The Crescent and the Mic: The Influence of Islam on Hip-Hop Culture

From Frank Ocean's "Bad Religion" to Lauryn Hill's "Doo Wop", why is the Qur'an so frequently quoted in hip-hop?

Artwork courtesy of chichenwingz. Image property of The Culture Crypt.

'Don't forget about the Deen, As-Sirat Al-Mustaqim,' says Miss Lauryn Hill in the hip-hop classic "Doo Wop (That Thing)", her lead single from debut album The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. Taken straight out of the Holy Book, a warning not to forget the faith, Hill is not the only one who looked to Quranic verses for inspiration.

Countless other hip-hop giants have done the same, making—either subtle or not-so-subtle—references to Islamic scripture, imagery and poetry in their music. Where does this come from? What does it evoke? And why is it so central to hip-hop?

To trace the connection between Islam and hip-hop, we must go back to the 1960s—a time of social revolution, liberation and political upheaval. Many civil rights leaders of the time used religious rhetoric to drive their message home. Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. was renowned for his distinct priestly cadence and delivery of rousing speeches to the masses.

Malcolm X, a radical human rights activist, later known as Malik El-Shabazz after converting, perceived Islam as 'the one religion that erases from its society the race problem'. Both frontrunners of the civil rights movement saw their faith as central to the message of freedom. 

The 1960s also saw the creation of political organisations like the Five-Percent Nation and Nation of Islam, which incorporated Islamic teachings into Black nationalist thought. The establishment of these institutions saw a rise in Black Americans looking to Islam, not just for further insight, but for an identity away from Christianity, which many considered to be the 'white man's religion'. To demonstrate this impact today, as of 2019, Black Muslims account for a fifth of all Muslims in America and about half are converts to Islam. 

While New York is now widely understood as the birthplace of hip-hop, some would even call it 'the Mecca of hip-hop'. In fact, the 'richest cross fertilisation between American music and Islam is found in hip-hop.' It then adds up considering that this musical medium of rhythmic poetry served as an outlet for many Black youth in places like the Bronx and Harlem, in particular, to express the harsh realities of their everyday lives, run-ins with racist police, poverty and crime in their hood as well as life, love and God. This happened in the streets of New York City, which caused the Islamic influence to snowball.

For Russell Simmons, record executive and foremost music pioneer, the religion and the genre were so closely entwined that it became a way of living and breathing in the scene: 'During the period when the gangs I hung with in the 70s gave way to 80s hip-hop culture… It was the street language, style and consciousness of the Five Percent Nation that served as a bridge.'

Hip-hop OGs, Yasiin Bey (formerly known as Mos Def), Nas, Jay-Z, Busta Rhymes, Wu-Tang Clan, Gang Starr, LL Cool J, Big Daddy Kane and even Erykah Badu studied the teachings of the Five-Percent Nation. Rakim's song "R.A.K.I.M" even has the line: 'Allah, who I praise to the fullest'.

The religion's stamp on hip-hop endures today. Maybe the artists of today don't reference it as explicitly as the OGs but they incorporate it in clever ways. Take Drake in his single "Sweeterman": 'This is a blessing, mashallah, wallahi'. Or Kendrick Lamar in "Rich Spirit": 'Can't fuck with you no more, I'm fastin'. Or even A$AP Ferg's global 2017 hit "Plain Jane": 'Ride with the mob, Alhamdulillah'.

What do these contemporary references to Islam represent today? An allegiance to the religion? Curiosity? Or just evocative wordplay? For one, Frank Ocean wrote in a provocative exchange on his critically acclaimed song "Bad Religion", pleading with "Allahu Akbar", I told him, 'don't curse me". What, at first glance, may raise eyebrows, can, upon second look, be appreciated as a deliberate reflection about a teary taxi ride where he shares his woes of unrequited love to a driver who responds, 'Bobo, you need prayer.'

In this vein, Islam isn't only used in songs as, arguably, a quick hack or shout-out. It is also used to grapple with philosophical and existential themes. But that doesn't take away from the more lighthearted references, like Nicki Minaj in "Itty Bitty Piggy": "I'on fuck with pigs like as-salaam alaikum'—denouncing her musical adversaries as pigs.

Artists use their creative licence in hip-hop to pay their respects to God, come to grips with their faith, and incorporate what they see as a poetically complex feature into their music. Is this wrong? Writer Hamda Issa-Salwe says many young Muslims nowadays are weary that artists may be towing a thin line between 'controversy and celebration of faith.' Since music is considered 'haram' (forbidden) in Islam, the risk of creating music is greater, particularly for those who practise the faith. Artists such as famed folk singer Cat Stevens have even quit their musical careers due to this. So, whether mixing religion with music is deemed 'worth it' is between the musician and the maker.  

So, what is it that inspires many artists to reference Islam? What is it in 'the Ummah' that they seek? Are they trying to foster a distinct sense of identity like Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali did? Or are they, as mentioned before, simply mixing religion and music? More hip-hop artists go beyond the music by incorporating it as part of their everyday speech, such as rapper Lil Uzi Vert in a short viral video: 'I ain't gon lie, bro, he's a—he's a good Muslim brother but he ain't been deenin'. Or the video of rapper Lil Durk that resurfaces every year for Ramadan: 'As-salam alaikum to all the Muslims, you know what I'm saying, you know– you know Ramadan tomorrow, know what I'm saying, I'm practising right now. We finna get it man. Salutes'.

Stemming from the very beginnings of hip-hop, Islam has always been a major source of inspiration. It can inform the storytelling experience very realistically for some artists. For instance, 'Bismillah Ar-Rahman Ar-Rahim' is how Mos Def (now known as Yasiin Bey) opened his solo album Black on Both Sides—an Arabic phrase meaning 'in the name of God, most gracious, most merciful'.

But whether it's appropriated as slang or quoted directly as scripture, the hip-hop community has a curiosity and respect for the religion—which maybe knows some bounds.