Rhythm - the Online Magazine to HKVP Radio

by Chheng S. Lim

September 12, 2005 | Browse Features

Rappers Far*East Movement are at the forefront of the Asian American music scene. But what will it take for them to leap onto mainstream America?

What's Holding Us Back: Asian American Music Needs an Identity Before It Can Blossom

Music defines. Whether it's the trendy New York hipster, the rural Southern gentleman, or even the latest flock of New Age hippies mocking mainstream commercialization of Goan trance, all of these (and many other) groups share a common seamless thread in that they take music as a quintessential marker of their personal identity. They claim ownership to a particular style of music that asserts a certain representation of their lifestyle. The Southern gentleman has dibs on country, the hippies claim trance, and the New York hipster...well, that depends on what the trendsetters say is the "in" thing of the moment. By all means these different groups and the music categorizations just prescribed are not absolute. They might even be downright silly caricatures. Nonetheless it points to the central position that music occupies in the way that we seek to identify our lifestyle and our character as individuals.

"Music is one of the few channels of communication that is timeless. It attaches to memory like glue. It expresses things in a more beautiful light. It can portray negatives in a positive light, and vice versa," says Carl Choi of Catch Music Group, whom manages Asian American artists such as Far*East Movement and International Affairs for The Emcee, formerly known as Jin.

Indeed, music's ability to not only define and captivate, but also to express the most disturbing imagery in poetic fluidity marks it as something that can transcend mere entertainment. It is a voice that can speak for social change. One of the key issues that cross over into music is the subject of race politics. Part of the politics of race is concerned with the way that minority groups seek to assert a certain independence from and reaction to majority dominance. Music is one medium through which this objective can be achieved.

"Music is a representation of movements. Hip hop was an example of the urban African American movement that arose from the streets. Music can build movements, especially for the youths," says Choi.

Within this intersection of music and race, Asian Americans are an interesting anomaly. We are the black hole in this musical universe, seemingly floaters that absorb outside influences but never really carry a solid voice of our own. Where is our popular representation? While there are certainly a number of Asian American artists that discuss the subject of race politics within their songs, their comparatively low-profile character renders them almost invisible to the general American public. Some people state that it is because a wildly popular, mainstream Asian American artist has yet to appear - someone that can engage mainstream America. Yet I think the issue stems much deeper. Aside from a need for any ONE Asian American artist to gain the attention of mainstream America, there is also the need for Asian Americans as a group to create a unique, but potentially mainstream attention-grabbing identity marker. In other words, there is a need for us to create a GENRE.

Why is the establishment of genre so important, and what does it have to do with race politics? Firstly, there is the issue of sustainability. Genres, in my opinion, stand the test of popularity better than individual artists and hence can affect long-term impact on race politics. A massively popular Asian American artist may catch the attention of mainstream America someday, but who can guarantee that he/she will not fall out of the limelight? Granted, it may also be possible that said Asian American artist turns out to be such an amazing music legend that his or her fame and lyrics seem to live on forever, but we shouldn't count on a one shot deal.

Not to mention, placing the burden of representation on one sole individual as THE voice of Asian America risks propagating further stereotypes. Each performer has his or her own unique style that does not necessarily speak to every individual (in Asian America and beyond) equally. Taking one individual as a supreme cultural icon (particularly of a group whose voice has yet to be heard) risks leading the general public to think along the lines of "Asian Americans is this" or "Asian Americans is that".

"There's a lack of maturity in Asian American identity as a whole. There just hasn't been a lot of understanding about what Asian American culture is about," Choi argues.

Given this scenario, the picture of Asian America that would subsequently be created if we pinned all our hopes on one ultimate icon is a static, linear representation informed by the voice and style of only that one person. In other words, we risk putting forth another stereotype.

In contrast, genre is much more fluid and flexible to individual renditions, and because it is not dictated by an ultimate representation it comes across more as the voice of an entire community. Indeed, behind every genre lies a culture; the culture of a community. For example, "Hip hop is not just a genre of music. It is a culture that arose from the urban poverty experiences of black youth," says Choi. Let's illustrate a case in point. Whereas individual rappers might constantly fight to keep their individual popularity afloat, the popularity of rap as a genre is uncontested. Part of the reason for why this is so is that rap, as a genre, allows room for the incorporation of individual style. Public Enemy's rap is different from P. Diddy's rap, which is different from Dr. Dre's rap. By affording the space for the incorporation of individual style, rap is thereby imbued with a multifaceted, plural voice that portrays a much more dynamic representation of the hip hop culture, and hence the underlying politics, that informs its creation and production. Indeed, if one of the higher purposes is to shatter mainstream cultural stereotypes about Asian Americans, there is a need to create this plural but cohesive representation of a community - a task that cannot be achieved by merely one individual.

Yet another important reason for the creation of genre is the need for Asian Americans to create something that is distinctively their own. I am not trying to blast Asian Americans who perform rap, pop, jazz, or any other already existing genre. Rather, I am noting that by failing to create something that is distinctively our own, we are essentially facing the label of being called imitators that titles like "Chigga" or "Kigga" so clearly spell. In short, we will perpetually be known as people who forever try, but can never be. Plus, the creation of a contemporary genre that draws from historical influences is perhaps one of the best homage, in my opinion, that one can pay to his or her own cultural heritage; and the culture of each ethnicity that comprises Asian America is a rainbow myriad of richness and vibrancy. With such a rich legacy that informs us, why not flaunt it? Adoption is not the only name of the game.

Granted none of this is easy. "There is a lack of creative music in the Asian American scene because we have always been taught to stay in the box. There's a lack of support for the arts in the Asian American community. It's not taken seriously. Asian Americans are also afraid to commit to a career in entertainment due to a respect for elders. We will never truly commit until our elders approve. There is a huge need to make people realize that it is okay to be different, okay to be creative, and okay to think outside of the box," states Choi.

The creation of an Asian American music genre with mass appeal might very well call for the rise of a genius - someone who might also turn out to be the long awaited music icon. More significantly though, genre creation - and the culture and politics it represents -- truly requires a wider community support and input, and is not merely the work of one sole individual. We are all equally responsible in this enterprise.