Rarely is a hip-hop artist accused of docility or acquiescence when it comes to his chorus. Hip-hop hooks, for lack of a better term, tend to involve derogatory, often misogynistic, commands. The arrow of power goes from rapper to listener: �Go to sleep, ho,� �shake ya ass,� that sort of thing. Most hip hop is constructed upon the notion that charity is lost and that one must take what is needed in order to survive because, after all, �life�s a bitch and then you die.� Without getting too extra-textual, I�d say the �take what you can get� theme is a product of the economic strain inherent to the roots of the music. That is why A Tribe Called Quest�s �Can I Kick It?� is such a baffling display of patience, affirmation, and the positivity of transcendence, rather than the meritocratic fallacies intrinsic to �bling bling� and �pimped rides.�

Lyrically, the song begins with what appears to be the central question: �Can I Kick It?� Anyone doubting the importance of this phrase to the work need only be reminded that the question is also the name of the song. To be sure, the question is asked a total of fourteen times, all with the exact same affirmation: �Yes you can!� It should be noted that the titular question, which initially seems rhetorical, is in fact met with enthusiasm and positivity. The rhythm, as the rapper informs us, �like a box of positives, is a plus.� He then equates this �plus� with �love,� which has an impact I will discuss at length further.

What little negativity we find in the song is extracted by its own weight. The rapper tells us, �if you diss us, we won�t even think of.� He finishes the thought on the preposition, deliberately ending what could have otherwise been a spiral into negativity. He quite literally abandons the negative and replaces it with images of warmth and protection��this rhythm really fits like a snug glove,� as well as a central symbol for peace��as the tribe flies high like a dove.� The implication here is that the tribe can transcend the typically negative approach of the rap community through peace, warmth, and, ultimately, love.

The most memorable line in the song��if you feel the urge to freak, do the jitterbug� reinforces what a meticulous understanding of the song has already told us. It is memorable not only for the outwardly absurd qualities of the face-value meaning, but also the quarreling themes it evinces below the surface. The word �urge� alludes to the instinctual tendencies of the selfish hip-hop artist, and the word �freak� can take on many different connotations, including most notably the out-of-control nature of man set apart from society. However, the structure and context of the word reverses back on itself�much like the song, by its conclusion, will have done�to show that the ostracism of �freaking� is not ostracism at all, when channeled through the funnel of musical transcendence. In point, the urge to freak is made constructive by doing the �jitterbug.� A popular dance move from the thirties, the term can refer simultaneously to the innocence of the past, the nature of the present�a bug is, after all, a concrete symbol of the natural world�and, perhaps most importantly, the transcendence of man in the face of adversity.

The question of being able to kick it, then, takes on a duel meaning: not only are the rappers to begin a dialogue of positivity, they are lashing against the dialogue that conventions of the form have imposed: �Can I kick the negative message of modern rap?� Now, many people would assert that it is anachronistic for the Tribe to be lashing out against a relatively recent hip-hop phenomenon, considering the song was released in 1990, roughly ten years before the commanding, womanizing, generally selfish dialogue of rap had taken center stage. This is a valid point, although to argue that the ideologies that have manifested in contemporary rap are as recent as the manifestations themselves would be rather narrow minded. Imagine if one were to claim that the Declaration of Independence were the United States� first thoughts towards self-government. Surely the ideologies predate the texts, and in the case of hip-hop, one can trace signs of the selfish dialogue back long before 1990. The thoughts, in fact, must predate the contextualizations because the contextualizations are dependent upon and built from the thoughts. So let us now move away from the slippery slope of anachronism and onto the warring ideologies behind the �selfish� rap artist and the type of artist exemplified by the two MC�s so eager to �kick it.�

To put it into literary terms, the selfish rapper is the naturalist. He views the world as cruel and hopeless and, though one may have triumphs and accolades, he will ultimately be crushed by forces beyond his control. Nas is often a great example of this, despite �I Know I Can,� the single item in his canon which holds steadfastly to the notion of meritocracy�a notion that is ultimately at odds with �Life�s a bitch and then you die� or �I never sleep because sleep is the cousin of death.� His body of work generally concerns itself with what he would undoubtedly view as the harsh realities of a world that simply does not want him to succeed. But I digress�we can talk about Nas� paradoxical philosophies at another time.

A Tribe Called Quest, then, is the Emersonian Transcendentalist. Through our spirituality, our connection with God and each other, our reliance on nature and beauty, we can transcend all. This is the central theme of the song, though the Tribe twists it in a way that both describes and creates the ubiquitous beauty of the world. The beauty is created by their love which, in turn, creates the music. The music seems, then, to be organically linked to being alive. It is as if the music is as natural as the �breath of fresh air� that ends the song. Indeed, the Tribe asks, �before this, did you really know what live was?� And just as this love, this sense of being alive created the music, the music perpetuated the cycle by creating the transcendence. As we are reminded in the second verse, �Quest is your savior.� And, shortly thereafter, the Tribe�s amiable proposition to �kick it� is reversed, as the Tribe �instruct[s]� us �to be the obeyer.� The audience has now become a part of the song�s all-encompassing inclusion. The artist, who at the beginning obeyed the affirmation to kick it, has passed the torch onto us, the listeners. And we must now proceed to kick it, however best it can be kicked.