Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Hip Hop Holy Land

I turned my eyes to the east and saw drumming lights going away from the night. I leaned closer to try and feel a breeze from the fleeting candles of my comfort: because if they weren't shining, I at least wanted to feel the wind that blew them out.

and the breeze felt nice.

i can remember how nervous i was in 4th grade when i sat behind my dad's 1965 Ludwig Super Classic. i saw him play them every sunday morning in the church orchestra, and occasionally on weeknights he would come home from work and play along with his Chicago tapes. All of it seemed so cool to me.

Until i was sitting behind the kit that sunday afternoon.

That day it felt like shaking and sweating and i thought i was going to either puke or poop or both.

It wasn't until 9 years later that the bugs of public performance starting to turn from death-ridden fear roaches to excited fluttering butterflies.

Now i'm a junkie looking for his next fix.

Using every limb and moving my being to the beat it makes is one of the best hits i've ever had.

There is rhythm in all things.

In the way a tree's branches break to all the crickets crying when the silence is too much to bear: its all got rhythm.

i make my own rhythm. And in doing so (and now to my point) have found a deep love for Hip Hop. From the original oralizing of The Sugarhill Gang to the present poundings of Aesop Rock, there's something inside of me that can't deny the calling of my soul to move to their beats. i won't troll on about how the greater part of the hip hop community has darker skin than mine, but i will stay there long enough to say: I'm very white. But it doesn't matter. Willie Nelson wouldn't deny there's rhythm in everything, nor would he deny the pure skill it takes to sculpt words in with beats in ways to move peoples souls and bodies. So i don't feel ashamed to confess to all of you that:


And I will until the day I die and go up to Glory where there will no doubt be a DJ spinning and angels dancing.

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