VH1's Egotrip the White Rapper Show Goes Where No Reality Show Has Gone Before

When I first saw the news that this show would actually take place, two thoughts came to mind. First, why would anyone subject himself or herself to such a review on a weekly basis? And second, what heights of stupidity will aspiring artists reach in order to become the next big thing?

If you watched "American Idol" or "Fear Factor" at all in the past several years, you would realize that Americans would do anything to become famous-or infamous.

The man who brought you "America's Next Top Model," yet another attempt for anorexic, tall women (obviously a cliché, but you get the point) to make it to the big time, will yet again bring you another sad cliché, the white rapper.

The white rapper has been subjected to untold heights of scrutiny in his time-and like it or not, is endangered and is a novelty. He has been limited to bustin' rhyme at bus stops, train stops or jail cells, until now. His voice has been largely banned for a quarter of a century. But now his voice is attempting to make it out of the suburbs and into the mainstream. And yes, my lil' homies, women are now invited to the party.

At a time when even Aaron Carter, the David Cassidy of the Me-Generation, is flirting with becoming a white rapper-and comedian Jamie Kennedy has famously mocked the white rapper in his series "Bustin' Out" it does seem time for the white rapper, the Wonder-breadlike concoction of the musical genre, to break forth with some dope beats and some dopier rhymes-because after all, living in middle-class suburbia compares to Bed-Stuy, right?

Anybody who has watched "The Surreal Life" or the new "Fame Games" can tell you that not only is Vanilla Ice ashamed of his white rapper past, but also that he has tried, vainly, to put a paper bag over it and instead attach his persona to a guitar, drum set and tattoo sleeves. Also that he has asked to be called Robert Van Winkle (his birth name) or Rob, if you know him well. And that he supposedly grew up well-to-do in suburban Dallas-and has a deep musical background, culled from his mother at an early age. Guess that's what private schooling and early piano lessons get you, right, Bobby?

And Ice is considered one of the premier white rappers of his time, so what gives here? Well, according to the press release for the series, VH1 (uh...Viacom, uh...MTV, uh...the MUSIC INDUSTRY) now recognizes that Eminem is getting more pub for his marital merry-go-round than his musical maelstrom and so the network "is majorly concerned about rap's future," whatever that means. As far as I'm aware the object of rap is to use poetry to inform the public about goings-on in the community-and I'm sure that the white rapper call tell you all about what's going on at the local Wal-Mart-or trailer park du jour, but doesn't know anything about Harlem or Bed-Stuy and couldn't find Brooklyn from Manhattan.

Now that may be taking things a bit too far, but the truth is that the majority of rap emcees and subjects from which the genre is culled is African-American-and so begins the competition-and the debate, from which there definitely will be one.

The show took thousands of 60-second audition tapes from aspiring artists and cut it down to 12. These 12 will be forced to live in the South Bronx in rundown digs in a quest to become the obligatory recipient of any VH1 show prize -yep, $100,000-and the title of the most hated white rapper on the planet, that block, borough and city proper and probably the entire rap kingdom.

It's ballsy, really, to think that the majority won't be pissed about this, though they will obviously have something to say about it, since the art form is theirs. Though you may see resemblances of a rapper you know from time to time, the fact remains that the 12 made it and they should be commended for taking the crap they're about to endure.

Not surprisingly the No. 1 white rapper symbol for all time, the shamrock, makes it first appearance in episode one by a guy whose roots are Danish (the artist's last name is Rasmussen). The other symbol, Notre Dame's insignia on any piece of clothing, has yet to make it on camera, along with the obligatory wifebeater, but it will only be a matter of time before somebody sports that, a tattoo of a shamrock or the Boston Celtics logo-or their name on the small of their butt in Old English script. That's the way it is, boy, if you're to make it in South Boston-or Sheboygan.

Whatever the cliché, the idea, as MC Serch puts it in the release, is to "lead the culture." To do this, all contestants must be enrolled in a school of sorts, in which they will be subjected to African-American culture to the nth degree-and probably some very uncomfortable moments.

They'll spit rhymes in Rucker Park-and look for the ultimate dis to put down all comers. Then off-camera they'll seek out directions to the nearest Starbucks as they laugh all the way to the bank. And somewhere a kid in his bedroom will dream of becoming the next big white rapper, pre-packaged just the way they like it.

Crack a smile and show some crack Mondays on the White Rapper Show on VH1.