I went to a party with some friends in 1992. My late friend Hank Ballenger was sitting out on the porch with a (perpetual) Shiner, shaking his head woefully. Hank, a legally blind doctoral student in English, was an accomplished blue guitarist, leaning especially toward Eric Clapton. I asked what was wrong. He pointed inside, where I could hear rap music playing. "I could hang with their crap, until they started playing 'Whatchoo Whatchoo Whatchoo Want'," he said, complete with throw-down gestures and high-pitched Brooklyn accent (Impressive, for a guy born and reared in Mineral Wells, by-gawd, Texas, named for Hank Williams). I thought that it was amusing, as did my date (now my bride). We laughed about it later, but damned if it didn't stick in your head. "Intergalactic" and "Sabotage" kinda have that way about them, too. How did I get to be so old, that rap music artists from my youth are dying of natural causes?
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