Will the sun set in the West? How the Internet’s usurping of the music industry is collapsing regionalism and threatening the West Coast’s race to recapture hip hop’s crown

PDF

Download

Open document

Flip pages

Summarize

Download a page range

Download transcript

Copy asset link

Request this asset

Transcript (if available)

Content WILL THE SUN SET IN THE WEST? HOW THE INTERNET’S USURPING OF THE MUSIC INDUSTRY IS COLLAPSING REGIONALISM AND THREATENING THE WEST COAST’S RACE TO RECAPTURE HIP HOP’S CROWN by Rebecca Haithcoat _____________________________________________________________ A Thesis Presented to the FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree MASTER OF ARTS (SPECIALIZED JOURNALISM (THE ARTS)) December 2010 Copyright 2010 Rebecca Haithcoat ii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS First and foremost, I am eternally grateful to professor Sasha Anawalt for her constant support and generosity. Without her, I would not be living this blessed life. I also deeply appreciate Professor Tim Page’s enthusiasm over my work, and his gentle reminders that not every reader understands my lingo. I am indebted to Professors Joanna Demers and Josh Kun for adding me to their already heavy workloads. Josh’s response to my piece in particular inspired and motivated me. In a world with fewer and fewer editors, his thoughtful criticism and kind words gave me confidence at a crucial moment. For that, I cannot thank him enough. Last but not least, I offer my deepest gratitude to LA Stereo.TV. They made Los Angeles’ hip-hop scene accessible to me, and made themselves my family in the process. iii TABLE OF CONTENTS Acknowledgments ii Abstract iv Chapter 1: Straight Outta Kankakee 1 Chapter 2: Fuck Tha Industry 5 Chapter 3: 100 Miles and Runnin’? 12 Bibliography 18 iv ABSTRACT At the dawn of the Aughts, hip hop was doing a bustling business. It had done what its progenitors had only dared to dream. Not only had it become a legitimate way of making a living from creatively expressing oneself, but it also had become mainstream, “pop music.” Yet just as the exorbitant wealth of the 1980s gave way to the recycled grunge of the 1990s, the days of throwing money off speedboats and letting a record label clean up the mess in hip hop gave way to making beats on personal computers and marketing oneself on the Internet. Curren$y, Pacific Division, TiRon Jeffries, and Wiz Khalifa are all members of the latter generation. In various stages of their careers, they all are artists navigating a brand new landscape—a landscape that once was divided by regional characteristics as well as the stamp of a “deal or no deal.” But the seismic shift that the Internet has caused in hip-hop has collapsed all the old barriers. Suddenly, the most successful method is whatever an artist pieces together. Though the West Coast seemed poised to recapture its first glory, hip hop is again as it began—future unknown, anybody’s game. 1 CHAPTER 1 STRAIGHT OUTTA KANKAKEE TiRon’s driving around South Central- “well, I guess now it’s just ‘South L.A.’; they renamed it, ya know”- looking for open grocery stores. Ralph’s is open 24 hours. “Nahhhhh, this ain’t Silverlake,” he says. “Things close early around here.” TiRon Jeffries is as slippery as South L.A.’s business hours. It’s been five months since he agreed to an interview, and, though he’s out on the scene as often as he can get a ride (his beloved, beleaguered van finally gave up its ghost) and chats electronically on Facebook on a near-daily basis, he’s yet to commit to anything on- record. This could be a savvy PR move. After all, his last, very well-received mixtape, Ketchup, came out over a year ago; and his next, Mustard, was been pushed back month after month, the last setback due to a supposed computer crash. He’s conscious of the fact that for a rapper these days, keeping pace with the insatiable hunger of the Internet is a full-time job, one for which he’s just not artistically suited. Generating buzz through “unintentional delays” and holding the carrot of an interview just beyond a hungry writer’s reach seem like tricks taken from an old music industry handbook. 