joe Rogan Experience, which, while hosting a wide array of guests from multiple arenas, haven’t shied away from Hip-Hop either and are among the most popular podcasts today.
Additionally, some Hip-Hop YouTube series entertain and educate new and old fans alike (e.g., DJ Premier’s So Wassup and stellar video essays by content creators like Clout Cancun and Brandon Shaw’s Digging the Greats).
There are no longer limitations on content regarding magazine space or predetermined airtime on television or radio slots. The internet provides limitless space for material to be posted and shared. And while there is much to sift through, the cream rises to the top, and dope content finds its audience. Ironically, this also includes content ripped from programs that once required appointment viewing (news clips, segments from television specials, etc.).
It’s also worth noting that older fans come from a time when they paid for music to a far greater degree than the average popular music consumer today. Artists from that era capitalized on that loyalty, delivering quality material with a more niche approach rather than aiming solely for digital streaming playlists or mainstream radio.
De La Soul’s 2016 album …And the Anonymous Nobody was fan-funded. After bouncing from labels, they launched a Kickstarter to fund the album. The group, who had been releasing music for more than a quarter-century at that point, reached their goal of $110,000 in just ten hours. By the campaign’s end, they had raised over $600,000, proving a bankable market existed for Hip-Hop outside its key demographic. Given the “here today, gone tomorrow” pace of popular music, many people could easily overlook something like that if they were only focused on chart-toppers.
Then, the Hip-Hop audience and its artists are aging, too. Plain and simple. When it was born on August 11, 1973, in the Bronx, Hip-Hop was a party thrown by young people [no “old people” liked this culture when it started, lol]. They loved the music, but they grew up, so the music had to change to retain that audience and the millions who fell in love with it since. And since time and tide wait for no one, inevitably, the emcees evolved too.
For a more modern example (at least relative to the ’70s), in 1999, JAY-Z said on his classic track “Big Pimpin’,” “Me give my heart to a woman? Not for nothin’, never happen/I’ll be forever mackin’.”
Eighteen years later, on the title track of his 4:44 album, he spits, “‘You did what with who?’/What good is a ménage à trois when you have a soulmate?/’You risked that for Blue?’” Jay’s growth, maturity, and strength in vulnerability are noteworthy.
Another instance of this comes from his formidable opponent in the second-greatest battle in rap history (just behind Kendrick Lamar and Drake): Nas. Mr. Jones went from “Oochie Wally [Remix]” in ’00 to posing on the cover of his 2012 classic Life is Good with his ex-wife’s wedding dress, closing out the album on “Bye Baby” with lyrics, “At least I can say I tried, plus enjoyed the ride/Plus, we got our little boy, my little joy and pride/He got my nose, my grill, your color, your eyes/Next go round, I hope I pick the truest type/And watch me do it all again/It’s a beautiful life, a’ight.”
These two all-time greats remained relevant and consistent for more than 20 years in rap (two of the very few to have achieved that). The success of those albums showed there was an audience for deeper introspection and a more adult take on life. Since then, artists coming up after Nas and Jay—or even before—have broken through barriers those albums shattered, proving “B-boys” and “B-girls” could become “B-men” and “B-women” and still be embraced by the Hip-Hop community. It was an important step, and I am happy to see many artists taking it now as they approach middle age.
As a 37-year-old man, while I can appreciate and respect a hyper-sexualized contemporary record like “WAP,” it doesn’t speak to me. I’m at a point where I’m more interested in relationships than just rolling in the sheets, and I’m grateful Hip-Hop has proven to have space for both. This inclusivity is how it will continue not just to survive but thrive. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Respect due.
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