Statistics say about 90 percent of pop songs are about love. The Grammy Awards and critical recognition show hip-hop continues to be marginalized in mainstream music culture despite increasing acceptance in public opinion. Hip-hop as a genre, while underrepresented, is underrepresentative itself—of love.

This past New Years’ Eve my friends and I were counting in the year to the soundtrack presented by BET’s “Top 50 of 2012.” Around count 10 I proposed a bet to my friends: we each picked a word we expected to hear in the next song on the countdown, whatever that song might be. I lost that bet.

BET’s list is not balanced genre-wise, skewing toward hip-hop and R&B. Fresh off hearing Nas’ “Daughters,” at number 10, which ends with the word “love” (its only mention of the same) I picked “love” as my word, knowing popular statistics were on my side. My two friends selected “niggas” and “pussy.”

The next song, Rick Ross’ “Stay Schemin’,” included plenty of “niggas” and even “pussy,” yet not one mention of “love.” Following songs were also heavy on the N and P words, and naked of the L word. My mistake, I admitted, may have been I was expecting to hear more R&B, the preferred form for love ballads, and gangster rap was a wholly different genre.

Yet both genres originated in the underground. Hip-hop originated as a genre of rebels and protesters looking for an alternate musical outlet, and while not yet homogenized, hip-hop as a culture has developed its own norms. One apparent norm today is not rapping about love.

On his 2008 album, I’m Innocent, rapper Murs drew attention to this problem in his song “Love and Appreciate 2.” In the song, Murs speaks as intro “we’ve been talking about how for our hip-hop generation it seems like there’s no more love songs—it’s like all the women are Bs and Hs, and it seems like nobody’s man enough to talk about love.” But is the problem really a lack of manhood in hip-hop, or is the problem a misunderstanding of manhood?

Despite that I am a woman, I recognize my genre of choice (hip-hop) is yet another place in the world where gender stereotypes predominate and male and female roles are far out of balance. Likely this is another contributing factor to hip-hop’s over-developed testosterone. To prove their manhood rappers too often assert their dominance over women. Note too that Murs, a vocal critic of his own genre’s direction, is considered an “indie” or “underground” rapper—not a rapper likely to be displayed on the Billboard’s top charts.

Back in the day, in old school hip-hop’s origins, with groups such as Public Enemy and Rum-DMC leading the development of a new sound, love was not yet a hip-hop taboo. To the contrary, Public Enemy’s early works included songs “MKLVFKWR (Make Love Fuck War)” and “Whole Lotta Love Goin On in the Middle of Hell.” Among Run-DMC’s originating works was the song “Let’s Stay Together (Together Forever).”

As this article goes to press, topping the Billboard charts are Baauer’s “Harlem Shake” and Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop.” Though these songs are considered perversions of the genre, they adhere to its norm—not a single love reference. On the other hand, the top R&B songs, by Bruno Mars and Justin Timberlake, are unafraid to drop the L word.

Maybe this explains hip-hop’s evolution: the “soft” in the culture are relegated to R&B, and those who want to keep their hip-hop label (and avoid becoming one of Dre’s “Bitch Niggaz”) develop a harder edge. Yet to avoid becoming a genre of anger and flash, and lose its substance, hip-hop artists need to step up, and remember the words of Run-DMC.

To quote “Let’s Stay Together,” on behalf of the relationship between hip-hop and love, may hip-hop remember with love the genre has “been down together since day one.” So hip-hop, this is love speaking—and let’s stay together.

I like to keep an open mind, I love opinions and suggestions even more.

I really want to know what you, yes you who is reading this, think and/or feel about these recent events and absurd happenings. The beginning of 2013 has not been the best, from Sandyhook to the President being sent a letter with poison in it.

What do you think? And how do you feel?

Somewhere in the snarl “Monomania,” you can hear the mournful melodicism that’s made Deerhunter into the deserving critics’ darlings they are – somewhere, but it’s not obvious. The lead single from their upcoming album of the same title, “Monomania” is ragged and decidedly unrestrained, a throwback to days on the Atlanta basement circuit. Bradford Cox’s vocals seethe with a mixture of angst and distortion, a new trick for Deerhunter on a song devoid of their old ones. There’s no autoharp, no saxophone, none of the shimmering sonar of “Helicopter.” The tune’s punk roar is tempered only but beautifully by Lockett Pundt’s echoing lead guitar over the song’s fluid first half, which never settles into any recognizable form but progressively blooms until spiraling into Cox’s chanted (and, at roughly two minutes, slightly too long) outro of “Mono, monomania!”

Deerhunter perform “Monomania” on Jimmy Fallon

“Monomania” – fixation on one single thing – is a funny title for a song by a man whose tortured inner workings have always seemed anything but unidirectional. But on this track, he’s resigned and defeated like he’s never been before, when he at least asked us to pray for him. “My only boy couldn’t even save me,” he laments at the song’s opening – he’s lost before even getting started.
“If you can’t send me an angel,” Cox cries, “send me something else instead.” Maybe he’s lowered his standards, but we haven’t. I don’t know about you, but I’m already more impatient for this album than I can remember being in a long time, and to complete the holy trinity begun with Microcastle and Halcyon Digest, nothing short of an angel will do. Deerhunter has always struck gold at the intersection of effort and accessibility, with songs that are just as fresh as they are immediately compelling. “Monomania” is raw and rough-edged, and it’s good – but I hope the album is better.

