Rah Digga, the hottest, hardest new female MC in hip-hop, opens the door to her Newark, N.J., apartment dressed in a fuzzy bathrobe with faded pastel stripes.
This is not what you expected. Hip-hop in the year '00 is supposed to be dangerous, seductive, ghetto fabulous. It's supposed to be so real it's almost unreal--like something beneath an electron microscope or blown up on an IMAX screen. Hip-hop '00 is supposed to be a post-Puffy dreamscape of excess and escapism and bouncing low riders cruising down streets clogged with dancers and azure pools lined with thong-clad hotties.
Rah Digga is supposed...
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