Since 1996, Shawn Carter has been releasing solo albums as Jay−Z. The way he tells the story in his new book, "Decoded," he was in the recording booth one day when a friend commented that listening to him flow was akin to a religious experience: Jehova to Jay−Z/Hova.
Other reports put the inception a little differently — his nickname had been "Jazzy" and was bastardized into Jay−Z; Jay−Z is an homage to Jazz−O, his one−time mentor; it's a reference to the J/Z subway line that stops near the Marcy Houses housing project that he grew up in — but for our intents and purposes, we'll believe the official story.
While the (pointless) debate over who the best rapper of all time is rages on, most would agree that, regardless of his place in history, Jay−Z is one of — if not the — most important rapper currently working in hip−hop. When Jay−Z tells an audience to "throw up the roc" — put their hands up to make the shape of a diamond, the hand symbol of Roc−A−Fella Records — everyone does it.
If we look at Jay−Z through the lens of a semiotician — one schooled in semiotics, the study of signs, a field of study I'm only pretending to understand — the roc is probably the first logical thing to examine. There is a lot we can say about it: We could look at the abstraction from the word "rock" to "roc," to the concept of "diamond," to a roughly diamond−shaped symbol, how that symbol represents power and violence, how it has fascist implications, etc., etc. Jay−Z's catalogue is brimming with signs and symbols created by his utterances.
Saussure and Pierce, two of the founding fathers of semiotics, have slightly differing ways to view signs, but Saussure's is much more simplistic, so we'll stick with that one: For him, there is the signifier (the sign) and the signified (the concept that is symbolized), and it is understood that there is an unconquerable space between the signifier and the signified.
In our use of language, we inherently encounter this space. The only time that there was no space, classically, between a signifier and a signified was when God first spoke, "Let there be light," and there was light. God's words and the light were one. This, of course, happened in the prelapsarian world before language was arbitrarily attached to everything, when all things were known by their "true" names (and when, believe it or not, people communicated telepathically — it's in the Bible, go look it up).
Everything uttered has a signifier and a signified. That's how our language works. God is the only one who is allowed to create with his speech. Except for Jay−Z.
Jay−Z makes up a lot of words. Much of it is slang, but some of it is the word of a god. It's more than "the author as god," it's god (MC) as god.
When Jay−Z says "Izzo" or "Jigga Man," he's creating wholly new concepts. When he says "Jigga Man," he creates himself as "Jigga Man." It can be understood as a nickname, but I'd like to argue — validly, I think — that it's more than that. There is no concept in the world to which "Jigga Man" can be perfectly mapped except for what Jay−Z became after he said it.
Jay−Z understands his place as God. On "Takeover" (2001), he says it himself, "God MC, me: Jay−Hova." To the casual listener, this is simply another brag, but to the clued−in semiotician — which you now are, so congratulations and you're welcome — it's a confession.
Shawn Carter was born December 4, 1969. Jay−Z was born in that recording booth, as his first disciples were baptized in his flow.
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