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White Men Can't Rap

19. February 2008 by thebeebs 0 Comments

There comes a point in every man’s life when he decides he’s going to brake tradition, he’s going to stand up and be counted, he’s going to go against what society thinks is acceptable, he’s going to rap.

For the white British Male this is a particularly difficult thing to pull off.

He’s probably just watched 8 mile and thinks “Well if I can sing along to Eminem I could totally flow”. He grips the mike (A can of lynx) and begins “Hey Diddle diddle, I wish I wouldn’t piddle. I hit a mo fo then I learnt to riddle.” …Hmmmmm needs some work.

Luckily after about a week of exploring the difficulties of growing up in a 3 bedroom semi through cliché similes and a fake American accent, the phase passes. Most men realise, rap is a complicated art, much like playing an instrument, it’s something that takes years to perfect; starting out with an accent tainted by 3 years of elocution lessons isn’t going to help the cause. The can of lynx is placed firmly back on the table and the idea of becoming the UK’s first white rap superstar is put on the heap of whimsical dreams along with the juggling balls, snowboarding jacket and an unused unicycle.

That paragraph sounded distinctively autobiographic, but you’ll be glad to know that’s not my experience of rap music. My dream to be a rapper was born and then crushed when I was far younger. When I was 12 I’d listen to bootleg tapes of the Fresh price and Jazzy Jeff, I’d write the lyrics down and then present the work as my own to girls in my French Class. Now, I’m not quite sure why no one asked why I was writing so much about Philadelphia and my miss spent youth on basketball courts, but some how I got away with it.

My memory of events surrounding my brief HipHop career is ropey to say the least, but I do recall being asked to perform at a friend’s party. Now bear in mind, I had no idea what I was doing, I had no backing music and I hadn’t actually committed any of this work to memory, but that didn’t stop me, I accepted the invitation with glee.

Come the night, I was nervous, I hadn’t bothered to learn anything and I hadn’t rehearsed. I’d borrowed a Mic that worked as long as you spoke really close to it and on the left hand side. With 2 hours to go until the big performance I racked my brains trying to think of a way out… then it hit me. I’ll cover my face in paints and pretend I was too drunk to perform.

Now you maybe are thinking; why would you do that and in hindsight it’s a question I should have been asking myself. No one (me included) truly understood why I’d camouflaged my face, all it managed to archive was an awkward entrance and so I decided I'd best wipe it off. After that interesting entrance I made my way to the living room, I gulped and went to plug in… Imagine my elation when I realised that their HiFi didn’t have the correct plug for my microphone… I haven’t touched a microphone or claimed I could rap since and I think the world is a better place for it.

Saying that, there are some good UK rappers out there, have a listen to the song Jessica and tell me what you think about it. .http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=53106038

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