Edition: U.S. / Global

Why the World Is After Vanilla Ice

By JAMES BERNARD; James Bernard is associate editor of the New York-based rap magazine Source.
Published: February 3, 1991

Everyone seems to hate Vanilla Ice -- except the seven million or so fans who ignited his rocket ride to the top of the pop charts. With much verve and a bit of glee, the press has combed his past, uncovering inconsistencies in his official biography. To many potential fans he's too teeny-bopper to be cool. Even macho auto buffs laughed when Vanilla Ice was near the first in line to plunk down more than $100,000 for a shiny Acura NSX sports car.

But perhaps most stinging, rap purists refer to Vanilla Ice as the "Elvis of rap," a white performer who has capitalized on the most influential black music to emerge in the last 20 years.

Vanilla Ice shrugs off the comparison. "I don't know who wrote it in the first place," he says. "I'm not Elvis Presley; I'm Vanilla Ice. I don't know anything about him except that he made movies and was a superstar. I never bought any of his records."

But influence is not the question; his place in the pop world is. In a society perceived as indifferent and even hostile to minorities, rappers like KRS-One and Ice Cube are the voice of an increasingly frustrated young black America; Vanilla Ice, on the other hand, offers easily digestible raps about girls, cars and dancing. Aficionados know that Vanilla Ice cannot matchthe cleverness of L. L. Cool J., the verbal gymnastics of Brand Nubian, the humor of Digital Underground. But Vanilla Ice is white, sexy, palatable in the suburbs and thus highly marketable.

Where many critically acclaimed black rappers struggle for exposure, the 22-year-old Vanilla Ice has managed to become a huge star since the release of his first major-label album, "To the Extreme" (SBK Records), in September. His debut single, "Ice Ice Baby," was the first rap song to reach No. 1 on the pop singles chart. By November he had bumped M. C. Hammer from his 21-week occupation of the top pop album slot, and he has held that position since.

Moreover, Vanilla Ice is in the midst of his first major tour as a headliner (with a sold-out appearance Wednesday at the Beacon Theater in Manhattan) and has signed an endorsement deal with Coca-Cola. SBK is rushing a follow-up while "To the Extreme" is still hot. The new record, to be released in April, features live renditions of his hits and five previously unrecorded songs, including "Satisfaction," which, yes, heavily borrows from the Rolling Stones standard. The rapper had wanted to include the number on "To the Extreme," but the Stones organization balked. No one's balking now at Vanilla Ice's ability to sell records, and generate royalties.

Charles Koppelman, head of SBK Records and Pictures, is banking (literally) on the hope that Vanilla Ice "is an incredibly magnetic star who can be as important a film star as he is a music star." After filming a cameo for the sequel to "Teen-Age Mutant Ninja Turtles," Vanilla Ice signed a million-dollar contract with SBK Pictures, formed specifically for his project. Although a script has not been chosen, the rapper will film an action-adventure this spring.

Because of the speed and scope of his success, Vanilla Ice has been subject to considerable scrutiny. The firestorm started on Nov. 18, when a front-page article in The Dallas Morning News reported inaccuracies in the life story he had been feeding the press. The revelations, echoed and re-examined by many others, exposed Vanilla Ice, the tough-talking, quick-footed rapper who was supposedly raised in Miami's mean streets, as Robert Van Winkle, who spent most of his high-school years in an affluent Dallas suburb. The facts surfaced around the same time that the pop duo Milli Vanilli confessed to not singing on their own multiplatinum album. In many minds, Vanilla Ice, with his sculpted hair and cheekbones, was the same kind of pretty pop figurehead.

Although his publicist has since quietly revised his official biography, Vanilla Ice is unrepentant. Was his upbringing really rough and tumble? "I never said anything to beef up my background," he maintains. "I'm from the streets. That's where I learned to dance and rap. It should be obvious to anybody's eye that a white guy doing what I'm doing had to be exposed to the streets." What about the discredited claim that he attended the same Miami high school as Luther (Luke) Campbell of the 2 Live Crew? "I never said I went to the same high school as Luke. That's impossible. He's five or six years older than I am. I did say that I went to one of the schools he attended."

About the national motocross championships, of which the press can find no evidence? "I won three national champions," he insists.

Vanilla Ice bristles at the suggestion that the media has put him on the defensive. Any rapper, but especially a white rapper, needs a "street" credibility that Vanilla Ice's suburban upbringing doesn't automatically confer. "It doesn't matter," he says, then manages to invoke and mangle two of rap's most tired phrases at the same time: "It ain't where you're from; it's where you're at. Bottom line: don't believe the hype."