WESTLAND, Mass. In this bucolic suburb west of Boston, the boundaries between residential neighborhoods and protected conservation land are sometimes difficult to identify with precision, thanks to half-acre zoning and residents’ love of nature. “There’s a world of wonder just beyond my tool shed,” says Ned Lamont, a descendant of the town’s first measurer of lumber, a Colonial office that survives to this day. “The smell isn’t quite as earthy as my son’s hockey bag, but then the woods didn’t play in a three-day round robin tournament in New Hampshire last winter.”
White-breasted Knucklehead
It’s accordingly no surprise that the town is the site of a unique joint venture between the American Conservation Society and Hip-Hop Nation, a loose affiliation of rappers from around the country who are concerned that, with an increasing number of homicides depleting their numbers, future generations may not be able to experience the irritation that many feel when they hear the thumping, bass-heavy spoken word art form.
“Look–over there,” Lamont says in a hushed tone to a small group of men and women trailing behind him at the Broad Brook Preservation, where a group of young rappers is being raised in captivity so that they will grow to maturity without losing their lives to other, similar entertainers in “rap beefs” that escalates into “rap battles.”
“What is it?” asks Millicent Bowdoin, a life member of the American Conservation Society.
“A rare, white-breasted knucklehead,” Lamont answers breathlessly.
“So, like the Marshall Mathers fellow?” another rap watcher asks.
“Please–do NOT feed the rappers!”
“Precisely.”
The hip-hop industry’s internecine warfare has made it the most dangerous musical genre in history, far exceeding the bloody homicide rates of Strauss waltz violinists and Tuvan throat-singers. “I guess the only comparable segment of the current market place would be Pennsylvania polka bands,” says Mel Zeiss of Live Music Today, an industry trade magazine. “If you put the wrong ‘z’ first in ‘dziedzic’ all hell can break loose at a St. Stanislaus Social Aid and Pleasure Club Singles Night.”
“This goulash is about to boil over!”
Many local “old school” rappers steer clear of the wildlife preserve, concerned that the peaceful surroundings will cause them to lose the “street cred” that is essential to sales and industry honors, such as Hip-Hop Nation’s annual Most Offensive Recording to White Parents Award. “Yes, a lot of rappers get shot,” says Sound E-Fex, incoming First Vice President of the organization. “But what we lose with each killing, we make up in volume.”
Available in Kindle format on amazon.com as part of the collection “Our Friends, the Rappers.”