Do me a favour, write one verse without a curse...

Following my last post I received several complaints about my so-called ‘assumptions’ about rap music. The general consensus of these complaints is that I am unfairly dismissing the genre without giving it the time of day.

My underlying principle in this blog is to be as fair as I can possibly be. And if I wish to stay true to that mantra I simply have to take heed of these criticisms.

So – I decided that I should listen to and review a variety of rap and R& B music. I searched for rap on the internet indiscriminately, and picked a short selection at random...

So here we go… and I'm trying as hard as I can to be reasonable here, but bear in mind that today I've been listening to Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of The War of the Worlds. Aka, the greatest concept album ever made... so it's going to be tough...

1) NWA – Straight Outta Compton:

      

Stopped at 50 seconds. Deeply upsetting. Unable to comment any further

2) Sean Kingston – Fire Burning:

Vast improvement, though still problematic. Got through the full song, but it left me confused and unsatisfied. What is the message this song is trying to convey? I could make out the lyrics to what I believe was the chorus: "Somebody call 911… Shorty’s burning fire on the dance floor". Now then, all I can think is that this is a depiction of a peculiar episode in which either a dwarf or midget has unfortunately caught fire in a disco. In response, Sean is suggesting that the emergency services need to be contacted. Which I would argue is not the main concern in this situation. The emergency services, one would assume, will take at best several minutes to arrive. The priority it would seem is to put these flames out immediately, as the poor individual will surely suffer fatal burns imminently. It’s unlikely he’ll be wearing many layers, as discotheques are notoriously humid, so there’s no protection there. It’s a public venue and thus, I would hope, will fulfil its legal duty as such to provide suitable means for fire safety.

Of course the emergency services will likely be required at some stage, so by all means contact them. But first and foremost let’s help, as Sean crassly describes him or her, shorty. Get a fire blanket round shorty, pronto. That’s what they’re there for.

Overall, not something I would choose to listen to but certainly tolerable. Haven’t thrown out my Wet, Wet, Wet collection just yet though! (I never will)

3) Snoop Dogg – Gin and Juice:

Shameful. Swear words thrown out like confetti at a wedding. Ironic that music with such little dignity is presented by a rapper named after an animal with such immense dignity. Never again

4) Jay Z – 99 Problems:

Gordon Bennett. I am at the very, very end of my tether. What an absolute pig of a man. 99 problems but the… I’ll tell you what Mr Z I’ve got 99 problems with this song. Probably more than that even. I’ve got 199 problems with this song. I haven’t got the time or the patience to list them all. I don’t know who this Jay Z is but I’m going to stick my neck out and say that I’d be shocked if he’s had any kind of commercial success whatsoever

5) Ludacris – Area Codes:

When I first listened, I thought, Christ, he really is ludicrous, if he’s "got hoe’s in different area codes"! He’s absolutely stark-raving mad the plonker! However, as the song progressed, I realised that probably this was a euphemism for something far more sordid than a garden instrument. And after some hasty research I was unpleasantly confronted with what he was really referring to; ladies of the night. Well Ludacris, I can tell you one post code you won’t have those sorts of contacts: TN12. Because there aren’t any "hoe’s" in Horsmonden, Kent, thank you very much. Abhorrent

6) Will Smith – Just the two of us:

A diamond in the rough. A beacon of light at the end of an eerie tunnel of darkness. A beautiful examination of a father’s unconditional love for his son. This is rap; and this is utterly charming: "From the hospital that first night, took an hour just to get the car seat in right". First-class. It's funny, it's relevant, it's truthful and it's inoffensive.

But the song is not afraid to make important comments about child-discipline either: "I want to kiss you all the time, but I will test that butt if you step out of line". Controversial – you bet, but he’s got a point. Sometimes, perhaps, an old-fashioned approach to child-discipline can work.

I then listed to several other Will Smith songs, and can honestly say that I thoroughly enjoyed them.

I listened to ‘Freakin’ it’, and particularly enjoyed the line in which he targets other rappers: "do me a favour, right one verse without a curse". My thoughts precisely Will.

He has a warmth and a charm that makes rap accessible for the likes of me. I wish him every success, and have even decided to purchase an album of his – Willenium. If the content of the album is as good as the word play in its title, I’m in for a rare treat

 Will Smith with his son. I assume

So that’s it. I’ve tried to be fair. I’ve listened to the complaints. I’ve listened to the rap. And these are my conclusions. I would have said, before listening to Will Smith, that rap music belongs in the deepest caverns of Hell. However, Will Smith has taught me a valuable lesson. Music genres are broad. Yes, the majority of rap probably isn’t for me, but that doesn’t mean I hate all rap. After all, just because I adore Dire Straits doesn’t mean that I adore all rock. Because I most certainly don’t. Just read Metallica’s on-line guestbook. They didn’t know what had hit them!

