Filed under: Classic Ignorance,Conservative Rap Coalition,Features,Not Your Average,The Unkut Opinion
Written by: Robbie Ettelson
There’s a lot of talk about ‘Old Man Rap’, ‘Old Moufs’ and ‘Grown Man Rap’ in recent times, which is hardly a shock since hip-hop has been here for 36 years already. Relax, this isn’t another article about Jay-Z or any of our ‘youth-impaired’ MC’s. My question for today is – does too much rap music make you immature?
Traditional common sense tells me that nobody over the age of 25 has any business wearing a hooded sweatshirt as part of their daily dress-code, and yet….I still own several. Tony Bones described this phenomenon best with this quip: “I see grown men here in Harlem in their early 50′s, dressed like 20 year olds. Do-rags and fitteds, matching head-to-toe like toddlers”. But what’s the solution? When rapper dudes briefly embraced the button-down shirt, we clowned them for it! Personally, I find myself bored to tears by ‘Grown Folk Rap’ (not to be confused with ‘Grown Man Rap’) which revolves around sipping white wine, sitting on yachts and thinking about how best to maximize your superannuation and stock options, set to some Euro-beat lite rap beats. Me? I prefer to hear Lil’ Fame talk about hitting someone in the head with a beer bottle.
The RZA believes that playing video games helps keep his inner-child active. Sure, this may be a bullshit justification to get high and sit on the couch all day, but does he have a point? Is a love of hip-hop music and bombing trains once you reach adult-hood an attempt to stay in touch with that sense of youthful adventure and ‘fuck da world’ attitude that seems a million years ago for the average square out there? Or is it the thing that separates rap fiends from the rest of the douche bags deep in suburbia? Should you still care about how fresh your Nikes look when you’ve got to worry about putting food on the table for your kids? The answer to all of those questions is of course HELL CHEA.
Regardless of what anybody might say, there’s no shame in living in your mother’s basement and looking for obscure rap 45′s. You’ll never get laid, but you’ve got to take the good with the bad. Good thing my mother never had a basement, huh? Listening to people rhyme about how much better they are than everybody else is what makes me a better person than the guy who works in a cubicle and thinks that Matchbox 20 are awesome. It’s that simple. Admittedly, a life centered around relationship advice from Bushwick Bill songs and malt liquor might leave you with one of your eyes shot out, but it sure as fuck beats being some boring schmuck who can’t name a single Dismaster‘s song.
My taste in rap hasn’t changed much since 1987. I haven’t grown, matured or nuanced my ears much over that time. I still don’t fuck with any hip-hop song with singing that doesn’t involve Mary J. Blige or TJ Swan. I like loud drums and scratching. I rag on people who dress funny. I believe that any record that your girlfriend, wife or grandma likes isn’t worth pissing on. I enjoy hitting people in the back of the head with ice blocks while they watch rap shows. I find projectile vomiting to be the height of good humor. I still suspect Heavy D was the ghey rapper. I have a rap blog.
I’m not a bad person, really. Just a rap jerk.
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