COLUMN: Mo Bamba

Welcome back to the semi-regular feature I like to call: Is The World Doomed Or Am I Just Becoming An Old Fuddy-Duddy?

I'm a fairly optimistic person who tries to see the good in everyone. And I like to think of myself as fairly progressive, able to roll with the changes and see new trends as exciting instead of threatening.

But as I ponder the state of the world tonight from my Armchair of Pointless Judgement, a couple things have me on high alert. There may be signs that the world is changing faster than I can keep up, and NOT in a good way.

Exhibit A: The rise and popularity of the song "Mo Bamba" by up-and-coming rapper Sheck Wes.

Are you familiar? If you don't know it, I bet your kids do. Your grandkids DEFINITELY do. Pity them.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those out-of-touch columnists who doesn't "get" rap music. I won't ever claim that today's kids don't understand what good music is (although I'd be lying if I said the thought's never crossed my mind.) But I moonlight on the weekends as a DJ, enjoying and playing those very songs at dangerous volumes to clubgoers half my age. There's a ton of great new music out there, and I encourage all of you to seek it out and stay hip (or possibly even hop.)

But "Mo Bamba" isn't your typical chart-topper. It's pure sonic anger. It's basically the sound of a fight waiting to happen. Most songs on the charts have tempos in the range of 90-130 beats per minute. "Mo Bamba" clocks in at a maddeningly slow 73 bpm. It's a funeral dirge of aggression that sounds like it was recorded in somebody's basement on a shoestring budget. Don't believe me? There's honestly a spot in the middle where the music accidentally cuts out and they just go "oops" and keep on recording.

I'd love to share the lyrics, but this is a family publication and I'd like to keep my job. I don't know if there's a single line in "Mo Bamba" clean enough to publish. Instead, I offer you this watered-down, family-friendly lyrical synopsis:

"Hello! I'm Sheck Wes. I take pride in befriending females of questionable virtue. Where is my associate with our illegal narcotics? I compare my success to that of a professional basketball player. Have you met my brother? He has a gun, and he will shoot you with it. The music just stopped. Oh heck, shoot, darn it all! It's back now. As stated before, I'm Sheck Wes and I'm quite wealthy. I am an exceptional drug dealer (despite still not knowing the location of my associate with our drugs.) I will copulate with your beloved and you shall be none the wiser. Did I mention that I am Sheck Wes?"

That's pretty much the whole song. And look, I get it. An essential facet of pop culture is making sure it occasionally scares your parents senseless. Elvis did it with his hips, the Beatles did it with their hair, Gene Simmons did it with his tongue. Marilyn Manson made an entire career out of terrifying suburban moms and dads. Rebellion is an essential part of youth. It's why God made The Ramones.

So if "Mo Bamba" became popular with a small segment of disaffected and rebellious youth, it'd make perfect sense. But with little club play and virtually no radio support, "Mo Bamba" sailed to #8 on the Billboard Top 40. That means a LOT of people are jamming out to this song, more than just your kids. And that's weird. Maybe guns and drugs and aggression are the new norm in our America?

This brings me to Exhibit B. Last Friday was a busy one in the office, so I decided to drive my lunch a couple blocks down to one of the few riverside parks not presently underwater. As I sat there decompressing, I spotted a guy walking his dog. I should be more like that guy, I thought to myself. Physically fit. Getting some exercise. Maybe I need a dog? And that was when the guy diverted and made a beeline for my car.

"Excuse me," he said, "Do you have a light? Oh wait, I found mine, sorry."

And my new friend used it to light up what I believe is defined as a fatty chronic blunt, then looked at me and cheerily said, "Fridays, am I right?" before engaging me in small talk about the weather and floods while Cheeching and Chonging it up with carefree abandon. I could have been a cop. I could have been an undercover DEA agent. I could have been a newspaper columnist in dire need of a topic. Didn't phase him one bit. I, on the other hand, beat feet outta there to avoid returning from lunch smelling like one of Willie Nelson's road crew. Drug laws have loosened, but they aren't THAT loose.

Maybe this is the new norm we're headed for. Who knows what we have to look forward to? Maybe it's a world of angry rap songs full of explicit swearing. But how angry can we be if we're spending our Fridays wandering around stoned in public? I'm not qualified to predict the future, but however it plays out, I'll do my best to sit in my Armchair of Pointless Judgement explicitly swearing -- that I'm neither fuddy nor duddy.