Party's on?

By David Fear

I'm-a move to like ... some straight-up ghetto thug-ass projects type shit. Where the people just kick it every day and keep it real. And chill in their BMWs and rap, and all the girls got on bikinis, and everybody just ... parties ... and raps.

Flip Jails, Hospitals and Hip-Hop, Danny Hoch

HIP-HOP , the voice of urban culture, officially came of age in the '90s, reaping both respect and a mass audience beyond any of its expectations. It wasn't a huge surprise that the medium's ascension to the mainstream was accompanied by a lot of letting it all hang out. Sure, the decade saw its share of political sloganeering and straight-from-da-underground grit bubbling up from rap's creative core. Take a look back through hip-hop videos from the last 5 to 10 years, however, and a central image instantly springs to mind: the rhyme slinger and a few dozen friends, chilling out by the pool (or on the yacht, or in the Bahamas, or ...), drinks in their hands, heads bobbing, keeping it real. After years of hustling and negotiating the nation's ghetto war zones, gangstas (real or only on wax) just wanted to have fun. Now was the time to crack open a bottle or two of Cristal, put on the bling-bling, and enjoy the ride.

Credit The Chronic, Dr. Dre's 1992 beats-and-blunts opus, as the pacesetter for video party central. Dre not only set the standard for the laid-back G-funk of the day but also directed videos for the album's singles "Dre Day" and "Let Me Ride," clips that seemed less like promos for the songs than idealized hood home movies. The dangerous SoCal battlegrounds of N.W.A. were transformed into a land of sun-soaked barbecues, fridges packed with 40-ouncers, and 'round-the-way girls with slammin' bodies. Later the East Coast let it be known that it could throw a bash, all mansions and endless Moët fountains amid sleek, shiny reflective surfaces and a Hype Williams/Paul Hunter credit (see most of Jay-Z or Puff Daddy's video output). The ante for the hip-hop high life had been upped.

Suddenly the old joke about the generic-urban-alleyway hip-hop video was null and void; now directors had better check out the rental rates for that house in the Hamptons. The last few years have seen the party video become the imagery of choice. Regionalism, label identity, even genre specifics are now less important than whether you'll be rocking the Gucci with a three-wheeler bike or a fleet of Benzes. Welcome to "Yo! QVC Raps!," that endless loop of material goods parading by as the party never stops.

The heavy-rotation MTV video of the moment – an aptly named New Millennial Jack-meets-hip hop hybrid that plays like clockwork every 90 minutes, titled, appropriately enough, "Where's the Party At?," by Jagged Edge – suggests the visual palette won't be changing anytime soon. Though St. Louis native and "country grammar" linguist Nelly guests on the track, the sound is generic enough to hail from anywhere. No matter; Jagged Edge pledge allegiance to the Party Nation. The band lounge around a tropical beach, surrounded by scores of beautiful women in bikinis. After checking their mobiles, the quartet retire to a poolside party where a brand-new bevy of beauties awaits them. A few drinks, some pool frolicking, and a shout-out to party people later, the band is ready to seriously use "party" as a verb.

Chuck D posited that hip-hop was black CNN, but the transmissions seem to have been interrupted, unless you think the culture revolves around nothing more than getting your groove on, 24-7. The interchangeable images of urban thug-lite toughness in rap and R&B have mercifully been replaced, but now the alternative is keeping it even less "real" than before, stuck on a clichéd permanent vacation. Jagged Edge's question is moot. Where's the party at, you ask? Apparently, it's all around you, indistinguishable from the spring-break programming that dominates MTV's airwaves every March. People once looked to hip-hop as the voice of the streets. Now, judging by its videos, the streets are empty. Everyone's stuck at the party.

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