Rap Isn’t Music

Status: Annoyed

Daily Quote: “I got my pecs, I got limos, I got bitches and all my limo's powered by bitch juice and my spare pecs are in the limo.” – Dylan Moran on Rap Music

Rap isn’t music.

Period.

I shouldn’t really have to elaborate on that statement, but some of you out there have the mental capacity of a burnt-out corn husk and therefore find illiterate, pompous arseholes repeatedly slurring and mispronouncing words like ‘gangta’, ‘nigga’ and ‘hoe’ not only entertaining, but resonating of musical talent.

It isn’t. And it doesn’t. And no, it doesn’t matter how far you turn the volume knob either, it’s a loosing battle.

I recently spent a few days in a car with three of my high school friends to celebrate the new year. And, unfortunately, the hours of Snoop Dogg, Ice Cube and other nonsensical pseudonyms reminded me why I usually take my own source of transport.

Now I respect most styles of music and give credit to artists when credit is due, even if I don’t personally like that particular genre or listen to the artist in question. (Prime example being Christina Aguilera: Talented singer, even if I don’t like pop and couldn’t actually name a song of hers besides Genie in a Bottle. Pity about the whole skank-wardrobe-era though.) And hell, I listen to some strange stuff myself – Flesh Eating Foundation’s Nightmare Before Christmas track has chainsaw sound effects –, but frankly, today’s rap is not music.

In fact, it’s not even real rap. Real rap from the golden age takes a back seat because it’s not as shiny or as controversial, whereas so-called ‘performers’ like 50 Cent are plastered on posters and television screens, groping their own crotches in the hopes no one will notice the lack of a bulge. These kids aren’t part of a gang in the middle of a ghetto, most of their self-proclaimed fame is fabricated and they probably suffer from severe erectile dysfunctions.

· Rap Has Too Much Exposure – Rap has a repetitive beat, so do a lot of electro-industrial tracks. The difference: rap is incredibly overrated and forced upon the general public who couldn’t care less. Not many members of the general public who aren’t fans of his work would even be aware of Chris Vrenna’s Tweaker projects, despite being famous for his collaborations with Nine Inch Nails and composing the soundtrack to American McGee’s Alice, and yet I remember a time when Eminem trash was played on mainstream radio airwaves. Iron Maiden performances are rarely played on television, even at a disgraceful hour – And yes, they do sing about things other than the number of the beast. Shock! – , yet indistinguishable rap video clips – albeit the ‘clean’ versions of them – are aired on free-to-view television with ‘ganstas’ wearing abnormally baggy pants hitched somewhere beneath their actual arse-cheeks flailing their stupid, nonsensical hand gestures while being surrounded by buxom ‘hoes’ in gold bikinis. I don’t shove Android Lust video clips in front of anyone’s face or blast out stranger's ears with Megadeth lyrics (well, not much…) and yet, in spite of my aversion from television and radio for the last few years, through some fresh hell, I can still name and recognise rap, quote unquote, ‘artists’.

· Rap is Overrated – After the September 11^th attacks, Matt Barlow, one of the greatest metal vocalist the world has ever known, decided to give up the rock star mantel to help in the ‘real world’, becoming a cop and performing metal shows for kids to teach them against drug use and intolerance. I hear Snoop Dogg has gold-plated guns. (Does anyone else see that as overcompensating for something? Or everything?) Iron Maiden still have packed out shows after decades of performing and will be remembered for their many hits long after they’re gone. Where’s Eminem when he’s fading into obscurity? While metal artists are drenched in sweat, passion and dedication, and while industrial artists DIY their own unique appearances to match their own unique DIY style of music, rappers seem to think that by wearing copious amounts of ‘bling’ on their limbs – and furthermore bastardising the English language by introducing the word ‘bling’ into everyday speech –, wearing their mostly fictional drug-use on their metaphorical sleeves and parading their multi-million dollar possessions to prove their worth will somehow show the world they’re extra special and certainly better than the rest of us, while at the same time distracting the general public from realising they do nothing more than drone in a slurring monotone when ‘performing’. Sprinkle a bit of glitter on shit and it’s still a reeking piece of shit.

· Rap Relies on Controversy Rather than Talent – The Dethalbum, performed by virtual band Dethklok, was released internationally due to the awesome success of the show, which hinged upon the fantastic musical talents of Brendon Small. Matt Barlow’s voice ranges four octaves. Shredding is such an art form that people air guitar all the time and become addicts to Guitar Hero (Don’t see anyone making a Wii franchise that involves grabbing your crotch and wearing a gauche gold chain around your neck, do you?). Years of practice and dedication gets poured into most musical styles, and, particularly in the case of metal, every band member has their own part to play, achieving their status through actual talent. So why is a lanky ‘gansta’ more popular among the young, stupid and the really-you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me stupid? Simple: Why depend on talent when you can just swear and write about your cock to a repetitive 5 second beat loop? If the words ‘motherfucker’, ‘nigga’, ‘bitch’, ‘gun’, ‘pussy’, ‘gansta’, ‘shit’, ‘fuck’, ‘hoe’ and their derivatives or variations were cut out of ‘rap music’, as well as all slang terms for penis, 97% of each track would be obsolete. And while ‘hardcore’ kids memorise these lyrics as true sign of rebellion against their middle-class white parents with their white-picket fence and private school education, they fail to realise that this nonsensical babble is all spoken in a monotone – and in Snoop Dogg’s case, nasal and highly annoying – drawl. Relying on the word ‘motherfucker’ repeated 7 times in a period of 20 seconds is not talent, it’s lazy, pathetic and try-hard. Know why every other genre seems to get tributes or covers and yet no one ever covers rap tracks? Because scraping nails on a chalkboard requires more ingenuity and skill than the construction of rap lyrics.

