POETICS Journal of Empirical Research on Culture, the Media and the Arts ONLINE SUPPLEMENT TO ARTICLE IN POETICS VOL. 41 (2013) no. 2 Gangs and Gangsta Rap in Chicago: A Microscenes Perspective Geoff Harkness Northwestern University in Qatar Appendix A. Microscene Methods: From Outsider to (Partial) Insider The fieldwork conducted for this study began in January 2004 and concluded six years later. During this time, my relationship to Chicago’s underground rap-music scene changed dramatically. When the project began, I was an outsider, new to the city with little knowledge about Chicago’s locally produced rap music. I did not know any of the rappers, or even the venues where local rap-music performances took place. To find out where hip-hop related events were taking place, I consulted various printed sources— including local alternative newsweeklies, such as The Onion and The Reader—that listed live music events. These proved decent places to get started, but they were incomplete, listing only a portion of the available rap-related events and omitting others. For example, in January 2004, I attended a “hip hop” night at a club called the Funky Buddah Lounge, only to discover that instead of live rap music, there were DJs spinning pop and R&B records. “There doesn’t seem to be a center to the rap-music scene in Chicago,” I wrote later in my field notes. “I have no doubt that it exists, but it’s hard to find and seems spread out, maybe even hidden. I will keep looking for it.” Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 Adding to this sense of distance was the fact that I was white and about ten years older than most of the participants in the study. I was frequently asked about my own interest in rap music; participants were doubtful as to my knowledge of hip-hop culture and perhaps skeptical of my motives for studying it. Most participants were curious to know if I was a rap-music fan, what type of rap I listened to. Many were surprised to learn that I was an avid rap-music fan with a more than passing knowledge of the genre. For example, while observing a recording-studio session one day, I mentioned to one of the musicians that his band mate reminded me of Ol’ Dirty Bastard. “Yeah!” he agreed enthusiastically. “How do you know that?” Eventually, however, I was able to gain entree and penetrate the inner-circles of this subculture. As the fieldwork concluded, I was completely immersed in the rap-music scene and well known to many. This did not necessarily mean that I had become an insider, but I was certainly viewed differently than when the project began. This shift in how others perceived me was not based on a well-planned strategy, but occurred through a series of unintentional progressions and accidental setbacks. Social Networking From the beginning, I utilized the traditional qualitative methods of observation and in-depth interviews. I attended live rap-music performances, introduced myself to the musicians, arranged interviews, and used snowball sampling to find others. I also utilized a virtual variation of this method. To do so, I created a profile on MySpace (www.myspace.com/hiphopdocumentary) that offered some perfunctory information about my research and encouraged rappers to contact me to be interviewed for my 2 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 project, which would include the creation of a documentary film about underground rap music in Chicago. MySpace, which launched in August 2003, had only been online for a few months when this project began, but was already growing in popularity with local rappers in Chicago. As MySpace continued to grow in popularity, it became easier to find the “center” of the Chicago rap-music underground: I did not encounter a single rap act or rap musician in Chicago that did not have at least one MySpace page, often several. To some degree, this reflected my method, but even participants on the disadvantaged side of the digital divide—those with little or no computer skills and with little or no access to personal computers—had MySpace pages. MySpace offered a crucial networking and publicity tool for the rappers, who posted daily bulletins that included show announcements, newly recorded songs, opinions, “shout outs,” and hip-hop and community related news. By tapping into MySpace, I was able to network with Chicago's rap-music underground, find out where performances were taking place, discover who was working with whom, and who was feuding with whom. Feuding artists used the bulletins to post “diss” tracks and digital photos that had been altered to poke fun or invoke ire. At other times, rappers would post lengthy rants directed at all or portions of Chicago’s rap-music scene. Others posted messages of support, and many rappers promoted themselves by reposting bulletins from others—with the assumption that the original poster would reciprocate, which they generally did. Most rappers created their own profile page—selecting the fonts, background colors, photos, music videos, music, and so on. These profiles, rich with data, served as 3 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 cultural objects worthy of analysis in their own right. Each profile conveyed a carefully constructed image: what “type” of rapper this was, their outlook, world view, and rapmusic subgenre. Some profiles included demographic information such as age, relationship status, location, level of education, and ethnicity, although this information could be inaccurate. Thus, networking via MySpace became a crucial element of the research, and as I continued to add virtual “friends” to my profile page, I tapped into an ever-expanding network of Chicago-based rappers with whom I could easily make contact. This network would have been difficult, if not impossible, to connect with via traditional qualitative methods. One drawback associated with this strategy was an overabundance of willing participants: it seemed as if everyone wanted to be part of my project, and I eventually had to start turning people away. While there are certainly worse problems for a researcher to have, it