2 He’s eager for visitors, though; and taking his boyish looks and desire to be “in love,” he likely has no shortage. His house in “South L.A.” is on a quiet, well-kept street; this isn’t the same South Central of Dr. Dre’s “Nuthin’ But a ‘G’ Thang” video. The house is comfortable, and large to only have one resident. Though the interior is pleasantly, motherly cluttered with family portraits and knickknacks, a week or so’s worth of junk mail on the front porch is sign enough that this is a young bachelor’s pad. As is the fenced-in backyard—a nice plot for a jungle gym, with a lemon tree leaning against a shed, TiRon instead has laid his van to rest there. The West Coast’s hip-hop scene has been inching its way onto the national stage again, and TiRon is one of its more talented rappers. But finding stable ground as the explosion of the Internet continues to shake the music industry is tricky. With one foot more naturally fitted to the old model of scoring a deal on a label and one foot forced into the new model of DIY, musicians like TiRon are having trouble balancing. Originally hailing from the Midwest, his sound and lyrics are reminiscent of one of its most (in)famous native sons, Kanye West. Smartly, he kept the old soul production and Kanye-shrug honesty while losing the grating whininess. He’s lived in Los Angeles almost as long as he lived in Kankakee, IL, and is rumored to routinely work with Pacific Division, which might be why their sound occasionally is underscored with the wintry chill associated with the project’s blocks in Chicago. 3 He’s obviously invested in keeping his Mid-West roots healthy—one song on Mustard, “60901,” is Kankakee’s zip code—as well as tending to his reputation as just-anotha-brotha tryin’ to make it in sunny L.A. You hear his (then) nearly broken down van’s engine turning over in Ketchup’s “Still Never Happy”? You hear the unrequited love in the hook on “Sydney”- “You got what I need/But I don’t need another homie, girl/I got enough friends”? Well, maybe not just another brotha. He doesn’t let you forget, even if it’s thinly veiled as modesty, that he’s an artist with fans that know his lyrics in “Go Ronnie”: “I still bug whenever I hold my mic out/Like, they knowin’ some of my lines now.” But TiRon needs a manager. Although his music is more commercially viable than he’d like to think (everybody wants to be an “artist”), he’s flaky and indecisive, blasting on Twitter the release of Mustard for noon one Thursday a few months ago; then holding it until the next day after admitting again, on Twitter, that his “people” were telling him to wait. The next day he dropped the mixtape to noticeably diminished excitement, and proceeded to update with posts alluding to some shadiness behind the scenes. Ploys like that are indicative that TiRon would probably be more successful under the old regime of the music industry. Doubtless his career at this precipitous point could use firm direction and savvier advisement. Living in Los Angeles used to be to a musician’s advantage. A&R representatives from major labels scour the city’s 4 tiniest venues looking for the next big thing, and networking is easier. Maybe that advantage made the already laid-back Angelenos lazy. But that was before the Age of the Internet. That advantage is receding, and the old regime, like gangsta rap, is gone. 5 CHAPTER 2 FUCK THA INDUSTRY Prince’s apocalyptic single, “1999,” had taken its last victory lap. Puff Daddy’s hands were full of guns (allegedly), J.Lo’s ass, and the money he’d made on the Notorious B.I.G. tribute, “I’ll Be Missing You.” A wrong-side-of-the-Detroit-tracks white boy known best by his champion, Dr. Dre, and his alter ego, “Slim Shady,” had the biggest buzz in hip hop. A completely free, online file-sharing site called Napster had those young enough to be in the know about the still novel “World Wide Web” giddy with the thrill of no longer paying for music. The new millennium had dawned, and the music industry had no idea what was about to hit it. It’s only been ten years, but the Goliath music industry has been almost taken down by the David it thought it could defeat with lawsuits. As Phonte Coleman, half of the recently-disbanded North Carolina rap group Little Brother, said, “My nine-year-old told me, ‘Who pays for music? They a sucka!’” Napster might’ve taken the bullet and been shut down, but the door to free music had been opened, and on the Internet, a door only needs be left barely cracked for the masses to flow in. Free music sites cropped up, contaminated computers with viruses, and Apple came to the rescue with the option to buy singles, not entire albums, for 99 cents apiece. 6 But with the advent of iTunes, the concept of a making a cohesive album to be listened to as a work of art was fading into obscurity. Meanwhile, hip hop had done what its forefathers never thought it could, become a commercial success. The “bling bling” of 1999 really was just frosting, as it turned out. Hip-hop stars were becoming big businessmen, and not the ones who ran the block; they were running boardrooms. Before he was one of the most heralded rappers of all time, Jay Z (real name Shawn Carter), “sold it all from crack to opium.” In 2003, he announced his retirement from rap with one of the greatest rap albums of all time, The Black Album. In 2004, he announced his new “hustle,” president and chief