Cultural Studies

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The politics and aesthetics of featuring in

post-2017 Chinese hip hop

Michael Ka-chi Cheuk

To cite this article: Michael Ka-chi Cheuk (2021) The politics and aesthetics of featuring in
post-2017 Chinese hip hop, Cultural Studies, 35:1, 90-109, DOI: 10.1080/09502386.2020.1844260

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/09502386.2020.1844260

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CULTURAL STUDIES
2021, VOL. 35, NO. 1, 90–109
https://doi.org/10.1080/09502386.2020.1844260

The politics and aesthetics of featuring in post-2017

Chinese hip hop
Michael Ka-chi Cheuk
School of Arts and Social Sciences, The Open University of Hong Kong, Ho Man Tin,
Hong Kong

ABSTRACT
A common interest amongst Chinese hip hop scholars concerns the
construction of a local youth identity via the negotiation between the logics
of hip hop culture, the practices of the local underground hip hop
community, and the cultural governance of the state. Building on previous
studies about these multi-faceted negotiations before 2017, or before The
Rap of China phenomenon, this paper explores the politics and aesthetics of
featuring in post-2017 Chinese hip hop. Rather than dwelling upon the
authenticity of hip hop, this paper is more interested in Chinese hip hop’s
variations of authenticity through the practice of competitive collaborations
between local and non-local artists. I seek to demonstrate a spectrum of
‘realness’ in the post-2017 era with three case studies: Vava, Kris Wu, and
Higher Brothers. While these rappers negotiate with the values of hip hop
and state expectations differently, they are all nonetheless ‘keepin it real’.

KEYWORDS Chinese hip hop; censorship; featuring; youth culture

2017: the year Chinese hip hop became mainstream?

2017 was a watershed period in Chinese hip hop. The broadcast of The Rap of
China: Season 1 (中國有嘻哈, Zhongguo you xiha), an online rap competition
show, sparked a ‘hip hop fever’: A total of 2.68 billion views witnessed under-
ground rappers from all across China compete in freestyle battles and rap
performances, with dramatic and humorous tensions occurring all the
while, making it the most viewed Chinese online programme of 2017
(Meng 2018). The Rap of China contestants became overnight celebrities
with drastic increases in social media followers, commercial endorsements,
and fees for public appearances (Wu 2019). Yet 2017 was also the year that
paved way for the unofficial introduction of a ‘hip hop ban’ (嘻哈禁令, xiha
jinling) which directed television programmes to ban any performers with
tattoos, having affiliation with hip hop culture, or any subcultures and deca-
dent cultures. Amongst the first casualties of the ban were both winners of

CONTACT Michael Ka-chi Cheuk kccheuk@ouhk.edu.hk

© 2020 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group
 CULTURAL STUDIES 91

The Rap of China: Season 1, PG One and GAI, who were removed from the
limelight at the beginning of 2018. PG One got into trouble for sexism and
promotion of drug culture in one of his lyrics. He was further criticized for
his racist response towards the aforementioned accusations. GAI tried to
toe the party line and tone down on his gangster image, but was still
removed from mainstream television programmes (Amar 2018). Both PG
One and GAI would resurface in the mainstream but would fail to recuperate
the peak of their The Rap of China popularity since the hip hop ban.
The events of 2017 and the beginning of 2018 resulted in substantial
media and academic attention (Amar 2018, Flew et al. 2019, Wu 2019).
Aside from further fuelling the well-known impression that the Chinese gov-
ernment intervenes with all aspects of popular cultural activities, such as the
singing contest Super Voice Girls (超級女聲, chaoji nusheng) in 2005 and the
dating show If You Are The One (非誠勿擾, feicheng wurao) (Samuels 2012,
pp. 171–172), 2017 was also regarded as the year that hip hop had finally
broken into the mainstream. Yet neither mainstream presence nor state gov-
ernance was unprecedented for hip hop in China. According to Anthony
Fung, Chinese mainstream media appropriated the apolitical side of hip
hop cultural elements like music, fashion, dancing, and lifestyle since the
early 2000s. For Fung, ‘apolitical hip-hop music actually functions to soothe
social upheaval and maintain the status quo’ (2008, p. 97). Contrary to the
perception that Chinese rap songs are lacking the political and cultural sub-
versiveness of American rap songs, Jin Liu remarks that the plethora of
Chinese rap songs circulated on the Internet, many of which are delivered
in regional Chinese dialects, ‘are characterized by strong social messages,
which thus enable Chinese youth to construct an alternative subcultural
space outside that defined by adult culture and hierarchical institutions’
(2014, p. 266). While I agree with Liu that the Internet, even in China, is a rela-
tively uncensored cultural space, Chinese hip hop has never been exempted
from state censorship. In 2015, 120 songs from the Internet were blacklisted
by the Ministry of Culture for ‘trumpeted obscenity, violence, crime or
harmed social morality’. Over 100 songs on the list were from the hip hop
genre (China Daily 2015).
The actual significance of 2017, then, lies in the emergence of ‘real’ hip hop
in the Chinese mainstream. For the first time ever, the logics of the under-
ground hip hop community are comprehensively in direct interactions with
the logics of the masses, and by extension, the state’s cultural governance.
According to Eirik Blåsternes’s anthropological study of Beijing hip hop in
2012–2013, which was 4 years removed from The Rap of China phenomenon,
the underground hip hop scene was predominantly defined by its margina-
lization from the mainstream in both look and taste regarding music (2014,
p. 8). Due to the One-Child Policy and the Open Door Policy, a generation
of youths were subjected to what Fengshu Liu (2011, p. 29) refers to as
92 M. K-C. CHEUK

