It’s a beautiful thing, revisiting some of your favorite childhood anthems. Putting on a throwback jam that you listened to on repeat for days when it hit the airwaves. Reminiscing on the exact feeling you experienced when you first heard the song and knew, right then and there, that you wouldn’t be able to get the track out of your head for at least a week. I’ve been doing this quite often with OutKast lately, whether it’s playing “Heyya” on the commute to work, or pestering my neighbors with the funkadellic bass line of “Southernplayisticcadillacmusik” at 3 am. My apologies to the lady in apt. 1, but I’m having too much fun with the funk.
“If not I’ll wait, because the future of the world depends on
If, or not if the child we raise gon’ have that nigga syndrome
Or will it know to beat the odds regardless of the skin tone”
With every spin of Stankonia, I’ve realized that what made me love OutKast back then was very different from how appreciate the duo now. I remember learning how to play the chorus of “So Fresh and So Clean” in piano class, and giggling when I found out that my 8th grade English teacher’s name was Ms. Jackson; but I hadn’t even begun to realize the musical genius and political lyricism rampant in OutKast’s catalogue. All the funk and silliness and head bobbing was a front, and I was one of many lab rats of my generation, racing around the wheel of the music industry, “sipping a milkshake in a snowstorm.”
Y’all tellin me that I need to get out and vote, huh. Why?
Ain’t nobody black runnin but crack-kers, so, why I got to register?
I thinkin of better shit to do with my time
Never smelled aroma of diploma, but I write the deep ass rhymes
I’ve only recently realized that Outkast’s catalogue acts a microcosm of the subdued tensions of racial atmosphere in the late 90’s and early 2000’s. How was I supposed to know that OutKast had picked up where George Clinton and his Parliament Funkadelics had left off? How could I have possibly recognized that “Ms. Jackson” was a testament of black male demonization, or a critique of the flawed child support system that contributes to the tragic downfall of young black men. I was only certain that I could listen to Andre 3K say “foreva-eva?” forever.
On a first offense drug bust, fuck the Holice
That’s if ya racist or ya crooked
Arrest me 4 this dope I didn’t weight it up or cook it
It’s no coincidence that the album that drew me into OutKast as a young teenager, Speakerboxx/The Love Below, was also the duo’s least political compilation. Dre and Big Boi abandoned the racial commentary ever-present in Stankonia to embrace a funkier, pop-driven album in Speakerboxx, which led to phenomenal commercial success, and an entirely new fan base of young white kids such as myself who knew nothing of Outkast’s previous work. We only knew that “Roses” was a hilarious anthem about fecal matter, “Heyya” got us up on the homecoming dance floor, and “The Way You Move” had a killer beat. Speaking for my generation, we viewed OutKast as a goofy duo of funny black men who differed from the aggressive rappers–DMX, Ludacris, and Cam’ron, for example–who dominated hip-hop at the time.
The United Parcel Service & the people at the Post Office
Didn’t call you back because you had cloudy piss
So now you back in the trap just that, trapped
Go on and marinate on that for a minute
To think that I completely bought into this clown-like parody of OutKast’s later albums is troubling. I wish I could’ve recognized, at the time, that these men were performing this image of happy funky black men to criticize the epidemic of subtle racism heading into the new millennium. If you didn’t align with the “angry black gangster” identity, they couldn’t portray you as a threat to society. If you didn’t make fun of yourself, young white kids could take your music too seriously, and maybe even learn something about the tragic systemic racism that continued to thrive in a nation insistent upon keeping up an appearance of equality for all. OutKast proved that there was no room for the politically critical socially conscious black men in mainstream hip-hop.
Of course you know I feel like the bearer of bad news
Don’t want to be it but it’s needed so what have you
Now question: is every nigga with dreads for the cause?
Is every nigga with golds for the fall? naw
I can only hope that more of my fellow oblivious white kids take a moment to revisit OutKast’s catalogue. Perhaps they’re realize that there’s much more to their music than shaking it like a Polaroid picture. They just might find a new perspective on the deeper message hidden in OutKast’s music, and maybe even have an awakening about the racial injustice that has remained in the closet of mainstream hip-hop for decades. That’s the only way the genius of the two dope boyz of OutKast can be adequately appreciated.
Now look at yourself, are you an OutKast? I know I am
As a matter of fact, fuck being anythang else
It’s only so much time left in this crazy world