executive of Def Jam. In 2006, he casually announced—on his emergence from retirement, Kingdom Come—he “liked South Beach, but [was] in St. Tropez.” But the rags-to-riches stories of rap were rapidly coming to an end. Led by Pied Piper Diddy, hip hop paraded gold-dripping wrists and a glittering smile, attracting anybody who ever accidentally created a couplet. Combined with record executives scrambling to sign the “next Jay Z,” the market soon was saturated. Hip hop literally sold out, and those fabled deals dried up. As El Prez (a.k.a. De Andre Harvey), one of L.A.’s underground artists, said, “Now you can’t make no fucking money. A lot of the drug dealers, a lot of the n*ggas who didn’t want to get no 9-to-5, who just wanted to be famous, they getting out of the game.” 7 Maybe Prince, always ahead of his time, is prescient again. In May of this year in the UK newspaper, The Mirror, he declared, “The Internet’s completely over….[it’s] like MTV. At one time MTV was hip and suddenly it became outdated. Anyway, all these computers and digital gadgets are no good.” Prince, with all due respect (and not that he would care), hip hop would like to impolitely, loudly disagree with you. Big Easy-turned-Big Apple rapper Curren$y would like to disagree with you. How high and fly Pittsburgh rapper Wiz Khalifa would like to disagree with you. Correction—they won’t disagree with you, because they are just too stoned, and live by the mantra J.E.T.S., “Just Enjoy This Shit.” But their careers will disagree with you. The Paid Dues Festival in San Bernardino, brainchild of West Coast indie rapper Murs, is a tributary of Rock the Bells. The acts booked are less mainstream, more up and coming. Curren$y, who’s been “the next big thing” for several years now, is listed pretty low on the flyer. He doesn’t seem to mind: His attention is focused on two more important things, a never-ending joint, and his phone. He’s slight, both in height and weight; and so has managed to slip through the crowd almost unnoticed despite his brightly colored hoodie and a pair of oversized Levis so crisp they look pressed. Only after he leaves the stage do girls dangle themselves over the barrier, and he signs autographs and poses for iPhone photos nonchalantly. Really, this is 8 old news. Really, he just wants to get back to his hotel and smoke while watching episodes of “Family Guy.” Creativity is often borne of necessity. And out of youth. And out of labels ignoring those youths. When only in his late teens, Curren$y (a.k.a. Shante Franklin) was signed to Master P’s monumental label No Limit; later, he joined Lil Wayne in an early incarnation of Young Money/Cash Money Records. But his lone nationwide hit with Weezy, “Where Da Cash At,” a rather uninspired ode to pimpin’, fell flat. Too laid-back to stir the water under the bridge, Curren$y refrains from naming names when asked to what he attributes the shift in his music from then to now; suffice it to say, no album was released, and he and Wayne parted ways. In December 2007, he began hustling himself on his own, and landed on the cover of the oft-maligned but still-coveted XXL Magazine’s “Freshman” cover in 2008. He dropped numerous mixtapes and two digital albums, Jet Files and This Ain’t No Mixtape, the latter being one of the best, and out West, most slept-on, rap releases of 2009. Playing with the “J.E.T.S.ons” theme (also a riff on the cartoon, which attests to his enjoying getting high more than uh, running honeys), the album’s production is spacey, breezy, and even a little jazzy. Pack Curren$y “The Hot Spitta’s” easy southern drawl in, and This Ain’t No Mixtape was so sticky hipsters and hip-hop heads alike had trouble removing it from their iPods. 9 After a good ten years in the game, people finally began to notice Curren$y, the most fortuitous of whom being former Roc-A-Fella Damon Dash. Dame called his nephew and asked who he should know if he wanted to get back in the music game. Phonte nails it again on the head: “Dame needs Curren$y more than Curren$y needs Dame.” While Curren$y was breaking free, Wiz Khalifa (real name Cameron Jibril Thomaz) was just committing. In 2007, after the 2006 release of his debut album, Show and Prove, he signed to Warner Bros. Records. After two years, one techno-influenced single, “Say Yeah,” was the lone piece of fruit his deal had sprouted. No wonder he flooded the Internet with music following his amicable 2009 split with the label, which never released a full album of his. On his own by late summer 2009, Khalifa spearheaded a grassroots campaign that included releasing not only a mixtape with Curren$y, How Fly, and a second album, Deal or No Deal, but also creating such a devoted fanbase over Twitter that when he dropped the free mixtape, Kush and Orange