‘double subjectification regime’. Being the only child growing up in a middle-

class family that had access to unprecedented economic resources, these
Chinese youths faced internal conflicts between the socioeconomic expec-
tations from traditional and familial values, and the personal desires for indi-
vidualized expressions. As observed by Blåsternes (2014, p. 40), a substantial
portion of the underground hip hop community is supported and developed
by middle-class youths who seek to utilize hip hop as a means to explore the
boundaries of what is acceptable social behaviour. Such explorations depend
upon the distancing from mass cultural behaviour and tastes.
Chinese hip hop, as a countercultural movement, emerged in the 1990s
when mass amount of black market CDs and audiocassettes dakou (打口)
were imported from the United States. The musical genre then proliferated
alongside other underground musical communities like rock and punk: the
first wave of hip hop records was released by the independent rock label
Scream Records (Amar 2018, p. 107); LazyMuthaFucka (LMF), a rap-metal
group hailing from Hong Kong, became highly controversial in the early
2000s due to its vulgar yet acute sociopolitical lyrics (Cheuk 2018, p. 150);
Cui Jian, the ‘father of Chinese rock’, is said to have incorporated elements
of rapping into his songs (Fonseca 2019, p. 117). In addition to a cross-breed-
ing with other alternative music scenes, the introduction of underground
freestyle battles further developed the culture of Chinese hip hop.
Amongst the most prominent freestyle battle competitions were the Iron
Mic freestyle contests organized by the Detroit-native Dana ‘MC ShowTyme’
Burton since 2002 (Liu 2014, p. 265).
Within the above cultural context, the pre-2017 Chinese underground hip
hop community was bound by a ‘mythology of authenticity’ that shared
similar roots to the Chinese rock scene: an expression of authenticity that
bound together producers, musicians and audience of a particular form of
music (De Kloet 2010, p. 26). As such, the underground scene distinguished
itself against the mainstream appropriation of hip hop in China by claiming
‘authenticity’ through a series of actions and behaviour to earn ‘subcultural
capital’ (Blåsternes 2014, p. 74). The community grew through a determi-
nation of exclusion and inclusion based upon a set of hip hop-related criteria
such as skills, looks, and knowledge: Eloquent rap skills (e.g. lyricism, flow, and
freestyling ability), along with trendy fashion (e.g. baggy jeans, caps or
beanies, extra-large shirts or jerseys) and deep understanding of hip hop
music (e.g. 80s and 90s African American rappers like 2Pac, Notorious B.I.G.
and Nas), meant greater subcultural capital and authenticity in the under-
ground (Blåsternes 2014, p. 75). Nevertheless, as the term ‘subcultural
capital’ suggests, the above markers of authenticity in the underground
scene were always perceived to be outside of the logics of the mainstream,
including those of cultural governance. This is not to say that the under-
ground hip hop community have not felt the influence of state censorship:
 CULTURAL STUDIES 93

rappers, show organizers, and radio hosts have all demonstrated acute
awareness towards the ambivalent ‘guidelines’ of cultural expressions (Blås-
ternes 2014, pp. 36–37). Yet hip hop, before 2017, was never commercialized
and was never part of the mainstream cultural industry in China. As evident in
my overview of The Rap of China phenomenon, economic capital, celebrity
capital, and political capital would complicate the dynamics within the under-
ground scene. The mythology of ‘hip hop authenticity’ is ruptured in the post-
2017 era of underground hip hop.

Banning ‘badness’? The Chinese hip hop ban

It is therefore not surprising that some members of the underground hip hop
community supported the hip hop ban. Chengdu-based hip hop producer
HARIKIRI believes the ban could be constructive to the development of
Chinese hip hop. Although HARIKIRI acknowledges the state censor’s reduc-
tivist understanding of hip hop, he also believes that the hip hop ban is
‘fighting ignorance with ignorance’, and is ‘remov[ing] people who are ignor-
ant from the public eye, which is no bad thing’ (Hawkins 2018). Iron Mic
founder Dana Burton even considers articles reporting on the hip hop ban
as ‘fake news’. Instead, he identifies the commercialization of hip hop as
the source of its controversies:
Hip hop is huge in China. It’s already been around in China for 25 years. There’s
a huge community. So much going on. But it was never commercialized and
made mainstream. And I have to call them out. Basically, The Rap of China,
they are under a lot of heat. And they are getting heat from the government
and heat from the hip hop community. It’s because […] the business commu-
nity has its own language, philosophy, and approach. It actually is in conflict
with hip hop. There is a conflict in values. That doesn’t mean those conflict,
those values, cannot be negotiated. But there has to be a level of respect, com-
munication, and understanding. So when the business community wants to get
involved in hip hop, you have to be honest. Do your research, understand what
you’re getting involved with. And don’t treat it as something that you can easily
exploit. So the big problem, the big blame wasn’t the kids in hip hop, it wasn’t
the government, but it was the business community. That’s what I blame most.
It’s the way they exploited hip hop really caused a problem and we’re still
dealing with it in mainland China right now. It’s almost like a war for hip hop
right now. (In the Golden Melody Association Conference 2018)

