It both excuses him from being lumped in with black Hip Hop acts (as the gamely older white woman in the third verse reminds us) because he doesn’t talk about guns, hoes, and money despite the fact that there are a number of black artists who avoid those topics, too, and it allows him to talk about issues of race and privilege in rap as a kind of authority on the subject. He’s well-aware that his whiteness grants him a privilege that is, essentially, the benefit of the doubt. “Same Love,” “A Wake,” “Growing Up,” and even “Thrift Shop” are all think pieces over playful, somber or manic tones. His duality, then, is once again on display. That a certain group of people would rather hear about certain things from Macklemore. That was my real trouble with the Kendrick snub at the Grammy awards : it felt as though two lyrical albums about a range of inner turmoil and outer social issues were judged by one factor. Macklemore speaks, straightforwardly and with real pathos about the guilt he feels, now, profiting off the music he both loves and that the album buying audience would like to see him succeed at. It clubs you over-the-head in gospel overtones. In the music, you hear echoes of Negro spirituals. He seems to robe himself in the notes of protest. Of course, that stands in direct contrast to the inner and outer dialog he recounts on “White Privilege II.” On the topic of gays having the same right to marry as straight folks, it’s, “No Freedom til we’re equal / Damn right I support it.” On the topic of white privilege, black cultural appropriation, and racism, it’s, well, he doesn’t explicitly state a position.īoth the music and the message muddles the effectiveness of the damn thing. Songs like “Same Love,” catapulted him into the national conversation, as he took a stand on the cause celebre of 2012: gay marriage. He has, more than any artist in recent memory, had to deal with being and seeming safe in a genre that values outlandishness. And he understands that he is a gateway into Hip Hop for many parents and otherwise rap avoidant folks who look at his non-cursing, non-gun heavy, often social-leaning lyrics as a cool balm on their sensitive ears. In fact, on the back of trending on Twitter, “White Privilege II” has been the talk of Hip Hop for a few days now. The song has netted Macklemore and Ryan Lewis their fourth Billboard + Twitter 140 chart-topping hit since 2015, as this sequel holds court with more fervor than its decade-old predecessor. I’m doing that because I’m trying to gather up the words to write this missive on the Seattle superstar. I’ve got it zooming up and down on Spotify on repeat. On the couch, in my office at home, the sun beams in through once white blinds. He mumbles something to me, but I wake up unsure of what I’ve heard. They, for some reason, remind me the giant arms of Atlas holding up the sky. The Tuba turns to me and wails into my ear, the deep round notes hitting my eardrum. Macklemore is guiding a rollicking band of misfits at the bottom of a shallow pond.
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