My Little Rap Fiend

Young Old is rapidly developing into a musical connoisseur. For the last week or so, every time he's getting his diaper changed by Poppa Old, the ancient boom box in his room has been quietly bumping some form of tunage. Easing him into the the world of ear candy slowly, we started off with some light-hearted jazz...Oscar Peterson Trio, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Scott Joplin, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, etc. He loves the stuff, listening calmly, his body still with such rapt attention that at first I thought he was having a seizure. However much he's diggin' this shit, though, I still don't think he's quite ready for Coltrane or Monk. It'll certainly be awhile before Sun Ra enters the rotation.

The other night we sat down to watch a movie for the first time since his birth. Perusing through our ever present stack of rented library films, I thought we'd pass on The Crazies and Aguirre, Wrath of God, instead opting for Amadeus, a wonderful loosely-based historical piece about Mozart and the rumored-hand that fellow composer Antonio Salieri had in his murder. Anyway, the entire film was scored with Wolfgang's breathtaking music, and for the entire duration, Young Old lay there, eyes open, a look of peaceful relaxation stealing over his features. Since we're raising Young Old pacifier-free, classical music shall be our method of choice for soothing the beast.

Last night, while Mama K was out of the house picking up some Chinese take-out, the Boy started to get fussy, which eventually led to a full-on exhibition of his screaming abilities (which are prodigious, to say the least). Our little Baron of the Breast was starving, and the Boob was unavailable. I tried everything to soothe him. I re-swaddled him. We rocked, we danced, we swung back and forth, we jiggled. I changed his diaper. I tried burping him, tickling him, singing to him, telling him a ridiculously outlandish tale. All to no avail. Finally, I went the hip hop route. For the last few days I had been having this serious internal debate over which rap record I'd use to introduce Young Old one of my musical passions. Would I go old school and play him some Grand Master Flash & The Furious Five? Indie-style with some Project Blowed? Bay Area with some Hieroglyphics? Gangsta with The Chronic? Angry militancy with Public Enemy? Drugged-out with Dre Dog? Happy-go-lucky with Pigeon John? Tie-in the love of jazz with Digable Planets? Metaphorically demented with Aesop Rock? The sheer greatness of the Wu-Tang Clan? As you can see, it was enough to make my head spin with the pressure, this heavy burden of a weighty choice that could set the path for my son's musical preferences for the rest of his life.

So in the end, I chose Nas. Specifically, N.Y. State Of Mind off of the classic hip hop album, Illmatic. A supremely wise choice, I soon found. All that crazy crying Young Old was dousing me with, all that frantic milk-starved hysteria? Gone in a flash the moment the track started up. Wide-eyed, he absorbed every word (thankfully he can't yet understand the fairly inappropriate lyrics), and I'm sure would have nodded his head to every beat if he had the muscle strength.

Not to brag, but my boy's got good taste:)


[Update: I've since played the Illmatic album in its entirety, and indeed, he loves every minute of it.]