Saturday, August 21, 2010

Cracka Rappa Lack-a?

Cracka Rappa Jesus“Do these pants make my boner look fat?”

Hey folks! Exciting news! Recent events in my life have inspired me to undertake a fresh and super-interesting life direction. What kind of recent events in a person’s life could cause such a potentially ill conceived great decision? Why nothing less than the White Person Triumvirate of Life Experience Awesomeness: Unaccomplished Life Goals, Divorce, and Self-Pitying Depression! Awesome really doesn’t do it justice, people. We might even be talking super awesome here. So anyhow, the other day I was sitting around my swinging bachelor pad on my shitty futon in my underwear, feeling my ass fall asleep and munching on a Pizza Pop when it occurred to me. What the world needs now is a fresh new take on music! Sure we’ve got Lady Gaga, a true inspiration to drag queens and bulimic pre-pubescent girls everywhere, and bands like Paramore keeping the Twi-Hards busy cutting themselves waiting for JacobWard to show up and sweep them off to the Netherworld, but who’s doing something for those of us that are rapidly approaching *ahem* middle age and yet still yearn for some measure of relevance? Well, how about me? I have always secretly yearned to live the life of the Suburban Cracka Rappa, and what better time than now to follow my dream? Christ knows I’ve got nothing better to do, and I’m getting a little tired of the nipple burns from the hot pizza sauce squirting out of the Pizza Pops. I know what you are thinking. There may be a few minor hurdles to overcome to reach my goals, and I agree. The biggest one obviously is the selection of my new Cracka Rappa name. I’ve decided that my musical approach will be to combine fresh new world music sounds with traditional hip-hop bitch-and-bling lyrics. Can you say numero uno with a bullet, people? I’ve rendered my choices down to three potential candidates and hopefully my three readers will be kind enough to weigh in and help me choose the winner:

Tae-Kwon Joe

This one is a no brainer really. Rappers love barbecue, and Suburban Cracka Rappas love Korean Barbecue (mall restaurant style, not the real thing). I had considered Kim-Jong Illin’ but decided against it due to the possibility of offending my shitty-music-hungry massive new media purchasing neighbours to the south. Shout out! Love ya ‘mericans! The possibility of Dear Leader issuing a copyright infringement assassination order did cross my mind too. The mashup of traditional North Korean Demigod worshipping dirges and ripped off David Guetta riffs combined with videos full of miniskirted Korean girls washing my Prius with their soapy body parts should be a sure fire recipe for success. Speaking of recipes, intercutting images of slow roasting succulent Korean barbecue in between the tits, ass, and mayonnaise product placements should be a hit with my target audience too. First single idea? How about a Korean/Cracka fusion of a Pat Benatar classic: Rove is a Batterfield?


There may be few risks associated with attempting to meld traditional Middle Eastern rhythms with shallow, materialistic, and godless western jams. Chief among them are the possibility of inciting a Fatwa and/or intense scrutiny from Homeland Security types. Truth is, that should be good for a few downloads anyway. Let’s face it, these people aren’t doing a great job of getting along, so maybe it’s time for a true leader to emerge and take the bullshit by the horns, so to speak. For obvious reasons that leader should be a Suburban Cracka Rappa. What are my qualifications for uniting these worlds with my musical culture fornication? Seriously? I negotiated the return of a broken Ab Roller once with a counting-the-minutes-until-suicide WalMart customer service rep without a receipt. Case closed, people. First single idea? How about a Bedouin/Cracka mashup of the Frank Sinatra classic All of Me called Allah Me? Just a sec, I’ll be right back there’s a guy knocking at my door with a cell phone in his hand and a strangely thick waistline for such a skinny fella.


I chose this name based on my interest in merging the musical styles of Post-Soviet Russia with big-chain and sideways Zoo York hat white rap. Mostly I was inspired by the rich variety of post-communist Russian music video fodder. If you had to make a checklist of stuff you need for a rap video, Russia can hook you up, be-i-ee-i-yotch! Slutty scantily clad new-money big haired tramps? Check. Tanks, fighter planes, and Nukes? Check. Scary sunglass-at-night wearing motherfuckers with freaky tats and guns? Check. More potato vodka than you could use in a lifetime of Cracka Rappa videos (a lifetime of Cracka Rappa videos=three)? Checkaroo. Getting a Russian manager would be a great idea too. It should only take about eight or ten A&R guys to show up in the trunks of abandoned stolen cars until a bidding war breaks out for a big music label to have me on their roster and promote the shit out of me. First single idea? Putin’ on the Ritz. I am sure the dude from Taco could use a royalty cheque. Super badly.