· Rap Doesn’t Have a Meaning – Continuing on from the overuse of swearing in rap, lyrics to rap tracks don’t actually mean anything. I don’t know any other genre of music that is so stilted in originality. No political comments, no songs on pure love and painful loss, no lyric concerning everyday life or environmental issues. Hell, they don’t even do concept albums about things as trivial as comic series or television shows or famous icons. Honestly, if you have to boast that much about your penis and your abilities to please your ‘hoe’, you obviously can’t get laid and are overcompensating so no one knows about your solo 10 second hand-parties at night. And furthermore, the only reason I can think of why so many rappers talk about ‘hoes’ and ‘loose pussy’ is because the only times they do get laid are when they pay for it from cheap hookers who won’t laugh at their poor performance. These kids have never shot anyone, never called a cop a ‘pig’ to their face and flaunt their ‘hardcore drug use’ as a means to try and compensate for their lack of desirable personality traits. My left breast is more hardcore, has achieved more and probably even more manly than most rappers today boasting about their balls.

So there you have it.

Rap isn’t music.

Or, in a language even the pitiful fans of this trash will be able to understand:

Yo’ rap ain’t shit.

Bi-atch.

The Story So Far

Status: Still Heartbroken

Current Music: "Like Angels Weeping" by Kataklysm

Well, 2009 is finally here, which means, for one thing, that come the end of December, I won’t have to suffer looking those ridiculous New Year party glasses that constitute those double 0’s as eye-pieces.

And, since the general western mainstream seems to believe that January first is the day for contemplating resolutions that will not be kept and new beginnings, I have finally made my return to the internet in true geeky blogging fashion. Nothing witty or funny or even entertaining. Just something that isn’t worth anything at all.

2008 does not ring particularly favourable to me. In fact, this year has probably been the worst I have encountered with some of the most significant, damaging and life-changing events, some of which I have shared, while others have been much deeper and more personal. It seems that many of my personal beliefs, aspirations and hopes have been shattered throughout this year.

I suppose from an outsider’s perspective, time heals all wounds. This would be a lie. Just because things are no longer spoken doesn’t mean they have diminished. And I suppose that, because some events that have happened over the last 12 months have been known only to me and few others in detail or specifics, even people who consider themselves close and up to speed have no real idea of all that has passed and therefore tend to ‘wonder what the big deal is’.

I believe that every moment of the rest of my life, I will look back on the year that was 2008 with a seething heartbreak and an aching sense of loss. The hurt is still there and the feelings never fade. It nauseates me that my greatest fear is that one day the person I love will actually fall in love with someone else. And not a moment goes by in which my mind doesn’t drift back and I completely fail to understand just how love could never be enough.

And although I do not intent to divulge all that has happened, I share two shattered ideals that I have held, until now, as truth without question, and to be stripped of the principles you believe to be truth is soul-crushing:

There Is No God: For the first time in my life, I have genuinely questioned the existence of God and have regarded the nihility of life as the truth. Some may mock that, but then again, those that do have no idea that until recently I have upheld religious values, even though I acknowledge there is no substantial proof of a deity or supernatural being. I have come to believe that we are living ultimately in a great void of no real substance or meaning.

Love Does Not Conquer All: There is a belief we all hold at one stage that good triumphs over evil, hard work is rewarded, hope is power, justice is kept in order in the grand scheme of things, loyalty and patience is rewarded, and yes, that love conquers all woe and loss. These would be lies. This is a chaotic world with no sense of justice and order, where the only sense of fairness is an illusion concocted and upheld by the masses so we all don’t feel as if we’re constantly spinning on a planet into a nameless, faceless and meaningless eternity. Truth is, life is a neutral playing field where the players are given dumb luck: Bad things befall good people for no real reason, effort is not proportionate to the eventual outcome, the length of your skirt does not have any real sway in your chances of getting raped, the number of prayers you commit a night do not evade your risk of cancer and sometimes, cold but true, love and loyalty are just not enough.

And so I play my music, but I still can’t stomach listening to a single Iron Maiden or The Cure song – a shame really, considering they are my two favourite bands. I make myself eat, yet I can’t even look at a Bertie Beatle and I think that’s going to be a constant loosing battle. I force myself to leave my solitude and spending time with others again, yet I still feel alone and my mind wanders. I can keep myself from bursting into tears in public places triggered by little reminders, but I still have trouble falling asleep at night because I’m terrified of what I’ll have to think or feel or dream. I’m back in the saddle of university commitments, but now there’s an unspoken pressure to prove myself worthy. I meet new people, yet I never see myself ever being able to enter an intimate relationship again with any another. I pick up the shattered pieces of myself with a stronger sense of resolve and caution, yet I’m still damaged.

So go on 2009, prove me wrong.