Anyone who, like me, grew up listening to rap music in the 80’s before it became the evil empire it is today should feel a small pang of sadness. The D.J. from the trailblazing group Run-DMC, Jam Master Jay, was shot in the head and died last night in a recording studio in Queens.
Run-DMC never rapped about gats, bitches, rollin ’ on 20’s, and ice on their wrists and made rap digestable for the caucasian, music buying public. That makes it all the more curious as to why he was murdered.
I was sorry to see that news also. I just picked up the Run DMC Greatest Hits CD at Wal-Mart 3 weeks ago. I played basketball and ran track on predominantly black teams during Run DMC’s heyday (1983-1988) and thought I had heard enough Run DMC to last me a lifetime until I was feeling nostolgic and bought the CD of course.
Christmas in Queens is one of my favorite modern Christmas songs.
I realize that, but it was not the focus of their songs. They told stories, had fun, and bragged about their skillz on the m-i-c:
“The Kings of Rock their is none higher,
sucker MC’s can call me sire.
I won’t stop rappin’ 'til I retire.”
“Jam Master Jay king of the cross-fader…
He’s the better of the best, best believe he’s the baddest,
Perfect timin’ when I’m climbin’, I’m a rhymin’ apparatus.
Lotta guts when he cuts girls move there butts,
His name is Jay here to play he must be nuts…”
for example.
today:
“Lick it now, lick it good,
lick that pussy just like you should.
My head, my neck, lick my pussy and my crack.”
I could go on and sure there are examples of tamer stuff, but it ain’t like it used to be.
Shakes cane and fist in the air at the young whipper-snapper rappers.
