In light of my initial ideas tied to Cat's Cradle being discussed at length in others' posts, I thought I'd delve into some areas that have yet to be discussed, namely the areas underneath Rick Ross's glorious breasts.
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| I like to believe that he's got some calypsos inscribed beneath those undulating flesh bags. |
Not really. I do have a few things to say about the metatextuality found in Cat's Cradle and its relation to hip-hop though.
Much like Cat's Cradle, hip-hop is full of tense synergy between true events and false braggadocios. Take Rick Ross. Born William Leonard Roberts II, Ross worked as a corrections officer before taking the name of a cocaine kingpin and turning into this guy. Just like Bokonon's "rebirth" on the shores of San Lorenzo (Vonnegut, 107-108), Ross found a place to develop his new persona in Miami. Now he's got a dedicated audience all around the world. His doctrine is a cadre of "sweet, sweet lies"(Vonnegut), if you will. Whereas Bokonon recommends that one allow life to take its absurd, senseless course, Ross extols reckless hedonism. It's his bread and butter, and he eats lots of it.
Obviously this doesn't mean that everything Ross proclaims is true. You're not really supposed to believe him when he claims that he's moving brick after brick of the 'caine uncut. Kind of like Bokononism, Ross's music (and much of hip-hop, for that matter) is about accepting the woes of life and then escaping, however briefly, from those troubles.
This isn't to say that hip-hop is all talk though. If hip-hop is a coin, you've got one side that has the aforementioned fantasy world engraved on it, the other side bearing the gritty reality on its battered face. It's here that metatextuality comes further into play. Though a rapper might include some reality in his lyrics, it's almost impossible to know what's real and what's fiction. Self-referentialism further complicates parsing out the truth, and when listeners become involved, well, then things get really fucked up. As a reader or listener, it is one's responsibility to decipher, to the best of one's ability, the latent reality of a text, whether it's written Kurt Vonnegut Jr. or Waka Flocka Flame.
I've never thought of hip-hop as metatextuality before -- but it's a great connection. Rappers write themselves into their songs as these huge blown out of proportion characters, and it's really up to the audience to decide how much of it is real. If they are convincing enough, their boasts become self inflating: they portray themselves as a big playa, which adds to their reputation, which leads to more sales which leads to more money-- which they then boast about in their songs. In a way, if a rapper plays it right, they can make money by pretending they have it. They can almost become the writers of their own future...
ReplyDeleteYour use of the word "hedonism" caught my eye, because I was about thiiiiiiis close to using it in my own post. I thought about it in relation to the San Lorenzan's formidable appetite for the sole-to-sole ritual known as boko-maru. It's the only thing that seems to make them happy. It's such an important pillar in their lives, that scores of San Lorenzans commit ice-nine suicide at the end of the novel while in the boko-maru position. This brings up the terrifyingly simple possibility that the only "truth" we need in our lives is stuff that feels good and makes us happy. Doesn't our culture seem like it's headed in that direction anyway? From your parents telling you that they "just want you to be happy" to advertisements for sugary treats that implore you to "indulge yourself," we seem to already be a nation of hedonists. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go eat a few more cookies...
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