I always tend to rather dislike questions about music. Maybe it's the inner concern,there's not really for me something like bad music. Music, apart from it's kind, always seemed to me to have a power, not only to create some certain types of emotions but sometimes to literally make things happen. I know that it all sounds like a bunch of cliches as far, but don't worry, this is not what I'm going to write about. Let me explain.
This question came into my mind all of a sudden at a party while I was dancing with A Great Guy. The club had a southamerican flavour and so did A Great Guy's origin. Suddenly, in the middle of a party this delightful balance got interrupted by a bizarre rhythm, blowing up the floor. I saw a consternation on A Great Guy's face (and when I say 'A Great Guy' I mean it!). It was then when this question came up. And yes, speaking regarding to the just-heard rhythm we both said we didn't like rap. But later on, I thought it was clearly too much to say, even though I never really was a fan of rap. But also it's not necessarily true I don't like it. And I thought about The Guy I Was (Not That Recently Anymore) Dating. He did like rap.
My love affair with rap music was short and had pretty much a lot out of a one night stand. It started when I was still very young and fed up with christian-associated rock music, mostly because rap music in it's definition was always, if I can say it, rebelious. But the only CD which stayed with me for long was the one of a young, charismatic poet, not very popular in a 'rap' world and gathering rather a small, but faithful group of fans. He recited his own poetry with his calm, low voice with a slow and melancholic music in a background. I lived in a small eastern european city where the devil seemed to have said goodnight long time before, on a fifth floor of a hundred-years-old apartment. There was no elevator and wooden stairs were squeaking with my every single step, leading me to a dark courtyard to later enter a busy street in a centre. This CD was my only company in this walk through the forgotten world I didn't know yet I was supposed to leave one day, filled with crowded trams and sad, post-soviet architecture. I forgot about these moments afterwards, the moments with a rhythm. Only to remind it years later, at the party in London.