At the heart of Burton’s critique of the commercialization of hip hop goes

back to the matter of authenticity. In her study entitled The Hip Hop Wars
(2008), Tricia Rose argues that the commercial prominence of gangsta rap
has turned American hip hop into ‘a playground for caricatures of black gang-
stas, pimps, and hoes’ (2008, p. 1). For Rose, commercialized hip hop is an
‘exploitation of black suffering’ and fails to give a platform for a serious rep-
resentation of the roots of hip hop: ghetto life and reality (2008, pp. 57–58). In
94 M. K-C. CHEUK

the same vein, Burton’s observation of a ‘war’ for (Chinese) hip hop concerns
how trap music, a variation of gangsta rap that is adopted by many of the
contestants on The Rap of China, is an example of the business community’s
exploitation of hip hop. While trap music originated from the ‘very dark’ side
of the African American experience, like drug dealership and police raids,
Burton feels that business companies lack respect, communication, and
understanding of these cultural roots when they sponsor Chinese trap
rappers like PG One, who appeared on an lipstick ad for multinational skin-
care corporation Estée Lauder.
Similar sentiments are found in an op-ed published in the state-affiliated
newspaper Global Times, entitled Scandal shows hip-hop cannot thrive in
China (Ai 2018). The op-ed contends that the gap between African American
sociocultural struggles and the lifestyle of contemporary Chinese youths, is
insurmountable because they lack experience of poverty, racism and gang
violence. As the op-ed writer describes: ‘Will Chinese applaud a young man
who comes from money crying “How I want a Ferrari” while driving a Lambor-
ghini? It’s as ridiculous as seeing someone sing about his “gangster life” in the
big cities of China.’ The op-ed offers a glimpse into how state censors under-
stand hip hop culture: hip hop is equivalent to gangsta rap, which is a sub-
genre of hip hop that is notable for its glorification of violence and sexual
themes. More importantly, China cannot have hip hop because its hip hop
participants are more often than not from middle class backgrounds. And
while post-1980s youths certainly have their own personal and social
struggles, the nature of their struggles is vastly different than those of the
participants and originators of American hip hop.
One could further trace Burton’s and the Global Times op-ed’s arguments
to the modern roots of Afro Asian intersection. According to Fred Ho and Bill
V Mullen, Africans and Asians have long allied with each other ‘to bring truth,
justice, and light to their ancient history of cooperation, sacrifice, and work’
(2008, p. 2). Prominent twentieth-century historical and intellectual figures
from the so-called Third World like W. E. B. Du Bois, Ho Chi Minh, Mao
Zedong, and Malcolm X mutually inspired each other in their struggle
against ‘anti-imperialist, insurgent identity that is no longer majority white
in orientation’ (2008, p. 3). With that said, given the lack of the cultural
exchange between the two groups, in part due to an imperialistic strategy
of ‘divide and conquer’, Afro Asian connections are also wrought with contra-
dictions, such as ‘the inculcation of mutually pervasive stereotypes’ (2008,
p. 4). In terms of popular music, Afro Asian cultural conflicts emerge when
musical genres, like hip hop or xiqu (戲曲 traditional Chinese opera),
become ‘black’ or ‘Chinese’ as a result of attaching sounds according to
racial features. Such a segregation of sound is described by Tamara Roberts
as ‘sono-racialization’, in which ‘the organization of sound into taxonomies
based on racialized conceptions of bodies’ (2016, p. 4). Using Jin Au Yeung,
 CULTURAL STUDIES 95

the first Asian-American rapper to release an album with an American major

record label, as a case study, Oliver Wang reveals how issues of cultural appro-
priation and Afro Asian relations persist even in hip hop, a cultural space
often regarded as universally inclusive (2006). To a certain extent, Burton
and the Global Times are also addressing the issue of cultural appropriation
in post-2017 Chinese hip hop, in which members of the field are exploiting,
and even disregarding, African American street culture as stereotypes for
their own individualistic benefits. At the same time, it is also worth consider-
ing whether these accusations are sensationalized for the purpose of drawing
the masses away from the heart of the matter (hip hop authenticity) and pro-
viding indirect justifications for Chinese state censorship.
If evaluated strictly on cultural and racial terms, all non-American hip hop
around the world is imitation. As Ian Condry (2006) asks in his study of Japa-
nese hip hop: how could someone who shares no cultural or linguistic roots
with African American culture, keep it real in hip hop? However, hip hop auth-
enticity is always constructed by individuals, as opposed to being measured
by foreign standards. As I have established earlier, the authenticity of under-
ground hip hop depends upon subcultural capital which is formulated by
members of the community. More importantly, such subcultural capital is
competitively earned on a merit basis rather than automatically inherited
on the account of one’s cultural and racial roots. And since individuals are
the source of authenticity, the criteria of authenticity, credibility, and
respect are always in constant negotiations between members of the under-
ground scene and its sociocultural conditions, including the commercial
opportunities around hip hop. Echoing a common observation in hip hop,
the debate is just as important as the music. In this sense, Chinese hip hop
authenticity is less a set of criteria than a platform for the discussion and con-
struction of a local hip hop community. From these perspectives, the markers
of authenticity in Chinese hip hop and American hip hop are not so dissimilar:
both hip hop scenes are ‘keepin it real’ through the actions and performances
of individuals.
With that said, it is important to recognize and respect the cultural roots of
hip hop. However, even the gangsta aspects of Chinese mainstream hip hop,
which Burton and the Global Times identify as ‘inauthentic’, are also originally
performances to begin with. The gangsta rap genre has its cultural roots in
the African American folkloric tradition of the ‘badman’ figure like Stagolee.
The ‘badness’ of the badman figure is not solely conveyed through outlandish
and violent behaviour, but also constructed by the boastful rhetoric of
badness. As Jerry H Bryant (2003, p. 11) observes, ‘What makes [the
badman] rejected among respectable people is a virtue for him. “Ba-
adness” is the sine qua non of his self-respect, the essence of his identity,
and it is largely measured by the assurance with which he says he is bad.’
These rhetorical strategies include the usage of the first person ‘I’/eye
96 M. K-C. CHEUK

