Photo by Craig Wetherby
Santogold talks hip-hop, labels, and self-determination
Issue #36
By Niema Jordan
Published: June 11th, 2008 | 1:25pm
An extended article from the summer 2008 issue of Venus Zine
“I don’t wanna be a salesperson for my album,” says Santi White, who is reintroducing herself to the world as the genre-bending crowd-rocking entity Santogold. “I think people should only buy my record if they like my record.”
Her tone is genuine. The 45-minute phone conversation, just a few weeks before the April 29 release of her self-titled debut album on Downtown Records, characterized this type of raw commentary that is only possible from a woman comfortable rocking door-knocker earrings, going snow-boarding, and being a black girl who is neither an MC nor a soul singer.
“My sound is a mash-up of a bunch of styles and influences — dub, punk, new wave, and electronic,” White says. “Pretty much all of that mixed with pop choruses and good lyrics.”
Note that the Philly native and Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, resident didn’t mention hip-hop. Despite rapping on “B.O.O.T.A.Y.” with Spank Rock and the fact that she commands a stage with the swagger of a rap veteran, the genre isn’t on the singer-songwriter’s initial list of influences.
“I don’t think my influences are necessarily hip-hop, but I grew up hugely influenced by hip-hop,” she says. White started writing lyrics when she was 9 years old. Influenced by the greats like Salt-n-Pepa and MC Lyte, she learned to write songs through her raps and poems. “I wasn’t drawing on any hip-hop directly on this record, but just my whole musical development was based on a hip-hop aesthetic.”
Having grown up in the ’80s, White experienced hip-hop’s golden era. But questioning Santogold about hip-hop doesn’t put her at ease. First she points to the fact that the influences she has now, like Spank Rock, aren’t readily noticed by those who believe in traditional definitions of the culture. After a while, she pulls away another layer.
“I get a lot of press in the U.K. and even in the States,” she starts to explain. And if the number of writers who try to contact her during our conversation is any indication, “a lot” will soon be an understatement. “People are really quick to try to throw me in that ‘soul singer–hip-hop’ category,” she says, her voice animated like an announcer at a side show saying, “Step right up, hurry, hurry.” But regardless of her comedic tone, it isn’t quite a laughing matter. “I am not going to be thrown into some category that’s convenient because I’m black.”
White’s influences are as diverse as her sound, so the idea of attributing her songs to just one hits on a nerve or two. It causes her to distance herself from and tie herself to the Bronx-born art form that has lasted generations and traveled continents.
The singer, who used to play drums, says she pays close attention to rhythm and delivery in her music. “That is something you can attribute to hip-hop, but it’s something you can attribute to reggae and reggae toasting style, which is where I always credit the influence.”
And while hip-hop is founded on reggae, it’s hard to equate the musical styling of Santogold with the likes of Monie Love or Foxy Brown.
“A couple of times people have called me an MC. I usually think it’s because they have only heard Creator,” she says, searching for the reason anyone would call her a rapper. “And if that’s not the case, I think it’s because I’m black and they’re kinda dumb.”
White has no problem calling people out on their ignorance. She’s asked interviewers who make the mistake what songs they’ve heard and why it equals MCing in their minds. Part of her thinks it’s racist, but White notes that there is more to the issue than race. Sometimes it’s the inability to define her that makes people stuff her into boxes too small to really hold who she is. “When you don’t fit into some category that’s been around for a while or even a category at all, it takes a while for people to even talk about it.”
After more than six years as an artist, the struggle to exist “outside the box” isn’t new for White. She was once the lead singer of Philly-based punk rock band Stiffed, whose members she still collaborates with.
As she describes her experience, another dimension is exposed. When White first formed Stiffed in 2002, the term “black rock” surfaced to describe what the group was doing. Journalists attempted to interview her about the supposed new category, which led to a response they probably weren’t ready for.
“I was like, ‘What the fuck is black rock’?” White’s voice goes up an octave, still seeming shocked at the audacity of these interviewers. “Considering there has always been people of color in the whole punk rock scene anyway, and black people in rock from the very beginning, I just didn’t appreciate that all of a sudden when I was doing it, it couldn’t just be rock anymore.”
Angry, White would shut down the writers, refusing to talk about the music as anything other than what it was: punk rock by an indie band. Though time has passed and White says things have changed as more artists of color challenge the norm, being categorized as a hip-hop artist brings back thoughts of being described as “black rock.”
