Please allow me, for a moment, if you will, to get a little fatalistic. It won’t get too mystic or futuristic, nor will it become jingoistic. Perhaps a bit humanistic. And now that that’s all been said, I shall refrain from ever again trusting a rhyming dictionary. Instead, let’s discuss some P.H.-phat rhymes that actually make sense, and the message of one of the most powerful and significant songs of our age.
That might be stretching things slightly, but the epic single from New Jersey Resident/failed Haitian Presidential candidate Wyclef Jean and former wrestler-turned-actor “Dwayne” The Rock “Johnson” is not only one of the greatest underrated tunes of the past century, but a cornucopia of philosophy and insight into the human condition, the fleeting nature of fame, personal finance, relationships, gentrification, and consumerist society. As it stands alone as a one-time duet, I often find myself weeping at the fate I have suffered, to not have been born into an alternate universe where the Rock/’Clef team crafted several full-length concept albums to showcase their unique, Outkast-esque* chemistry. But with the way things stand, we are left with this one perfect morsel, a shining example of the collusion of melodic genius and touching social commentary:
This single track clocks in at under four minutes and is full of more intelligent thought than some doctoral theses. Though it may at first seem like a gimmick record, cashing in on a celebrity cameo over a chorus, it is far, far more. Starting out with a spoken-word declaration by the Rock himself, Wyclef announces himself with the deceptive line, “Yo, this is strictly a club record” – this is meant to put the audience at ease, allowing them to enjoy the song at whatever level they choose, from superficial to transcendent.
Jean spends the early parts of the song recalling his past struggles, trying to work his way into the social sphere he so admired and desperately wanted to be a part of. ”Dedicated to everybody who used to stand outside in the cold,” he states as a general opening. But soon after, Wyclef notes that “I used to stand outside hustlin’ my way in,” making his dedication more specifically to his past self than the listener. It’s as if he’s creating the song as a sort of reverse-time capsule, hoping that he can send it back to his pre-Fugees self, to let him know that he has a bright future coming. But he offers a warning, too, which can be found in the chorus.
The title of the song, and a line oft-repeated in a boisterous tone by The Rock, “It doesn’t matter” is a chameleon phrase, one that serves itself well on several levels. In the sense of Jean’s ongoing narrative to the young man he once was, it is a reminder that despite his eventual luxuries (Bentleys, a home in Rio de Janeiro, a lovely and robust garden, and various dairy holdings), losing sense of his roots is a dangerous proposition. ”Cause if you ain’t sharing, people ain’t caring. Come up in the hood and take everything you’re wearing,” he warns. Without paying back to those who helped him on his way to success, the future tells the past, the only outcome is a lonely, hollow victory where others will stop at nothing to take advantage of you.
On another level, the outburst can be seen as The Rock working as a conscience to Wyclef, reminding him that a man cannot be defined by his material possessions, lest he lose his true self among them. ”It doesn’t matter you just bought a fresh Bentley!” The Rock bellows, indifferent to earlier claims of ownership of 50 more of the same. For The Rock is the Virgil to Jean’s Dante, guiding him through the Hell of fame and recognition, keeping him from falling into ruin and despair, left with only fragments of the empire he once possessed.
Later in the song, our Refugee protagonist approaches a woman adorned with all manner of jewelry. She has “so much ice [she] could freeze New York,” Wyclef tells us. He then intimates that she must be provided for by a wealthy man, and inquires as to what her lover’s profession must be. This raises two interesting notes, both pertaining to our narrator’s assumptions. The first is that jean takes the woman’s appearance and accessories to mean that her paramour is successful, rather than the woman herself. Jean’s success belies a bitter cynicism (possibly from past experience) that anyone who could offer him romantic comfort is primarily motivated by greed and a desire for what he has, so he operates under the impression that any woman he encounters will be the same as the last. The second point of note is that Jean acts as if the other half of the relationship could not possibly be present – has past experience led him to believe that those who are drawn to men of power such as himself are inherently unfaithful?
Jean’s suspicions are proven correct when he gets a reply including an unprompted suffix clause: “He works on Wall Street; he’s only home two nights a week” the strumpet replies. Though they continue their seduction game, he is now going through the motions, almost disheartened at the prospect of another lover who does not want to know him intimately outside of his income range and the bedroom.
Later in the conversation, Wyclef is asked, “Ain’t you that kid that sing Guantanamera, Way before Ricky Martin started Livin’ La Vida Loca?” Historically speaking, this is an astonishing look at the diminishing rate of return on celebrity that began with the expansion of the Internet. Jean’s “Guantanamera,” off of his first solo album, was released in 1997, two years before “Livin’ La Vida Loca” in 1999, which was a smash the year before “It Doesn’t Matter” hit shelves. Jean sees fame and recognition as something that must be maintained consistently, as it loses its power over time. Whereas he was a bona fide hit three years prior, he’s already seen as a relic thanks to the emphasis, “Way before Ricky Martin started” – a scant two years’ time and Jean is no longer a fresh face or a novelty. By this time, Martin’s own star had begun to dim slightly, so the point-of-time reference makes the entire exchange seem that much more condescending to the star himself. Just three years into his solo enterprise, and some see him as a has-been already.
It’s interesting to note the degree to which wealth is flaunted in this song. Assuming the average cost of a Bentley with appropriate upgrades, maintenance and storage to be in the neighborhood of $300,000 for a new model (Jean making note of a “fresh” one, as discussed earlier), one can surmise that over $15 million was spent on the 51-vehicle fleet, which is entirely kept in the West Indies, for some reason. Gambling for a high-roller (the chorus mentions having just won at Bingo) would easily be in the six-digit range as well. Adding in extra homes, cash on hand, landscaping fees, side businesses and the other expenses mentioned (not to disregard appropriate security and cases for the two Grammys), Jean has spent upwards of $50 million within the context of this song alone. His repetition of his holdings solidifies the belief that purchasing upper echelon goods is crucial to obtaining both the respect and acknowledgment of others in a consumer-based society.
It is interesting to note, however, that The Rock is more indifferent to such accolades and purchases. ”It doesn’t matter if the Rock wants to go get diamond rings or not,” he claims, late in the track. While Jean must bolster his image with purchases, stories and long-winded raps, The Rock, by contrast, needs say only a few simple words and maintain his image and personality to be looked upon fondly. Although both men are stars in their own right, how they reinforce such a notion is inverted based on the identities that they have cultivated.
Ultimately, “It Doesn’t Matter” reflects on the age-old argument of perception versus reality. Wyclef Jean represents the internal perception: his justification for the life he leads, noting the struggles and sacrifices and lessons he learned along the way, serves to bolster his perception of himself and a rationale for why he does what he does. The Rock, meanwhile, represents the cynic in reality: oblivious and uncaring to Jean’s back-story, more interested in the finished product and the external result of the internal perceptions. That’s why he speaks so loudly and angrily: rather than giving The Rock (the public) exactly what they want, Jean tries to let them in on a deeper level; the chorus reflects his fears that he will not be accepted or even looked at as more than a passing fad.
According to the Wikipedia entry for the song, the title and chorus were based around The Rock’s catchphrase, though one could argue that “Know Your Role” was ostensibly created to fulfill that purpose. Regardless, such an interpretation could change the entire meaning and interpretation of the track. The message and tone of the song would be radically altered from what we’ve discussed, turning it into a pop culture ouroboros of flashy phrasing and slick marketing. How far would the effects of this song reach if it was nothing more than a wrestling tie-in to cash in? Perhaps the man himself said it best: “It doesn’t matter.”
* Not really