where ‘the narrator creates a character who gives the audience a look
into his special world. The audience sees through the eyes of the charac-
ter the rapper creates’ (Brown 2003, p. 221). Another strategy includes the
utilization of clichés which allows for easy memorization (Brown 2003,
p. 222). Stagolee and other murder ballads follow the basic formula of
‘barroom betrayal, confrontation, and retribution’, all of which serve to
satisfy the public’s desire for sensationalism and tragedy (Powers 1998,
p. 187). From this perspective, it is understandable why popular American
gangsta rappers (e.g. 50 Cent) and popular Chinese gangsta rappers (e.g.
PG One) alike constantly return to the worn-out themes of ‘money, sex,
hoes’. The recurring imagery and lyrical themes of violence, sex, money,
and being ‘gangsta’ are as much an ideological or moralistic statement
as it is a theatrics of ‘badness’.
Moving beyond the non-issue of authenticity in non-American hip hop,
a more interesting question is how this imitation embodies locality. A
common interest amongst Chinese hip hop scholars concerns the construc-
tion of a local youth identity via the negotiation between the logics of hip
hop culture, the practices of the local underground hip hop community,
and the cultural governance of the state (Fung 2008, De Kloet 2010, Blås-
ternes 2014). If hip hop is less of an exclusively (African) American street
cultural product and more of a global youth expression, how do Chinese
youths utilize hip hop to express and construct their identities as
Chinese youths? Post-2017 hip hop is faced with a strong governance
that demands the mainstream to follow the ‘Four Don’ts’ (四個不用, si
ge buyong): do not use performers who are unfaithful to the Party or
hold corrupted moral values; do not use performers who are vulgar and
of low taste; do not use performers whose thoughts and style are not
refined; and do not use performers who are involved in scandals. Such a
mainstream ban on vulgarity and immorality, then, is also a ban towards
the theatricality, rhetoric, and aesthetics of ‘badness’ in commercialized
hip hop. How can various elements of hip hop culture be preserved in
Chinese hip hop once it is elevated into the mainstream? While elements
of positivity like peace and love are part of hip hop too, they are not the
only facets of hip hop. The hip hop ban risks limiting the diversity and
potential of hip hop to be a lively form of youth expression and construc-
tion of dynamic Chinese youth identity. As such, I propose the competitive
practice of featuring as a means to preserve the many faces of authenticity
in Chinese hip hop.

The competitive practice of featuring in hip hop

Competition and collaboration are two essential features of hip hop. Lawr-
ence Parker (a.k.a. KRS-One, 2009), one of the most respected rappers and
 CULTURAL STUDIES 97

known also as ‘The Teacha’, remarks that ‘rapping, break dancing, graffiti art,
beat-boxing and deejayin are all expressions OF this collective urban idea
commonly called Hip Hop’. Shawn Carter (a.k.a. Jay-Z), one of the most criti-
cally acclaimed rappers of all time and the first billionaire rapper, vividly
explains how such collectiveness is inherently tied with competition:
In hip-hop, top artists have the same pressure a rock star like Bono has – the
pressure to meet expectations and stay on top. But in hip-hop there’s an
added degree of difficulty: While you’re trying to stay on top by making
great music, there are dozens of rappers who don’t just compete with you by
putting out their own music, but they’re trying to pull you down at the same
time. It’s like trying to win a race with every runner behind you trying to
tackle you. It’s really not personal – at least it shouldn’t be – it’s just the
nature of rap. Hip-hop is a perfect mix between poetry and boxing. Of
course, most artists are competitive, but hip-hop is the only art that I know
that’s built on direct confrontation. (Carter 2010a, p. 68)

Rappers, like athletes, strive to be the best amongst their peers. And in
order to reach and remain at the top of the hip hop community, rappers
engage in various forms of battles. In 2007, Kanye West and 50 Cent, two
of the biggest rappers at the time, engaged in a competition for the
biggest opening week sales, in which the loser would have to retire from
hip hop. The competition was publicized as if it was a boxing match, with
Kanye West further describing hip hop as ‘the only sport of music’ (Rolling
Stone 2007).
One of the ‘arenas’ of hip hop competition is the practice of featuring.
As a general musical practice, featuring is a collaboration between
different artists, where one main artist invites another artist on a
musical project, and which allows both artists to transcend their categori-
cal limitations. Yet as Jay-Z describes, collaboration and competition are
inherently tied together in hip hop:
Whenever I’m collaborating with someone, I’m thinking about the song. It gets
to the point of like a competition where you want to be better than whoever
else is on the song and for me when I’m collaborating with someone, I want
them to be great, I got them on the song to be great. I’m really trying to get
the best out of a song. (Carter 2010b)

In order to allow a song to prosper in quality through competition, rappers

strive to exceed their collaborator’s performance. According to gangsta
rapper Bobby Creekwater, who has collaborated with Eminem on the track
We’re Back (2006): ‘There’s always gonna [sic] be friendly competition.
Every MC wants to aspire to be a great MC, and when in the presence of
MCs just as good as yourself, you wanna [sic] make sure that you rise to
the occasion. It’s a good thing – it bring [sic] the best out of you’ (cited in
Edwards 2009, p. 223).
98 M. K-C. CHEUK

