Saturday, 9 March 2019

Rappin' - Know What I Mean, Bruv?


In preparation for an up-coming trip to New Orleans (or Nola, as American friends call it) I have been listening to some of the musical genres spawned by the city – such as jazz, zydeco, cajun and bounce. Bounce? I took a look on YouTube to find out more and, to be honest, got a bit of a fright. Video evidence emerges of scary-looking, black gangster-styled young men rapping unintelligible lyrics to monotonous tunes and repetitive rhythms, while enthusiastic female followers shake booty with immodest and joyful abandon. Perhaps too many armchair sessions at the Heatons Jazz Appreciation Society have lulled me into equating black Nola music with Louis Armstrong. Things have moved on, obviously.
Of course, I know that ‘alien’ musical cultures such as bounce exist, but I don’t come into contact with them – through both circumstance and choice (which, on reflection, may boil down to the same thing). Inevitably, my cultural activities have become focussed and defined by the circumstances of my birth and upbringing, and much of my social time is spent in the company of people from my own ‘tribe’. I ponder this ruefully sometimes, as when I find myself out with a pal, trying not to be ‘those old blokes in the corner of the pub’. Casual observers are not to know that our reminiscences are balanced by talk of future plans – and I don’t mean healthcare and retirement homes. Our ambitions persist, however oblivious to the fact the online social media algorithms trained on us are – as evidenced by the advertising targeted at me. The slippers that have, for some time now, been deemed appropriate to my profile have been joined recently by comfortable but unstylish shoes. The algorithm has concluded, apparently, that I am in the ‘about to give up category’. Statistically, it may have a point, but it does not take into account the fact that some of us are not yet done with rock ’n’ roll.
I do make some effort to diversify my social acquaintances (despite Twitter, Instagram and Facebook all insisting that I should link up with more of the same sorts of people I already know) but it’s neither easy nor necessary to admire or embrace someone else’s ways just because they are different.  After years of trial and error, one does end up with preferences – jazz rather than blues, real food rather than junk, Nordic-style democracy rather than neo-liberal capitalism, rational argument rather than uninformed ranting. Time is precious and the pursuit of diversity is an endless task. In the search to find better ways to think and act, it is necessary to avoid dead-ends – such as bounce music. Further, being childless, I am at a disadvantage when it comes to exposure to diversity: being one step removed from youthful activities means that I have to make more effort to bridge generational gaps in behaviours, attitudes and acquaintances. For example, I have no personal contact with anyone who is in their thirties, of mixed-race, wears a beanie on top of their dreadlocks and whose profession is “rapper”. I was, however, introduced to such a person recently – albeit remotely – via a news broadcast.
He is called Akala and his contribution was to a debate on what is to be done about juvenile knife-crime. He may belong to a different tribe but that is, partly, his strength: he has the advantage of being closer to the problem. His other strengths are considerable, however. He delivers a rational and evidence-based argument with calm, steadfast composure. If there are people like him in his tribe, then I believe we should make an alliance with them. I have begun to follow him on Twitter – even though I expect now to be cajoled into following lots of rappers I don’t have time for.

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