An open letter to Sole
Dear Sole,
I’m writing you this out of pure frustration and moderate contempt. I heard you were moving to my hometown, and I wanted to punch something in the face, you happened to be too far away at the time (jokes, I promise). Now, I know that you have made your name within the top indie white-dude-with-a-potbelly-and-a-MIA-hairline rappers, and I respect your hustle just like anyone who works hard, but let’s get one thing clear – if you were working so hard, wouldn’t your shit at least kind of rhyme? Isn’t that what hip hop was founded on? Sometimes, when I listen to your music, I feel like you opened up Merriam-Webster and randomly pointed at some words, threw them together with a bunch of other quasi- intelligent sounding words, and called it rap. How does this happen?
Back to the matter at hand, I do not want you to fuck up my city. One night on tour is totally perfect, please, enjoy the view by all means. I wish I could tell you how many pre-Kanye backpackers I’ve fought with about the value of anyone’s music vs. Anticon, and somehow… you had them all miffed! All of a sudden, I wasn’t a REAL hip hop fan because I like Jay-Z, and somehow, you were the second coming of Christ. It took years to recalibrate the atmosphere of my city, and finally people started realizing one thing – that mindstate is fucking wack. I finally got the boys in skinny jeans to dance with me to Nas! Furthermore, let me make this clear – I respect anyone who can evolve any sort of music, hip hop included… but it seems to me that your greatest achievement so far has been to piss off a bunch of young kids who need haircuts and bitch about commercial music.
So please, please… if you move here, don’t try to do shows every week or infiltrate our weeklies.. My heart can’t handle it. It’s not you (well, it kind of is), but more so the ignorance so many of your fans have towards any sort of music that doesn’t sound.. well.. like that.
Always,
Miss R.
PS – Remember these lyrics, Sole? Nice work, homie.
Oh, you don’t like sand? I heard it tastes like dirt.
I do dirt, my girlfriend used to be a rock.
hollar favorite word, and it woulda been stopped, if she could talk.
So I did, love-making planned inside a molehill.
