• » Name: Meka Soul
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Crack Rap: Is It Really That Bad?

We all are aware of hip-hop’s influence on everything from the color of a person’s shoelaces down to they type of cereal that he eats [1]. Without us subconsciously believing whatever rappers tell us there wouldn’t be a website where I’d be able to talk my shit. Hell, I probably wouldn’t even convinced myself to get this giant sleeve tattoo that covers the upper half of my right arm (or the other six for that matter), although I have had second thoughts as to why I got a mural of the four elements permanently etched on my arm. Perhaps it detracts from the fact I sometimes think I have the body shape of a praying mantis, but whatever.

Body art notwithstanding, I can say however that rap music has never inspired me to turn to a life of crime. Granted I used to rob old folks and rip green cards back when I was in high school and junior college, but I attribute that more to a rebellious cry for attention more so than anything. Hell, I used to prefer Kid N’ Play, Lisa Lisa and Another Bad Creation before the Dogg Pound and Kool G Rap, so I know it wasn’t them telling me to do that. Hell, I’m listening to an old Supertramp song as I’m writing this shit now, so you can’t tell me anything.

Perhaps it was due to being primarily raised in a household full of women who used their mental to achieve their goals rather than their physical, but I never considered myself becoming a career hoodlum. It’s already bad enough I got pulled over for “not signaling when merging” less than 24 hours after I moved into Korea Town last month; the last thing I need is a trigger-happy cop clubbing open my skullcap if he found a couple packages in the trunk of Two-Face. It’s already a crime to drive when you’re a very dark-skinned Nigerian with a curious-looking name [2] and shoulder-length locks like myself anyways.

Which brings me to my point: if there has been (and I know there has) anybody that’s been so influenced by rap music that they actually want to live the fabricated crack tales of an under-performing Soundscan artist, then it’s not the rapper’s fault that their audience reflects the intelligence level of his or herself. In other words, if you’re a dumbass who believes in any of that shit, then I can’t feel sorry for you if you end up becoming butt fodder for some burly inmate in San Quentin. Then again I don’t really feel sorry for anybody nowadays, whether you caught a case of the clap or if your ancestors used to be ashtray filler in a Jetta during the Holocaust, but that’s just my usual nihilistic self coming out to play.

[1] You’re right, Legend: Frosted Flakes > every other cereal ever made.

[2] Although in Nigeria, my full name is the equivalent of “Michael” out here.

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