When my sister and I were kids, we’d play this game.
Usually it’d happen spontaneously – when we had to convene with our parents in a place and situation (holidays, reunions, rides to church) we didn’t wanna be part of. And then, just – outta the blue – when the moment felt right, we’d break into a spoken-word, bookish college professor toned rendtition, paraphrased, improvisational back’n forth… of the popular rap songs of the time.
Wait… what?
Lemme ‘splain:
“Call me Big Daddy when you back that azz up…”
(“Refer to me as your large biological father when you reverse your posterior”.)
“Girl, you looks good, won’t you back that azz up.”
(“Young lady, I find you aesthetically appealing when your buttocks travel backward rapidly.”)
“Ho, who is you playin’ wit? BACK dat azz up”
(“Exactly who do you think you’re fooling, my prostitute friend?
Move your hindquarters, thusly!”)
By now this game might seem yawn-worthy because the internet’s done it. But it hadn’t then. Plus it was live and unrehearsed and (most importantly) got a few laughs from our arguing parents. The kind they didn’t wanna give up. Which are the best. And keeping with the themes of backing up asses (a broad connection to try and make if we’re talking about the content of commercial rap), that’s exactly what I thought of when the below dramatic reading of Nicki Minaj’s “Anaconda” song made its way to me today.
And although a humor-infused delivery of her ditty is the only way I’d have heard her song (pretty sure today was my first time voluntarily hearing even a satire-cover of it, I think), it sounded awfully familiar. That’s because it’s a just-the-tip rip-off of Sir Mix’s O.G. version. I say “just the tip” ‘cause although she only steals enough to be recognizable while all the remaining lyrics are so confusion-inducingly awful, it still fccks the original enough to make for murder purity in my mind. I’m sure she’s lovely as a human person under the brand. But I still have to be a brand-hater. ‘cause everytime I hear the first-version, there’ll now be a little dead part of me involuntarily reserved for Miss Minaj.
Which is both sad and a feeling I wasn’t expecting to also feel as I mined Google to hunt down “Back Dat Azz Up”. Because that song – one among many my sister and I used for entertainment fodder in our formative years – was also hard to find. Why was Drake showing up in the search bar? He wasn’t even relevant then, was he? Where was Juvenile of my junior high era?
Wait, when did Juvenile become “classic listening”?
You understand my predicament. This is all too confusing for me and making me nostalgic for an era of tunes I only ever enjoyed the way American Idol auditions love a good loser who fails so hard they’re a T.V. win. I’d have never defended them as good music then, so why am I upset even-worse non-artists are nicking them now? Is it because the reboots are too stupid to even make fun of like my sister and I used to? It’s too much. I can’t process it. My brain hurts. All I know is I’m not going to make the mistake of actually listening to the Drake version of my teen-years song, like I did with Nicki’s.
Because all of these modern covers put “my ass to sleep like Nyquil”.
Or: “Are as soporific to my anal cavity as consuming over the counter sleep aids.”
(See? Doesn’t work when someone’s too much a parody of themselves to make fun of.)
Maybe that’s the point?
Heh. Joke’s on me. (and several hundred knocked up ten-year-old fans).
Will just hafta settle for retro-rap and dramatic readings from here on out.