Someone left an anonymous comment on my other blog last week, saying (in all caps) “HIP HOP IS THE VOICE OF THE FILIPINO AMERICAN YOUTH HAHAHAHA.” I wasn’t sure what the person was specifically writing about, but it reflected, probably fairly accurately, what many Pinoys in my generation listen to.
Or, for that matter, other Asians. A friend tells me that Asians formed “ninety percent” of the audience at the recently-concluded Kanye West concert in Sacramento. And I remember being dragged to some club in SoMa a year and a half ago — probably the last time I actually went “clubbing” — and emerging hours later, buzzed and vaguely puzzled at how I’d never in my life seen so many Asian people dancing to Black music before.
Of course, I shouldn’t have been surprised, because I’m a lot more familiar with the counter-example. At just about every indie concert I go to – say, Yo La Tengo’s three nights at the Fillmore, or Sonic Youth playing Daydream Nation in its entirety — and, I swear, I look around the crowd and see the same two other Asian guys almost every single time.
All of this shouldn’t matter, but it does, because it raises questions about race and its capacity to structure our beliefs, to organize our thinking. To assume that “indie music”, whatever it means, is always coded as ”white” seems wrong, but it’s an uncomfortable social fact. Race constantly pervades the ordinary, even in seemingly innocent ways. One’s musical preferences are themselves racialized and categorized, to the extent that “Filipino American” is automatically equated with “hiphop fan”. You might say, no, the music I like has more to do with where I grew up, and who I hung out with, but surely that’s an aftereffect of race as well.
So, has “the voice of the Filipino American youth” really become hiphop by default? And if you, the Asian reader, happens to be an indie / metal / hardcore / punk fan, does it feel awkward to be one of the few people of color at a concert?