Poetry Corner: Coolio

OK, so he isn’t exactly Victorian …

Tadpole has recently discovered the music of Weird Al Yankovic, who became famous in the 1980s for his parodies of popular songs, such as “Like a Surgeon,” a takeoff of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin,” and “Eat It,” which apes Michael Jackson’s “Beat it.” There’s currently a large collection of Weird Al on Tadpole’s iPod, and last night he played some of the more recent works, including “Amish Paradise,” which takes off from Coolio’s “Gangsta’s Paradise.”

My curiosity piqued by the beat of the language and the haunting melody of the refrain, I decided to look up the original lyrics to find out what they had to say. I was impressed. Contrary to popular belief, not all rap or hip-hop music is obscene and socially valueless.

This particular piece doesn’t have any obscenities or profanities at all, and, while it does refer to violence, if you look at the context, the view toward violence is not the least bit positive.

So Coolio isn’t one of the Victorian poets upon whom I concentrate attention. But he does have a lot to say, in terms of serious social criticism. In this, he follows in the footsteps of William Blake, Robert Browning, Percy Shelley, and many others. Coolio’s poetry has an advantage over most of the Victorians – they wrote, mostly, from outside the experiences of poverty and injustice, while he writes from inside.

What Coolio does have is an intense sense of irony, even if he may not know the word. Yeah, the world he inhabits is a “paradise” – but yeah, really it’s not. Sure, he’s tough, but he also knows that the world of the streets is not the way to live. It’s just that there doesn’t seem to be much choice in the matter.

This is the world that many of my students come from. By attending community college, they’re doing what they can to escape from the “paradise” of drug dealing, turf war feuding, and keeping face against other gangs. For some of them, the transition is tough. But when they make it, the rewards are great. And Coolio very much recognizes that, while some of the blame can be placed on the mostly white, mostly highly educated Powers That Be, some of the blame also must apply to the lower-income people who are usually portrayed as innocent victims – “The ones we hurt are you and me.”

Often the question arises about a painting or a photograph or a piece of music or something else creative: “But is it Art?” The askers of such a question generally are looking at whether a particular work engages the emotions and enriches the spirit. Under that definition, I would definitely argue that Coolio’s work is art.

Gangsta’s Paradise
By Coolio, featuring L.V

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I take a look at my life and realise there’s none left
’Cause I’ve been brassing and laughing so long that
Even my mamma thinks that my mind is gone
But I ain’t never crossed a man that didn’t deserve it
Me be treated like a punk, you know that’s unheard of
You better watch how you talking, and where you walking
Or you and your homies might be lined in chalk
I really hate to trip but I gotta lope
As they croak I see myself in the pistol smoke ... fool
I’m the kinda G that little homies want to be like
On my knees in the night, saying prayers in the street light

They been spending most their lives living in the gangsta’s paradise
They been spending most their lives living in the gangsta’s paradise
We keep spending most our lives living in the gangsta’s paradise
We keep spending most our lives living in the gangsta’s paradise

They got the situation, they got me facing
I can’t live a normal life, I was raised by the strip
So I gotta be down with the hood team
Too much television watching got me chasing dreams
I'm an educated fool with my knee on my mind
Got my 10 in my hand and a gleam in my eye
I’m a loped out gangsta set trippin’ banger
And my homies is down so gonna rouse my anger ... fool
Death ain’t nothing but a heart beat away
I’m living life do or die, what can I say
I’m 23 never will I live to see 24
The way things is going I don’t know

Tell me why are we so blind to see
That the ones we hurt are you and me

They been spending most their lives living in the gangsta’s paradise
They been spending most their lives living in the gangsta’s paradise
We keep spending most our lives living in the gangsta’s paradise
We keep spending most our lives living in the gangsta’s paradise

Power and the money, money and the power
Minute after minute, hour after hour
Everybody’s running, but half of them ain’t looking
What’s going on in the kitchen, but I don’t know what’s cooking
They say I’ve got to learn but nobody’s here to teach me
If they can’t understand it, how can they reach me
I guess they can’t
I guess they won’t
I guess they front
That’s why I know my life is out of luck ... fool

Tell me why are we so blind to see
That the ones we hurt are you and me
Tell me why are we so blind to see
That the ones we hurt are you and me ...