• » Name: Meka Soul
• » Location: Los Angeles, CA
• » Member Since: 04/09/07
• » Bio: Providing clarity in hip-hop since 1981.
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	November 2007
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Missing You

In case you didn’t know my other, not-really-racist-but-still-kinda-fucked-up other half hosts a little thing called the Soul Mix Show over at the other site I make my non-existent checks at, where I dig up obscure gems that were sampled for some of your favorite rap songs. What’s great about what I do is that I’m also rediscovering and appreciating my love for this music culture that’s enabled me to be some shitty, reclusive blogger/message board rabble-rouser.

I kill me sometimes.

It’s actually these nostalgia-induced field trips that make me long for the days of Kross Kolors and that massive Jolly-Rancher-wrapped-around-a-Blow-Pop lollipop [1], where the shitty music of yesteryear was still light years ahead of any bullshit these deviants bump now. When I hypothesized last week that because rap is low on women that look nice and will roll with you in an old-fashioned slobberknocker there’s been a lot more bitchmade material, it opened a proverbial floodgate in my skull of things hip-hop needs more of. Without further adieu, I’d like to share these thoughts as well. As usual, feel free to toss your input in the mix as well.

Shout Hooks. Remember when rappers didn’t have a sniveling little nappy-headed hoe that sucked her (or in some cases, his) way into singing the hook? Rap was much better when there were about 18 people crammed into a young-ass booth screaming the chorus to a song like they’d just come back from beating somebody’s ass, robbing a bank and slapping the turban off a New York City cab driver.

Ragamuffin Artists. If they couldn’t find any piff pocketers to bark “Head Crack!” into the microphone, at the very least rappers should get some wild Jamaican immigrant to say some nonsensical, “I murda fo’ fun. Lorda Mercy!”-type shit for the hook. Remember when SuperCat was on everybody’s track? Bring back him and Patra’s extra-fine ass back to rap. Matter of fact, just bring Patra to my bedroom later on tonight. A little hip-hop knowledge: did you know that “Pull Up To My Bumper” was about butt sex? You know Patra was that freak for remaking that one.

Dancing. And I don’t mean that fagtastic “Crank Dat” bullshit neither. I’m talking about when motherfuckers were doing all kinds of wild acrobatic shit while they were spitting. Big Daddy Kane used to kill shit back in the day... what the hell happened to Scoob and Scrap anyways? At the very least rappers should do that thing where they were pointing and kicking at the camera the way Kriss Kross did back in the day.

Posse Tracks. I would give props to The Great Khali for trying to bring this back into rap, but I don’t want to be accused of supporting terrorism. Plus, Pudgee The Arabian Phat Bastard reminds me of that retard from Life Goes On when he’s shouting on those songs anyways. I’m talking about those songs where everybody is trying to outshine the other. The best part was almost always the last rapper on the track, because you just knew duke was gonna fuck shit up real proper like.

[1] I can’t be the only person from California who remembers that one on those things.

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