Ever notice that as far as popular songwriters are concerned, if something didn't or doesn't happen at night, it may as well never have happened at all? There's no urgency on anybody's part to imbue sunrise or late morning or mid-afternoon with any degree of significance as a backdrop for a comeuppance or a party or an as-yet-defined, life-changing event of some sort. Anyway, in case you hadn't had enough of zeitgeist-stroking singles beloved of this notion, here's another one, guaranteed to be insufferable by, oh, Valentine's Day.
In case you weren't aware, it's kinda official: No matter how subversive or well-intentioned, "conscious shit" can't step to "ignorant shit" on any level, and yesterday's conscious heads will inevitably become tomorrow's thug-life/ghetto-fab douchebags. The take-away: Done right, douchebaggery can be awesome.
Nothing says "peace on Earth and good will toward men" quite like disembodied, narcoleptic taunt rap so ineffective that it could only surface on a free holiday mixtape promoting a clothing line.
What everyone who samples, imitates, idolizes, or raps admiringly about Flair neglects to point out: He's old, he's insane, and he didn't have the common sense to get out of the game while the getting was good. Could be a lesson there.
A change in air pressure. The sense that an intangible, undefined something has shifted. A chill. Are you feeling that? It's a backlash, and it won't be knocking twice.
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