was difficult to tell talented and deserving individuals that I did not have time to speak with them. Becoming the “Video Guy” Rather than observing or conducting interviews passively, I took a video camera nearly everywhere I went, and used it to record live performances, poetry slams, recording-studio sessions, radio broadcasts, in-store events at retail outlets, music video shoots, MC and producer battles, break dance competitions, and interviews. The video camera made it easier for me to conduct this research than had I relied solely upon traditional qualitative methods. The video camera proved transformative for me, at least in the eyes of others. Without the video camera, I was viewed with wariness, but with my video camera in 4 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 hand, I was welcome almost anywhere. This was due to the fact that I had a recognizable role that was well understood by the rappers: I was a “video guy.” Neuman (1997, p. 368) wrote that the video camera can only be used after one gains rapport, but I used the video camera to gain rapport. In his study of New York City sidewalk vendors, Mitchell Duneier (1999) went to great pains to hide or deflect attention away from his tape recorder; I displayed my video camera as prominently as possible. Being a “video guy” gave me a role within the setting that allowed for considerable access. At rap concerts, it was not unusual to see dozens of people snapping photos or shooting videos with their cell phones or camcorders, so I did not stand out for having a video camera. Moreover, the rappers I studied were (or were attempting to become) public figures; they wanted publicity and actively sought it. Be it on stage, in the recording studio, and during interviews, the rappers sought various platforms upon which they could perform. At the live performances I attended, both still digital cameras and video camcorders were used extensively by amateur and semiprofessional photographers and videographers. In this sense, I became a participant in the setting. The semiformal role of “video guy” gave me a fair amount of entree into the literal and figurative backstage of Chicago’s rap-music scene. I was not, however, a typical “video guy.” I was generally older and whiter than most of the other tapers, and after years relying upon low-end camcorders, I had finally acquired a large, “professional” looking video camera that distinguished me from amateur tapers. Upon meeting me, many people asked if I was there for a news station or a local television program. Having a “professional” looking camera meant that I was 5 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 viewed as a video “professional” of sorts. This only increased my ability to make contacts and indoctrinate myself into the local rap-music scene. Conducting Interviews I wanted interviews to take place in a setting where participants would be comfortable and focused on music. In lining up interviews, I asked that they occur in a setting where participants created music. My interview request letter stated that, “The best place to do it is someplace where you create music: a professional studio, a home studio, a rehearsal space, etc. If that doesn’t work, just someplace that means something to you or has something to do with your music.” A total of 135 participants were interviewed for this study. Some interviews were conducted one-on-one, but many were group interviews. With some subjects, particularly those who had been part of group interviews, I conducted one or sometimes two followup interviews, using questions personally created for that interview and specific to the participant. Nearly all of the gang members quoted in the present article were interviewed at least twice, often three times. This generally began with a group interview, with subsequent one-on-one interviews at a later point. From the first interview, I relied upon an interview guide: a list of self-created questions that were arranged into various themes of interest to my study. As the research continued, this interview guide grew and changed. I omitted some lines of questioning that became less interesting to me, and I added themes and questions that became more so. These changes were impacted by my growing knowledge about Chicago’s rap-music scene, getting to know the interview participants and their network of peers, and my 6 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 ongoing reading of the hip-hop studies literature. In every interview, I strayed from the guide from time-to-time, asking follow-up questions or new questions that occurred to me during the interview. The growing interview guide—which totaled four pages of single-spaced typewritten questions at the end of the research—also meant that the later interviews lasted longer and were more in-depth. Initially, interviews began with a series of basic demographic questions designed to parse out variations in race, age, and social class among participants. These questions included race, age, occupation, level of education, marital and divorce status, number of children, number of siblings, and parental occupation, martial and divorce status, and level of education. These data were useful for shedding light on a participant’s general social indicators, and they enabled me to group participants into various demographic categories, based on their self reports. I found, however, that beginning interviews with this series of questions was time-consuming and made both the participants and me uncomfortable. Within the first few interviews, I devised a short survey that contained these questions and asked participants to fill out the survey at the end of the interview. I explained the purpose of the survey to each participant, and most filled them out willingly. This yielded rich data about the participants of the study, and the survey made the gathering of this data much faster and easier. I began each interview with rather benign questions that would help the participants warm up to the setting before delving into more serious or personal inquiries. Most of the rappers