Paragraphs of Love, by Ghostface Killah
We got enough food for the week and Uncle Thomas filled the table the first three days with more food than we could eat, but the three of us sat around the table for hours sharing stories and laughing. We hardly left the house and my uncle filled it with Coltrane’s Side Steps.
“You like my music, Valeria?” My uncle asked as we stayed up later and drank more than Valeria would normally on a weeknight.
“It creates a nice atmosphere,” she said, “honestly, I don’t mind it but how do you tell one horn from next?”
“She’s a rap fan uncle, she likes dope slinging, womanizing, gangsta rap,” I said jokingly. I don’t really think its ironic for a woman to enjoy the hyper masculinity of rap music.
“Rap music? A scientist like yourself?” My uncle said legitimately surprised.
“Why can’t a scientist enjoy the poetry of hip hop? When I’m crunching numbers at work and making models of things billions of miles away, I like to have music in my ears that keeps me grounded.”
“What about the misogyny and the violence?” My uncle asked.
“I’m a big girl, I can listen and determine the negative example when I hear it. But its strange that you’d assume that all hip hop is full of negativity, isn’t that in the eye of the beholder really?”
My uncle looked perplexed, “What do you mean? If a man is rapping about bitches and hos and pouring champagne on women, or gay bashing, I think its safe to call it negative.”
“But that’s the language of the artists that create the music. They’re a product of their environment that taught them to value certain things. You can argue that they perpetuate bad things, but I think even the perpetuation is impossible given the outcry against it.”
“So kids listen and take the criticism into account while they enjoy music that tells them to value money and material things above all else? Cause to me it just seems like all they hear is the bad example.”
“We can agree to disagree on that, but I’ve been a Wu-Tang Clan fan since before I came to the states and I don’t think it hurt me all that much.”
“You had good role models…” My uncle started before Valeria interjected,
“And that’s what you should be upset about, that young kids are so devoid of role models that they would want to become the negativity in the music. You won’t get anywhere bashing the music because hip hop has proven itself a worthwhile art form, but you should get yourself out there and be someone that little boys and girls can look up to.”
I had no idea that she was so passionate about rap music and it seemed that she had this argument before. I chuckled and said to my uncle, “I think she’s saying its your fault for not being as popular as your average rapper.”
“I know what she’s saying,” my uncle wasn’t upset but he was obviously thinking about it. “But answer me this, Valeria, sexually explicit lyrics and the denigration of women doesn’t turn you off at all?”
“Absolutely, but you’re missing the point Uncle Thomas. All rap music isn’t like that. And I honestly don’t mind it because at least they’re being honest about their world view and not being hypocrites, pretending to be romantic and gentlemanly in public and a bad man behind closed doors. What about jazz and drugs? What do you think Coltrane’s lyrics would be about of he had them for some of his songs?”
“But he doesn’t, and it’s completely possible to separate the man from the art…”
“Until you get curious where all the magic came from,” I said. “If you really look at it uncle, jazz music is like an advertisement for drugs and a crappy existence. It plays into that idea that you have to have an extremely difficult life to be a highly regarded artist.”
“Alright, now you’re just ganging up on me. We’ll continue this another time.” Uncle Thomas started to clear the dinner table and Valeria and I helped. As we cleaned, Valeria changed the music, to her favorite of course.
“Rappers know about love, Ghostface anyway, and sometimes his songs are like reading the best romance novel or watching the best romantic comedy, but its not lame and predictable, its real and you get to hear a real, strong man be vulnerable in ways that you wouldn’t expect.” She sighed at the music and then she looked at me with love in her eyes. We rushed through the clean up and said a quick goodnight to my uncle, then we were in her room enjoying one another’s company.
I started to worry that Valeria was using me as a Ghostface fill in, that she was making love to my body but imagining that I was the rapper, because it seemed that she always got worked up just listening to him and then I would get lucky shortly thereafter. I didn’t want to complain, though, she’s a stunning woman, but I had to know; was she really falling for me or using me like a Ghostface sex doll?
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