Debate has raged on rap artists using naughty words to describe women ever since talk show host Don Imus got fired for doing just that. The situation reminds me of the 1980s when comedians, such as Eddie Murphy, strung together bunches of naughty words. Many Americans, tired of such language, welcomed the cleaner jokes of Bill Cosby. His popularity surged during that decade. He starred in his own hit TV show.
I predict the rap artist known as Common will become a Cosby-like figure for the rap industry. Common recently appeared on “Oprah.” Born Lonnie Rashied Lynn and once known as Common Sense, he recorded rap songs back in the 1990s, but none of them were of the more popular “gangsta” rap style, according to several music web sites..
I had never heard of Common until he appeared on “Oprah.” Then this morning I heard him sing on VH-1 with Joss Stone in her song “Tell Me What We’re Gonna Do Now.”
Here are some of Common’s rap lyrics in that song:
“You wearing the gown.
I’m wearing the crown.
Pound for pound,
We the freshest couple in town.”
Common is scheduled to release a CD called “Finding Forever” this summer.
I met legendary blues guitarist Buddy Guy one night at his restaurant in Chicago, but, dang-it, I forgot to ask him. I want Buddy and Eric Clapton to play Stevie Ray Vaughan’s “Life Without You” at my funeral — not that I’m dying anytime soon or anything.
Stevie Ray already has taken a heaven-bound flight, but I figure his ghost could appear and start playing the guitar solo at my funeral. He could be like that one saxophone player in that one Sting video. When Stevie Ray’s ghost is playing, he could be whole. When the ghost isn’t playing, he could be transparent.
Until then, does anybody know Sade personally? My next birthday is Oct. 21. I want to rent out Jardine’s near the Plaza in Kansas City for a private party. I figure Sade could sing.
Bo Diddley is a music industry pioneer and a member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. They named the Bo Diddley beat after — that’s right — Bo Diddley.
Mr. Diddley suffered a stroke about a week ago after giving a concert in Iowa. Last I heard he was doing better but still in a hospital in Omaha, Neb.
I had the honor of seeing Mr. Diddley at a blues and jazz festival last summer in Kansas City, Kan. Since a lot of Mr. Diddley’s hit songs are from the 1950s and 1960s, a lot of the concert fans were older. Maybe they were teen-agers in the 1950s and 1960s. One guy at the concert was asleep in his seat, his container of oxygen at his side.
Mr. Diddley was scheduled to come on stage at 9:30 p.m. on Saturday, but the festival was behind schedule. A fusion jazz band called Proto-Kaw was on stage instead at 9:30. The older people were angry, impatient, and they let Proto-Kaw know about their displeasure.
“Bo Diddley!” they shouted during and after every Proto-Kaw song.
One lady kept hollering, “You ain’t playing no blues and jazz!”
Somehow, Proto-Kaw had enough patience and musical ability to finish the set. Mr. Diddley came on stage about 11 p.m. The crowd roared to the Bo Diddley beat. After Mr. Diddley finished his first song, I hollered out, “Proto-Kaw!”
He played until past midnight. Get well, Bo Diddley. I want to see you in concert again.
We called it “Cartoon Day” in our neighborhood. Long ago, long before the creation of the Cartoon Network, kids only got to watch cartoons on Saturday morning. We would wake before 7 a.m. We would spend the next five hours watching such shows as “Johny Quest,” “Scooby-Doo,” and “Hong Kong Phoey (No. 1 Super Cop).”
I got to return to “Cartoon Day” this morning while watching my 4-year-old nephew. Some of the new cartoons are pretty good. “Veggie Tales” has morales at the end of each story. “Jane and the Dragon” is drawn well, especially the hair movement. Spending the morning wrapped up in animation, I could feel the stress leaving my central nervous system. I could feel my blood pressure dropping like degrees in a thermometer that had been placed in an ice bucket.
So that’s my stress-buster tip for the day. Every Saturday morning round up a small relative, maybe even a couple or three. Forget about the price of gas, project deadlines and heating bills. Return to “Cartoon Day.”
I used to think people who spent all their time doing yardwork out in the suburbs were so lame. Get a life, people. Go see some live music or something.
Then I bought a house. It’s in the suburbs. I spend time in the yard. To my amazement, I found I enjoy growing grass (no, not that kind). It’s spiritual. It’s providing the necessity of water and nutrients to help the little baby grass sustain life and then grow. I look forward to the planting season each spring. Doing yardwork in March is like preparing the fields for planting.
My grandparents and my other ancestors were farmers. They worked in rich soil not far from the Missouri River. When I’m out working in the yard, I can feel their presence, and also a connection to them. I imagine my ancestors like they are in an old black-and-white film, walking around inspecting the yard. Everything about them — the trees, the grass, the red wheelbarrow — is in full color.
Jethro would have wanted to be a rapper. The gold chains, the Hummers and the women would have appealed to his playboy aspirations. If “The Beverly Hillbillies” were on TV today, Jethro would have joined the rap industry.
Jethro: “Miss Jane, you want to be in my posse?”
Jethro: “No, Elle, you can’t be in my video.”
Uncle Jed: “Ah, boy, you think maybe you ought to pull up your pants. I can find you a new rope.”
