I hate smooth jazz - has anyone seen the type of people that like this crap? Most of them are overworked yet successful bastions of society. Imagine that they use this music just to relax? What's next? I'm going to boycott all establishments that dare to play this in my presence. I don't want to fall asleep prior to getting my double shot cappuccino!

Just being silly of course!

Someone on the previous page mentioned that they can remember the same stuff being said about R & R when it first came out and I agree. I don't like 'gangsta' rap but to say that it all sucks is just an opinion that is too broad. Rap has been around for going on 20 years and much of it is being worked into main stream 'rock' (check out Linkin Park for example).

Thanks. I was cruising the net and when I seen that video I automatically thought of this thread.

if you look back, "Give peace a chance" had a rap flavor to it. Not one of John Lennon's best songs but the middle eight was catchy.

Then there's the actual first rap song... "Big Bad John" by Jimmy Dean.

Can at least agree that the Music called Gangsta Rap is bad?

So much for it being a fad!!!... :) I'm not a big fan of rap, but then again, I wasn't a big fan of the stuff my son listened to when he was young. Fortunately for me, growing up, my parents loved rock and roll!

I remember my son asking me how I knew which Beatle was which.....lol. I could never understand what Billy Idol was so mad about!

Personally, I prefer a rap-free environment. I view rap as irritating noise pollution along with leaf blowers, honking horns and broken mufflers on vehicles. In fact I call it crap music. Check out the lyrics of popular rap tunes. Some rap lyrics advocate violent criminal acts such as rape, robbery and even murder and the killing of police officers (pigs in rap lingo) just for starters. Many lyrics are so luridly disgusting I will not even mention them here.

I am a bit too young to remember the discussions that took place in the 50's regarding rock music, but I bet if they had the internet and a discussion forum at the time, it would closely resemble the discussion here.

Just kind of funny because I am sure most of us vowed we would never be like our parents when we got older.

Plain and simple, its getto music.

As the group War sang in 1972 (I think looking for a place like The Villages)

Walkin' down the street, smoggy-eyed
Looking at the sky, starry-eyed
Searchin' for the place, weary-eyed
Crying in the night, teary-eyed

Don't you know that it's true
That for me and for you
The world is a ghetto



Wonder when I'll find paradise
Somewhere there's a home sweet and nice
Wonder if I'll find happiness
Never give it up now I guess

Don't you know that it's true
That for me and for you
The world is a ghetto

open mic......
 

though we are pretty diverse in our styles and tastes, there is little if any rap (except for Rapper's Delight, which we find vary amusing still) we can stand.
We even learned to appreciate some of out musician Son's eclectic Jazz until it got to be what we termed 'nervous music'


Many might consider the source of rap to be what you get when you leave an open mic in a psych ward.
This is how one of the 'Older Guys' (egad he musta been 45!!) at our workplace described our hard rock tunes on the radio in the late 60's

While it seemed a little outrageous to many at the time, that kinda music is now heard in elevators and the like!!

We cannot, though, imagine that much of what they call rap today will ever reach such universal status!!

L and L

I try to judege each song on its own merits and not by its genre although it took me a long time to accept rap music. It is OK not to like something (I dislike a lot of things) as long as you do not try to impose your personal likes and dislikes upon others. I refrain from joining or participating in any actiivities that have elements that I dislike. I do not try to mould them around my personal preferences.

I personally enjoy Christmas rap. :laugh:

Buffalo chicken raps aren't bad either!

Christmas 'Rap' poetry/song
 

I remember one christmas song that was very rap-esque in the day and found another for us bikers



‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the pad, Not a hipster was swinging, not even old Dad; The chimney was hung in the stocking routine, In hopes that “The Fat Man” would soon make the scene; The moon and the snow were, like, faking together, Which made the scene rock in the Day People weather, When, what to these peepers should come on real queer, But a real crazy sleigh, and eight swinging reindeer, As sidemen in combos pick up as they stomp, When they swing with the beat of a Dixieland romp, So up to the top of my bandstand they flew, With the sleigh full of loot, and St. Nicholas, too. His lids-Man, they sizzled! His dimples were smiles! His cheeks were like “Dizzy’s,” his break was like “Miles!” His puckered-up mouth was, like, blowing flat E, And his chin hid behind a real crazy goatee! He blew not a sound, but skipped right to his gig, And stashed all the stockings, then came on real big, And flashing a sign, like that old “Schnozzle” bit, And playing it hip, up the chimney he split; And then, in a quick riff, I dug on the roof, The jumpin’ and jivin’ of each swinging hoof. As I pulled in my noggin, and turned around fast, Down the chimney came Nick like a hot trumpet blast. The tip of a butt he had snagged in his choppers, And he took a few drags just like all cool be-boppers; He had a weird face, and a solid reet middle That bounced when he cracked, like a gutbucket fiddle! He was wrapped up to kill, Man, a real kookie dresser! And his rags were, like, way out! Pops! He was a gasser! A sack full of goodies hung down to his tail, And he looked like a postman with “Basie’s” fan mail. He was shaking with meat, meaning he was no square, And I flipped, ‘cause I’d always thought he was “longhair!” But the glint in his eye and the beat in his touch Soon gave me the message this cat was “too much!” He flew to his skids, to his group blew a lick, And they cut out real cool, on a wild frenzied kick. But I heard him sound off, with a razz-a-ma-tazz: “A cool Christmas to all, and , like all of that jazz!”



for the bikers:

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the pad,
There was nada happenin', now thats pretty bad.
The woodstove was hung up in that stocking routine,
In hopes that the Fat Boy would soon make the scene.

With our stomachs packed with tacos and beer,
My girl and I crashed on the couch for some cheer.
When out in the yard there arose such a racket,
I ran for the door and pulled on my jacket.

I saw a large bro' on a '56 Pan
Wearin' black leathers, a cap, and boots (cool biker, man).
He hauled up the bars on that bikeful of sacks,
And that Pan hit the roof like it was running on tracks.

I couldn't help gawking, the old guy had class.
But I had to go in -- I was freezing my ass.
Down through the stovepipe he fell with a crash,
And out of the stove he came dragging his stash.

With a smile and some glee he passed out the loot,
A new jacket for her and some parts for my scoot.
He patted her fanny and shook my right hand,
Spun on his heel and up the stovepipe he ran.

From up on the roof came a great deal of thunder,
As that massive V-twin ripped the silence asunder.
With beard in the wind, he roared off in the night,
Shouting, "Have a cool Yule, and to all a good ride!"



L and L