Rap Music: October 2004 Archives

It appears that, at the tender age of twenty-seven, I am getting old. My neighbor, who is a recent college graduate, (so that makes him--what?--no more than 4, 5 years younger than me) seems to believe there's an age gap in our music taste. I lent him my iPod today, while he was braving the flooded and delayed subway system, and he returned it with the following comment: "I wonder, exactly how much Geto Boys does one need on an iPod?"

I mean, really. Making fun of the Geto Boys when the three Jane's Addiction albums on there prove so ripe for ridicule? I didn't know what to say. At my last count, I have 15 songs on there from Horrorcore's ambassador--it's not like I sleep under an autographed photo of Bushwick Bill or anything. Whatever.

But that made me start thinking about the Geto Boys. They're hated by all the right people: Bob Dole cited the Geto Boy's self-titled debut as reason for stockholders to divest from Time Warner and Tipper Gore loathed them as well. Sure, maybe they did have lyrics about necrophilia (which made their label, Geffen, drop them when they refused to change them), but they also rapped about using condoms.

And this is where I begin to lose steam. Zac, I feel your pain from the Ol' Dirty Bastard entry. It's hard for me to write about rap. It's not for lack of interest, I'm just much more adep--or at least comfortable--singing the praises of the pasty, angsty denizens of Glasgow, Arlington, wherever. But while Scarface, Bushwick Bill, and Willie D. could not be described as pasty, they are angst-filled residents of a somewhat overlooked metropolis, Houston.

I never really went that deep with the whole goth thing, I think one of the reasons why I like the Geto Boys (and Gravegiddaz, et al.) so much is that they are the gothest of rap groups. Songs about satan worshipping, Halloween, and slasher movie villains really speak to the frustrated adolescent within, you know? I totally wish everyone rapped about Halloween! The sample of creepy serial killer doll, Chuckie, from their song of the same title, is something that has made even my mother (who, it should be noted, has an unhealthy fixation on the movie Child's Play and its protagonist) laugh out loud. An added bonus: extra layers of '90s nostalgia. Then there's the brilliant, laconic "My Mind Playin' Tricks On Me" whose slow delivery you could almost say paved the way for another one of Houston's break out stars, DJ Screw.

And even though the Geto Boys are no longer, and horrorcore fell off the national radar in about 1994, I leave you with these words from Willie D.: "Even though the membership changes, there will always be Geto Boys." And to my neighbor, I say: Greatest Band of All Time, dude, Greatest Band of All Time.