Jonathan Kay

National Post

Since the dawn of rap, the genre has inspired a love/shame attitude among white suburban kids. They adore the phat gangster fashions and profanity-laced ghetto lyrics. But flipping through the hip hop section at the CD store makes a white kid self-conscious: There is always the fear that the black kids are laughing behind your back.

The great icon of white rap shame was Vanilla Ice, the lily-white poseur from suburban Dallas who briefly rocked the teenage world with his 1990 hit Ice, Ice, Baby ("To the extreme, I rock a mic like a vandal ... Light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle ..."), a song hip twenty- and thirtysomething music fans still play at parties for its irony value -- alongside Toni Basil's Mickey, Falco's Rock Me Amadeus and Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody.

Vanilla symbolized the feeling of inauthenticity that plagues white rap fans. His best song was based on a sample of a pop classic. He lied about his childhood gangster exploits. Even his name was a joke. And so, despite critically acclaimed contributions from hip hop groups of pallor like the Beastie Boys and Third Bass, Vanilla has endured as the definitive icon of the white rapper.

Until now. With the emergence of Eminem -- a truly authentic white rapper with cross-racial appeal -- the Vanilla era has come to a definitive end. Eminem has broken the colour barrier. It is tempting to say, in fact, that he is the Jackie Robinson of rap. But that would be wrong, as it would imply that we're going to be beset by an avalanche of successful white rappers. And that's not going to happen. As David Plotz, Slate's Washington bureau chief, wrote in a recent profile, Eminem is acceptable to the rap world only because he looks and feels so much like a product of the black ghetto: "His mom was 15 years old when he was born, and he never knew his dad ... His mom was on welfare and, Eminem claims, drugs ... She shuttled the family between Kansas City, Mo., and Detroit, eventually settling in an [almost] all-black housing project in the Motor City."

The fact that white rappers have to carry black résumés suggests the rap world is still far from colour-blind. White interest in rap came of age in 1986 -- the year the Beastie Boys released Licensed to Ill and Aersosmith collaborated with Run DMC to produce a rap version of Walk This Way. That was 15 years ago. How much longer must white rappers sit at the back of the bus?

The problem is that -- thanks in large part to white record executives -- almost all rap artists are expected to embrace gangster themes. And, for a variety of reasons best left to the op-ed page, whites have a hard time credibly evoking the crime-riddled ghetto backdrop in which traditional rap narratives are set. The trick may work for Eminem -- but most white rappers just look like poseurs. There are perhaps no funnier words in the rap world than the grim gangland description contained in Ice, Ice Baby: "Gunshots rang out like a bell. I grabbed my nine -- All I heard were shells ... Falling on the concrete real fast. Jumped in my car, slammed on the gas."

Vanilla's problem was that he went after the violent rap image straight up. The white rappers who have succeeded are generally the ones who have used a hint of irony. Or more than a hint. The Beasties' Licensed to Ill was full of jokes. So were Third Bass' albums ("Let me chill -- it's a sign of maturity / And I would never steal a chant from a Black Greek fraternity. Elvis, Elvis, Baby: too bold, too bold / Ice, Ice, Baby: no soul, no soul.")

And the finest white rap album of the last five years -- Bloodhound Gang's One Fierce Beer Coaster -- is a hoot from start to finish. The best song, I Wish I Was Queer So I Could Get Chicks, is about -- well, it's pretty clear what it's about: "Ya see I'd be a good listener / so she'd treat me like a sister and soon I'd become ... That trusted friend that cares / that rubs her back and braids her hair / No it wouldn't be a week before I'm in her underwear / I wish I was queer so I could get chicks!"

Eminem can be funny, too. His massively successful, fantastically contagious anthem, The Real Slim Shady, is one of the cleverest rap songs of our era. "But slim, what if you win [a Grammy], wouldn't it be weird? / Why? So you guys can just lie to get me here / So you can sit me here next to Britney Spears / Shit, Christina Aguilera better switch me chairs / So I can sit next to Carson Daly and Fred Durst / And hear 'em argue over who she gave head to first."

On the other hand, Eminem is lucky. He can fall back on the gangster lyrics and street cred when the gags fall flat. Other white rappers aren't nearly as lucky.

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