I interviewed were eager to participate, thrilled that their artistic endeavors were being taken seriously, some for what seemed to be the first time. Many participants had never been interviewed before and were delighted at the opportunity to 7 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 express themselves on camera, to perform the role of a “real” rapper, one who is interviewed by the local or national media. Others had previous interview experience and presented answers that were more polished and succinct. Horowitz (1983) wrote about her assumption of the “lady reporter” role while conducting ethnographic research on Chicago gang members. This role was crucial in that it “provided [the gang members] with the necessary identity with which [she] could ask about their activities and they could readily respond” (Horowitz, 1983, p. 46). Similarly, I assumed the role of the “video guy,” an identity well understood by my participants. Both roles were a form of performance and the roles were generally well played. This allowed us a free exchange, where I could ask questions and they could answer. Both the participants and myself followed this schema. For example, I was almost never asked questions about myself while the video camera was taping, as that would have been a reversal of the standard interviewer-interviewee narrative. A positive outcome of videotaping the interviews was that I was able to revisit and analyze the interviews in a more thorough manner. By doing so, I gained a more complete understanding of what the participant meant, the context, their facial expressions and body language, the myriad non-quantifiable elements that comprise human expression. Due to this, I was able to capture the “essence” of my participants with greater accuracy than via traditional field notes or audio recordings. Furthermore, traditional methods examine at one thing at a time, but the video camera allowed me to observe many things at once. The camera only “captures” what it’s looking at one particular time, but it has a wider lens than the human eye. Field notes could not have recorded this range of behavior. 8 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 I transcribed all of the interviews myself, which gave me a chance to reconsider the conversations more carefully. The formal interviews yielded 435,802 words contained within 757 pages of single-spaced text. I employed an open coding scheme for each interview, using qualitative data-coding software. The codes consisted of general themes rather than line-by-line codings, although many responses to a single question included more than one code. Examples of codes were “learning to rap,” “first live performance,” and “first arrest.” The primary utility of this coding method was that it enabled me to find instantly every answer to a single line of inquiry, without having to dig through hundreds of pages of interviews. Due to the relatively general nature of the codes, I did not have anyone else read the interviews or check for reliability of coding. In addition to formal interviews, I also spent hundreds of hours chatting informally with the participants of this study. These conversations took place at nightclubs, in cars, at birthday parties, barbeques, softball games, and any number of formal and informal events. I did not record these conversations, but wrote down their salient points in field notes after the fact. These informal conversations lent invaluable insight into the activities of gang members because they were not being videotaped and were often far more candid than those that were. Giving Back Social scientists (and their critics) have long debated and reflected upon the role of the researcher in the field setting. Many have built their careers on the backs of their subjects, and some decry this as an inherently exploitative relationship whereby the researcher goes on to fame and fortune, leaving behind the very people that put her there 9 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 in the first place. Scholars such as Sudhir Venkatesh (2008) and Jay MacLeod (1995) have addressed this issue directly, emphasizing the sense of guilt they felt about, to use Venkatesh’s term, “hustling” their participants. To counter this, I became interested in the notion of giving back and how my research could directly benefit the participants. I began posting live-performance video clips from my fieldwork on the web site YouTube.com (www.youtube.com/hiphopdocumentary), and received more than 700,000 views in the first 28 months online. Anyone with a computer and an Internet connection could—and still can—view the videos. Though they could not be downloaded, the videos could be linked to other web pages, including MySpace profiles. Many of the rappers that I shot in concert did just that—linking my videos to their own web sites and profile pages. These videos became an integral, visual aspect of that particular artist's oeuvre. Viewers also left comments about the videos on my YouTube page and others, debating the merits of specific performances and voting on them via a 1-to-5 star ranking system. In this sense, I became not a passive observer of hip-hop culture in Chicago, but an active participant in its creation. In order to gain trust and also to provide benefit for the participants, I made a point of uploading the video clips to YouTube as soon as possible following a performance, generally the next day, but occasionally even the same night the performance took place. This strategy was quite time consuming; I sometimes devoted entire days to rendering and uploading videos to YouTube. However, the strategy proved helpful in two notable ways. First, the artists knew that they would be able to view and repost the video clips right away. This gave the videos and my YouTube site a sense of “immediacy,” similar to local news programs that offer the “latest” community 10 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 happenings. Second, at all levels, the music industry is filled with people who make promises and do not follow through. If anything, this