White kids talkin' like they're black

It is October 1979, and the shelves of music stores across America are being stacked with the sound of the Sugahill Gang reciting the lines, ‘I said a hip hop the hippie the hippie to the hip hip hop, a you don’t stop…’ in rhythmic monotone over a catchily repetitive beat. A more explicit mainstream arrival for hip-hop could hardly have been possible.

Yet even then, as Wonder Mike, Big Bank Hank and Master Gee rapped the sentiment, ‘and I like to say hello to the black, to the white, the red, and the brown…’ it can be presumed they weren’t expecting the world to adopt their language and start answering back. This kind of music was a product of ‘the streets’ – a distinctive sound and style borne out of the Bronx district of New York in the late 1970s.

In many ways, the vibrant music that pulsed from apartment blocks across the borough was an artistic mirror to the segregation and social deprivation that riddled the community. 78% of people living in the Bronx were either black or hispanic; levels of unemployment and poverty were high. The poverty and frustration of a disaffected, disenfranchised, social group shaped both the physical form the production of hip-hop took, as well as the strong messages of defiance it communicated.

Illegally channeling electricity from the streetlights into their decks and speakers, DJs would improvise with the limited resources at hand, to pump music out to block-parties across the borough. Big communal affairs, they often included whole neighbourhoods coming together in the streets to party. Musically, the hip-hop DJs would isolate the instrumental ‘breaks’ in an existing song - the bits dancers could move to the best - and then loop them continually, using turntables to repeat the sound. Over the top of the track would come the rap - spoken poetry, often improvised on the spot. Rappers would battle each other in ‘toasting’ displays that resembled some sort of linguistic joust. As the style matured over the years, the lyrics grew to have increasingly more significance. In creative acts of anarchy - completely disregarding the origins of the songs they manipulated - DJs and rappers would hijack beats and transform them into vehicles for subversive protest.

This counter-culture was powerful in channeling both individual and collective statements about minority experiences of America, serving to challenge the mainstream perspective and the inequalities that perpetually placed such groups on the social margins. Particularly, it became the voice of the post-civil rights generation. For many, it was a new African-American resistance to poverty, drugs and institutionalised racism as they experienced it first hand.

As the three guys rapping about the ‘bang bang boogie’ caught commercial attention, in the hip-hop world, Sugahill Gang represent a diluted example of the music’s creative technique and political consciousness. With their mix between rap and disco, the record notably provides a more accessible model of the hip-hop enterprise than that offered by others at around the same time. It is the likes of Kool Herc, Grandmaster Flash and DJ Hollywood who are revered as the originators of hip-hop – the first to introduce ‘mixing’ and to use the turntable as a musical instrument.

That being said, MTV recently lauded the song and its longevity as a hip-hop classic, claiming that "it set an incredible precedent for everything that came after it." Either way, ‘Rapper’s Delight’ was hip-hop’s ‘in’ to the commercial industry - eventually going platinum and selling over 8 million records worldwide. The mainstream consumer gave this intriguing new genre the nod and the entertainment scene was instantly transformed. Rarely has hip-hop been seen out of the charts since.

Undoubtedly, its popularity changed the public image of the young black male in America. The edgy new scene this ‘cool’ genre presented, marketed black youths in a new light, making hip-hop icons the symbols of youthful innovation and creativity. The hip-hop culture gave African Americans - and later, black and minority British and European youths - a platform from where they could define themselves in their own terms, and also demonstrated the opportunity and potential for gaining social and economic success in today's society.

Nor has the broader cultural significance of hip-hop remained within the musical realm. Fans will speak in terms of the genre’s ‘five pillars’, acknowledging that in addition to rap itself, ‘turn-tableism’, beat boxing, break dancing and graffiti are also largely viewed as the style’s extension into other contemporary art forms. With this has also come the claim over sneakers, neon, and gold ‘bling’ as the hip-hop attitude has progressively established its visual identity.

