Here is a trivia question: Which globally recognised Hip-hop group from the 1990s has sold millions of records and received multiple Grammy awards and nominations? If your answer is ‘The Fugees,’ then technically you are not wrong. The answer I was looking for however is ‘The Black Eyed Peas.’ Since releasing their breakout single “Where is the Love?” in 2003, the four-person group has sold 27 million records, sold out several world tours and won three Grammy awards. There is, however, something I am sure you do not know about them.
If I were to ask you who the members of the group are, you would immediately respond, “Will.i.am, Fergie, Apl de App and Taboo.” What you probably do not know is that Fergie became a member of The Black Eyed Peas the same way Robinho became a part of Manchester City in 2008 – a late addition parachuted in under new management for purely commercial purposes just before the group scored its breakout success. If you search for older Black Eyed Peas music videos from the late 90s to 2003, the sole female member of the group is an unfamiliar face with a voice you have probably never heard.
This is a story about how doing things “the right way” and refusing to evolve can rapidly turn into an exercise in futility in today’s world.
The Kim Hill back-story
Kim Hill, now an attractive middle-aged woman with a teenage son was the original female member of the group. She describes her style as the quintessential mid-to-early 90s Hip-hop/Soul sound. Think of the voice of Mary J. Blige, the rhythm of Macy Grey and the stage personality of Eve. According to Kim, she could see toward the end of the 90s that Hip-hop was evolving into a heavily commercialised industry, with a very distinct set of expectations for male and female artists.
The rappers were no longer allowed to just be the goofy, carefree kids that they initially were at the dawn of rap music. They were now expected to play up their street credibility and make liberal reference to the streets and gangsta culture because that was hot on the streets at the time. The women were no longer to be seen as protagonists in the same way as the men. They were now to become sensual eye candy, with lyrics, outfits and dance moves packed to the rafters with sexual innuendo.
While Kim did not have a problem with the evolution of the genre, she did have a problem with being expected to play that role within the Black Eyed Peas. The group came together in the streets of East LA where they had a background in the original culture of Hip-hop – not the glitzy, heavily produced version that would later capture the charts at the turn of the millennium. The other group members did not necessarily expect her to play the role of the group’s sex kitten, but that was what the ecosystem around them – and the record label – increasingly asked of her. It wanted her to in her words, “Wear a bikini and grind on Will.i.am.” She had a decision to make – stick with it and become part of history with a fast-rising group or walk away with her ideals and professional pride intact.
Kim chose to walk away from everything – The Black Eyed Peas, the record deal, the new upcoming album that was going to launch her career as a bona fide superstar, the dream of touring the world as a headline artist – everything. She went back to LA and settled back into regular life as a regular person with the occasional gig here and there. And then the Black Eyed Peas went platinum.
The label replaced Kim with Fergie, the quintessential Hip-hop sex kitten who had a hit song on the BEP album titled “Fergilicious,” where she referenced her “humps and lovely lady lumps” that “make the boys go loco.” It was the furthest thing from the sort of material Kim Hill would have performed if she was in the group, but it sold. And sold. And sold. And sold more. The BEP went on world tours where they sold out stadiums and met presidents. Will.i.am launched his own sneaker collection costing $1,000 a pair and later became a judge on The Voice. They achieved all of the success that Kim Hill never even imagined was possible, driven by the production of Will.i.am and her sexy, commercial replacement.
Read Also: Farewell, investigative journalism. It was fun while it lasted
The Kim Hill conundrum and Nigeria’s Anti-Hundeyin journalists
The events of the past week more than any other, illustrate the extent to which some of my colleagues in the Nigerian space – particularly some who consider themselves to be trained in the ways of “classical” journalism, have found themselves where Kim Hill was in 2003. The classical journalism they know is one that is strictly formulaic and regimented – strictly uses past tense; relies on reported speech; treats multimedia inserts as inconvenient annoyances that get in the way of text; refuses to draw even the most basic and obvious of inferences for the sake of “balance”, so that stories often end up unfinished, unfocused and of no value to readers.
And then comes this Hundeyin Young Turk who moved from Marketing into Journalism, and is not afraid to show it. He is a visual content creator. He is a social media marketing expert. He is a great copywriter and storyteller. He understands emotional triggers and story devices. One half of his joint honours degree was in Creative Writing. He combines all these competencies with research and reportage, to spectacular effect in a short time. “But this guy is not really a journalist is he?! He is not following the rules! He talks back to his audiences everyday! He has a potty mouth and blocks people on social media a lot! He does not take our “constructive criticism” and in fact he is pointedly rude to us when we try to intervene. What is this journalism field turning into?!”
In the world of Hundeyins, Ogundipes and Soyombos who have no interest in being bog-standard, garden-variety Nigerian news reporters, and are achieving great success with their total rebellion against the status quo, what does the cigarette-and-briefcase journalist moulded in the vision of 1987 Nigeria do exactly? Does he accept that his way of doing things is dead and fully embrace the new ways, retraining himself and swallowing his pride at the sight of his entire profession suffering disruption? Or does he stubbornly hold on to an idea of journalism that no longer exists in any meaningful form, insisting that what worked in 1987 must be imposed on the world of 2021 and fighting a futile losing war against change?
In a space where an investigative journalist called David Hundeyin has successfully subverted the genre and blurred the lines between reportage and engaging storytelling – to visible effect – do Nigerian journalists and their contemporaries from adjacent spaces accept that this is the future whether they like it or not, and that they themselves similarly once represented disruption of another status quo? Do they appreciate the outsized impact he had had and continues to have using a willingness to move fast and take calculated risks? Do they see that a strength? Or do they do like Kim Hill and storm away in a huff, muttering angry nothings about legacy and tradition, only to watch their replacements soar and prosper on the global stage while they secretly boil in anguish, wondering what might have been?
Maybe they should ask Kim Hill.
