Diary of a Mad Black DJ 402: The Night that Hip Hop...

It was the day after the assassination of one of America’s most important stewards of peace, facilitators of freedom, and symbols of progress and nonviolence. Dr. Martin Luther King’s assassination sent shockwaves through the nation. As his peers mourned and held tightly to his Dream of tolerance and nonviolence, the youth expressed their grief in a different way.

Riots broke out nationwide. America needed healing—but not before a long-overdue reckoning. Memphis became a landmark for a horrific turning point in Civil Rights history. Meanwhile, over a thousand miles away, another speaker and facilitator of freedom was faced with a choice.

His voice was not rooted in theology, nor was it shaped by eloquently written speeches, doctrine, or practice. His protest pounded through rhythm, melody, and movement. In fact, some would argue that just as freedom songs were the soundtrack of the Civil Rights Movement, his voice laid the blueprint for what those songs would evolve into by the late 60's and 1970s.

The Black Power Movement would soon have an unofficial anthem, and he was the conductor. James Brown was slated to perform at the Boston Garden less than 24 hours after America had lost its hero and practitioner of peace, MLK. Faced with a difficult decision and gripped by fear and the possibility of violence, Boston’s Mayor Kevin White made the call to cancel Mr. Brown’s performance.

However, Mr. Showbiz himself urged the mayor to let the concert proceed, hoping that people would stay inside and fellowship while watching him perform, instead of expressing their frustration in the streets of Boston and adding to the other 125 rioting cities.

The night was later documented by WGBH and immortalized in the documentary The Night James Brown Saved Boston.

Fast-forward 57 years to February 9, 2025.

It was the biggest night in hip-hop and the biggest night in sports history. For only the second time ever, two Black quarterbacks would face off in the Big Game—during Black History Month, no less. The halftime show featured one of the Blackest hip-hop artists, fresh off a five-Grammy win at one of the Blackest Recording Academy events in history (I mean, a Black woman won both Album of the Year and Country Album of the Year).

This February is looking pretty Blackity Black. We should be celebrating and swinging our folded white chairs, right?

Well… maybe if succeeding within the minimalist minority allocation that oppression has provided and provisioned for our existence is the goal. America has always looked to Black people for three things—entertainment, athleticism, and service (housekeeping, childcare, and cooking). Being permitted to beguile an audience that thrives off our exploitation is hardly a step forward in liberation or progress for marginalized people. We’ve mistaken equality for equity.

Furthermore, we’ve fought so hard for equality that we’ve failed to ask: Who do we actually want to be equal to? (Yes, I’m ending my sentence with a preposition.)

In my teaching artist days, I used to tell my students: Never ask to be “equal” to someone you are clearly better than. (Twice. LOL.)

However, two things can be true at once. Can a big moment for hip-hop be both a huge step forward for hip-hop culture and two steps back for civil rights? Absolutely.

It is not lost on me that Jay-Z’s "beef" with Harry Belafonte has not aged well—especially with Mr. Carter completely pulling a Bass Reeves on Colin Kaepernick. Systems of oppression don’t heal overnight, and they definitely don’t mend well when bait-and-switch tactics are used to trick the encampment into believing they are, in fact, free.

Imagine it: “I’m so free that I can perform at the Super Bowl.” For an organization that wouldn’t so much as stand—or bend a knee—if a civil servant killed one of their players in cold blood.

But that’s old news, right? It’s not like it’s still happening. We have bigger bills to die—I mean DEI (which, like affirmative action, overwhelmingly benefits white women, by the way). It’s also interesting that diversity efforts seem most acceptable when they involve someone winning a medal for this country or "safely" entertaining rich white America.

But even in the hideous, there’s still beauty.

Serena literally C-walked on Aubrey’s metaphorical career’s grave—a reckoning I’d been waiting for since the 20-teens. I haven't been a Drake fan for some time(ever since he made it his mission to stay in women’s business). I’ve always felt that the Canadian colonizer treats Black women the same way America treats Black people.)

