More random musings from Fat Roland. On his mind this month (as far as we can tell) is Rap
I have the most brilliant and bestest knowledge of rap music. Hippety hop is my jam, whether it’s West Coast rap-talkers like Iced Cubes or gangsta rhyme singers like PJ & Duncan. I know all the complicated rap words like “yo” and “groovy”.
If you squint, then poke out your eyes with a knitting needle, you’ll notice I’m the spitting image of Snoop Snoopy Doggity Dogg. Go on, test my knowledge of hip hops. Ask me anything. I’m listening. U-huh? Hmmm? Great question, reader, and I definitely know the answer. See? I’m a human Wikipedia.
I drape an oversized clock around my neck like Flavorsome Flav from Pubic Enema, or whatever they’re called. This means I’m always on time for parties. My friends throw dull parties because they only like music with trumpets or accordii. That’s the plural, right? The only parties I like are block parties. I’m actually not sure what a block party is, so I always carry a Jenga set, a pack of Lego and a two-kilogramme bag of ice cubes wherever I go, just to ensure I have all the blocks covered.
On ‘Mastermind’, my specialist subject would be the history of rap – actually no, it would be how many Subway foot-longs could I jam into my mouth at once. But my second choice would be rap throughout the ages. Rap music originated in, er, Preston or somewhere. The DAISY age ushered in flower-themed rap, but it didn’t last because nothing rhymed with“chrysanthemum”.
Gangsta rap featured acts like Wu-Tang Clan (not really a clan), Dr Dre (not really a doctor) and NWA (not really Nipple Washers Anonymous). Modern rappers are called things like Dollar Money $crotum or Big Ass Booty Scratcher. They all have gold teeth and gold buttocks. The biggest modern rap-jam is by Cardigan B and Megan Thee Scallion. They had a huge hit song about a very soggy cat, which made no sense at all.
The most successful hip hop track of all time is ‘Tubular Bells’ by Mike Oldfield, whose name is why microphones are called Mikes. For about six hours, he plays all the presets on a Casio keyboard.
“Glockenspiel!” he says. “Grand piano!” he says. “Two-thonged moose flute!” he says, clearly bored by this point. The cover artwork is a confusing shape which looks like a toilet U-bend trying to do a gang sign.
You too can be a rap superstar. Set off a ring tone then flap your mouth off like a mad goose. Congratulations, you are now the Beastie Boys. Once you are proficient enough, you will be allowed to bum rush a show. That’s what they say, I think. Bum rush a show. Whatever that means. It’s all so very confusing, isn’t it?
