When Byron Hurt says he loves hip-hop, he needs you to know it’s real, from the heart and sincere. It's real in that way you tell someone you love them right before an intervention.
Hurt was a natural to come speak at the annual Boys to Men conference this weekend. For years the organization has been working to help young men, as well as their mentors, deconstruct masculinity in the media, develop healthy relationships and avoid violence.
One of the more telling parts of the film is when Hurt talks with a group of young rappers trying to get their name out to record and radio executives in New York City. When he asks them why they rhyme about violence, hustling and women, they tell him it’s because it’s what sells.
When I asked Hurt about that he said it’s telling because it shows that these men are intelligent enough to know what sells and what doesn’t. But it’s also sad because they see it as the only way to make something of themselves.
"They bury a part of their heart and soul in the music they don’t write," he said
The bigger ramifications here are for young men, and in particular men of color, Hurt said. It’s not just that hip-hop fame is something to aspire to, it's that the people doing it are becoming icons for all the wrong reasons and perpetuating dangerous stereotypes about masculinity, sexuality and materialism.
Hip-hop has arguably had a target on its back ever since its early days coming out of the Bronx. Back then rappers were under scrutiny because of systemic problems in society, the economic conditions that created ghettos around the country, that left young men with little opportunities.
But today things have changed and pundits, politicians and so many others assail hip-hop for what it’s exporting. We’re post-Imus and post-"stop-snitchin'" now, and people are starting to ask real questions about what’s going to happen with hip-hop.
It’s not easy, Hurt said, because hip-hop has become a powerful, profitable juggernaut, counted on by many people for their continued benefit.
In the film Hurt sits down with rappers, record company executives, moguls like Russell Simmons and BET Vice President Steven Hill, and the accountability is scarce. It’s the problem no one knows how to fix.
Hurt said turning things around would mean sacrifice for a lot of people: "If I challenge it, I have to change what I’m doing, and what I’m doing has led to success," he said of the mindset.
If you’re a fan of hip-hop, if you’ve ever had any of these questions, if you think about how culture shapes the lives of young people, head to 1 Longfellow Square tonight. The screening begins at 7:30 p.m. and is free – but a $5 - $10 suggested donation would be appreciated by Boys to Men.
Justin is a former newspaper intern and has the scar tissue to prove
it. Justin has been a staff writer for the Portland Press Herald/Maine
Sunday Telegram since 2003, and in 2004 began writing a weekly column in the
Monday Magazine.
If he had to pick a label, the column would fall under "youth culture,"
covering everything from high school dance etiquette, dealing with college
debt, the resurgence of Roller Derby and Portland's one-of-a-kind music
scene. This of course has not stopped him from answering letters to Santa
Claus or writing about his experience riding shotgun in a drift car.
Justin is an export from the Midwest. He is a graduate of the University of
Missouri and is originally from Minnesota. He enjoys bacon, cheap beer,
redheads, Burt Reynolds jokes and wondering what the soundtrack to his life
would sound like.
When he grows up he wants to be an international art thief. Or Captain
America.
Until then he'll be bringing you dispatches about "the young people" and
what they do.
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