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| Iggy Azalea's American accent: identity smoke-screen or hip-hop survival? | Iggy Azalea's American accent: identity smoke-screen or hip-hop survival? |
| (about 1 month later) | |
| In 2004, the Black Eyed Peas were in Sydney to present an Australian Recording Industry award. It was for best urban album, the first-ever in a country whose charts were dominated by pub-rock anthems and soap-opera starlets with nice teeth. The winners, a little-known rapper-and-DJ duo called Koolism, dedicated the award to “all the Australians who keep it real". "Be yourselves!" the DJ smirked. "Enough of that American-wannabe trash!" | |
| As the Black Eyed Peas exchanged nervous glances, he hastened: "Hey, America rules. These guys are all good. But I’m talking about Australians that want to be something they’re not — that sucks.” | |
| Australians rapping in American accents was a contentious topic long before Australian rapper Iggy Azalea stole the No 1 and No 2 spots on the US Billboard charts with her adjusted accent. | |
| For the uninitiated, Azalea's speaking voice presents a girl from the Australian bush, while her rap delivery is more gangsta Nanny Fine. She has always said this nuance comes from learning to rap as a teenage runaway in the US, which she did, but it's worth considering that her native Australian accent could have ended her career way before it even began. | |
| When hip-hop arrived in Australia in the early 80s, locals picked up the graffiti, breakdancing and DJ styles coming out of New York with ease. They circulated grainy re-re-recordings of Beat Street and Wild Style, and libraries found Subway Art impossible to keep in the stacks. The local version of rap, however, quickly hit a painful stumbling block. Compared to the rapid urban patter coming from the South Bronx or Queens, the Australian rap accent sounded, well, kind of bizarre. There's a certain laxness to it, which reflects the Aussie lifestyle, but it's not very slick. The rise of a strain of fiercely local "barbecue rap" didn't help, and right up until the mid-2000s Australian rap was not a critically lauded pastime. | When hip-hop arrived in Australia in the early 80s, locals picked up the graffiti, breakdancing and DJ styles coming out of New York with ease. They circulated grainy re-re-recordings of Beat Street and Wild Style, and libraries found Subway Art impossible to keep in the stacks. The local version of rap, however, quickly hit a painful stumbling block. Compared to the rapid urban patter coming from the South Bronx or Queens, the Australian rap accent sounded, well, kind of bizarre. There's a certain laxness to it, which reflects the Aussie lifestyle, but it's not very slick. The rise of a strain of fiercely local "barbecue rap" didn't help, and right up until the mid-2000s Australian rap was not a critically lauded pastime. |
| Within the scene, the “accent debate” was deadly serious: should you rap in a fake American accent, or in an Australian one, which was distracting? Eventually it was decided you should keep it real and rap in an Australian accent. | |
| The Australian accent evolved among the children of convicts: a tough, resilient underclass which is still reflected in the predominantly white, male Australian hip-hop scene today. | |
| This is a culture dedicated to its own vernacular. It manifests through a preference for grimy underground and 90s-era hip hop, and a distrust of anything that aspires to popular appeal. Pop-culture website The Vine once called it "the holier-than-thou, underdog mentality that continues to plague the Australian hip-hop industry," and among this crusty-backpacker set Iggy Azalea counts very few fans. | This is a culture dedicated to its own vernacular. It manifests through a preference for grimy underground and 90s-era hip hop, and a distrust of anything that aspires to popular appeal. Pop-culture website The Vine once called it "the holier-than-thou, underdog mentality that continues to plague the Australian hip-hop industry," and among this crusty-backpacker set Iggy Azalea counts very few fans. |
| “I feel for Iggy, because this girl's actually uprooted herself from where she was because she felt like an alien here,” says Rosano Martinez, a Sydney designer in his 40s who grew up as a B-boy and graffiti writer in the hip-hop loving suburbs of west Sydney. “She's almost damned if she does, damned if she doesn't.” | “I feel for Iggy, because this girl's actually uprooted herself from where she was because she felt like an alien here,” says Rosano Martinez, a Sydney designer in his 40s who grew up as a B-boy and graffiti writer in the hip-hop loving suburbs of west Sydney. “She's almost damned if she does, damned if she doesn't.” |
| In the early 90s, Martinez formed a hip-hop group with his sister and a couple of friends called the Sound Unlimited Posse. The SUP released a bunch of bouncy, feelgood tracks under Sony BMG, the first Australian rap group ever to be signed to a major label. It was all rapped in American accents, but not, Martinez says, because they wanted to be American. As a group of first-generation Australians from diverse ethnic backgrounds, they didn’t fit the dominant “Anglo” culture. | In the early 90s, Martinez formed a hip-hop group with his sister and a couple of friends called the Sound Unlimited Posse. The SUP released a bunch of bouncy, feelgood tracks under Sony BMG, the first Australian rap group ever to be signed to a major label. It was all rapped in American accents, but not, Martinez says, because they wanted to be American. As a group of first-generation Australians from diverse ethnic backgrounds, they didn’t fit the dominant “Anglo” culture. |
| “I'm half-Spanish and half-Filipino,” Martinez told me in a Skype interview. “Filipino English is American. In my home, I spoke English, but it was in an American-accent English. But [rapping with an accent] was also a badge of honour. It was us saying, 'Well, we don't want to be part of your society because you already treat us as second-class citizens anyway.'” | “I'm half-Spanish and half-Filipino,” Martinez told me in a Skype interview. “Filipino English is American. In my home, I spoke English, but it was in an American-accent English. But [rapping with an accent] was also a badge of honour. It was us saying, 'Well, we don't want to be part of your society because you already treat us as second-class citizens anyway.'” |
| In fact the Sound Unlimited Posse are still remembered with derision by some. | |
| “I remember they opened for Ice T & Public Enemy when I saw them back in the day,” wrote Kongo, a user on the Ozhiphop forum. “The whole crowd was chanting FUCK OFF and pumping middle fingers in the air. Fucking classic.”The irony is that a 2003 study found that Australian rappers actually exaggerate their own accent when rapping — making it broader in order to show solidarity with their peers. What this suggests is a local scene that prides itself on its uniqueness but which actually prizes conformity above all. It's still possible that one day Australian rappers will find international success on their own terms. In the 10 years since that cheeky awards-show speech, Australian hip-hop has improved remarkably, found rotation on local radio, and Adelaide group the Hilltop Hoods are arguably as big as some of the pub-rock legends who ruled throughout the 80s and 90s. But it's the country girl with the pop-star stylings and a bootleg accent who just went big-time in the home of hip-hop. “I can guarantee you the ones whingeing the most are white dudes who are rappers,” says Martinez, “going, ‘That should be me.’ ” | |
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