Am I a genuine Lover?

I can never call myself a genuine old school lover, because I forcefully wrapped myself in sheets with it, the moment I heard the first sound. Knowledge about the roots, the beauty, none of these mattered to me, for it was convenience, and not love. I do not blame myself for any of these heartless deeds. I am just a confused youth with no faithfulness to a particular sound, but a tongue to hear the feel of good music and a heart to sense the strength of the emotion in every line of every verse.

The simplest reason I can dig out however, to explain my slutty behavior is that I have so many siblings, each with a different genre of interest. The eldest loves the smooth slow songs. She is a faithful listener, with a beautiful heart, which explains her attachment to the deep genuine words of Soft, serene and peaceful love songs. At a young age, I was also taught millions of gospel by another of my siblings, which I still sing to myself every day, of my life. There is yet another who used to sing a lot of Mariah Carey and Brandy when I was just getting to know what a beat sounded like. Later in the years, my brothers completely messed up my already developing sound orientation with Crank, Rock and Reggae (message from Jah!). Believe me it is quite hard to recover with all these continuously changing views around me.

That brings me to the question. Am I a genuine lover? Am I a music whore? Have I given my entire heart to old school? Or do I still have fantasies about what it would be like to love Jamaican music. Is this genre the only thing I want to listen to every night? The only sound I want as my ringtone? To discover my true self, I have decided to find out the real reason why I started listening to old school music.

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Maybe it was because of my failure in hip-hop to which I was introduced in my lower secondary, and nursed a pretentious supposedly “undying love” for a star, Lil Wayne. I knew nothing about his music, but that was the time he shot to the peak, and I had to discover where I belonged. The love grew, but soon died, as I realized his music was getting noisier each day. My belief in hip hop sprung back, with the discovery of men with very deep words, and very strong beats like Big Sean. To them I was to a larger extent dedicated, than I was to the little young money brother. But of what good was loving part of something and not all of it? It is impossible to eat one side of a cake, and keep the rest under the bed for more than a week. I had failed in hip-hop for I could only entertain just part of it. Maybe it was something else and not this. Maybe it is because I am a Black- American wanna-be. (Never thought I would admit)

If there is anything I think I have missed out on, it is being black American. I love to dress like them, plait weaves with little fringes so that I can feel like Cookie Lyon, talk about my butt like it’s the biggest in the world, and listen to old school so that I can get all those music jokes they make in their movies. Someone needs to wake me up and make me believe I have not left this country for the past twenty one years. I am a conk Ugandan, a conk Acholi, who is going back to Gulu for Christmas holidays. The truth is, I may have no Black American blood at all but I believe I have genuine love, not for old school, but for music with soul, touch and emotion. I am right where I belong.

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Old school as a music genre is drawing, captivating and strong in expression. The words are deep, and listening to them entangled in between slow organized beats on a cold morning, will give you an experience you will never forget. Those were the days when rappers could actually rap. With the recent release of the Mike movie, and promotion of Ginuwine’s Pony, I thought that was the best ringtone for my phone. (You know, am called Poni) I have millions of song recommendations for you like no diggidy, steelo blah blah blah but my article has to be short. Too much water in katunda makes it lose taste. But am listening to “what you got till it’s gone” Janet Jackson, as I am writing this article.





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