Best

Malc

Lessons from Crawley...

You know me. The last thing I want to do is jump on this bandwagon that takes pleasure in stereotyping British teenagers. I’ve known many teenagers in my life (I used to be one for Christ sake so I knew a fair few then!), and the vast majority have been pleasant and humble, going about their daily business just like the rest of us. But unfortunately, there’s always one. Or in this case, two…

As most of you will know, I live in Horsmonden; a small village in South-West Kent where the signature dish is countryside served with a side of rich medieval history. I make no secret of my love for the place, and why should I? There is a sense of community here that is scarce in the majority of towns across the UK. People leave their doors unlocked. When it snows, snow is removed not simply from one’s driveway but from the pavement beyond it that is used by fellow-villagers. When a pensioner falls over on ice, they’re not filmed on a mobile phone; they’re helped to their feet and if necessary escorted to the nearest General Practitioner.

But this harmony has recently been pushed to its very limits by a pair of teenage hoodlums who call themselves ‘Ez’ and ‘Smeg’. I do not know if they are real names or chosen aliases. They ride around on very small bikes, often cycling directly across front gardens. Just yesterday, they thought nothing of cycling over an elderly woman’s prized-patch of fuscias. Fuscias are notoriously difficult to cultivate. And that’s without bicycle tyres screeching across them. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that BMX tyres are not an ideal part of horticultural processes. Then they stop, often at the War memorial (a place which is naturally of great significance to the village) and start rapping aggressively. I have nothing against the rappers, but stand by what I’ve always said about them; given their offensive and potentially dangerous tone, they ought to keep their rap music to themselves, and out of the often innocent or naive earshot of the general public.

- Various Rappers. Note the Parental Advisory label at the top. As if that's somehow a selling-ponit!

And that’s just the beginning. They litter flippantly. They stick chewing gum on commemorative benches willy-nilly. They spit in the direction of wild animals. They chase birds. They shout at cats. A neighbour told me he even saw Smeg at a supermarket in Pembury harassing a disabled trolley-collector who works there. Can they get any lower than that?

Yes they can. They recently drew what I will describe for reasons of decency as parts of the female anatomy on to a Mini Metro, whilst the 85-year-old owner, who has Parkinsons, sat helplessly inside after falling asleep upon his return from the local shop. And that, in my opinion, is as low as mankind can get. 6000 years of civilisation, and then that….

Working at the Police Museum I have of course not only become familiar with the methods and techniques of detectives but have also acquired some fairly high-profile acquaintances. I have therefore decided to take a short-break from work during a forthcoming school holiday. During that holiday I will, within the parameters of English and Kentish Law, monitor and report on the activities of Ez and Smeg over a continuous period of time. I shall then forward my findings to my acquaintances in order to find a lawful solution to this problem. Because, quite frankly, I want my village back. This is how it begins. Firstly, it’s a couple of trouble-makers, then it’s ten. Then twenty. Then a hundred. Then a thousand. And before you know it, you’re Crawley, and you’re overrun with yobs. As hard as it is to believe, Crawley was once as peaceful as Horsmonden. I’m learning lessons from Crawley…

Best

M

NB: Crawley is a nice town, but just happens to be the perfect example of a town overwhelmed by misbehaviour. I do not mean to cause any offence to a town with a genuinely rich history, which has been inhabited since the Stone Age, was a centre for ironworking in Roman times, and more importantly, has recently had a terrific FA cup run!

The poetry of my youth – Part 2:

I’ve managed to dig out some more poems from yesteryear. And it’s fascinating looking back. Francis Rossi OBE from the musical phenomenon that is Status Quo (often referred to as The Quo or simply, Quo) says in his fantastic book that listening back to the things he wrote in his youth is ‘like looking, for the first time, at the engine of a car you’ve driven for 50 years’. Well, as I’ve said many times before in different contexts, if it’s good enough for Francis Rossi OBE, it’s good enough for me

This I think was again the result of a skipped meal. It’s genuinely startling to look back and imagine what was going through my head at this point. It’s the closest thing to a ‘trip’ I’ve ever had. Never again. I’ve got toad in the hole in the oven as I type. I simply do not miss meals… I can’t emphasise that enough.  But then isn’t art a worthy cause for this kind of sacrifice? It’s a good question. This poem did, after all, help me to win South-West Kent New Poet of the Year in 1997. So to some extent, the proof is in the pudding in this case. Although obviously I didn’t eat any pudding either!

Time (By Malcolm Head)

Time….

