Keeping Dolla company is Nelly's St. Lunatic affiliated artist, Robert Ortega Henderson, a.k.a. Tega, who was fatally wounded on May 16th.

There's rapper and Dancing With The Stars' alum, Lil' Kim who served prison time before cha-cha-ing her way through primetime.

Rapper T.I. has just started serving federal time for his involvement in attempting to purchase guns and silencers in 2008.

And let's not forget Remy Ma, convicted of shooting a woman outside a nightclub, and Da Brat, sentenced for assaulting someone with a bottle of liquor inside a club: both are currently locked up in prison.

Even Marshall Mathers has tangled with the law during an incident in which he pistol-whipped a man outside a bar.
That's a brutal tally of the hip-hop notables convicted for violent crimes or crimes centered around guns. But everyone who enjoys hip-hop doesn't buy into the flashier or the more negative messages found in some songs. President Barack Obama even has Jay-Z or Mr. "99 problems but a Bitch Aint One" on his iPod. I am and have been a heavy hip-hop consumer -- without the jail record. There are millions more of this invisible norm: college educated, working-class individuals who don't have bullet wounds or silencers in the trunk.

Too many hip-hop artists get caught up trying to make their lives emulate the music, often to their own detriment.


In the documentary Thug Angel, a 17-year-old Tupac Shakur is shown speaking eloquently of his disdain for men who refer to women as "bitches." That's then contrasted with video of Tupac fluidly using the word after he had become a sensation.

The film also pointedly notes that Shakur never had a rap sheet until he started making rap.

And rapper Rick Ross claimed to be a drug dealer in many of his songs, but old pictures tell a different story: he used to be a correctional officer. When that fact became public it diminished Ross' street credibility, but it didn't diminish his sales.

Is this life imitating art, or art imitating life? I'm not sure.

It's true that many rappers are from urban areas or impoverished communities for whom rap is the creative outlet to vent frustrations against the world. Many songs reflect the reality of financial hardship, drugs, sex and the violence that plagues such communities.

But the starker truth is hip-hop and rap music are packaged products sold for public consumption. Sold for entertainment.

What becomes apparent is that hip-hop is sometimes fiction, and some people are buying into an image that doesn't always reflect reality.

Ultimately, making music becomes less about artistry and more about bucks. When the conglomerates that produce music see that the more sexually explicit, the dirtier the lyrics, the more a record sells, then more of the same is produced. The more trash sells, the more we get.

Yes, kids are impressionable, and parents should be weary. But a child whose parents care enough to give them guidance are safe.

The problem comes when rap's negative images represent a young person's real life. Maybe we should stop trying to convict hip-hop for creating the violence, but rather consider it an indictment of America's economic disparity that helps perpetuate a violent culture.

Shakenya Jackson boasts she is among Chicago's finest writers. She enjoys long walks in the park and dirty dishes.