Mercury Prize-winning Speech Debelle has put female rap back on the map

After Ms Dynamite slipped into the ether, many people wrote off female hip hop in the UK. There were flirtations with it from Londoner Naila Boss, Lisa Maffia was kicking around, and even Alesha Dixon tried her hand at spitting rhymes in Mis-Teeq. Then, all of a sudden, and thanks to the incisive and gritty themes of her songs, Speech Debelle burst through the stasis of female hip hop and won the Mercury Music Prize. There is now a focal point. She has since faded slightly since, but she is still the beacon.

It gets you thinking about female rap as a whole. Undoubtedly there is a profitable market for it in the US, the pioneers stretching back to Salt-n-Pepa, to present day and M.I.A’s prodigy Rye Rye. In between you can reel off the names like gunshots: Yo Yo, MJB, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes, Eve, Khia, Lil’ Kim, Fergie, Foxy Brown, Missy Elliot, Queen Latifah, Lauren Hill, Lumidee, to name but a few. I’m sure there are some glaring omissions, but these are the first names to come to mind.

That was easy, people will be saying, what’s your point? And they would be right, there is nothing new from ticking these people off the list. But they provide an important frame for a comment about female urban music in this day and age. The British industry is dominated by American artists. Their record companies give them the most marketable image, they hit them up with producers and established male rappers to create a highly sellable product. Even Debelle has been commodified – after winning her record sales soared, some claiming by 4000%.

What then for those plying their trade in the more understated music industries of the world; the ones we English-speaking people never hear about? France is often a barometer for avant-garde culture and it is no surprise that there is a host of French female rappers. Leading the way is Diam’s, originally from Nicosia. Her 2006 album Dans Ma Bulle (‘In My Bubble’) was the highest selling album in France that year. It must be a daunting prospect buying into a genre that is so governed by English slang – ‘bling’, ‘purple drank’, ‘sizzup’ – especially if you are foreign to the language. More so if you stick by your native tongue. Diam’s, like her acclaimed male compatriot rapper, MC Solaar, stays true to her roots and raps in French. Her style is bold and brash, she uses punchy ‘b’ annunciations and her lyrics are typically rebellious -“Non, non, ce n’est pas l’école qui m’a dicté mes codes” (“No, no, not the school that has dictated my codes” from La Boulette) and the social commentary, which makes rap so potent, is visceral and sour:

“Il ya comme un goût de viol quand je marche dans ma ville Il ya comme un goût d’alcool dans la police locale Il ya comme un goût de peur chez les nanas de l’an deux mille, Il ya comme un goût de mauvaises herbes dans l’oxygène que nous respirons…” (There’s a taste of rape when I walk in my city. There’s a taste of alcohol in the local police. There’s a taste of fear in chicks of the year two thousand. There’s a taste of weeds in the oxygen we breathe…).

Political French rap artist Keny Arkana has been featured in NME magazine

Staying with those across the channel, Keny Arkana is an even more extreme example of the visceral, reactionary rapper. Somewhere in the mould of Lauren Hill in her Fugees days: powerful, emotive, a less cultured voice than Hill, but making up for that with her raw energy. Arkana’s song La Rage is a diatribe at the civil unrest in France in 2005. Her youthful energy brings the problem of youth unemployment, the context for the unrest to the fore:

“Ok, on a la rage mais c’est pas celle qui fait baver. Demande à Fabe, la vie claque comme une semelle sur les pavés. La rage de voir nos buts entravés, de vivre en travers, La rage gravée depuis bien loin en arrière La rage d’avoir grandi trop vite quand des adultes volent ton enfance…” (Ok, we enraged and I’m not talking about rabies (la rage means rabies in French). Ask Fab, life slaps you like your heels on the pavement. The rage of see our goals being blocked, the rage you have to live through; the rage that is ingrained since long ago; the rage at having grown up too fast, when adults have stolen your childhood).

To prove that not all the women, who aren’t in America’s materialistic top-heavy rap world, are not all zealous social commentators, we have a more reflective style from German rap frontrunner, Pyranja. The song Nie Wieder from her album Laus & Leise is an account of unrequited love – a theme that crops up in a lot of her works. An interesting comparison is the beautiful 4 Elemente; a poetic vision of the song’s title: “Ich hab’ wasser gesehen, berauschend… erhaben, vor allem am abend in flammenden farben” (“I have water views, exhilarating…sublime, especially in the evening in flaming colors”).

This is of course a small snapshot of the wider picture of rap in Europe (if you want to hear more look up Romanian singer/rapper Miss Platnum or Spanish rapper Mala Rodriguez), but the three we have mentioned are indicative of what it might be like for a woman behind the mic; one who hasn’t benefitted from the production and media exposure that female artists in the US have. Diam’s rapping is playful with serious undertones and her videos flag up the choreography and shooting that you would expect with a polished R’n’B track or Flo’ Rida/Justin Timberlake jam. There are the gaudy costumes (with intermittent costume changes) and the pop locking dance moves typical of commercial hip hop. However, despite this apparent pandering to the mode, she does not seem to have an issue being a female behind the microphone. There doesn’t seem to be a personal agenda as a female; her views are wide ranging.

German rapper Pyranja

The same is true of Keny Arkana. Her attitude is deeply politicised and her style and subject hark back to when rap was conscientious and had a social purpose. Yes, she is female rapper, but her purpose transcends image and posturing. Pyranja is an interesting case, because her rapping is heartfelt and personal (countering braggadocio and social purpose). She was courted by Def Jam Germany and released her first EP; she has also released an album independently.

To say that some female rappers don’t struggle in an often (tragically) chauvinistic industry is ignorant, although it shouldn’t be an issue. The intrinsic link between the UK and the US industries is such that the British female rappers seem suffer more than their continental counterparts. Speech Debelle raised the issue recently and more vocal and belligerent expostulations have come from Estelle, who has branded the British music scene as sexist, and railed against machismo. The US female stars have the advantage of resources in the States and – although sexism is probably still an issue in their music world – they seem to have more of a niche in it, than those in the UK. For the European rappers on the other hand, they seem content to continue selling comfortably in their own countries, doing what they love. We can all take something from that.