Last fall, I had the opportunity to interview Big Dipper, a rap artist from Chicago who breaks gender and sexuality boundaries with his music. While on campus, he performed at the Cave, conducted a workshop through the Gender and Sexuality Center, and also found a few minutes to sit down and talk with me. Be sure to check out the Cave’s website to learn more about the interesting performers who will be coming to campus this term!
KK: Who was Big Dipper before he was Big Dipper?
BD: Well, I was always busy. I went to college for theater, and I moved to Chicago where I was working as a theatre artist: directing, working as a choreographer, and teaching. I was constantly gigging around and doing a bunch of things, which actually really helped prepare me for what I have to do now. I’m an independent artist, which means I don’t have support from marketing and I don’t have support from a label. I literally do everything myself, and that job-juggling from my post-collegiate days was really helpful to what I’m doing now.
Before that, I was always sort of a ham who liked to be the center of attention. I wasn’t the center of attention in the work that I was doing as a theater maker, though: I was behind the scenes, so I was producing and directing things, but I was never the talent. And so, two or three years into that whole scene in Chicago, I started dancing with a dance group called Double DJ. It was sort of gender-bending stuff, it was a little like drag stuff. We were dancing in queer nightclub scenes and dance performance art parties, and that gave me a lot of confidence as a performer. So, that sort of helped push me to the point of wanting to rap, which has been a dream of mine since I was a kid.
I grew up listening to rap music and hip-hop music. In middle school I always wanted to be a rapper, but I looked at myself in the mirror and I was like, “Okay, you’re a chubby white Jewish kid and you’re gay. What are you going to rap about?” Then Eminem came out with the Slim Shady LP and that was huge for me because he was a white rapper, and I thought, “Yes! I can now be a rapper!” But every other word on that album was [a slur]. It was so homophobic, and I thought, “There’s no way that I can be a rapper ‘cause I’m gay.” But when I was hustling and working in the Chicago theater and art scene, and when I started performing, that gave me a confidence boost to then start rapping.
KK: Who are the other artists that influenced you besides Eminem?
BD: I’ve always liked Busta Rhymes because his visuals are so animated. I think he works a lot with juxtaposition: he’s very masculine, you know, very “hetero-rapper,” but he always had long hair and very crazy outfits and visuals. That was sort of pushing the line. I also love Missy Elliot. I always really respected that she took her time. I feel that musically, she never tried to prove anything. In terms of old school music, I used to listen to Too Short, I used to listen to Warren G, Nate Dogg and Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre. There was an old group called Arrested Development, and they were giving something a little less than rap but a little sort of poppy. Their music was about a movement, too. There are a lot of new artists that I really like, but those are more the old school folk.
KK: You were talking a little about Busta Rhymes and how he plays around with masculinity. Do you see yourself as redefining masculinity in hip-hop culture?
BD: Oof. I don’t know if I’m redefining it. I’m definitely showing or giving sort of a new image. Visually, I’m a big dude, and I sort of give a butch, masculine energy, but my energy onstage is definitely more playful, more cutesy. With the way I move my body there’s a lot of feminine movement, winking, and smiling. That’s sort of traditionally seen as weakness. When it comes to masculine energy, you want to be hard, you want to be tough, you want to growl, you want to grimace. And so, for me, I think being myself onstage shows a new image.
I’m not hiding anything in my lyrics, so it’s very clear that I’m a gay man and that I’m rapping about gay things. Much of the hip-hop that I listen to is sexually charged, so my music is also sexually charged. I think when people look at it immediately they think, “Oh, that’s a gay rapper, he’s rapping about gay sex.” But if people were to just look at the visual and not hear the words, I think they would see a traditionally-looking masculine person sort of pushing the lines in terms of presence and body movement and live performance. I think it’s a good thing that it opens people up to a new perspective, something they don’t expect.
KK: I’d love to hear a bit more about your work with more taboo subjects. What has the experience been like to talk about things that might not yet be accepted?
BD: Well, I have been, I think, fairly fortunate in that, but it’s a double-edged sword. I’m doing work as an artist to try to appeal to a much bigger audience. I want to play shows for mixed crowds. I don’t want my work just to be viewed and heard by gay people, but because a lot of what I’m doing is so niche-focused, a lot of straight people are not going to tune into that.
I’ve been fortunate because most of the people that I talk to or that I deal with or who book me are excited about the taboos that I’m bringing to light and about the work I’m doing. But I would love to play a show where people are less interested and where I need to win them over. I would love to play a show or have a conversation with people who are against what I’m doing or don’t understand why it’s important. Then it really challenges me to show the importance and to understand the truth behind what I’m doing. Right now it’s great because everybody’s so supportive and they want to bring me out for a show and they’re excited to hear a new perspective, but I’m excited to jump over to that next step and play to people who have different perspectives. It’s such a great feeling as a performer to turn an audience, you know what I mean? When the audience is really into it by the end, when they’re dancing and singing along with you, it means you’ve done your job as a performer.