That doesn’t mean Kendrick is blameless. His battle with Spotify to save the Pedo Piper and the XXxr@pist still holds weight in my mind. But I’m more forgiving with Kendrick because, unlike Little Jimmy, his misogyny often makes exceptions for Black women in harm’s way—especially in the public eye of white America.

When the industry turned its back on Rihanna after she was attacked by the breakdancing crooner bully, Kendrick initiated a collaboration with a very telling music video, almost daring Chris Brown to “try that with a man.” And the timing of Not Like Us —just months after Megan dropped Hiss —felt almost harmonious. It was perfectly planned...Like, “Sis, you take care of Nicki, and I got ole boy.” You’d think pgLang and Roc Nation masterminded the perfect get-back for hip-hop’s war on Black women, with Kendrick at the helm. (But I don’t have proof of this logic.)

What I do have proof of is America’s tendency to rely on our own demise to push its agenda. Instead of leveling the playing field, they pick and choose the “good ones.” And having their chosen “superior Negro” do the picking? Even better. It gives the illusion of autonomy.

I saw one of the most Uncle Tom-inspired LinkedIn posts of this millennium actually praising the good white people of the NFL and their boo (Jigga) for such a“strategic” practice in bringing Black music back to the fields—I mean, on the field (during halftime, of course… not the plantation). The only thing missing from that post was a reference to American pie—the apples, of course, being strange fruit.

But I won’t be a party pooper. Unfortunately, our memory genes aren’t fully developed thanks to short attention spans, and our priorities are so skewed that people are actually arguing over the quality of the performance itself. Spoiler alert: Nobody is topping MJ’s look-left, look-right, crowd-faints-before-a-note-is-sung moment.

And listen, I’m not saying the allusions and references from K.Dot's show were symbolically elementary, but I’ve seen more coded allegory in an episode of Random Acts of Flyness. If you’re struggling with the “backs of slaves building the American flag” moment, you probably spend more time watching ESPN than being in a museum or reading a book. You might need to turn the TV off… wake up and smell the MUSTAAAAAARD!

But I digress.

The real question is—why are we still doing this?

If we’re content with 10 to 12 of us being elevated, revered, and deified every 50 years or so and calling that progress—then fine. It is what it is. But if we actually want liberation, we have to ask: Why didn’t Jay start his own NFL? If the goal is equity and not equality, that would be ideal. Why are we still plugging into systems of oppression to show and teach white people anything?

I don’t see other culturally diverse artists going out of their way to educate Americans on anything. Especially artists from the Continent. If Davido or Burna Boy were asked to play the Super Bowl, would they even consider the American perspective? Maybe? But I don’t think America would be on their minds—just their people. To be fair, the same is probably true for Kendrick. Maybe he just wanted to give Black folks 10 to 20 minutes of joy and disrupt the mainstream. Maybe it was simply a great opportunity for him—one that, for decades, was overwhelmingly afforded to only pop stars (mostly white). Now those opportunities have become more diverse.

If that’s the case, then Jay is hitting his mark.

And to play my own devil’s advocate—Jay isn’t responsible for carrying Black people on his back. His job is to make music. He’s a musician, a culture icon. In the grand scheme of this deal, he’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to do.

So where’s our Elon Musk? Where’s our "Trump"? (Yeah, I said it.) Where’s our Bill Gates or Alice Walton? Have we been so focused on dancing on massa’s stage that we forgot we can build our own? We talk about Black Wall Street so much, yet we’re still trying to buy stock on regular Wall Street.

But what do I know? I’m still writing blogs—and nobody reads blogs anymore! This should’ve been a TikTok post! LOL.

Either way, whatever you decide—whether it’s supporting systems that have and will continue to oppress you or supporting artists who support those systems that don’t care about you or the artists—I guess… have fun! Y’all looked like y’all had a good time. And in this dark, dismal world, joy ain’t everything—but baby, it’s something.

And yes, joy is still a form of protest.

So, whether you believe that February 9 was the night that hip-hop died or the night Kendrick Lamar saved America, one thing is for sure—hip-hop will never be the same. And unfortunately, the struggle for Black equity in America remains.

Always remember: L is for Love.