Indeed, urban fashion has become an integral component of the hip-hop ‘brand’. Changing at least as much as the music, the ‘image’ has at varying points in the past three decades become synonymous with ‘ghetto-fabulous’, mafioso-influenced, bowler hats and silk shirts; designer sportswear and throwback jerseys; loud neon and aviators and – perhaps most symbolically – platinum medallions.

Hip-hop fashion is now a multi-million dollar industry and has contributed in no small way to hip-hop’s further status as a major commercial enterprise. Starting with Sean "Diddy" Combs and his ‘Sean John’ clothing line, many rappers have themselves gone on to set up their own fashion labels, such as Nelly’s Apple Bottom Jeans and Jay-Z’s Rocawear. The idea of the hip-hop entrepreneur has added a further inspirational twist to the image of the rapper – the journey from the ‘hood’ to the mansion has become a popular trope in contemporary hip-hop records.

But while in many senses hip-hop is still very much a black-dominated crowd – Kanye West, Jay-Z and 50-Cent remaining some of the most widely popular rappers – the fans that flock to the gigs and download the albums are from a diverse range of backgrounds and ethnicities. Ironically perhaps for a musical form that began as a subculture, and one solely ascribed to the periphery at that, hip-hop has transitioned into a populist and mainstream culture.

By becoming ever more global and inclusive, hip-hop has in many ways managed to bridge some of the racial gaps and has curiously gained kudos as a youth culture in its own right. Adhered to as a symbol, image and even a lifestyle choice by young people all over the world it provides expression for the universal experiences of the younger generation like no other contemporary musical genre. Just three decades on from ‘Rapper’s Delight’, it is by no means just black kids who sport the hoodies and bling while listening to rap and break-dancing in clubs.

Admittedly, however, this positive view of the hip-hop movement is far from universally accepted. There are many who would scoff at the suggestion that the images frequently cropping-up in hip-hop lyrics and across the media at large of ‘gangsta’ street crime and rich hip-hop playboys surrounded by scantily clad women, do anything more than breed violent and misogynistic behaviour amongst today’s youth. Hip-hop has attracted controversy for much of its time in the mainstream and this remains to be true today. In France, rapper Orelson whipped up a political storm, recently having his concerts canceled because of criticism from politicians and women’s groups alike objecting to lyrics they felt were sexist, violent and homophobic.

In recent years, commentators both inside and outside the hip-hop world have also flung criticism at its growing commercial basis and at the various high-profile stars deemed to have turned their back on the genre’s original values. In contrast to Public Enemy rapper, Chuck D’s famous claim that rap was "CNN for black people", many civil rights figures feel the modern industry has allowed hip-hop’s radical political function to fade in favour of the shiny bling and dollar-mountains that come with its ever-growing commercial success. In his 1992 song ‘Us’, rapper Ice Cube rhymed the line, "us will always sing the blues/'cause all we care about is hairstyles and tennis shoes." For some, hip-hop has lost its musical, and indeed racial, integrity.

Regardless of whether this criticism is justified, however, it would be reductive to say that hip-hop has sold out completely and lost all of its social and political value. In recent years, the ‘hip-hop generation’ has been targeted in the US, through high profile campaigns designed to encourage the 'hip-hop youth' to engage politically and use their votes.

This kind of ‘hip-hop activism’ was particularly successful in rallying behind Barack Obama’s successful presidential election campaign. The presence of high profile stars singing in campaign music videos and encouraging the hip-hop community to get behind the Democratic candidate—Jay-Z displayed a giant photo of Obama onstage during his recent Heart of the City Tour and rapper Nas released a song entitled 'Black President' in the run up to the election—was believed by many to be instrumental to his success, awakening new voters in the previously disaffected youth and ethnic minority groups.

Even this month, Bill Cosby has collaborated with guest-rappers and activists to compile a socially conscious hip-hop CD, which focuses on the critical issues affecting young people. Rapper Super Nova Slom told the media: "Our generation and society at large are at a real crossroads for survival; the times demand that we reopen this chapter of hip-hop."