Wang Bo, aka MC Webber, takes a break from mixing tracks at his Chaoyang district studio. Wang is considered a pioneer of Chinese mainland hip-hop. Photo: Li Hao/GT

If you don't know who Chinese hip-hop artist MC Webber is, just imagine a mean mix between two of New York's most notorious figures: rapper 50 Cent and former champion boxer Mike Tyson. Apart from his distinctive Chinese appearance, the Beijing lyricist oozes an eerie blend of being cool yet calm with a killer instinct.

And he dresses the part, too. Sporting an oversized hooded sweater, baggy T-shirt and even baggier sweatpants, 33-year-old MC Webber, whose real name is Wang Bo, is softly-spoken despite his intimidating appearance. His voice is close to a whisper when he explains the origin of his rap moniker chosen a decade ago in honor of NBA basketball star Chris Webber.

"It's similar to my Chinese name in pronunciation," Wang grins, revealing a missing tooth that he coolly assures wasn't lost from a clash with a rival rap outfit.

"And besides, I like him," he shrugs.

Maturing, slowly but surely

Wang is one of the Chinese mainland's hip-hop pioneers. His talent as a free-form wordsmith who "spits rhymes" in Beijing's fledgling rap scene affords him a large canvas on which to paint subversive lyrical landscapes.

Drugs, women, violence and the pursuit of riches are topics that have been consistently mined from rap music's subconscious since it emerged among African-American youth in New York City during the 1970s.

Railing against societal prejudices and so-called injustices because you are an outsider is a common theme in hip-hop. In the 2011 documentary Underground Hip-Hop in China, Wang and his verbal comrades find a devoted following by giving a voice to mainly young students and migrant workers left in the wake of China's economic boom.

Wang's biggest struggle, however, is fending off those who might jeopardize his musical raison d'être, namely censors and manufactured pop stars who have flirted with hip-hop for commercial gain.

Nevertheless, Wang has stayed true to his roots despite the threat posed by commercial pop on the rapper and his musical genre. 

Beats on the street

Taking a drag from what must be his third cigarette in as many minutes, Wang exhales a plume of smoke over a coffee table as he nods his head in time to the pulse of a jazzy hip-hop groove emanating from the other room. We're in an apartment-cum-recording studio high up on the 27th floor of a building overlooking the 798 Art District in Chaoyang district.

"The essence of hip-hop culture in China is so different from Chinese values," he says. "Even now, it isn't widely accepted."

But Wang seems to be doing well in any case. Billed as "the pioneer of Chinese hip-hop" on the cover of his debut full-length solo album Ghetto Food released in 2011, Wang is currently organizing this year's Iron Mic freestyle rap contest. The annual nationwide competition pits Chinese MCs in a lyrical war against one another.

Wang says that Iron Mic is China's most influential hip-hop pillar, although this year he isn't taking part as a competitor. Now that he is a little older and, crucially, more established, he has lost some of the enthusiasm prove himself in freestyle rap battles against younger upstarts.  

"As a form of communication, it's good for [young rappers] to practice in a game scenario where there are winners and losers," he says of rap battles held regularly in Sanlitun. 

Wang believes that hip-hop is firmly outside of the domestic musical mainstream, holding "about a 10 percent market share" in the Chinese music industry. It might not sound like much, but it could be worse when you consider that R&B and rap collectively accounted for around 13 percent of total album sales in the US last year, according to press release agency Business Wire.

"Hip-hop culture in China is in a formative stage," Wang notes, saying he is encouraged by the emergence of young Chinese rappers pursuing their musical dreams. "There are hip-hop enthusiasts, dancers, DJs and MCs in almost every city now."

CRI host Wes Chen prepares a playlist for his Chinese hip-hop radio show The Park. Photo: Li Hao/GT

Freestyle evolution

It's true that a plethora of hip-hop clubs have sprung up in recent years in cities around the country. The Iron Mic competition, founded in Shanghai in 2001, has helped pollinate the genre domestically, with Beijing in the north and Guangzhou in the south as its main hubs. Local rappers have gone digital too, with the number of videos of their vocal jams online now numbering in the thousands.

Even though hip-hop has a small but strong fan base in China, the dwindling music industry globally signals bleak prospects on the horizon.

Producing hip-hop music is still a profitless endeavor in China for many, says American-born Chinese producer Wes Chen.

Chen, 34, hosts China Radio International's weekly hip-hop radio program The Park every Saturday night.

Originally from Los Angeles, Chen's tone is sardonic when he says that no Chinese rapper in their sane mind would ever think about "sitting in private jets" from the spoils of hip-hop success. Chinese hip-hop's growth is firmly in step with the Internet, he says.

"In America, hip-hop happened before the Internet, so people sold records," Chen says. With modern successful rappers such as Jay-Z and 50 Cent, both of whom embody the rags-to-riches fantasy, hip-hop is no longer an underground genre.

"But the way it started out there is a lot like it started out here," Chen says, explaining how the dream was to have fun rather than find success at any cost.

"What you have to realize is that 90 percent of China is made up of farmers. If I'm selling a record and most [people in the country] are rural farmers, who am I making the music for?"

The answer could be that some Chinese hip-hop acts limit their own growth potential because of the subversive nature of their lyrics. Chen singles out one homegrown group, IN3, who have "put their neck out" and made a name for themselves as social commenters in the process.

IN3, like many hip-hop acts, are no strangers to controversy. One online video shows them using Bob Marley's song "Get up, stand up" as a backing track for one of their all out societal rants. "Stand up for your rights," they chant along in the chorus, a crowd of sweaty Chinese youths echoing passionately in unison. IN3 produce their CDs in secret and away from authorities, who Chen claims would ban their music in a hip-hop heartbeat.

"If they wanted to stage a legitimate show in Beijing, they would [first] have to turn in their lyrics [to authorities] and they would never get approved," Chen says.

"But they still do shows."

Turntables used by hip-hop DJs and MCs for beat mixing and scratching. Photo: Li Hao/GT

Keeping it real 

Wang stubs out another cigarette into the butt-filled ashtray on the coffee table as he explains how each city in China has its own style of hip-hop. The Beijing brand is known for using traditional Chinese elements, although Wang is famed for incorporating elements of reggae and singing.

"Keeping it real means to keep doing what I like to do," Wang explains.

The self-styled MC loves the essence of hip-hop but stops short of aspiring to embrace its clichéd lifestyle of money, cars and women. He says that most people, even Chinese, wouldn't be able to understand his lyrics because they are rich in abstract meaning.

"I don't use dirty language and I don't criticize society," he says. He doesn't like to write about his own life experiences, which begs the question: how does he "keep it real" without rapping about his life and surroundings?

"I'd rather rap about my love for hip-hop and my hopes for the future," Wang says after a thoughtful pause.

Asked which song on Ghetto Food he is most proud of, Wang points his finger at track 13: "Who killed hip-hop?"

In the lyrics of the song is the phrase "happy pig," which serves as a metaphor for people who are lazy, greedy and self-satisfied "like overnight millionaires," Wang suggests.

Asked if it's a reference to China's nouveau riche, Wang remains tight-lipped before drawing out another cigarette with his slender fingers.

"Actually, I think Chinese hip-hop needs to be commercialized so that our music can be better supported. But no real hip-hop artist should be driven by money and lose himself," he concludes, carefully adjusting his bright yellow, flat-brimmed baseball cap.

James Tiscione, Li Lin and Wang Siqi contributed to this story