Yet the competitive practice of featuring is as much an aesthetic pursuit as

it is a capitalistic venture. Guest verses are a potentially lucrative practice.
Southern hip hop artist Lil Wayne and trap hip hop artist 2 Chainz are
reported to charge 100,000 USD for a featured verse (Blackburn 2014). Featur-
ing further serves the purpose of ‘increas[ing] exposure’ for the guest and the
main rapper, and to add a ‘flavor’ to an existing song (Edwards 2009). When
an established, ‘hot’ artist gives a verse for a lesser-known rapper, such a verse
would be considered as valuable to the lesser-known rapper as a ‘Gucci’ bag,
hence also known as a ‘Gucci verse’. The competitive aspect of featuring is
also interwoven with the issues of authenticity and cultural capital. A case
in point is Southern/trap rapper Big Sean’s track Control (2013) featuring
2018 Pulitzer Prize for Music-winner and rapper Kendrick Lamar and New
Orleans rapper Jay Electronica. Although Big Sean is the main artist on the
song, his presence was completely overshadowed by Kendrick Lamar’s auda-
cious verse, which is largely an announcement that he is the best rapper of his
generation. With outlandish lines from Lamar such as ‘I got love for you all but
I’m trying to murder you niggas / Trying to make sure your core fans never
heard of you niggas’, it is widely considered that Big Sean was ‘hijacked’ by
his guest collaborator Kendrick Lamar (Green 2017). In this sense, the
inclusion of a performance from another rapper is an indirect form of ‘bat-
tling’ which can either enhance or harm one’s reputation amongst rappers
and audiences.
Rather than dwelling upon the authenticity of hip hop, this paper is more
interested in Chinese hip hop’s variations of authenticity through the practice
of competitive collaborations between local and non-local artists. My exam-
ination consists of three case studies, namely My New Swag (2017) by Vava
featuring Nina Wang and Ty.; Deserve (2018) by Kris Wu featuring Travis
Scott; and Made In China (2017) by Higher Brothers featuring Famous Dex.
As all three rappers have a strong international presence, one could argue
that they are not suitable examples for the study of a local hip hop authen-
ticity. And since these songs are aimed more towards an international/
Western audience, they are not credible case studies for showcasing the spec-
trum of ‘realness’ of Chinese hip hop. This viewpoint, I contend, adheres to a
dated mythology of hip hop authenticity that can be traced back to the 1990s
black market dakou CDs era, and in the hands of select ‘gatekeepers’ who
determine authenticity within an enclosed underground community.
With the rise of the Internet, a new generation of youths has emerged from
within and beyond China’s Great Internet Firewall. They have access to both
Chinese streaming sites like Douban and Western streaming sites like Sound-
Cloud and YouTube via VPN networks (Virtual Private Networking). In fact, The
Rap of China is precisely an online rap competition developed by the Chinese
Internet platform iQiyi that garners attention from all around the world. The
 CULTURAL STUDIES 99

roots of the twenty-first century, Internet-era Chinese hip hop audiences, like
my three case studies, are glocal.

My New Swag (2017) by Vava featuring Nina Wang and Ty.

On the artwork for Vava’s debut album 21 (2018), a manifesto about self-
empowerment and the promotion of Chinese hip hop is superimposed on
a photo of a xiqu (戲曲, traditional Chinese opera) actress: ‘I promise I
won’t live a mediocre life like they do. Let the world know China got hip
hop. Chinese hip hop is great.’ To a certain extent, My New Swag has effec-
tively put action behind her words: the song is included on the official sound-
track of the internationally acclaimed film Crazy Rich Asian (2018); Vava (rap
name for Mao Yanqi) herself is regarded by foreign media as the ‘Rihanna
of China’, the superstar singer from Barbados who is known for her strong,
unapologetic, and ‘ratchet’ image.
‘Swag’, or ‘swagger’, according to Adam Bradley’s study of the poetics of
hip hop, is ‘the essential quality of lyrical confidence. It expresses itself in
an MC’s vocal delivery, in confidence and even brashness. Swagger is
difficult to describe, but you know it when you hear it’ (2009, p. 180). In Caro-
line Moses’ study of the representation of Africa through Kenyan hip hop, she
similarly refers to swag as rooted in the hip hop artist’s performance, which
further lends itself as a source of credibility or symbolic capital (2013,
p. 112). As the song’s English title suggests, My New Swag is a song of
empowerment, particularly for females:
Look at me, from head to toe
Even the smallest detail has to be lit
Put on [my] gold chain, J’s on my feet
The jealous ones can only troll me online1

The lyrics have a strong emphasis on Vava’s appearance and fashion acces-
sories. She proclaims to be the trendiest (‘lit’) from head to toe, because on
her neck is a gold chain, and on her feet are the coveted Nike Air Jordan snea-
kers (‘J’s on my feet’). Her confidence and fashion sense draw hatred from the
Internet, but she dismisses them as being jealous. The connection between
fashion and material goods is further echoed in the chorus:
Put my new clothes on
Hoping for a different surprise every day
Put my new clothes on
Never brush off the efforts in dressing myself up

The chorus promotes that young women can draw confidence and have
self-expression through the way they dress. Indeed, the Chinese title of My
New Swag is literally My New Clothes (我的新衣, Wo de xin yi). The emphasis
on new swag and new clothes indicates an effort to make an original
100 M. K-C. CHEUK

contribution to the notion of ‘swag’, and more broadly, hip hop culture. In an
interview with the SCMP, Vava states her intent of including more Chinese
elements into American hip hop form. Echoing Condry’s remarks, Vava
acknowledges that Chinese hip hop is imitation. And hence it lies the issue
of locality in Vava’s attempt of a Chinese reiteration of American hip hop.
My New Swag opens with an xiqu orchestra of gongs and erhu (traditional
Chinese string instrument), which then evolves into a hip hop beat. After Vava
delivers the first chorus, the song surprisingly cuts into a vocal performance
of the xiqu composition Mai Shui (賣水, literally, selling water) by Nina Wang,
a young xiqu actress. Mai Shui is a well-known jingju (京劇, Beijing opera)
excerpt about a woman’s preparation of her hair and make-up before
meeting with her lover. Visually, the evocation of classical Chinese culture
and xiqu is even more explicit: In addition to an interspersion xiqu actors in
full costume performing movements and gestures, Vava dresses up in both
a crop-top and the xiqu square flags behind her back. The frequent
flaunting of xiqu elements corresponds with the state’s sponsorship and
development of traditional operas. As recent as 2015, the Chinese General
Office of the State Council announced the article ‘Several Policies for Support-
ing the Inheritance and Development of Traditional Operas’ that further
cemented the state’s focus on developing xiqu.
The featured xiqu performance is part of the larger stylistics of incorporat-
ing traditional Chinese cultural elements into hip hop music. The actual com-
petitive collaboration is in the rap verse from fellow The Rap of China
contestant Ty.2 The opening bars of his verse is a particular highlight:
Many brands, luckily no need to care too much
Wear whatever I want to
Whatever brand
I make the clothes
[For others] the clothes make them
I’m all designer labels
[Others] They’re all stupid3

