by Damian Garde
Daily Lobo
While the diamond-studded Jesus pieces hanging from your favorite rapper's neck may seem right at home, there was once a time when East Coast hip-hop dabbled in blasphemy.
Back in 1991, Nas chose to use his first appearance on any record to say, "At 12, I went to hell for snuffing Jesus."
Ghostface Killah explored similar territory on his debut single, "Daytona 500," saying, "I slap box with Jesus, lick shots at Joseph."
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On his first album, Jay-Z had a few run-ins with blasphemy. "Dead Presidents II" found Jay at the bedside of a hospitalized friend, trying to encourage his recovery.
"That made him smile, though his eyes said, 'Pray for me,'" Jay raps. But, putting no faith in prayer, Jay responds, "I'll do you one better and slay these (expletive) faithfully." However, Jay's most concise dispelling of religion comes in "D'Evils," where he claims, "I never pray to God, I pray to Gotti."
While Jay, Ghost and Nas could arguably be acting out to get attention, Big L's 1994 B-side "Danger Zone" is the closest thing I've ever heard to atheist rap. Vexed by religion for whatever reason, he claims, "Every Sunday, a nun lay where my gun spray," adding, "Satan said I'm learning well - Big L's gonna burn in hell." He goes on to rap about necrophilia, calls himself "the type to snap in heaven with a Mac-11 and rape Christ," before summing it all up nicely with, "I run with a thieving squad, and none of us believe in God."
This trend is startling, as all the above rappers are God-fearing men. Ghostface has said in interviews he takes pride in his work to show God how grateful he is for the gifts he has received. On the cover of his final album, Big L is pictured wearing an icy crucifix.
So why all the blasphemy?
It could be argued that, after listeners had become desensitized by the rampant profanity and ultraviolence of early '90s hip-hop, religious irreverence was simply the last vestige of shock value left in rap music. Or, perhaps, it was the rappers themselves who'd become desensitized, allowing the violence of their pasts to shadow their religious beliefs.
At the time, hip-hop was still a national pariah, and the Oprah Winfreys of the world seemed to spend every waking hour lecturing housewives about how a single Ice Cube song could turn their son into Charles Manson. I remember hiding my copy of Wu-Tang Forever from my mother, figuring one utterance from Ol' Dirty Bastard could get me grounded for eternity. Perhaps, downcast by mainstream society, Ghost, Nas, Jay and Big L were simply trying to live up to their status as bad influences.
More likely, however, the escalating who's-harder-than-who competition of the mid '90s led them all to try and one up each other's boasts of supernatural thuggery. After all, what could be more gangsta than handing Jesus a beatdown?
