BLOG-GAME
As requested by Elisabeth.
“You’re just too beautiful for words…”
Something that peeves me: not stereotypes so much as the vengeance with which they are applied.
I rap.
Or more specifically, I freestyle.
I was 20 when I started. Most kids start when they’re 8, 10 years old. Rap is like a musical instrument; it’s difficult to be good at it, unless you get an early start. That is a handicap for me. I’m not very good.
I probably do it for an hour or two each week, but most kids do it all day long. I’m not very good.
Most tellingly, though, few of my friends are willing to rap with me. My Chicago friends, while well-meaning, usually make half-joking comments about how I’m transparently white and wear T-shirts. Unless I convince some drunk kid at a party to go head-to-head, I never get to practice on humans. I rap in my apartment at night, to the Digital Underground. I’m not very good, and because I’m not very good, I’m intimidated by those who are, and tend to steer clear.
And for this reason, I never get around to saying anything relevant. It’s always a creative “you suck,” and maybe if I’m feeling particularly able and awake, something about the beauty of the rain against Archer Ave., but nothing particularly special or unique.
There is a song, Me And Jesus The Pimp In A ’79 Granada Last Night, by the Coup (I challenge anyone who seriously doubts the musical merit of rap to listen to this song really closely. You can find the lyrics easily online, but to get it you have to actually listen to it). Essentially, the “character” picks up his mother’s ex-pimp and murderer from jail, as a student and protege, but takes the man out into the middle of nowhere with predictable results.
That’s the story the song tells. It does no justice to what the song “says.”
Even the old mysoginists passed laws that “a man cannot beat his wife with a stick any larger than the diameter of his thumb.” Centuries later we can still legitimately rap about women being beaten to death with padlocks. Well, then. How sad. And revolting. My stomach and heart have just taken a simple step sideways. And rage.
Rage.
Speaking of rage, the Flint School District is not Leaving any Children Behind today by responding to $20 million in debt and the loss of federal funding by closing half of their schools and continuing layoffs… the city contemplates a casino, they’re so sick and desperate and delusional they’re willing to totally overlook reality… the state’s concerned about financial viability while they turn down a check for $20 million from our rich mayer, while the rich mayor will deny the city $20 million if he doesn’t get immediate control… They all know they’ll have to settle for a shattered ghetto no matter what they do, so of course they’ll choose delusion with the possibility of a perfect home… WHAT THE FUCK DO WE EXPECT?! Meanwhile, I’m two years out of one of the best colleges in one of the wealthiest countries with a BA that cost a cumulative total of $130,000, and I can’t take AT&T up on their offer for they’re low rate long-distance plan, because I can’t afford anything more than local service, much less dental or medical coverage, much less the barest insurance, and some months barely the rent… WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS?!
I wouldn’t describe “the Coup” as being “good” at rap.
They’re transcendent. They’re “intolerable geniuses,” and if they’re ever played, they’ll make a major difference (which is, incidentally, why they’re intolerable, and why they’re not played.)
Somehow, through their lyrics, they’ve become powerful writers.
I write.
Writing is the most powerful vehicle available to me for the fusion of my voice with my rage.
And still…
And still I would like to not having to say “I’m not very good” at rap.
I care about this.
I learn from this.
I want to, at least, freestyle competently.
I want to rap, at least, about what matters in my life and in the world, and not about how my drunken fellow-adventurer is such a lousy rapper, even though we both know that we both basically suck.
I want to turn direct against those vengeful stereotypes, with my Esham and Outkast in one hand, and my Lush and Smashing Pumpkins in the other, and say, “This I am trying to understand, and express. What is so wrong with you that you have to attack me? How are you trying to understand?”
I will rap with anyone who wants to take me up on the offer.
~ Connor