Juice in April 2010, it quickly became the number one trending topic. His placement on XXL Magazine’s “Freshman” cover in 2010, billing on Guerilla Union’s famous hip-hop festival Rock the Bells, and his striking appearance—tall, thin, and almost completely tatted up—have only increased his visibility. Khalifa can also attribute his landslide win in the 2010 MTV News-nominated “Hottest Breakthrough MC” contest to his rabid fans, who call themselves members 10 of his “Taylor Gang” and dress in clothing emblazoned with its logo, a riff on the “G.I. Joe” cartoon. One of 20 emcees nominated by MTV News, Khalifa racked up more than 66,000 votes, almost 30,000 more than (ironically) Young Money-signee, Nicki Minaj. Although separated by almost a decade’s age difference, Curren$y and Wiz Khalfia have won the loyalty of almost the same demographic, and it’s not hard to tell why. The two’s public personas are almost polar opposites, and revelatory of their ages: Curren$y dances around the stage as if it’s his living room, almost in his own world; and when the show’s over, he ducks back to his hotel as quickly as he flew in. Khalifa, on the other hand, throws himself into his performance like a man possessed; if you put on that kind of (sold-out, it bears mentioning) show every night, you too would resemble a praying mantis. Khalifa, though, loves the limelight. Waiting for an interview after his show in Pomona, his tour manager asked that he be given thirty or forty-five minutes first to “be a rapper.” But both emcees grew up in worlds where shooting guns was of the video game, not gang, variety. They talk about taking your woman, and they smoke a lot of weed- every morning, both rappers greet their Twitter followers with, “Waken…baken…” If they wanted to corner the highly desirable teenage and college male market, they found the way. 11 And if they wanted to court major-label suitors, they found the way. Damon Dash used BluRoc (a nod to what Roc-A-Fella stood for in its heyday) to release Curren$y’s first major-label record Pilot Talk (though Curren$y maintains, “Deals and shit aren’t really that cool”), and Wiz Khalifa confirmed in late July that he had signed a deal with Atlantic Records. Rumors of Khalifa’s signing were swirling all spring, and his answer when asked about the role major labels would play in hip- hop’s future should’ve been a tip-off: “I definitely think major labels are still gonna play a role, as far as making you a household name, giving you that push, putting those major-label dollars [behind you].” Phonte, who paved the path for using the Internet to attract a record deal, might have words for the fellows, considering he recently said, “Never again would I sign a record deal.” But neither Curren$y nor Khalifa is a brain-dead stoner. They’ve signed yet again, but to more specialized labels who, taking into account the massive support they already have through their own efforts on the Internet, find it in their financial best interest to not shelve them. After all, they’ve already proven they can do better all by themselves. 12 CHAPTER 3 100 MILES AND RUNNIN’? It’s chilly for an early evening in early August, anyway, but Sunset Strip acts as a wind tunnel. Several girls wander up to The Roxy in the summer uniform of legal- but-not-to- drink girls: teensy boy shorts, thin burnout tank tops intentionally two sizes too big, legs swimming in ankle boots. They wonder when the doors will open; they shiver. The Roxy fills up slowly that night, considering the all-Cali, mostly underground, bill of Skeme, El Prez, Reason, Kendrick Lamar, and Pacific Division, or “Pac Div” for short. Such a family affair means lots of special guests- Jay Rock and Thurzday of U-N-I will eventually end up onstage, and Krondon and Phil da Agony of Strong Arm Steady are spotted in the crowd. The Roxy is too conscious of the “all-ages” nature of the show to allow blunts and joints, and there are few fans of drinking age in attendance. Teenagers mill about, ordering whatever’s cheapest on the food menu so they can sit in the roped off, over-21 booths. The vibe is decidedly calmer, and the turnout decidedly smaller, than a lineup like this usually warrants. Hip-hop shows rarely run on time, but the opener, Skeme, has a fitting excuse: He was pulled over by the cops en route to the venue. The show starts almost an hour 13 and a half late, which is lucky for TiRon, who arrives just in time to catch friends and headliner Pac Div’s set. How did rappers from New Orleans and Pittsburgh light and take off not only on the birthright of West Coast rappers, but also steal hip-hop’s comeback spotlight, which many thought was trained on Los Angeles? Long recognized as the promised land of “weather, women, and the weed,” as New York-native Notorious