Mentoring and music at McCluer North
By Chris King
Of the St. Louis American
“The music today you hear, there’s more use of guns than music. You get to know about Glocks. These are things a trained mercenary should know about, and you know about it. Your mind knows about all these weapons, these words of destruction.”
James Muhammad, a sharp Muslim brother in a dark suit, is lecturing a room of black students about the use of language in hip-hop in a borrowed classroom after-hours at McCluer North High School.
“What happened to ‘fresh,’ those more innocent words, the words that make you think about freshness? The nice words, the good words? What happened to hip-hop?”
He starts to break down the vocabulary of gangsta rap.
“There’s the word “pimp.” Use it and it makes you feel like it’s the thing to do. Does anyone in here think they want to be a pimp?”
Nobody quite has the guts to fess up, though some of the guys look at each other like they are tempted.
“The pimp is one who deals in the business of human commodity, for sexual activity,” James says. “It’s slavery, basically.”
He defines “gangster” to them as “one from an underworld community who secures a profit at the expense of life,” before moving onto one of the accoutrements and profit points of the gangsta.
“Dro, hydro, skunk – what are these words?” James asks.
“It’s a mild herbal. It is mild, so you start to justify it. But it’s a mild herbal depressant that slows your thoughts and delays your reactions. What in life that you want needs you to have slow thoughts and delayed reactions?”
Showing swift thought and sharp reactions, one student says, “Aiming at a target,” and another says “maybe chopped & screwed.”
“Hip-hop has become a culture of chaos,” James says.
“A lot of times, you guys write songs, and you put these words into your songs. I want you to think about where this is going. Who wants to be part of the solution?”
A few hands straggle up.
“Your hands aren’t raised high enough. You, sir. Tell me what you are going to do, as part of the solution.”
This student, a young brother in a black hoodie, is stumped.
Another male student says, “No booty shaking.”
A female student says, “No stripping.”
A third young man says, “Show the kids younger than you a better example. Don’t use words like ‘murk.’”
Another female student says, “Though you sit here and talk, people are still gonna put ‘pimp’ in their songs, so also recording a Wal-Mart version would be okay.”
“It takes 30 days to break a habit,” James says, “so start telling yourself you can change. Say you are only going to write positive songs for 30 days. You need to start writing new songs, anyway. You’ve got studio engagements coming up.”
The studio engagements might be said to be the bait to get these young people to sit still for an after-school lecture about the dangerous direction their generation’s music is taking. Creativity and cultural criticism are the two faces of this project, known as “Dynasty Hip-Hop/ Music Mentoring Program.”
The program was suggested to James and his co-director, Demond Muhammad, by a McCluer North student who met them at the hip-hop events during the Millions More Movement. That student, Charles Bingham, is finishing his education at an alternative school, but the boy’s cousin, Caleb James (KB), is the contact now.
KB found the program its on-campus sponsor, Todd Flanders, a white man who teaches American history and said he was happy to give up his time for a project that might keep his kids off the street.
James is careful to insist that the kids give the teacher his props. “Don’t forget about Mr. Flanders,” James says. “He’s here for you every week.”
Mr. Flanders’ room looks like a fun place to learn. On his walls: a picture of Elvis and Nixon shaking hands, and a map of the world. On the chalkboard: evidence of education about the Negro Leagues and the Great Depression.
Now his room becomes a concert hall. A group takes the place at the front for their presentation. James emphasizes that their “self-named” record company is called “Bad Intentions,” since the name clearly is not positive.
A young man plays a live keyboard part as three young women sing smooth neo-soul with the hook “Be Easy.” The crowd, very much including James and Demond, clap along, in a mellow groove. They even dance in their seats. One joker attempts to lead a standing ovation at the end.
“It was positive,” James says, with firm approval. “Be easy.”
Then a male-female duo takes the performance space and rap, tight, over a recorded beat, clutching their pants without quite grabbing anything controversial. Their hook is “Knock That Boy (or Girl) Cold,” which also meets with James’ approval, though it could be interpreted as a violent knockout image.
“It’s a good song,” James says. “It’s economically viable for a young audience, but it doesn’t use any of these negative words that are new to hip-hop. Nah, you ain’t pimping; you’re cold. It’s a confidence builder, in a young way.”
James gives something of a closing pep talk before introducing visitors from the American and KDHX, the community radio station (at FM 88.1) looking to possibly work with the Dynasty kids.
“We all know somebody who has been shot, right out of that gangster culture,” James says. “When you’re done, you won’t have to dodge this negative music. That’s because it won’t exist. You shape the world.”
He says it again, in a different way. “Write beautiful songs to change the world.”
For more information on Dynasty, contact Demond Muhammad at (314) 335-0421 or James Muhammad at (314) 333-2202.
