I think I like A$AP Rocky. This is a problem.
An… effin problem, if you will. [#pun]
Ok, that’s not entirely true. As a few of my friends can attest to, I don’t really like him at all. For the most part, I consider his lyrics rudimentary, elementary, and fundamentally repulsive. Still, I’ve been bumping “Wild for the Night” in my car all day. Sometimes, Mondays suck.
Maybe I don’t even like A$AP. To be honest, I just really like that wildly [#pun] catchy synth beat, which is probably more of a byproduct of Skrillex’s involvement on the track.
[If you haven’t heard the song, it sounds like this:
wurrrt-wuh-wuh–wert–wert-wurrr, wurt-wuh-wurr-wuh-wup-wurr-werrr-werrrrup ]
Another confession:
I like a Pitbull song. This is really problematic because I HATE Pitbull. Is the guy talking to me? Is he rapping? Is he trying to sell me Bud Light? I HAVE NO IDEA.
The one I like is that one with Havanna Brown “We Run the Night”. It’s also got a super catchy synth beat.
[If you haven’t heard the song, it sounds like this:
dyow–dow-d-d-dow-dow-dow—d-d-dow-dow-d-d-ddyow-dow-dyowww—dyowwwww—-dyow-d-dow–dyow-dow-dyowwrrrrrunemlikerunrunemWOOP!]
[I know what you’re thinking: yes, I am the greatest beat boxer alive.]
[I know what you’re really thinking: Yes, it was worth 47 minutes of my time to phonetically articulate the beats of these songs.]
For the most part, I consider myself a somewhat classy guy. I like to listen to big band swing with the “Talk Radio” setting on my stereo so it sounds old and scratchy. My dream is to play stand up bass or sing in a jazz/swing band. Suit and tie, hair slicked back, shined shoes, and a square microphone so you know it’s legit. Like from the 40s swing clubs. Or.. uh… weddings. Either one. Unfortunately, I don’t play standup bass, or sing like Sinatra or Buble. But a boy can dream.
Still, there are just some days when you wanna get down. And when I say down, I mean like, head banging, gang signing, kill-shotting, sunglasses indooring, bottle popping, stacks on stacks stacking—down.
Is this an aberration of my clearly classy, reserved personality? Like a glitch in the Matrix? Is it a result of clever marketers and advertisers? Who knows. Maybe it’s fine to embrace your inner gangster every once in a while, but at the end of the day, you’d better know who you are.
You stay cla$$y, San Diego.
image by popcrush