Time is up. Time to leave…

Time at the bar please…

It’s time for you to move on, move out…

Time is ticking away; the time has come…

Time of death – 8:45

Tea-time? Or supper-time? Dinner-time will do!

What is the time?

Time you bought a watch!

Time to get up. Time for school…

Time for work, time and a half…

Is time running out?

Only time will tell…

TIME… TIME… TIME…

Incidentally, I originally wrote the third time in such large letters that there was no room for the ‘e’, so it actually read ‘Tim’. One of the other members of Poetic justice was called Tim so I’m not sure whether or not this was anything to do with him. My memory of this period is so hazy. I did consider contacting Tim but he’s in the army now, so I imagine he’s got enough on his plate as it is

Best

M

Types of Poetry - Part 1

You know me by now. I like my poetry to be accessible; that’s why the style and format is generally broad. I want it to be enjoyed by everyone. However, a few of my usual critics in the South-West Kent area (haven’t you got anything better to do Ian?) have recently suggested that this deliberate style of mine is in fact merely due to my apparently limited knowledge and understanding of poetry. Well now…

By all means, tell Malcolm Head that his poetry isn’t your cup of tea. By all means, tell Malcolm Head that his poetry sometimes drives a little too close to the hard shoulder of truth for your tastes. But please, for God sake, don’t tell him that his knowledge and understanding of poetry is limited. There’s only one thing I know more about than poetry, and that’s the History of Kent Police from it’s incarnation in 1857 to the current day and everything else in between (http://www.kent-police-museum.co.uk/core_pages/history.shtml)

Anyway, I thought I’d begin writing examples of different types of poetry. Not just to prove a point - frankly I don’t want to stoop to the level of these brainless doubters – but because it seems like a worthwhile exercise anyway.

I’ll run examples throughout various blogs, and will conduct the entire exercise in alphabetical order…

ACROSTIC:

The first letters of each line are aligned vertically to form a word…

Example…

Entertainer of the highest order

Dedicated to his work to the point of near-breakdown

Money is not the main motivation for him, it’s just a bonus

Obsessed with trying to bring joy into people’s lives

Never swears

Deal or no deal put him back on the map, although for my money he never left the map

Superb

ALPHABET:

Each line begins with the letters of the alphabet in order…

Example…

An elderly man shivered inexplicably as a raven flew by him

But he regained his composure to take a bite out of a Ginster’s steak slice, and it tasted odd

Could Mr Patel have forgotten to rotate his stock again?

Did this mean the slice was out of date?

Eventually he realised that the date was fine, so he carried on eating

Finishing the slice off with a small bottle of Yazoo

Good thing too, because his health was fragile enough without a dose of food poisoning

He walked home, stopping occasionally to look at traffic

It always amazed him to see how many people drove with improperly inflated tyres

Just imagine how many accidents must be caused by such basic incompetence

Ok… alphabet poems can run the full course of the alphabet but I think this is enough. More to follow soon.

M

Chivalry

Had a wonderful evening in Deal on Saturday, and what a terrific town it is. I used to consider Margate the finest Kent coastal town by some distance, but I have to say that Deal is now giving Margate the proverbial run for its money!

Anyway, today’s subject – chivalry. Is chivalry dead?

I can’t remember ever being on public transport and not giving up my seat for a lady. However, I have noticed on trains of late a worrying increase in men who refuse to offer their seat. And these same men I would imagine don’t hold doors open for ladies either.

I suppose this is a sign of the times. It’s just one element of the unstoppable march of modern society. Everything is changing. However, I am a strong believer in the idea that some things don’t have to change…

African-Americans used to be slaves and slaves they are no longer. Now they can do anything. They can run America, they can write books; they can even co-star in films with Tom Hanks. It goes without saying that that is a good thing. However, does that mean that all things should change? Of course it doesn’t

Not everything that happened in yesteryear was necessarily bad. Tuberculosis was bad. But community spirit was great. Suppression of women’s rights was unacceptable. But handwriting was infinitely more disciplined and attractive in exactly the same era. Not all change is for the better…

There are things nowadays, lest we forget, that we would all like to see the back of. Overbearing health and safety regulations, reality TV, knife-crime, the EU… we’re not so perfect ourselves. What we need to do is mix and match the best bits of now with the best bits of the past to get exactly the right balance. I’d like to see a man hold a door open for a woman, and then for both man and woman to walk into the same office they work at where they get paid the same money (depending on their respective skills and work ethics of course). Then we’re getting somewhere. Let’s not go backwards, please. Otherwise what are we left with? Tuberculosis and knife crime. Stalin and reality TV. Let’s mix and match. And let’s not dismiss everything that happened in the past as evil, because some of it was bloody wonderful. You only need to watch 5 minutes of Fawlty Towers to see that…

God Bless

M…