Akin to the freestyle rap competitions on The Rap of China, Vava and
Ty. contribute verses that revolve around a designated topic. Content-
wise, both rappers similarly brag about clothes and money. But Ty.
opens his verse in his native Chengdu dialect, which relieves some of
the repetitiveness of rhyming about materialistic goods. The linguistic
diversity which Ty. introduces to the song makes him a worthy opponent
for Vava. By collaborating and competing with another The Rap of China
contestant, My New Swag also draws relevancy from the ‘hip hop fever’
that was sparked by the show.
The guest performances from Nina Wang and Ty. demonstrates how
Vava’s ‘new’ swag is a seamless interweaving of state expectations and
 CULTURAL STUDIES 101

elements of hip hop culture. A similar approach is found in later seasons of

The Rap of China. In its first season, the Chinese title of the popular online
competition show was literally China has hip hop (中國有嘻哈, Zhongguo
you xiha). Yet from the second season onwards, the Chinese title has
changed to China new rap (中國新說唱, Zhongguo xin shuochang). The
Chinese name change is telling as the focus is on the activity (rap) and
no longer the culture (hip hop). The stress on ‘new rap’ reveals the inten-
tion of removing any traces of the countercultural spirit of American hip
hop culture from rapping, thereby fulfilling the state’s implicit agenda of
developing ‘rap with Chinese characteristics’. Che Che, the director of The
Rap of China, explained that for Season 2, the show aims to ‘justify rap
music among young people – it can be young, uplifting and full of posi-
tive energy’ (Fan 2018). An example of this change of direction is the
inclusion of female pop star G.E.M. who is a recipient of a ‘World Out-
standing Chinese Youth’ award in 2016.
My New Swag, with its strategic featuring of an xiqu performance and
another Chinese rapper, is an example of Vava’s careful adherence to the
state’s governance over hip hop. Such is why Vava has emerged as a face
of post-2017 Chinese hip hop, despite losing out to GAI and PG One on
the first season of The Rap of China: she has managed to avoid state run-
ins, so far. In this sense, Vava demonstrates her authenticity as a Chinese
hip hop artist by intimately negotiating with the realities of being a cultural
producer in China.

Deserve (2018) by Kris Wu featuring Travis Scott

Deserve is recognized as the first song by a Chinese artist to reach the summit
of the US iTunes pop song chart. Yet stylistically, in both the song or the
accompanying music video, the only resemblance of Chinese culture is see-
mingly Kris Wu’s ethnicity. His background as a former K-pop boyband star
does not offer him much credibility as a hip hop artist either. In fact, his auth-
enticity was already in doubt amongst the Chinese hip hop community when
he served as a judge for The Rap of China. Most notably, Kris Wu became an
Internet meme for his catchphrase of asking contestants if they can freestyle.
Perhaps self-aware of his lack of authenticity within and beyond the hip hop
community, Kris Wu sought to construct it himself. In an interview promoting
Deserve on the Apple Music radio programme Beats1 (2017), Kris Wu men-
tions numerous times that he wants to make ‘legit music’ and insists that
real hip hop music is made by ‘vibing’ in person and directly exchanging
‘the right energy’. He further builds up his credibility by name-dropping his
collaborator and platinum-selling rapper Travis Scott numerous times.
Indeed, a review of Kris Wu’s lyricism reveals that the above external
sources of authenticity are much needed.
102 M. K-C. CHEUK

Over a bouncy, club-type beat, Kris Wu exchanges English-language verses

with his collaborator Travis Scott. Lyrically, Kris Wu states the song as a ‘tease
and taunt and flirt with a girl’. But, as the opening bars reveal, Kris Wu’s lyrics
offer few clever lyricism:

I got all this money, so I know you won’t expect this (yahhh)
Runnin’ on the low-low, but I know that you interested
I just made a call, you and your girls is on the guest list (yah, yah)
Maybe you’re still liquor, but I swear I wanna French kiss (it’s lit!)4

Kris Wu’s lyrics juxtapose hip hop clichés like the flaunting of wealth (‘I got
all this money’) and gangsta imagery (‘Runnin’ on the low-low’) with romantic
and sexual seduction. From a commercial perspective, these clichés make the
song readily consumable and easy to have the listener ‘hooked’. Yet from a
hip hop cultural perspective, they are forgettable and exploitative of
African American street culture.
In contrast, Travis Scott continues to build on theme of seduction but
introduces a series of hip hop poetics in the process:

I might write a song about you tonight (you tonight)

You the perfect melody for the life (and what I like)
Let me make you famous, Michael Jackson dangerous
You my favorite song, add you to my playlist (oh)