appears to be the norm. By posting my videos right away, I gained a sense of trust from participants—due to my actions and follow through, they viewed me as someone who kept his word. They also commented on the speed at which the videos were posted. “Thank you so much for coming and taping the show,” one participant wrote to me in a MySpace comment after I posted footage from their performance from the previous night. “That's why we love you, next day service.” Establishing myself as trustworthy also made it easier and easier to conduct research, as my work became widely known in the community. The allowed for even further penetration into Chicago’s rap-music microscene. Pink (2001, p. 23) wrote that social scientists tend to employ “an 'objectifying' approach that does research on but not with people.” The social sciences have historically treated “subjects” with a degree of scientific coolness. By creating a role for myself, by giving something back, and by becoming an active participant, I never felt as if I were conducting research on the participants, but creating culture alongside them. In this study, employing visual methods helped bridge the gap between researcher and subject, allowing each of us to become active participants in each other's respectively academic and artistic output. Discussion Social scientists have long debated the effectiveness of audiovisual technologies in field research, the means by which these technologies may limit the sort of data they are able to gather. Some scholars purport that interview subjects become hyperaware of 11 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 video cameras, tape recorders, and the like. This sense of “camera shyness” leads to responses that are overly cautious, that lack some essential “truth.” Some participants in my study expressed such sentiments. For example, near the end of our interview, I asked Rusty Chains if the video camera had bothered him. “A little bit,” he affirmed. “I admit it. I guess my guard is up a little bit more.” In another instance, a participant became visibly uncomfortable when the camera was turned on, sweating and stammering his way through a painful interview that we were both happy to cut short after 15 minutes.1 Even those who seemed to enjoy the interview process were aware of the camera’s presence, addressing the camera directly, or casting asides to the perceived viewing audience. Clearly, the video camera had an impact on those being recorded—they were aware of the camera and it affected their responses and behavior. To what degree they were affected is difficult to ascertain, but there is little doubt that a performance, to some degree, was taking place when the camera was on. The camera served as a cue for the performance to begin. There is an assumption, however, that when people are performing, they are not acting truthfully or authentically, that there is artifice taking place. In fact, people are multidimensional—they have many different sides, and my method merely captured one of them. The data I gathered may have been different from what I would have gathered 1 Some might posit that this interview data were unreliable due to the participant’s nervous behavior: He was not acting “naturally” and the material should be disregarded as a result. This perspective, however, ignores the fact that people are not static beings whose behavior can be reduced to a singular set of variables. For example, many people have been in the uncomfortable position of being followed by a police officer while driving. We are being watched and monitored, and it makes us uncomfortable. We begin to sweat and carefully monitor our own behavior. In this moment, are we not being “natural” or “real?” Should this behavior be disregarded because it is not “authentic?” Or is this merely another state of existence, one that is no more or less real than other states of being? 12 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 through field notes or audio taped interviews, but that does not make my data less useful or meaningful. To forgo videotape may achieve greater validity in certain aspects, but doing so would eliminate the repertoire of communication captured so richly via videotape. Forgoing the video camera may also have meant losing the opportunity to enter the confessional, a place where an intimate understanding of one’s participants can take place. This method allows the researcher to hone in on a particular state of being, and possibly to retrieve powerful information that leads to a greater understanding of the participants. And if this method invokes “deep performance” from the participants, is that not a benefit to the researcher? Performance is a normal part of everyday life; everyone performs. When a professor is lecturing before a class is she not performing to some extent? Should we discount the credulity of her words because a performance is taking place? Of course not. Performance, then, should be viewed not as less “real” than other states of being, but as one of numerous roles that people play in their everyday lives. Performance is not inauthentic; it is a very real part of culture, communication, and human behavior. Thus, my interviews served as a form of performance, a cultural object used to create identity and affirm scene membership. Without the video camera, none of this would have been possible. References Duneier, M., 1999. Sidewalk. Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, New York. 13 Online Supplement to Harkness / Poetics Vol. 41 (2013) No. 2 Horowitz, R., 1996. Getting in. In: Smith, C.D., Kornblum, W. (Eds.), In the Field: Readings on the Field Research Experience. Praeger, Westport, CT. MacLeod, J., 1995. Ain't No Makin’ It: Aspirations and Attainment in a Low-Income Neighborhood. Westview Press, Boulder, CO. Neuman, W.L., 1997. Social Research Methods: Qualitative and Quantitative Approaches. Allyn and Bacon, Boston. Pink, S., 2001. Doing Visual Ethnography. Sage Publications, London. Venkatesh, S.A., 2008. Gang Leader for a Day: A Rogue Sociologist Takes to the Streets. Penguin Press, New York. 14