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The transformation of stations was never a high and mighty revolution, nor was it particularly noted or debated outside of the industry. It was, as is most human history, about Darwinism and money. Pop stations saw an opportunity and they took it; the multimedia corporations who determine the images and art in major media channels have done the same with hip-hop. The trend that dictated a change in format from pop to rap radio in the nineties has spread across advertising and media. As the hip-hop generation came of age, more hip-hop-related art, ads, and other media have spread. Call it a revolution, but don’t be disappointed when you don’t see the system come down; hip-hop is a part of the American marketplace because it is meaningful to a large enough sector of the country to be profitable. Corporations of all kinds, like the pop stations that became rap stations, are integrating hip-hop where they can in order to increase their profits.

Artists in this scheme are the face people, the pawns in a larger game. To recognize the fact that Eminem sells hip-hop better to mainstream white audiences is to get at the underlying structure of image-making in America. He graced more magazine covers in 2003 than any other artist, and many of the magazines, like the January 2003 issue of Rolling Stone, were issues in which Eminem was used as consumer bait—he wasn’t even interviewed. Eminem makes corporate advertisers comfortable, and for that reason the black hip-hop community has something to worry about. In America, mainstream media is targeted at the most desirable consumer group: whites, ages eighteen to thirty-four, particularly females. Eminem is authentic, Eminem is good-looking, gifted, popular, and Eminem is white. He is a marketing man’s dream figure.

“When you have people in the mainstream, à la white publications and outlets, caring about this guy, that would never care about the average black rapper, then obviously he’s doing something right,” says writer Soren Baker. “Being white has at least a substantial part to do with that, but it’s not like he’s not talented, he’s immensely talented. The fact that he’s white just makes it all the more compelling. The rules of rap dictate that he shouldn’t be that good. We have come to expect that white rappers aren’t that good. Since he is and he makes good music and he has great production and he presents himself well and his videos are entertaining, he is fully, completely embraced.”

Whether Eminem’s success will launch a tide of white hip-hop artists pushed by major labels—a condition he parodied in the chorus of “The Real Slim Shady”—remains to be seen but isn’t likely. Corporate machinations have played a major part in the development of hip-hop, though the quality control of the audience, to some degree, has kept the product in check, as they have also dictated prevalent aesthetics. Artists signed to major labels in any genre are allowed little room for development. They are rushed to churn out second albums quickly, particularly if they’ve just scored a hit, before their audience moves on, often at the expense of the music. Public taste and profit has dictated that rap artists with lyrics promoting a bling-bling thug lifestyle, real or imagined, from JaRule to Fabolous to Lil’ Kim to Ludacris, sell the most records and earn the most time on MTV and BET (Black Entertainment Television)—which, not coincidentally, are both owned by the same corporation, Viacom. Such corporate relationships allow for more exposure and synergy if an artist makes their cut. For many rappers who see rap as their one shot at a better life, making more money by following a template is a more important motive than promoting the greater integrity of the hip-hop community. At the same time, artists concerned with social issues in the black community (such as the great and unknown female rapper Jean Grae, Mos Def, or Mr. Lif) might have fans but do not get major exposure—even in the black hip-hop media, where, like everywhere else, sex