The light turned red as I stopped at the light. As I looked into the rearview mirror the music blazed through the streets. The bass thumped in spectacular fashion as adjustments to the fader and the tremble were set to create the perfect balance of sound that would make everyone turn to look. The lyrics were not audible, drowned out by a massive beat, something, no doubt from the new Kanye/Jay-Z or Drake cd that all the kids wanted to show off; there badge of honor that carried with itmore weight than the system he had in the back of his car. Noise pollution to some, but for a young kid that is the essence of being hard. The essence of being cool.
The light turned from red to green as I looked to the right at the young kid passing me by, lost within the body of the music, coolly zipping down the street; taking with him his own private sound as it fades away into the distance. The sound of the AM talk radio show I was listening to now returns to my ears. I turn up my radio a little, while I stare at myself in the rearview mirror reflecting a much older man. At 30, I now am getting the first signs of old age- Grey Hair. My, how the young have gotten so old. My days of one shade of hair and blasting rap music out of my Camry are now over. Replaced by older gentleman wax intellectual about the day in sports as I, reluctantly, begin the aging process.
I remember a time when I enjoyed those funky, eclectic beats, much like that kid in the car, which came from the likes of the Wu-Tang Clan, Snoop Dogg, and Tupac. I remember how much I loved to listen to rap music- taping songs off the radio, memorizing verses to impress your friends, finding underground rap bands that were not yet discovered. Baggy jeans, loose fitting clothes, jewelry- all part of the hip hop community that me and a million other suburban white kids tried to play a part of. Our generation even had the distinct honor of repping and fighting for the West Coast during the East Coast/West Coast Rap feud of the 90's. If you wanted to be thought of as hard and not some lame, white kid you had to know the music that was blazing across the Untied States like wildfire- Hip Hop.
Now, I don't find the same pleasure I did in the music that defined our generation in terms of clothing, behavior, attitude, and vernacular. I find myself listening more to classic rock and alternative bands. The allure of rap music, with its signature flare mixed with a cool and unmatched style, was what it was all about when I was growing up. It was not Polo shirts, dockers, and product in your hair. No, it was about flipping the bird to society like you just didn't care about anything. As kids, we wanted to go as far away from where society was directing us, more towards the level of pushing the envelope towards brash and boldness. That was rap music.
But then it all changed. I began to dress more conservatively, listened to new music of my parents’ generation and new alternative rock, and toned down the derivative bravado I saw from so many music videos. It all changed so suddenly and I began to ask myself what the hell happened. Then I looked in the rearview mirror one day to find a new person looking back at me. That is when I asked myself- is my changing hair color the reason for my new tastes? Yes, yes it is.
See, when you are young you want to fit in, you want to rebel, you want to be like your friends. You don't want to be the conformist, preppy kid with no edge to his style. Every generation of young people have that defining movement or trend that they back- 60's Woodstock, rock, Vietnam. The 70's had the punk counterculture. The 80's were represented by capitalistic greed and teenage angst that left a decade full of boring and conformist businessmen (Those are our Senator's folks- blame the 80's). Leaving the 90's to suburban white kids to find their place in rap music, where they listened to the lyrical tale that emblazons the image of the daily struggle of the inner city due to poverty, drugs, and the police; a struggle suburban white kids, for some reason, wanted not only to take part in, but imagined themselves to be part of. All of that hostility and anger set to larger than life beats, which eventually would lead to fast cars, money, and women. Drinking forties, smoking blunts, and spitting game to girls had such an unusual appeal- How could anyone not get behind that life?
As kids, we tried to live in that world. Living hard and fast like a beat. Every party we went to rap music blasted, while a crowd of kids would eventually begin to battle or flow with one another in a competition to see who lived more of the hip hop life. None of us were, but hi hop had such a heavy influence on us that we convinced ourselves of what we never were going to be. Fueled even more so with the arrival of Eminem, a clear declaration that white society can be every bit as hard and as urban as anyone in hip hop, the equivalent of Tiger Woods making it big in golf. However, years and years of trying to be part of that world finally gave way, much like the new color of my hair sprouting out of my scalp, to a new world order- Adulthood.
After a decade long love affair with rap music it just lost its luster. The creativeness and urban story no longer caught my attention, not because I didn't believe their accounts, but because rap music changed to a more breezy and showy formula. No longer did artists tap into the culture of the city and the problems that plagued urban dwellers, both socially and economically, rather the artists biggest concern was promoting the artist. Artists promoted a lifestyle of popping champagne, living in mansions, getting grills with diamonds, and rims. The music became a vehicle for the artist to promote themselves in an effort to achieve their goals of landing in Hollywood, getting endorsements, and everything else that music could put them. The music had lost its edge.
I started tuning out. And my hair continued to gray.
However, it wasn’t only the artists that changed, but I was slowly changing, too. Listening to classic rock, old jazz music, alternative rock was something I would never thought I would be listening to when I was 16 or 17. I thought rap music and my love for it had staying power. But nothing has that kind of staying power except for your family and your friends, and even those sometimes drift away. So it is inevitable that the music of our youth will change and evolve into something that we no longer care for because we are no longer the same person. I figured that living the lifestyle of rap music is a young person’s game. No more baggy clothes, indifferent attitude, or street mentality, rather I opted for a cleaner look of designer jeans, button up dress shirts, and nice shoes from Aldo’s. If my younger self saw my style now there is no doubt he would utter the Happy Gilmore line, “If I wore that I would kick my own ass.”
The grey hair is a sign, but in reality you have already started the process of self-identification a long time before that. It is when the things of your youth that mean the most to you- music, movies, style, and trends are replaced by a more sophisticated and less nearsighted view of the world. It is the natural progression from child, to teenager, to an adult; that simple, but arduous progression from an idea to the final result; where one single note (child) can turn into a pattern (teenager) that will eventually end up a finished and polished melody (adulthood).
Finding within ourselves our true harmonious nature means learning of our unique ability to become one from the village and dance to the beat of our own drum.
And if that ain’t cool, I don’t know what is. Even if you do have gray hair.
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