As you might imagine, music appreciation was the first part of my education. You do get in a Country Western bubble in Left Coast Cowboyland. Not that I think Johnny Cash’s legacy has anything to fear from Justin Bieber. And not that I’m even ready to concede that Justin Bieber has a patch on his sweet voiced teen predecessors from my age. Yes, Michael Jackson and Donny Osmond were clearly head and shoulders above him in talent. But I might acknowledge that The Bieber may have, in some cases, better material or, at the least, a more effective publicity machine. Okay, maybe I’m taking that a bit too far. But I will say that, as the result of the pervasive Rap influence that seems to be a component in most of my campers’ music, the lyrics to most of the new songs are a lot wittier than say, “Rockin’ Robin” or “Puppy Love”.
Here’s a quick snippet of “Awesome” by Spose which is a very witty send up of the whole White Boy Rappa Wannabee Syndrome (full lyrics here):
(no you’re not dude don’t lie)
i’m drivin around in my mom’s ride
a quarter of my life gone by and
i met all my friends online
i will run away from a brawl
there’s no voice mail nobody called
i can’t afford to buy eight ball
and i talk to myself
on my facebook wall
swagger of a cripple
check it out
However, this is still dangerous territory to tread. Listening to Rap, you might find yourself somewhere where you shouldn’t be — especially if you are too adult and and not acclimated to how much kids today are exposed to compared to our halcyon day. I got very excited when Alexis put on another track from a group called Young Money, who seemed to be rapping an homage to Fred, Barney, Wilma and Betty. Yah, Flintstones Rap. A person my age could get behind that TOTALLY. Well, Googling the lyrics revealed that they were something on which Tipper Gore would most certainly slap a Parental Warning. Parental Units take note!
Not one to walk where geriatrics fear to tread, I turned my attention to Ke$sha rapping Dinosaur, which did have its wit and charm. Until I realized the target of its humor was probably someone close to my age:
Why are you starin’ at me
Mack on me and my friends it’s kinda a creepy
You should be prowling around the Old folks home
Come on dude!
Leave us alone
You are a dinosaur
You are a dinosaur
You’re just an old man
Hitting on me what’
You need a cat scan
Not long til’ you’re a senior citizen
And you can strut around with that sexy tank of oxygen
Honey your toupee is fallin’ to your left side
Get up and go bro!
Oh wait you’re fossilized HA!
Okay, maybe I am too old to listen to Rap. Probably the cut-off is when you can’t or can no longer text The Encyclopedia Britannica’s worth of texts with two fingers and every three minutes. At that point, you are officially too old for Rap. That means me. Unless Johnny Cash, Marty Robbins and the Sons of the Pioneers want to come back from the grave and develop a CD of Round-Up Rap.
Oh, and we did do some gardening. I’ll let the pictures tell the story. And watch this space. The girls need to be fortified with waffles at The Black Bear Diner before they can tell their side of the story.