You Call Yourself an Emcee?

Track 16 - Volume II

Production: Don Asero


A lot of the times when I tell people I'm an emcee, they usually ask: "How's that different from being a rapper?"

An emcee is always a rapper, but a rapper isn't necessarily an emcee. Rapping is the art of putting words over a beat, and then saying them with rhythm (known as flow). Rappers do this, but that's about where they stop. There's usually nothing more to their lyrics except for disconnected, albeit clever metaphors, and similes about how dope they are. Some can rap extraordinarily well, but they have no idea how to make a song.

Emcees are rappers who learned how to rap, and then learned how to make songs. Their lyrics usually match the tone of the beat, and they change up their flows for each one, making the track cohesive. Their tracks move the crowd, the essence of the abbreviation, "MC". They do so not only physically, but emotionally as well. Emcees can make you feel anger, happiness, sadness, or any other emotion with their tracks. Most rappers can't do this.

One of the most widely considered "best" guitarists of all time is Jimi Hendrix. Even though there are a lot of guitarists that are technically more proficient, they couldn't do what Jimi did. Just because they can solo like no one else, doesn't mean that they could write memorable guitar parts, something that Jimi did constantly, and consistently. And just because some people can put some words that flow together over a beat, that doesn't make them an emcee.

Lyrics

I never got the book of hip-hop rules and regulations.

Apparently I should fill my lyrics with mostly defamations.

According to chapter nine, I’m not braggadocious enough; I should be spitting about how I made it despite a life so rough.

Then again, according to chapter ten, you’re allowed to exaggerate. The life you actually lead makes no difference.

So maybe I should talk about how much cash I have, although my bank account reads zero, there’s no need for people to know that.

What you need to know, and this I learned from chapter fifteen, is that my flow is so flawless that you could call it Sistine.

A line comparing myself to Michelangelo should follow, but not only is that cliché, but it makes the line feel hollow.

It hardly makes any sense, but that’s what hip-hop is right?

Lyrics don’t have to make sense, as long as the flow is tight.

Anyways, that’s what I think the book is trying to teach.

Sure, it’ll make you a rapper, but it won’t make you an emcee.

Just because you put some words over beats, that doesn’t mean that you can call yourself an emcee.

Now these are just some rules that seem set into place.

‘Cause every other rapper follows suit, they’ve no original tastes.

Though it’s over thirty, hip-hop is still considered young.

Though it’s the only genre with no subs, like a school with no funds, like an fps with one gun, like a bakery with just buns. When it comes to styles a ton. Yet hip-hop is still grouped as one?

Now that doesn’t make any sense at all to me. Yet that’s how it’s presented to the majority of society.

The reason being is that most of these candy rappers take the role of a candy wrapper, shiny, cause inside there’s nothing but crap, or they claim to represent a whole entire genre. Don’t realize that by doing so they’re cannibalizing like piranha.

They try to adhere to what they think hip-hop should be:

Bullshit, lined with metaphors, set to rhyme over a beat, with incoherent lyrics that don’t match the instrumental. Something emcees would never do, but then that’s fundamentals.   

Just because you put some words over beats, that doesn’t mean that you can call yourself an emcee.

Got your own style, though it’s far from unique. And yes, you have a decent flow, control over the technique.

Just because you put some words over beats, that doesn’t mean that you can call yourself an emcee.