Travis Scott metaphorically refers to his hypothetical desired ‘You’ as a

song that he has composed. He describes ‘You’ as being his all-time favourite
melody (‘You the perfect melody for the life’). He likes and enjoys ‘You’ so
much that he wants to tell the whole world about ‘You’, and make ‘You’ as
famous as Michael Jackson’s iconic song Dangerous (‘Let me make you
famous, Michael Jackson dangerous’). After alluding to Michael Jackson,
Travis Scott follows with another allusion to song playlists, which is integral
to the digital music streaming platforms where most hip hop listeners
enjoy their music (‘You my favorite song, add you to my playlist’).
One may wonder why would KrisWu collaborate and compete with a
rapper that is obviously stronger and more relevant than he is. Based
purely on lyricism, it is evident that Travis Scott is the more potent rapper,
and has outshined Kris Wu on his own track. This unevenness can hardly
be surprising. At the time of the release of Deserve, Travis Scott already
had two platinum albums under his belt, namely Rodeo (2015) and Birds in
the Trap Sing McKnight (2016). As I have mentioned earlier, the competitive
practice of featuring also bears a capitalistic dimension. Like a boxing
match, the most lucrative matches are often times less about the boxing
than who is in the boxing ring. While Kris Wu gets a ‘Gucci Verse’ from the
popular Travis Scott, Travis Scott manages to increase his exposure in the
East Asian market by collaborating with the multi-hyphenate entertainer
 CULTURAL STUDIES 103

Kris Wu, who has starred in Hollywood films and had a successful career as a
former member of top Korean-Chinese boyband EXO. Although the collabor-
ation between Kris Wu and Travis Scott is lacking in competitiveness, it results
in more symbolic capital for both artists.
All in all, Deserve is a hip hop song carefully manicured during a time
where hip hop is the most popular musical genre in the world (Reuters
2018). Musically, Deserve adopts the most relevant hip hop stylistics like
the sing-rap delivery, autotune, and trap beats. Visually, its music video fea-
tures plenty of signifiers and appeals to a mainstream, middle-class audience
that views hip hop as a marker of affluence: from sexy female models to a
Monster truck, to a burning pile of dollar bills. For commercial hip hop,
skills go beyond intelligent and poetic lyricism, and further extend to the
ability to balance business and art. Jay-Z famously announced that ‘I’m not
a businessman, I’m a business, man!’ (in Diamonds From Sierra Leone:
Remix, 2005). Immense skill and insight are needed to produce profitable
commercial cultural products. While the featuring of Travis Scott on Kris
Wu’s Deserve is more of a business collaboration than a competitive hip
hop collaboration, it nevertheless deserves respect from the Chinese hip
hop community that has become mainstream.

Made in China (2017) by Higher Brothers featuring Famous Dex

Unlike Vava and Kris Wu, Higher Brothers is not affiliated with The Rap of
China. Instead, the Chengdu-based rap group is signed with the American
media/music company 88Rising. Ever since Higher Brothers released its
debut album Black Cab (2017) via 88Rising, its career has continued to steadily
ascend within mainstream China and abroad. For example, MaSiWei, the
leader of Higher Brothers, starred in a Sprite commercial which aired
during the 2018 Chinese New Year. During the same year, the Chengdu-
based rap group embarked on a sold-out tour all across North America,
aptly named ‘The Journey to the West’ Tour. The rapid rise of Higher Brothers
swiftly led to comparisons with GRAMMY-winning rap group Migos, and
Higher Brothers became occasionally known as ‘the Chinese Migos’.
Made in China (2017) is Higher Brothers’ most popular song and has accu-
mulated over 18 million views on YouTube. The track includes a guest verse
from platinum-selling Chicago rapper Famous Dex. The opening skit show-
cases the group’s translator performing a stereotypical American ‘Valley
girl’ voice and making sceptical remarks about Chinese rap:
Rap music? China?
What are they even saying?
Is this Chinese rap music?
Sounds like they’re just saying ‘ching chang chong’5
104 M. K-C. CHEUK

The skit seeks to caricature any opinion in the Western world that respect-
able rap music does not exist in the Chinese hip hop scene. In response, the
chorus brags about the omniscient presence of ‘Made in China’ products
around the world, including that of the music by Higher Brothers:

My chains, new gold watch, made in China

We play ping pong ball, made in China
Buying designer goods for my bitch, made in China
Yeah Higher Brothers’ Black Cab, made in China
She said she didn’t love me
She said she didn’t love me
She said she didn’t love me
She lied, she lied
She all made in China
She all made in China
She all made in China
She lied, she lied

By juxtaposing ‘Made in China’ luxury items (chains, gold watch, designer

goods), sporting goods (ping pong) with their own music (Black Cab), Higher
Brothers is boasting that the group will obtain a similar prevalent presence in
the Western world. The hypothetical ‘She’ in the chorus also seeks to deride
sceptics of China by appropriating the stereotypical image of female irration-
ality and dishonesty.
Famous Dex’s guest verse is also braggadocios but does not share the
nationalistic sentiments of Higher Brothers:

I got a bitch up in China

I like to fuck her vagina
I get that money, no minor
Don’t look at my diamonds
I swear they might blind ya

While Famous Dex’s verse does name drop China once in the opening line,
it is a build-up for a cliché brag about having promiscuous sex with foreign
women, such as Chinese women, and driving foreign cars from Tokyo. The
inclusion of Famous Dex’s verse is a calculative move. The verse is in
English and filled with gangsta-rap clichés of materialism and sex. Combining
with Famous Dex’s popularity in the American hip hop scene, his featured
verse adds flavour and relevancy to the song that assure even the American
‘Valley girl’ listener will enjoy it.
Meanwhile, the feature also illuminates a competition between Higher
Brothers’ patriotic ‘rap with Chinese characteristics’ and Famous Dex’s com-
mercialized gangsta rap. Both Higher Brothers and Famous Dex brag about
their self-worth, yet in different ways. The Higher Brothers rappers reference
an array of artefacts related to Chinese culture, from the Great Wall of China,
 CULTURAL STUDIES 105

the Tang poet Li Bai, the Forbidden City, to spicy hotpot and the Olympic
Gold-winning Chinese national diving team:
MaSiWei: Even Arizona teaches Chinese
DZ: The responsibility I feel is like the Chinese national team winning
respect in swimming
Psy P: I was Li Bai in a past life, my lyrics are so great
Mahjong set on the table, a jar of hot sauce
So spicy foreigners can’t handle it, their mouths start to burn
Melo: Yin and yang, feng shui, made in China
From tai chi to I Ching, made in China
The Great Wall, made in China
From the First Emperor of Qin to the Forbidden City, made in China