B.I.G. paid homage in his song, “Going Back to Cali,” the history of L.A.’s rap scene is foggy with just as much marijuana as gun smoke. Save for Snoop Dogg’s look-a-like protégé, Nipsey Hussle, nobody in the new generation is smoking songs out like other regional rappers. That’s a negligible quibble. Have L.A.’s rappers missed their chance to reassert their position on hip-hop’s playing field? Last year, Pac Div and U-N-I were leading a charge that seemed poised to recapture some glory for the West Coast. New York wasn’t making much noise; all the heat was emanating from the South—in the mainstream, the Atlanta-based Gucci Mane and Miami-based Rick Ross were at the head of the pack, while underground rappers like New Orleans’ Curren$y and Jay Electronica were buzzing. Yet murmurs from L.A. were massaging the ears of the country. “Backpack rappers” U-N-I followed their debut, Fried Chicken and Watermelon with the almost-as-successful A Love 14 Supreme, hood-hard Jay Rock’s Lil Wayne-featured single, “All My Life (In the Ghetto),” was one of iTunes free downloads, and the genre-sliding threesome Pac Div dropped a mixtape, Church League Champions, that was so good it should’ve been a contender for 2009’s “top” lists. The West Coast was primed on all of hip- hop’s fronts to rush the stage and focus the long-lost spotlight back on the country’s golden child. Somehow along the way, all three acts got lost in the shuffle. Freddie Gibbs, who lives in L.A. but reps Gary, Indiana, his hometown, has taken off on the “gangsta rap” tip (signed by Interscope in 2005 before being dropped in ’07, his career has, like Curren$y’s and Khalifa’s, fared much better without a major’s support). Signed to Universal, Pac Div is scheduled to drop their debut album with the label, Grown Kid Syndrome, in October of this year, but their mixtape, Don’t Mention It, given away in late spring, made a day-long splash on Twitter and then disappeared. U-N-I is the most successful, remaining independent and landing a gig opening for 50 Cent at L.A. Live’s Nokia Theatre this summer. Pac Div, officially formed in 2005 and comprised of brothers Like and Mibbs and longtime friend BeYoung (real names Gabe Stevenson, Michael Stevenson, and Brian Young, respectively), speak with a hesitant candidness regarding their signed status. All three are given to grins; whether that’s the afterglow of the set they just wrapped at the Roxy or the after party is toss up. When asked what the label does for 15 them, Mibbs swills from a near-empty pint of Crown Royal and says, “We do for ourselves.” He whips his head around and mugs for the camera: “We love our label!” and then turns back to me. “I’ll say this to Universal, too, but what we have, we have because of us.” BeYoung, who’s both the most stoned and the most diplomatic of the trio, takes over. “Having a label behind you is like pressing turbo drive on a video game. None of us had the money—we’re all from workingclass families—to do what a label could do for us. They’ve put us on big-name tours, gotten us studio sessions with big producers (they spent four days in Miami with Pharrell, Mibbs proudly asserts).” They’re towing the line, careful to show appreciation to Universal while still claiming the self-reliant status of independents. It’s an impressive act that’s probably been performed many times over by now, since they signed almost exactly two years ago (hearkening back to Phonte’s complaints about the label owning and controlling an artist’s music, it’s telling that Pac Div’s debut album will be released more than two years after they signed—the devil always gets his due). Like, whose moniker must be a reflection of how likeable he is, maintains eye contact with me as he reiterates that the three of them are completely accessible, just normal guys: “I wake up sometimes and am surprised to remember I’m a rapper!” Authenticity will always be a predictor of a rapper’s popularity—see the uproar over Rick Ross’ former life as a prison security guard; Jay Z’s 50 Cent diss, “Naw, I ain’t 16 got shot up a whole bunch of times, or make up shit in a whole bunch of lines” in “What More Can I Say?”; Kanye West’s insouciant arrogance. It makes sense Pac Div would seek to further confirm themselves as just the “dudes next door”: Although they spent about half their lives in Los Angeles, blog posts on the group inevitably draw a dissenting, “they ain’t even FROM L.A.” comment. Maybe that’s the problem in the “New West” movement, indecision on who they want to be. While New York, the South, and even the Midwest continue to refine their original molds, the West Coast seems to run away from its past with no discernable idea as to where they’re headed. They eschew N.W.A.’s hand-me-down locs and khakis. They resist Dilated