Harvest Blaque Earshot Blog: Our Rhythm, My Blues Vol. 1

I remember a few years ago when a friend came to visit me  in my hometown to

do a show together. After our show, we decided to grab drinks. We walked into a local bar where a white guy was awkwardly, badly crooning reggae, and honestly…

It was quite embarrassing. My friend looked at me and said, “Brother Bryan, have you ever noticed how much they love our rhythm, but really hate our blues?”

He wasn’t wrong.

Maybe I’ve grown numb to it over time. Watching predominantly white-area bands repeatedly offend, appropriate, and repackage our culture can make you tired enough to fall asleep with your eyes open. We've often been left out of the conversation and it is very sad. I’ve had some trouble getting booked around here, but I’ve made peace with that. I've also heard the same sentiment expressed by other Hip Hop and soul artists.. But I believe that the opportunities meant for me will find me . The ones that aren’t? They were never mine to begin with.

Authenticity is  truly a lonely place.

Especially when it’s only celebrated if it serves someone else’s agenda.

It’s painful watching cultural suppression and appropriation continue to thrive. We’re good enough to imitate, good enough to profit from, but when it comes to real culture, we’re often told to sit on the sidelines and sometimes we get the evidence of some of our white counterparts trying to tell you what black art is worth.

A Lot of people unfortunately enjoy diversity by the numbers rather than the soul.  Roanoke, VA is still unfortunately  one of the top ten most segregated cities in the U.S., and that reality shows up everywhere, including our music scene. We also see it in the festivals that take place here locally in the name of arts and culture. On The National Front, even Kid Rock has been a blatant repugnant racist who's early beginnings were heavily immersed in Hip-Hop and black culture. He benefited from our culture and has betrayed it and himself for clout. We often see folks use black culture as a stepping stone into other genres but real will always recognize real.

I recently watched a video that really messed up my day: A local, predominantly white hip-hop cover band doing butchered versions of classic hip-hop songs to a room full of white faces swaying along with really no Black folks in sight. What it communicated was loud and clear: we love your music, just not you. It had no seasoning but if they like that then cool, but It ain't cool.

What made it worse? The same venue that they performed at had previously told me that they “weren’t doing hip-hop,” preferring softer tones of bluegrass, jam bands, folk music, and Americana. I find it funny how hip-hop is welcome once it’s stripped of its origin.

Sometimes it’s even harder when I see some of my own brothers and sisters complicit in it all co-signing shoddy renditions of our art in the name of the almighty dollar. Get yours, I guess… but at what cost?

Is this the new Stepin Fetchit? I’ll never forget when teaming up with  a local Black artist on a show once telling me to reel  my lyrics and personality back because they were trying to build a “white following.”

Then there’s the diversity-and-inclusion checkbox. You only get recognized when you’re useful, as long as you’re a cog in the wheel of an established good ol’ boy network, serving their narratives. It’s exhausting. And honestly? Disrespectful.

This isn’t rare. It happens more than people want to admit. We just watched a Virginia-based, predominantly white reggae band win Best Reggae Album a couple of years ago  over actual Jamaicans. Let that sink in.

Appreciation is beautiful when it’s rooted in learning, humility, and genuine love. Culture isn’t about skin color, it’s about connection, respect, and truth. Appropriation, on the other hand, is taking what isn’t yours, stripping it of context, and using it for personal gain. Too many people are wearing our culture like a costume, and it’s completely wack.

On the flip side, there’s another sickness we need to talk about: the idea that hip-hop has to glorify guns, addiction, and the objectification of women to be “real.” That narrative is tired. Hip-hop is a sacred space. It’s testimony. It’s survival. It’s something-from-nothing alchemy. Hustler spirit paired with purpose and knowledge of self. Our art is not here to be exploited.

That’s why Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl halftime show last year mattered so much.

On the biggest stage in American entertainment built on Black labor, Black sound, and Black sacrifice Kendrick didn’t dilute himself. He didn’t pander. He didn’t soften the message for comfort.

He stood flat-footed in his Blackness and told the truth anyway. No costumes for consumption. No smiling through discomfort. Just lineage, memory, tension, and testimony.

That performance wasn’t just music. It was history. It was a reminder that hip-hop comes from blues, from church, from block parties and broken systems. From pain turned prophetic. Kendrick didn’t ask to be accepted , he asserted presence. And that’s the difference between authenticity and performance.

As the underrated rapper Rhymefest once said:

“I know more real niggas that work at U-Haul than hauled crack.”

Hip-hop isn’t for everyone.

But make no mistake: it has fed those who respected it.

And there is still...

NO HALF STEPPIN.

--Bryan Harvest Blaque Hancock

VA Artist "We Are Art" Cypher

Kendrick Lamar Halftime Show