Higher Brothers considers China’s rich cultural tradition as cultural capital

worth bragging about. Yet the allusions to various cultural symbols in
Chinese culture are hardly substantial and are arguably as cliché as the
themes promiscuous sex and exuberant wealth in gangsta rap. Indeed,
Higher Brothers’ patriotism is ultimately a performance which is no different
from the gangsta imagery conveyed in Famous Dex’s verse. As can be seen in
the music video for Made in China, Chinese red dominates the entire video
colour scheme. The rappers playfully perform amateurish kung-fu moves.
Chinese cutlery and restaurants and lanterns are on full display. The whole
video can be compared to an Orientalist Chinese restaurant that can be
found in any Chinatown around the world.
The battle between Higher Brothers and its featured guest Famous Dex is a
tight and balanced one. Both contribute their respective iteration of theatrical
‘badness’ in Made in China. While Higher Brothers performs cultural patrio-
tism in an ironic way, Famous Dex performs gangsta lifestyle in a commercia-
lized way. This clash of ‘badness’ creates a unique experience for listeners in
China and in America, and everyone else in between.

Conclusion: the politics and aesthetics of featuring in post-

2017 Chinese hip hop
The competitive practice of featuring is a means to preserve the diversity and
dynamics of hip hop as a youth cultural expression in China. Vava’s My New
Swag is an example of contributing a ‘new’ type of hip hop with Chinese
characteristics by featuring a xiqu singer and another local rapper; Kris
Wu’s Deserve is an example of a Chinese hip hop artist demonstrating the
entrepreneurial aspect of hip hop within and beyond China by competing
with a critically acclaimed American rapper; and Higher Brothers’ Made In
China is an example of how hip hop artists can creatively preserve
‘badness’ in their songs by competitively collaborating with a commercially
successful American featured artist. Since all three of them demonstrate a
106 M. K-C. CHEUK

conscious effort to negotiate with the realities of their aspirations, they are all
‘keepin’ it real’ in their respective songs.
As a result of the ‘hip hop fever’ and ‘hip hop ban’, Chinese hip hop has
become both an mainstream cultural industry and a politically complex
youth culture. While the frenzy about underground and ‘real’ Chinese hip
hop is real, the ban on hip hop is less obvious. The hip hop ban was never
officially announced, and the leaked memo containing the alleged directives
of the State Administration of Press, Publication, Radio, Film and Television
(SAPPRFT) was merely a blurry screenshot (Xinlang Yule 2018). But Chinese
state censorship is ‘not a cloak-and-dagger business and requires no deniabil-
ity’ (Van Crevel 2017, p. 57), and one needs to be mindful of its intentionally
ambiguous nature. As Marwyn Samuels (2012, p. 169) observes, the inter-min-
isterial rivalry between various state departments and ministries means that
censorship directives issued from the Central Propaganda Department are
‘vague, ill defined, or simply go unstated, until they are enforced (with or
without warning)’. Such vagaries leave cultural producers in China little
option but to practice self-censorship.
I can only partially agree with Jerome De Kloet (2010, p. 169) that censor-
ship is ‘more a playground than a political battlefield’. Censorship certainly
can be a source of inspiration and innovation, as evident in my case
studies of the competitive practice of featuring, but at its worst, censorship
can destroy a cultural producer’s career without justifiable cause. The rapid
rise and fall of PG One’s career is a case in point. Hip hop artists in China
must confront state censorship. Likewise, all consumers of Chinese hip hop
must be cautious that they are consuming a product of state censorship.
Without an acute awareness towards Chinese state censorship, both artists
and audiences may unconsciously become co-opted by political powers,
which is far from the hip hop ideals of ‘keepin’ it real’.

Notes
1. For original Chinese lyrics, see MetroLyrics (https://www.metrolyrics.com/my-
new-swag-lyrics-vava.html). The English translation is taken from Lyrics Trans-
late (https://lyricstranslate.com/en/%E6%88%91%E7%9A%84%E6%96%B0%
E8%A1%A3-my-new-swagfnliterally-my-new-clothes-my-new-swag-official-
englis.html).
2. The name is written with a full stop (Ty.) and pronounced as Ty Dot.
3. Chinese lyrics at MetroLyrics (https://www.metrolyrics.com/my-new-swag-
lyrics-vava.html).
4. Lyrics cited from Genius (https://genius.com/Kris-wu-deserve-lyrics).
5. Original Chinese lyrics cited from AzLyrics (https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/
higherbrothers/madeinchina.html). The English translation is taken from
Genius English Translation (https://genius.com/Genius-english-translations-
higher-brothers-made-in-china-english-translation-lyrics).
 CULTURAL STUDIES 107

Disclosure statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes on contributor
Michael Ka-chi Cheuk is Lecturer in English and Comparative Literature at The Open
University of Hong Kong. His writings about hip hop can be found in Time Out
Hong Kong, New Ear Music, Magazine Americana, and the academic study Cultural
Conflicts in Hong Kong. In addition to Chinese-language hip hop, Michael’s other
research interest is Chinese literature in a global context, specifically the Nobel
Prize winner Gao Xingjian.

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