The contradictions of rappers who sing about the suburbs whilst selling them luxury goods

While the first rap tracks in which “vetrina” rhymes with “rapina” are still awaited, the hip-hop and trap scenes are witnessing a heated debate between supporters and detractors of the unrest unfolding in Milan, Turin and Paris—particularly its most extreme, savage and hooligan-like form. Among the barrage of thunderous statements, Fedez’s is particularly noteworthy: he has assumed the role of the disillusioned veteran confronting the disaster that is infecting the subculture of which he has long been a leading figure, albeit a controversial one. He takes a swipe at his peers and warns his young followers: “Right now the trend is to show solidarity; tomorrow they’ll tell you how wonderful it is to be rich after having been poor. Remember the truth: there’s no one by your side.” This anarchic apathy is branded as indifference and lack of concern, yet it comes closer to the truth than the impassioned petitions in defence of the hooded ones, in which a sort of looting-fuelled fatalism attempts outdated connections with the cost of living, school conditions and denied dreams. It fails to make the connection where it really should, because it is a dark and inextricable point: the temptation and desire to give free rein to long-nurtured instincts for the forbidden whilst scrolling through social media. With no other implications than a shameless, uncontrollable, hormonal transgression. This outburst is now followed by the tears of children from respectable families as they emerge from the Fatebenefratelli Police Station, where incredulous mothers and fathers have gathered, claiming to know nothing of their children’s intentions, convinced they had simply gone into the city centre for a stroll. Yet one can also glimpse the stifled anger of those who, on the other hand, feel no guilt whatsoever and are simply waiting for the chance to try again, because, as far as they are concerned, that is fine. Against this backdrop, where opportunism and scepticism nervously intermingle, the barbs have begun to fly among the heavyweights of Italian rap, ready to respond to the call of events.

It’s a diss track without any rhymes. First up is Marracash, who for years has carved out a role for himself as the critical conscience of the Italian hip-hop scene: hence he posts images of a young man amidst the smoke bombs and issues the statement that makes the rounds on the news: “You can’t change things by being nice”. He adds that he expected this and that we’re only just at the beginning. In response, a barrage of criticism follows—from disappointed fans and accusations of failing to condemn the looting—but he stands his ground: “Find another artist.” Violence must be condemned, he writes, but so too must the invisible violence that crushes a generation raised on the margins, with their noses pressed against the shop windows displaying status symbols they’ll never be able to afford. Guè, Sayf and Artie 5ive give it a ‘like’. Even Ilaria Salis chimes in. Then the chorus grows. Sayf, the Genoese runner-up at Sanremo, argues that pointing the finger at the clashes serves to avoid discussing the reasons that drive people onto the streets. Kid Yugi cuts to the chase: “The Italian state has failed.” Nayt adopts a moralising tone, pontificating on the false sense of prosperity that has turned even the poor into bourgeois types. Luchè reposts an old track with the telling title, “Se non ci fosse la rabbia”. The “400 underage clowns” – guilty of providing an alibi for those who have no answers – are almost always glossed over. This is where Fedez steps in with his lengthy post. He’s been there, he says. He even understands the young people who vent their frustration on shop windows – symbols of what they’ll never be able to have. What he doesn’t understand are the artists who applaud, without realising that they, too, are reflected in those shop windows when they attend fashion shows, post photos of gold watches and promote the idea of success. He turns Marracash’s ‘us’ on its head with his ‘there is no “us”’: ‘Your favourite rapper will be back in the front row at the Louis Vuitton catwalks, and you’ll be left out.’

So Marracash strikes back. He insists he did not glorify violence and asks what drives minors to don balaclavas and risk being beaten with truncheons. Above all, he warns the middle class watching from their balconies: resentment is growing, rising from the suburbs and second-generation communities to the upper echelons, and “don’t say you didn’t see them coming”. He earned his first bit of money at the age of thirty; he’s now 47, pays his taxes and comes from a difficult background: “Making money doesn’t erase more than half of my life”. He stands his ground on the causes, on the unsustainability of life in this country. But he doesn’t dwell on the contradiction of rap, which tells the story of the suburbs whilst selling them luxury. Yesterday, that contradiction remained in the lyrics of those songs. Now it spills out onto the streets, but no longer knows where to find a foothold.