My father wore plaid and hated rap

In middle school, high school and college, my musical world revolved around the likes of Doug E. Fresh, De La Soul, Big Daddy Kane, Erik B and Rakim and Run DMC. Once introduced to rap, I held it close like a drunk the bottle. Many people were bewildered by me: a rap connoiseur, from white suburbia, way before it became popular with that demographic. Rap came and went for me and left me a lesson.

Back in the day, whenever I drove anywhere, the smooth sounding voice of Q-tip would ooze out of my speakers for the world to hear. I’d listen to how Erick and Parrish shot the sherriff, the potholes in De La Soul’s lawn or BDP’s philosophy. Sure, most rappers couldn’t differentiate between a c-note and a c-chord. But, that was not the point. The lyrics were fresh and fun, DJ's were real and there was real scratching, pioneered by Grandmaster Flash. Rappers were classical poets and rapped about their sneakers, or how good they could rap, or about dancing or other innocuous themes. Also, who could forget the beat box masters like Doug E. Fresh, the Fat Boys and Biz Markie?

Rap got a bad rap. There were many positive and good messages conveyed to listeners. Stop the Violence. Streets of New York. Don’t Curse. The Message. There were so many more. Rap was once legitimate. It had a roster full of talented artists that provided a venue for those who otherwise would have had no voice. There was political rap like Public Enemy and KRS One or playful like Heavy D and Kid’n’Play. There were battles (LL Cool J vs. Kool Moe Dee). It was a rich and deep movement of music, culture and freedom that is now lost.

Today no one will listen to songs like How Ya Like Me Now, Paid in Full, or Stop the Violence. Rap today consists of tales of shootings or references to ones crotch, or some woman’s breasts, or money, bling, cars. If you can swear, rhyme without reason, brag about your Tech-9 or your ho's, you may just find yourself on BET, MTV or blaring out of car speakers at a stoplight. The beats and lyrics are bit and recycled and lack creativity. Once, I asked a person younger than I buying a Souljah something or other CD. "Hey--you ever hear the Symphony? Raw?" I might as well have asked him if he thought the Civil War was fought over slavery or state's rights.

Rap sells today exponentially more than it did when I was "in the house." It has sold out. I do recall KRS-One saying prophetically in 1988, "Here is the message we bring today, Hip-Hop will surely decay, if we as a people don't stand up and say, Stop the Violence."

Sometime around 1996, I sobered up and came to realize that rap, as I knew it, was dying. I was passing from one life to another and was closer to being certified parent material. You may not know or recognize the rappers mentioned, or the songs, or the messages. But, that was not the point. It meant one thing to me, to the select few that were lucky to have grown up when rap was underground and in its infancy. Today, it surely means something a whole lot different to the kids, although I can’t quite comprehend it. It was difficult to accept the fact that quietly and quickly I shed that phase and left it behind.

At some point in life, sooner or later, each one of us will realize the passing from one stage to another. My grandparents and my parents went through their stages. Boy, I thought my parents were habitual sighers, because before each complaint there would be a deep breath: “What is that crap you’re listening to?” “Kids these days!” New things spring into vogueness while others, to make room, must die. All things pass but the meaning of our lives hopefully remains.

Not too many years ago my parents could not understand how Kurtis Blow's "Basketball" could have been considered music or much less how anyone could have liked it. To them it was junk, to me, freedom. Now, I walk in the shoes they did twenty years ago as I listen to a corrupted art form. Kids these days, if only they could appreciate good music. I neither see nor derive any benefit from rap today and I can’t stand it. And I only thought my father wore plaid and complained about rap.