In 2001, St. Tammany Parish prosecutors turned to rap lyrics as part of their attempt to paint McKinley “Mac” Phipps Jr. as capable of first-degree murder. Their reasoning: Phipps writes music with violent lyrics, and so it must not only be possible, but probable, he killed 19-year-old Barron Victor Jr. in February 2000 at a club in Slidell.
At trial, prosecutors presented witnesses — several of whom later came forward to say they were bullied by authorities to place the killing on Phipps — and they quoted Phipps’ lyrics to the jury, often taking lines out of context and even combining lyrics in a misleading fashion. They also zeroed in on Phipps’ nickname, the Camouflage Assassin, as dangerous, ignoring the name was influenced by Phipps’ love of kung fu movies and the way he moved his hands on stage.
It was enough to convince 10 of the 12 jurors to convict Phipps of the lesser charge of manslaughter. In 2015, the jury foreman told The Huffington Post the use of Phipps’ lyrics influenced their decision.
But Phipps wasn’t living the songs he wrote in the 1990s. Before his arrest in 2000, he had no criminal record. He was just a gifted storyteller and performer.
“From as early as a pre-teen, I considered myself a battle rapper, and in the realm of hip-hop, battle rap is braggadocio, it’s writing rhymes that you’re trying to convince the audience that you’re the hardest, you’re the best rapper,” Phipps says.
A lover of literature and vivid storytelling, the New Orleans-born rapper earned acclaim for his lyrical prowess during the late-’90s, when he released his albums “Shell Shocked” and “World War III” on No Limit Records. Phipps was a battle rapper influenced by East Coast hip-hop and signed to a label that already had a reputation for gritty, street-life gangsta rap — he was going to go hard. And knowing what listeners at the time demanded, many of Phipps’ songs included violent lyrics.
On Feb. 20, 2000, Phipps was performing at a small club in Slidell when a fight broke out, a gun was fired and Victor was killed. Police arrested Phipps, but there were a number of discrepancies from the start. There was no forensic evidence tying Phipps to the crime. A number of witnesses described another person — and another man later confessed.
Phipps was sentenced to 30 years from a split jury verdict, but he always asserted his innocence. Last year, Gov. John Bel Edwards granted clemency and Phipps returned home to New Orleans.
On Tuesday, Nov. 1, Phipps will share his story as part of Rap on Trial, a symposium focused on the issue of prosecutors and law enforcement using rap lyrics as evidence in the courtroom.
“I don’t think many people know what it entails when you use song lyrics against someone in court — the negative impact it can have on a jury and the potential it has to deny someone a fair trial,” Phipps says.
‘Son of the City,’ Mac’s first full-length album in 22 years, is out Oct. 31
The Rap on Trial symposium at Dillard University’s Cook Theater will include four panel discussions, covering the issue from the angle of defense attorneys, the media, artists and musicians and what changes can be made to laws to better protect artists in court.
Along with Phipps, the symposium will feature rapper Killer Mike; writer Erik Nielson, whose 2019 book lends the symposium its name; New Orleans artist Nesby Phips; Rap Coalition founder Wendy Day; journalist Leslie D. Rose; Angelique Phipps, whose AMP PR organized the symposium; writer David Dennis Jr.; VOTE deputy director Bruce Reilly; professor Corey Miles; BE NOLA director Adrinda Kelly; and Kevin Miller, a Baton Rouge law enforcement officer.
The symposium starts at noon and is free to attend.
Erik Nielson is the co-author of ‘Rap on Trial’
Phipps’ account features heavily in the beginning of Nielson’s book, “Rap on Trial: Race, Lyrics and Guilt in America.” Nielson, an associate professor at the University of Richmond, co-wrote the book with University of Georgia School of Law professor Andrea L. Dennis.
In the course of their research, Nielson and Dennis found hundreds of examples of rap lyrics being used in both state and federal courts, most involving young Black and Latino men. There have been other high-profile examples in Louisiana, including No Limits rapper C-Murder and Baton Rouge-born rapper Boosie.
Earlier this year, Young Thug, Gunna and other members of their Young Stoner Life collective were arrested in a Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) case, with lyrics cited in the grand-jury indictment. But while those cases caught headlines, Nielson and Dennis found amateur and up-and-coming rappers are the most impacted by the practice.
Despite the massive influence of hip-hop in today’s culture, rap isn’t afforded the same protections as other forms of music.
“Rather than acknowledging that these lyrics are the result of creative license, the criminal justice system has effectively denied rap music the status of art, allowing police and prosecutors to present it to juries as autobiography rhymed over a beat — often with devastating consequences,” Nielson and Dennis write. “No other fictionalized form, musical or otherwise is treated this way in court. That’s why we call this book ‘Rap on Trial.’ It’s not art on trial. It’s not music on trial. It’s only rap.”
Since the early ’90s, rap and its creative expression has been misrepresented and misunderstood by prosecutors, judges and juries, Nielson says. The practice further marginalizes people of color, mutes musicians who earn a living from their art by putting them behind bars and could have a chilling effect on future rappers.
“Rap on Trial” is very careful not to argue for the innocence or guilt of any particular person, “it’s really just to argue for their right to a fair trial,” Nielson said to Gambit. “Using lyrics jeopardizes that.”
There has been movement in recent years to make and change laws to address the use of rap lyrics in trials. In September, California — the most egregious offender of using lyrics in court — passed a bill to limit the practice by forcing prosecutors to prove the lyrics are relevant to the case during a pretrial hearing with a judge. Nielson calls the law “disappointing,” and says it poorly crafted and will do little to change the practice.
A “Rap Music on Trial” bill in New York has passed one chamber of its legislature and will come back up in their next legislative session. The bill would not ban song lyrics as evidence, but it requires prosecutors to show the work is literal, rather than figurative or fictional.
A bill introduced in New Jersey — the strongest so far, Nielson says — outright bans the use of rap and artistic expression as evidence. And a federal bill, The Restore Artistic Protection Act, was introduced this year and would limit the admissibility of an artistic expression as evidence.
More attention has been given in the last few years to the “Rap on Trial” issue, but “it’s an uphill fight,” Phipps says. “You have some people who have a total opposite perspective, but for me this was something that affected my life and cost me 21 years in prison. If anyone is going to be at the forefront of trying to push this change, it’s going to be me.”
“I’m not saying I want to give people a pass,” Phipps adds. “Criminal activity is criminal activity. But if you have serious charges, [prosecutors] need much more that can tie this person to this crime than words of a song.”
Rap on Trial Symposium
Tuesday, Nov. 1, at Dillard University’s Cook Theater
Free, registration at eventbrite.com
12 p.m.: Defending Lyrics in the Courtroom: A Question of Free Speech & Racial Bias
• With Dr. Corey Miles, Erik Nielson and Bruce Reilly. Moderated by Adrinda Kelly.
2 p.m.: Unpacking the Biases & Changing the Narrative
• With Leslie D. Rose, Bruce Reilly and Angelique Phipps. Moderated by David Dennis Jr.
3:30 p.m.: Protecting Your Art: A Panel for Hip Hop Artists & Musicians
• With Wendy Day, Mac Phipps and Kevin Miller. Moderated by Nesby Phips.
6:30 p.m.: Hip Hop & We Don’t Stop: Where Do We Go From Here?
• With Killer Mike, Mac Phipps and Erik Nielson. Moderated by Leslie D. Rose.
