![]() Give the crack to the kids who the hell cares Pull the trigger kill a nigga he’s a hero My stomach hurts so I’m lookin’ for a purse to snatch ![]() I’m tired of bein’ poor and even worse I’m black Is life worth living should I blast myself? ![]() I see no changes wake up in the morning and I ask myself Still, the misery and inequity (“Take the evil out the people, they’ll be acting right / ‘Cause both black and white is smoking crack tonight” and “It ain’t a secret, don’t conceal the fact / The penitentiary’s packed and it’s filled with blacks) lyrically represented in “Changes” signaled awareness, even as it signaled a discouraging reality. It was entirely about the problematic conditions that could lead someone like Shakur – a targeted black man in “post-racial America” – to consider committing such an act. Then there’s “Changes,” built atop a depressive anger that Shakur never shied from touching: “I see no changes, wake up in the morning and I ask myself / Is life worth living, should I blast myself?” Manifestly, the 1998 track wasn’t really about suicide. Moreover, the denouement of “Neighbors” (Cops bust in with the army guns / No evidence of the harm we done) censures the foolishness of both a notional “post-racial society” and racial profiling through narrative humor. All three cuts have ironically become anthems of hope or humor – especially “Alright,” which, despite its canonical role as a serious review of police brutality and communal black solidarity, rouses a crowd of smiling faces like no other. In this way, Shakur’s track is not dissimilar to its politically charged successors like Kendrick Lamar’s “Alright” or, more recently (and perhaps subtly), “Neighbors” by J. Today, Tupac Shakur’s posthumous single “Changes,” featuring Talent (via Death Row in 1998), should be observed as one of hip-hop’s most successful political statements, not because it’s especially radical in its words on police brutality, drugs and gang violence, but because the track was, from music to lyrics, accessible to those who needed it – people unconcerned with the politics challenged by unapologetic MCs.Ĭonsider “Changes” as late-20th century memorabilia, the variety that sparks dramatized car sing-a-longs or kid recollections of cleaning the house on a Saturday morning, yearning to enjoy the sun’s warmth outside. Posing as an even larger threat were conscious raps with cleaner pop hooks – these were the tracks given airtime on mainstream radio, reaching the masses without (too many) bars falling victim to censorship. All the while, the video was capable of prompting nostalgia within those who experienced American society while racist politics faced a growing threat: hip-hop that told people to fuck the police and fight the power, courtesy of acts like N.W.A and Public Enemy. The War on Drugs is very alive and even more underdiscussed regardless of what any convoluted, regressive thinker insists, Jay Z’s arresting critique is necessary and relevant.Īlthough, one shouldn’t expect anything less than well-versed street smarts from a crack dealer-turned-bestselling rapper-slash-multimillionaire – indeed, for the delivery of this message, Jay Z was the perfect man. In a quick three minutes and 58 seconds, Jay Z’s script dismantled the United States’ prohibition campaign from its conception during the Nixon administration to the systemically oppressive role it continues assuming half a century later. The clip was called “The War on Drugs Is an Epic Fail,” and that kind of title was explicit enough for everyone to grasp the entertainment mogul’s general argument, whether they knew anything about drug war or not. Late last year, the New York Times published an op-ed short film written and narrated by Jay Z.
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