[googled “commercial hip hop” and the image above popped up]

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Back on my interwebbbzzz grizzly, thought I’d lay out some disclaimers for some future posts.

Disclaimer #1: How I opened my mind to “commercial hip hop” music…

Many DJs pride themselves on having impeccable music taste and playing tracks that nobody else does. Not playing the played-out commercial music that anyone can and everyone does play. Music that’s dumbed down to the lowest common denominator. Music that’s corny. Cheesy. Played at the meat market clubs where people (gasp!) don’t even go for the music. 

No, no f*ck that. It’s all about the music. The music! The art. The craft. Not playing that corny, obvious shit.  

Don’t even come at me with that cheesy commercial hip hop bullsh!t. 

And THAT…that is definitely how I used to feel.  

Now, however, I guess you could say I’m a bit more agnostic. I’m no longer so fervently anti-commercial. Meaning I’ll give a commercial hip hop song a chance. And I’ll even play it. That’s right. I’ll play that sh!t. 

For me, there was an inflection point. A revelatory moment, if you will.

I remember it came on this random night in NYC a few years back. Went to this club, which had this weekly Tuesday party that was apparently thrown by one of the N’Sync guys. Not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Anyway, so that night, some friends and I mosey on over to this club. Step inside and the DJ is playing…commercial hip hop music. Ugghhh. 

But the club is banging. Energy through the roof. The dancefloor area is packed and, more importantly, there are lots of ladies. Like lots. And what appear to be model-looking types. No sausage-fest here. (Typically NYC during the week only has a handful of clubs where people are going out with reckless abandon…let alone with lots of girls.)

Now usually I don’t go to these type of clubs, because, well, I am not some corny cheeseball who just goes to randomly hook up with brainless girls. Plus I am kind of shy and self-conscious (a.k.a. I ain’t got no game). I feel like I don’t belong out in that type of scene.  

But on this particular night, I was with my friend and a couple of lady friends, and they wanted to go. My friend had been hanging out a lot with this girl, A, and so I was kind of paired by default with A’s friend, B. 

I had always found B pretty, but of course I was always too (see above).

Enter alcohol and…

Next thing I know I find myself on the dancefloor with B. And she is getting down. I am getting down. We—me and her!—are both getting down on the dancefloor. Together. The crowd is going bonkers. All the girls are chanting the choruses. I don’t even know what songs these are, but I can’t be completely mad with all these ladies mouthing the words. 

What is this thing we are doing? Like moving our bodies in a somewhat rhythmic fashion—and even synchronized. Wow, I am basically dry-humping B on the dancefloor! 

Now I’m like, I think it moved. Yup it definitely moved. I can’t help it. B is mad cute yo. It’s supposed to, right? But I don’t want to be like MC Hammer in the “Pumps and a Bump” video. Gotta stay classy, like San Diego. Right? Baseball baseball baseball…

And wait a second. Wait just one second. This is actually kind of fun. Just vibing with this pretty young lady. Dancing. Dancing is fun! Dancing with a girl is fun! Dancing with a girl who appears to be interested in you is even funner! 

In fact, right at this moment, this is actually much more fun than sitting on the side making snide comments about the cheeseball people on the dancefloor. 

But the music. What about the music? What song is playing? 

I have no f*cking idea. Just as long as the DJ keeps playing songs that will keep sweet B dancing with me. Anything. Whatever it takes. 

What about the transitions and the DJ’s scratching skills? Not really focusing DJ technique assessments right now. Don’t bother me, I’m dry humping yo. 

Somewhere around that moment, I realized that commercial hip hop music is not all bad. 

[Epilogue: Like a week later I heard that B became a born-again Christian (coincidence?!), and I never saw her again. Hmmm, I suspect she might have experienced quite a different revelation from that same night.

Update to the Epilogue: Apparently, B actually became a nun!]