Muthaeffing Bootylicious Blah Goes Blat

Rap music sales are in the toilet – the very place where the often violent and misogynistic practitioners of this musical genre happily excrete their pearls of wisdom – and all I can say is that it’s about muthaeffing time.

The Telegraph of London reports that rap music sales have dropped more than twice as fast as overall sales in a profit-hungry industry that is pretty much on its knees – and deservedly so – because it has clung to the good old days when CDs ruled and refused to acknowledge that the future is here.

I am a music lover’s music lover and there isn’t a genre that I don’t enjoy listening to. Except rap. (Okay, a half hour or so of polkas a year is enough and I never got behind disco.) But I can listen to soul, bluegrass, rock, hip-hop, folk, R&B, reggae, classical and jazz of all kinds forever.

Rap has been a conspicuous exception. Even understanding its anger-driven ghetto roots, it seemed hopelessly and boringly one dimensional to me from the first time I heard it and nothing over the last decade or so has changed my mind.

For the life of me I can’t understand why it has been so wildly popular among whites and middle-class blacks. But then I didn’t think that the sport utility vehicle boom would last so long, so what do I know?

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