Peoples’and The Pharcyde’s conscious, neo- hippie backpacks. They still smoke a lot of weed, but feel Snoop Dogg already rapped that into the ground. In hip hop, like in most things, if you waffle and don’t stand for something, you stand for nothing. And hip hop, more than most things, likes bold. Recently, TiRon is being more decisive. A recent trip to play a few New York shows and an interview with a nationally minded blog, The Smoking Section.com, indicate he’s at least making definitive career-minded steps. The old industry model is dying, and maybe deals like Curren$y’s and Wiz Khalifa’s mean label executives are finally waking up and restructuring. For TiRon, that’s good news, as is his “representative” getting an A&R job at Interscope. 17 During Pac Div’s set at The Roxy, the guys shout TiRon out, and he emerges from the clump of “friends” who stand motionless just offstage and try to look cool. They all dance and joke around, but compared to Pac Div, compared to almost every other act that night, TiRon’s performance is lackluster. He stays for one of the songs of Pac Div’s for which he likely wrote the hook. And just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone, back to the sidelines to watch. 18 BIBLIOGRAPHY Cadet, S. “TSS Presents Smoking Sessions With TiRon.” 10 August 2010. TheSmokingSection.com. <http://smokingsection.uproxx.com/TSS/2010/08/tss-presents-smoking- sessions-with-tiron> Carter, Shawn. “Regrets.” Reasonable Doubt (album). Roc-a-Fella Records, 1996. Carter, Shawn. “What More Can I Say?” The Black Album (album). Roc-a-Fella Records, 2003. Carter, Shawn. “30 Something.” Kingdom Come (album). Roc-a-Fella Records, 2006. Coleman, Phonte. Interview. Rebecca Haithcoat. 19 July 2010. Franklin, Shante. Interview. Rebecca Haithcoat. 3 April 2010. Harvey, De Andre. Interview. Rebecca Haithcoat. 14 January 2010. Jeffries, TiRon. Interview. Rebecca Haithcoat. 23 February 2010. Jeffries, TiRon. “Go Ronnie.” Ketchup (mixtape). 25 February 2009. Jeffries, TiRon. “Sydney.” Ketchup (mixtape). 25 February 2009. Jeffries, TiRon. “Still Never Happy.” Ketchup (mixtape). 25 February 2009. Reid, Shaheem. “Wiz Khalifa Wins ‘Hottest Breakthrough MCs of 2010’: See the Final Poll Results.” 26 July 2010. MTV.com. <http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1644448/20100726/wiz_khalifa.jhtml> Serwer, Jesse. “Q&A: Curren$y and Producer Ski Beatz (and Damon Dash) Talk Pilot Talk, BluRoc, and Eating at Bubby’s in Tribeca.” 23 July 2010. VillageVoice.com. <http://blogs.villagevoice.com/music/archives/2010/07/qa_curreny_and.php> Stevenson, Gabe. Interview. Rebecca Haithcoat. 7 August 2010. Stevenson, Michael. Interview. Rebecca Haithcoat. 7 August 2010. 19 Thomaz, Cameron Jibril. Interview. Rebecca Haithcoat. 5 May 2010. Wallace, Christopher. “Going Back to Cali.” Life After Death (album). Bad Boy Records, 1997. Willis, Peter. “Prince- World Exclusive Interview: Peter Willis Goes Inside the Star’s Secret World.” 7 May 2010. Mirror.co.uk. <http://www.mirror.co.uk/celebs/news/2010/07/05/prince-world-exclusive- interview-peter-willis-goes-inside-the-star-s-secret-world-115875- 22382552/> Young, Brian. Interview. Rebecca Haithcoat. 7 August 2010. XXL Staff. “Wiz Khalifa Signs with Atlantic Records.” 30 July 2010. XXLmag.com. <http://www.xxlmag.com/online/?p=86975>

Abstract (if available)

Linked assets

University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses

Asset Metadata

Creator Haithcoat, Rebecca (author)

Core Title Will the sun set in the West? How the Internet’s usurping of the music industry is collapsing regionalism and threatening the West Coast’s race to recapture hip hop’s crown

School Annenberg School for Communication

Degree Master of Arts

Degree Program Specialized Journalism (The Arts)

Publication Date 09/13/2010

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag hip hop,Internet,Los Angeles,Music Industry,OAI-PMH Harvest

Place Name California (states), Los Angeles (city or populated place)

Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Kun, Joshua (committee chair), Demers, Joanna (committee member), Page, Tim (committee member)

Creator Email haithcoa@usc.edu,rebeccahaithcoat@gmail.com

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-m3434

Unique identifier UC1280769

Identifier etd-Haithcoat-4096 (filename),usctheses-m40 (legacy collection record id),usctheses-c127-382706 (legacy record id),usctheses-m3434 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier etd-Haithcoat-4096.pdf

Dmrecord 382706

Document Type Thesis

Rights Haithcoat, Rebecca

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Repository Name Libraries, University of Southern California

Repository Location Los Angeles, California

Repository Email cisadmin@lib.usc.edu