I love Tupac. Biggie. T.I. Tribe. Jay-Z. Nas. I was raised listening to rap … was surely one of two or three kids at Mahopac High School back in the 1980s who could recite the lyrics to Big Daddy’s I Get The Job Done.
That’s who I am. A rap guy. A huge rap guy. Eminem and Fifty, Dre and Snoop, KRS and DMC.
And, ahem, Wilson Phillips.
I love Wilson Phillips, and I need help. Rehab. Decapitation. Something. Because whenever I hear their music, I stop and listen. And find myself humming along. If nobody else is in the car, I sing. Loudly. LOUDLY. Some day somebody’s gonna turn around and make you wanna say goodbye! Until then baby …
I. Can’t. Stop. I love Wilson Phillips. And it’s not like, oh, they’re hot. Or magically talented. Or dynamic performers. Just mellow music from 15-20 years ago that somehow seeped into my brain and won’t let go.
And now, as I sit here in Panera, Wilson Phillips is being piped through my headphone.
And I’m … happy.
PS: Was just advised to watch this. Nice to know I’m not alone.