Check it out here

The Strokes have always been the epitome of cool, but on Comedown Machine, they’ve gotten too cool for their own good. The fifth album from rock and roll’s official New York darlings features an array of tense and sultry tunes, taut webs of guitar and drums that shift tonalities with Julian Casablancas’ trademark ease, but rather than erupt into garage-rock brilliance as is custom, most songs on the album simmer without ever boiling over. The muscular guitars that made fist-pumpers like “You Only Live Once” worthy additions to the modern rock canon are replaced on “Tap Out” and “Welcome to Japan” by brooding layers of guitar fuzz and krautrock spikes that are pleasant enough, and haunting at times, but not quite what you’d hoped for – after hearing Japandroids and Cloud Nothings turn their amps up to 11 and bathe in distortion, it would have been nice for the Strokes to come out guns blazing and prove that they’re still the band that made “Is This It?” and “Room on Fire.” Some of the album does sound like that band, if a somewhat uneven iteration. Lead single “All the Time” is an uptempo romp that would sound great live if the Strokes ever actually toured, and “Happy Ending” is all angled guitars and punchy syncopation, but for the most part, the more familiar sounding songs are uninspired. “50 50” opens with a promising guitar salvo but trips over itself in an attempt to replicate “Is This It?” replete with fuzzed-out vocals and an atomically accurate performance from drummer Fabrizio Moretti.

“We could be in trouble all night,” sings Casablancas on “Chances.” It’s a glum perspective for a frontman whose performances have always managed emotional propulsion without emotional overload, but a perspective fitting an album that’s moodier and more mature than the rest of the Strokes’ catalog, and not in a good way. Comedown Machine isn’t terrible, it’s just disappointing, and from a band as volatile and brilliant as the Strokes, that’s the ultimate letdown.

6.3/10

Top Tracks: “All the Time,” “Tap Out”

David Whipple

It’s no secret that Austin is… a creative place, to say the least. Hipsters, artists, and recent college grads make their homes in Austin after trying out several other areas (at least half the locals I’ve met moved here from other parts of Texas, Cali, and the Midwest!). According to Wikipedia, the best source of travel info (right?), Austin takes the idea of Texas independence, and puts a liberal spin on it.

Once you put a music festival on top of that, things get cray.

SXSW isn’t necessarily a hipster festival. They have an extremely diverse music selection, from foreign rock bands to electronica to mariachi to Kendrick Lamar. Y’know, something for everyone! Yet, the hipsters were everywhere!

Now, I’m a simple man, with simple needs and simple style. Forget outrageous outfits; a simple t-shirt (no wild colors) and loose fitting blue jeans will suffice. I won’t judge a pair of colorful skinny jeans, but it’s not my thing. So, when I was told that I stand out by not looking hipster-y, I wasn’t surprised. Instead, I thought it would be fun to roam the city, hang out with hipster-looking people, and try something new. The results were interesting.

Spotify House:

Gave off a frat house vibe, except cooler (sorry Sigma Chi!). Free drinks and a ping pong table were accompanied by a DJ with a dancing duck outside of what looked like a house painted green (actually a restaurant/bar). The hipsters were out in full force, alone with some bros. I’m not quite sure if bros are less or more hipster than me, but I digress. The point is, it was laid back, and most people were chilling, drinks in hand. I didn’t feel too out of place, sitting on a beach chair.

Hipstamatic:

That’s right! I went to something called Hipstamatic! Upon walking in, we were greeted by a giant, stuffed bear with a rose in its mouth, because “why not?” Hipsters to the left, hipsters to the right, and even the DJ was a Mexican hipster! VEGA from Neon Indian was pretty awesome, with masterful control of the turntables. Throughout his set, the audience kept bringing “offerings” of Mexican sweet corn (which they were giving out for free), drinks, and napkins. It was kind of like a shrine. All the while, I just danced, and ended up with some free shades, which I wore for the hell of it. Keepin’ it indie!

Austin Welcomes the World:

This was probably the least hipster-y event that I found. Might’ve had something to do with all the parents here, because it was touted as an event for all ages, hosted at Austin City Hall. Not to say that it was kids’ music; it certainly wasn’t. But the event was much more tame (and drink-free). The acts weren’t very hipster either, with an upbeat Japanese, harder French, and an Italian rock bands keeping things foreign. Language barriers aside, both hipsters and non-hipsters alike seemed to enjoy the show, including the hipsters hula-hooping to the music.

Point of all this: non-hipsters stick out like a sore thumb, but not a single eff is given. Anyone can rock out (or thug out) and have fun, because few things unite people more than free music and booze. And tacos, definitely tacos.