In 9th grade, Jay-Z was my party trick. I’d talk to someone about music and get that inevitable hot flash when asked, “What kind of stuff are you into?” For me, the card I always pulled was Jay. “Oh, I don’t know, like…Jay-Z. 99 Problems is good. You know,” cue embarrassing white girl rap, “I got 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one!”
Far from a hustler, I became attached to Jay-Z as more of an idea than an actual interest. I’d like to think I’ve now grown to appreciate his music on a deeper level, but if not, I wouldn’t be the only one. People—especially white twenty-somethings—tend to treat Jay-Z, other rappers, and the intensely urban, scary-as-shit world they make music about as more of an abstract concept than anything real. (Exhibit A). But his recently published autobiography, "Decoded", adds a literary reality beyond those lyrics you drunkenly yell at some party.
