A Mouthful of Oatmeal

I'm waiting for the light to turn green.
My windows are up. It's in the 70's but my windows are always up.
But in the car next to me the windows are down and I can hear the other guy's music.
Kind of a cool mid-tempo groove with the drummer popping out some nice snare patterns on the turnarounds.
No, it's not something old; anything old that is so obscure that I wouldn't recognize it won't find it's way to the radio. Or anyone's CD collection for that matter.
At this point you may be thinking, "Oh, are you some kind of expert on music, Mister Song Encyclopedia?"
Actually, yes. More on that in another post.
But my windows are up.
All that is coming through is the drum track and a little bass.
After appreciating that much for another 30 seconds or so, I roll down my window to hear what's on top. The vocals, guitars, background singers or horns, whatever.
And I hear what I should have suspected all along.
Above the cool groove is one single element; what sounds like the schoolyard bully with his mouth packed full of this morning's oatmeal, yammering about something unintelligible, more than likely a topic that would appeal mostly to someone like a schoolyard bully.
It's a Professional Rap Artist.
There, I've done it. I've branded myself as someone who hasn't kept up with the current trends in music. Someone who has been left behind in the cultural scheme of things. Someone who is to be laughed at from behind the hands of any 16-year-old musicologist that can name every musician in every band that appears in this week's top twenty countdown. (Do they still have those?)
Do I feel like my parents? Those poor musically-inept souls who would have rather heard Frank Sinatra than Frank Zappa?
Sorry. No.
I remember thinking when I was a teenager that I would NEVER become like my parents and refuse to understand or accept the music of the next generation. I remember hearing other kids say that. Many of us vowed that whatever twists and turns music might follow in the future, we would keep up and stay on the cutting edge.
But they played us a dirty trick.
It's as if they said, "Oh, so our parents think they can be open-minded enough to accept our music, do they?" and proceeded to search for ways to design music that would sabotage our efforts.
It's as if they asked, "How far do we have to diverge from anything that sounds like music before our parents are hopelessly discouraged in their quest for open-mindedness?"
Any suggestions?
You, in the second row, holding up your pants.
"Well, we could remove any and all Melody. Our parents seem to like humming or whistling melodies."
Applause and whistles.
You, with the pierced eyeball.
"How about putting all Harmony so far in the background as to make it all but meaningless?"
More applause and whistles.
You, the chick with the sexy two inches of belly hanging out.
"Could we, like, put some, like, oatmeal or something in the singer's mouth?"
Applause, whistles and some woo-hoos.
And we have Rap.
I suppose that the guy who suggested taking out the Beat was beaten and the girl who suggested using all nonsense syllables in the Lyrics was compromised with.
They stopped two steps short of taking out ALL the musical elements and leaving us with dead air between commercials.
"But the problem is that you just don't understand Rap music!"
No, the problem is that I do. I understand why you like it and it has nothing to do with Music.
Is there a place for Rap music?
Yes. Music with nothing but a beat and spoken words has been with us for decades. We used to call them "Novelty Songs" and some were great hits. (Ever hear "They're Coming To Take Me Away"?)
We just never felt like making a steady musical diet of them.
That would be like eating nothing but Doritos or Hot Cheetohs for every meal.
Come to think of it...
I'll just be rolling my window back up now.