The New York Review of Magazines

The Source

By Jose Negroni

EARLIER this year, The Source, arguably the most reputable rap magazine in the nation, staged a war of words with Eminem, accusing the artist of racism. On the cover of its February 2004 issue, The Source placed a photograph of the white rap star Eminem gesturing with his middle finger. A large blurb above the logo blared, “The Most Explosive Issue Ever.”

Neither the magazine nor Eminem has ever shunned controversy. In fact, the media frenzy surrounding this latest verbal battle has kept The Source in a spotlight it obviously relishes. But is the magazine still worthy of all the talk?

The short answer is yes. One reason is its steady, rising readership. With a paid circulation of 500,000, The Source is the top-selling music magazine in the country. And its readers are composed mostly of hip-hop fans from all backgrounds and walks of life.

The story behind the magazine parallels the trajectory of the subject it covers. Rap, once considered a peculiar genre lacking a musical element, has climbed to the top of America’s music charts. In its first issue, released in 1988, the magazine had four advertisements; it now averages 107 ads per issue. In the beginning, the average ad cost $75; today an ad costs at least $32,000. Its first issue was given away free; its cover price now is $3.99.

It has been a decade since The Source wowed journalism circles with a three-part series on the effects of the crack epidemic on America’s slums, but the magazine has found lasting popularity by subtly catering to upper-class, suburban readers. The content may be celebrity-driven and shallow, but it seems to work for readers of all races.

So, why battle with Eminem? In the February issue, in an editor’s letter, Kim Osorio wrote: “Over three years ago, the July 2000 issue featured Eminem on the cover, and it was a big statement. The Source, which for over fifteen years had always represented hiphop’s diverse community, was co-signing a white rapper who we easily accepted as one of us. Since day one, hip-hop had been bridging together people of different races, and for the first time, there was a white MC (Vanilla Ice never counted) who really mattered. . . . Never once did we question him because of the color of his skin. Then we watched proudly as he skyrocketed to the top. But as part of our responsibility to hip-hop, we have, in the past year, pointed out issues that continually affect our culture, issues that cannot be ignored . . .”

Many of these issues were not revelations. The Source said some of Eminem’s lyrics were bigoted. It said some of his lyrics demeaned women. But I find these charges somewhat hypocritical, considering that The Source has no problem putting Li’l Kim on its covers in sexually alluring poses. The visual texture of the magazine is often at odds with its overall ideas about race and the music industry.

It’s even guilty of talking dirty itself. In a review of 2003’s most successful artists, it had this to say about Li’l Kim: “The self-proclaimed Playboy pin-up girl . . . nabbed two Source Awards [the magazine’s annual honors], proving to her fans that spitting rhymes is still one of her many oral skills.” And ads for The Source’s clothing company feature women as sexy nymphs. In the February issue, the most striking element in an article about Farrah Franklin, an R&B singer, is a two-page photograph of her shown half-naked.

It’s hard to overlook all this. Rap was meant to be an expression of the streets, presenting the lives of inner-city youths in rhyming detail. The Source has covered its rise and the issues surrounding it, including the racial ones that have become a significant part of the story. But it has left itself open to criticism by its exploitation of women.

I can see both sides, but I will likely keep reading. The magazine sells well because at the end of the day, it still gives readers what they want—stories about their music idols.