Writing this column is harmless. But publishing it, I reckon is heavy metal suicide. Because what I want to talk about with you today, my befriended long haired Heavy Metal dude, is sheer rock n roll blasphemy.

 

I want to talk about Hip-hop. Angry black dudes. Slang. Bragging and boasting. You know, rap. It’s the common trend in popular music today, your little annoying brother listens to it,  wears stupid baggy pants because of it, and ruins your day every day as he plays the thumping beats so loud you have to turn your new Iced Earth album on 10  just to be able to hear your favourite solo. Little annoying brat, that kid-brother of yours. I agree!

 

But hear me out now. Cause the natural hatred and disgust that you experience with this type of music is unjust. Partially. Of course, there is nothing more stupid and ridiculous than a fourteen year old white boy in Ali G gear, who thinks he’s from the ghetto and listens to big negro’s who seem to be shouting about nothing but “weed”, “spinning rims” and “bitches”. Like I said, your brother is a dull Gaylord idiot. 

 

Mostly because he is everything that Hip-Hop isn’t to me. ‘Cause what he represents is a commercial dick-weed version of a style of music that is pure and can be very true to your most natural and adored emotion that you seek when listening to Cannibal Corpse or Agoraphobic Nosebleed: aggression. You see, once upon a time there was a period where hip-hop was not about bragging about the amounts of weed you can smoke or the dumb-ass car you own. It was the age of Niggaz Wit Attitude, the Ghetto Boys, Beastie Boys, Public Enemy and the immortal Ice-T. The days when it was all about rough and unpolished beats with aggressive and persistent messages. Read about it, and you would find out that 50 cent was a gay-ass RnB singer in those days. Or the fact that your kid-brother would get his ass kicked for being the nerd he is, with his oversized basketball gear.

 

In those days, you would hear Public Enemy shout for racial justice. You’d be in the front row of a Ghetto Boys show getting your head smashed in, in a violent moshpit. You’d listen to Ice-T on record telling his true life stories of  robbing, drug-dealing and cop killing. Oppose that with the fake nonsense that most rnb dorks shout out, or the weak-ass love songs (moppie-koppie-toppie) that the Dutch market gets flooded with, and your new love for violent and aggressive raw hip-hop will only get stronger.

 

I want you to open your mind, and go to ebay or a good record store. I want you to buy and listen to the fantastic hip-hop albums that were recorded in the eighties up to the mid-nineties. Check out Public Enemy’s ‘yo! bumrush the show’, Beastie Boys’ ‘ill communication’ and Ice-T’s ‘rhyme pays’. I want you to buy them (about 5-10 euro a piece if you scout well enough), listen to them and agree with me that hip-hop doesn’t suck, but most people who claim it to be their lifestyle today do. Remember, 3 years ago they wore a Korn t-shirt, 10 years ago a Cavello tracksuit, and 20 years ago a Sex Pistols shirt with a safety pin through their nostrils. And they are all your kid brother. And your kid brother needs to be pooped on. He sucks, hip-hop doesn’t necessarily.