![]() ![]() Ignoring the various generalizations in the essay passed off as fact, one passage of unfiltered shit-talking stands out: To wrap up, here are all of the reasons why Macklemore is uncool and makes me, as a rap fan, shiver: He is an unfunny episode of Portlandia brought to life, the personification of why the well-meaning American upper-middle-class is a fucking nightmare. So if black people can understand the song’s importance without being distracted by how bad the music is, why is it so hard for some white critics? If there’s one essay that clearly distills the white rap critic’s problem with Macklemore, it’s this screed on the now-defunct Four Pins, published a little more than a year ago in the wake of Macklemore & Ryan Lewis’ Grammys success. ![]() Gene Demby at NPR admitted he felt like “he’s genuinely trying to work all this stuff out while also gingerly avoiding landmines,” while pointing out that activist Deray McKesson “has argued that this song does exactly what lots of people say they want more of in conversations about race - that is, it would be great if more white folks actively engaged in uncomfortable conversations about race with each other.” Not to mention the Black Lives Matter organization, which was consulted during the song’s creation suggested others take his lead: “We encourage other white allies to use their privilege, influence, and wealth to talk about white supremacy and state violence against Black people.” Kris Ex acknowledged Macklemore’s intentions, writing, “‘White Privilege II’ is too messy to be ploy too unruly to be calculated too all over the place to be a chess move - unless the endgame is to piss off the ‘Same Thrift Shop Love Can’t Hold Us’ demographic to appeal to a Black audience that seems unlikely to ever fully accept him.” Sure, plenty of black people will tell you how bad they think Macklemore is, but it’s telling that the most measured critiques of the song and its impact have come from black critics and activists. It’s the kind of song that gets issues such as police brutality and privilege discussed in spaces that are often lacking in such discourse: the suburban homes, the country club locker rooms, the sidelines at soccer practice.īut when it dropped, many of the headlines read like this: “ On Macklemore and that ‘White Privilege’ song, and also why Eminem is so much better: A rant,” or “ Macklemore’s ‘White Privilege II’ Isn’t a Great Song, But as a Think Piece It’s Not Terrible.” Even Kris Ex, who wrote what might be the best rapid opinion piece on the subject, had his essay on Pitchfork’s The Pitch blog packaged as “ Macklemore’s ‘White Privilege II’ Is a Mess, But We Should Talk About It.” It seems like before we can talk about the social significance of Macklemore’s music, we must first acknowledge that no, the writer does not think Macklemore is good, so yes, you can take them seriously when they talk about why it’s important. The 2016 version explores Macklemore’s struggle with his place in hip-hop, his relationship with well-intentioned but clueless fans, and reconciliation with his desire to be an ally for justice and equality, even as he profits from the creative labor of black artists. It’s a continuation of the dialogue begun on “White Privilege,” a 2005 solo track from Macklemore to which few outside of Seattle paid much mind. ![]() But it’s The Unruly Mess’ second single, “White Privilege II,” which has been at the forefront of the conversation around the album.Īn eight-minute-plus opus with several movements, “White Privilege II” is a long, messy sketch of the internal dialogue of the successful, white, liberal creative, fact-checked by actual black people. Its first single, “Downtown,” features hip-hop legends Melle Mel, Kool Moe Dee, and Grandmaster Caz. Last week, Macklemore & Ryan Lewis released The Unruly Mess I’ve Made, the duo’s sophomore release and followup to 2012’s smash hit The Heist.
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