The ping-pong game between hip-hop and not continues. She considers her dancers, who are influenced by Public Enemy’s dancers, notes that 2 Live Crew is one of her favorite groups, and tells of the gold hoop earrings with “Santi” displayed across the center, which she still sports even though she got them when she was 12.
Is she or isn’t she hip-hop? Maybe she’s the future.
“Lately people like Kanye West and Pharrell have been like, ‘Wow, this is amazing, this is a whole new thing, you’re gonna change the game,’” she says, half reminding herself that even folks who know hip-hop very well are including her in the culture. She also says DJ Enuff of Hot 97 — an influential New York radio station — has been playing her song “Creator.” “So that let me know that there’s an interest in what we are doing, in hip-hop,” White says.
An interest in genre crossing? Why, of course. West and producer Swizz Beats both sample Daft Punk. Timbaland has worked with M.I.A. Rappers now skateboard and wear skinny jeans. The list of non hip-hop things that “real” members of the culture do is growing rapidly.
In the end, White decides it’s best not to push away the title. She’s a little bit of everything, and she likes it like that.
“So many people are bullied by A&R people and restrictions within the industry and genres and fitting into these neat boxes,” says White, who worked as an A&R assistant at Epic before working at Sheba Sound and later consulting in the same field. White has no regrets about refusing to conform to these standards. “I didn’t want to do it [music] unless it was on my own terms.”
Sounds like her version of “Fight the Power.”
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VENUSZINE.COM EXCLUSIVE
Do you see an upside to downloading and the Internet culture?
Everybody is pretty much taking the reigns, and the Internet allows you to do that. You don’t really need to be backed by a label — they don’t need to [understand your music] in the beginning. You can put it out there yourself and get attention, and once you get the attention, nobody cares what you are if there is money to be made.
How do you define “cool”?
You do different things at first, and people are like, “Oh, that’s weird,” like everyone wants to call everybody weird if they’re not doing exactly what everyone else is doing. But slowly, people really do come around. And then all of a sudden it’s like, “Oh, that’s cool.”
What was your experience like as an A&R person at several companies?
The reason I was interested in A&R was because I thought it was a creative job, and I thought that you could find good stuff and have an impact. But I found that it was mostly administrative; I was running up against brick walls all the time, and I had no power to do anything. But that definitely has not been true for everyone. Some A&R people have started off whole new genres. A&R was an awesome job back in the day. You could be responsible for, like, [discovering] grunge, like you being in the right places could lead to something big. My experience was that I didn’t really have any power, and I was really frustrated creatively.
Did you have a lot of creative freedom as a songwriter?
When you have to filter your art through somebody else, you don’t really have the same amount of influence. It’s not representative of you, and, really, it shouldn’t be. A good songwriter should bring out the best of what an artist is doing. It shouldn’t really be about the songwriter; it should be about the artist and their style.
How do you deal with misogyny in hip-hop?
I don’t think every [song] has to be about something great, I’m not into preachy stuff at all. But I love 2 Live Crew — I have since I was a kid. I think they are amazing. I can be removed. I’ll be like, “Oh, this song is ridiculous, but it’s so good.” But I don’t think that Spank Rock’s music is degrading to women. I think he’s pushing a lot of boundaries, and sometimes I’m like “I don’t know, Naheem.” But in general I think what he is doing is really special because it’s actually music for everyone. It’s celebrating sexuality, it’s raunchy, it’s edgy, it’s nasty, the beats are amazing, [and] it’s like a fun dance party. I don’t think it’s misogynistic; it’s not homophobic. It’s free for everybody; go for yours. And I think it’s new for hip-hop.
What do you think of the current state of hip-hop?
I love Lil Wayne for example. [I] love the Gucci Mane song “Freaky Girl,” and there’s some stuff I think is really great. Like I heard a song this weekend, “Drop and give me 50.” I really love that music. I think it’s really good. Can’t listen to too much of it ’cause it makes me sick. The lyrics are so counter-progressive, that you’re just like… I mean I really can’t… I can appreciate little doses and little bits and be like, “Wow, the flow is great. This is great, it’s so clever, it’s so funny, whatever.” But I can’t really attach myself to something that is so against what I think is right and good. And that’s unfortunately what most of hip-hop has become right now.
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GET THE HIP-HOP ISSUE: Venus Zine's summer issue is available from June 1–September 1, 2008 and features Missy Elliott, Santogold, MC Lyte, Yo-Yo, Remy Ma, and many other leaders in hip-hop. Order the issue here or purchase a copy at Barnes & Noble, Borders, Chapters.Indigo, Newbury Comics, Waldenbooks, and record stores.
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