Sach O thinks he’s Miep Gies, Herbert Hoover…
You enter into the antechamber of a dark room, the smell of fine ganja floating in the air, masking the unmistakable odor of seafood. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see the silhouette of a large man resting in a armchair, lazily blowing smoke rings into the air; though a flickering candle is the only source of light, you catch the reflection of his 900$ sunglasses. A butler quickly pulls you up a chair and you are offered a glass of rosé as you are sternly instructed not to bring up the subjects of Curtis Jackson, correction officers or non-brand name products. As your eyes tear up from the thick smoke, you realize that you are in the presence of…The Bawse.
“Aaah, welcome, I see that you’ve made it. I hope the road to my outrageously extravagant mansion didn’t cause you too much trouble. I rarely drive to this home, preferring my private Rawse-copter or perhaps my jet. This place has a private runway; did you know that? In any case, let us get down to business: have you heard The Teflon Don? It is magnificent isn’t it? I crafted this album using nothing but the finest musicians and producers to insure that it is of a top quality worthy of the Rawse name. It is truly the most luxurious and sumptuous record of my career so far.”
“Care for more rosé? Or perhaps a fresh lobster claw? The fish-monger delivers them daily.”
“Where were we? Ah yes, The Teflon Don! It truly is my most phantasmagorical album yet! In all actuality, it’s my dramatic turn, what with my previous work occasionally veering into self-parody. What can I say? Audiences today couldn’t appreciate the fine funk of my Curtis Mayfield and Barry White inspired beats so like the Maybach I drive, I decided to keep things comparatively subtle and low key this time around. What’s that you say? Well yes, the first single “Super-High” is as ridiculously over the top as anything else I’ve done but see how “Maybach Music III” trades in T-Pain for Erykah Badu! Is that not a sign of class befitting a bawse? And the string section that comes in when I begin my verse? Mwwaah! A stirring instrumental worthy of Les Miserables!”
“You do not seem to be taking me seriously…can you not appreciate the wonder that is my life as an opulent master-criminal at the head of a cocaine distributing narco-empire? I’M BIG MEECH! What’s that you say? I’m not? I’m a former corrections officer who somehow made it big as a rapper after Def Jam signed me as the Ja Rule to Young Jeezy’s DMX?”
“PISH TOSH! I’M LARRY HOOVER, BIGGIE SMALLS IN THE FLESH, THE TEFLON DON!”
“Pardon me, *SNIFF*. My mood is irascible these days, perhaps due to my ludicrously large cocaine intake. I do love cocaine…oh how I love it very so. Regardless of that fact however, it’s impossible not to acknowledge my improvement as an emcee. See how I use the excessive career of MC Hammer as a metaphor for the paranoid life of a coke addicted drug-kingpin on the song of that name: it’s certainly a more sly turn than anything my competitors have written this year. Hmm? Well yes, perhaps it would have been more effective without a beat that evokes dancing gothic clowns…and yes following it up with another song where I claim to be someone else entirely over a nearly identical beat may well dull its impact…but I’m too legit to quit! I’M MC HAMMER! What’s that? I just said I was playing a role? WHAT DO YOU SPEAK OF, I’M MC HAMMER AND IT IS HAMMER TIME! BRING ME MY DANCING GIRLS!
“You say that I’m confusing reality and fantasy, but is it truly I that is confused? If I prefer my unique form of method acting, that is my business and my business alone. Your questions of credibility are of no concern to a Teflon Don: my lavish music entertains millions and none of them care about your petty concerns. In reality, I see myself as an Isaac Hayes like figure, directing symphonies in between my cocaine related dealings…see how I am a large bearded black man whose instrumental backings are of the sonic variety? I AM Isaac Hayes. I am also Biggie Smalls for I have Diddy on my album as well.”
“Fine. Leave unconvinced then, there is clearly nothing I can do to have you take me seriously as an artist and musician, no matter how hard I try. Know this however: you will not hear a better-produced and more flawlessly executed major label rap album this year. In your heart of hearts, you know this to be true. You lay upon my person accusations of mistaken-identity and claim I lack credibility but Ice Cube was a college boy and Tupac was a ballerina. Their precious credibility wouldn’t last 5 minutes in this era of twitter and tumblrs while my career thrives even as I move mountains of cocaine. You insist that I don’t? Well that is for I and I alone to know is it not? Leave now, your presence begins to tire me and it is time for my 7th meal of the day… Garcon! Bring my my crab meats!”
“Oh and one final thing before you leave…”