Genre Fluid

GENRE FLUID (BUT IT KEEPS TURNING INTO RAP) [Intro] I swear this one was gonna be ambient. No bars. No hook. No ego. …why am I counting syllables. [Verse 1] Started with bluegrass-klezmer, fast banjo, sad clarinet Thought “this’ll be the one where I finally act my age a bit” Then the hi-hats started askin’ me to stack a phrase in it Now somehow there’s a sixteen hidin’ in the back of it Did jungle-throat-singin’, breakbeats under mountain wind Deep-house-post-punk, four-on-floor with existential synth Bedroom-pop-jazz, soft chords, warm tape, little velvet grin Forty-five seconds later I’m attackin’ consonants again Made power-metal-IDM with a choir and arithmetic Blackened-folk with hand percussion, got unnecessarily specific Dream-pop-drum-and-bass with emotional logistics Still ended with me sayin’ words too fast and gettin’ unrealistic Tried boom-bap-bluegrass Tried no-map-new-path Tried low-fi-shoegaze Tried old-time-new-jazz Every road bends back Every stream overlap Every time I say “this ain’t rap—” it’s rap. [Hook] I keep changin’ genres Genres change me back I make synthwave-folk then accidentally snap Try to leave the bars alone Beat says “where you at?” I’m a hundred styles wide But they all collapse to rap [Verse 2] Tried chamber-pop-industrial with accordion and static Math-rock-funk with odd-time drumming, got a little problematic Neo-soul-neoclassical Cinematic-sympathetic Still ended with internal rhymes and technical aesthetics Made dungeon-synth-bluegrass Forest-goblin mood But then the kick came in and suddenly I got rude Made trip-hop-klezmer-jungle Thought “this one gon’ breathe” Then I wrote six multis accidentally up my sleeve Tried ambient-noise with one piano note per year Thirty seconds in I’m whisper-rappin’ in the left ear Made hyperpop-garage-rock Made goth-folk-house Made vaporwave-hardcore Made no sense out loud Made post-rock-city-pop Made sea-shanty-trance Made “absolutely no percussion” That one didn’t stand a chance And every time I think “This one gon’ take first-place” I rhyme “birthday” with “first-place” and ruin the workspace [Bridge – starts half-time then explodes] Listen— I respect the genres. I kneel before the genres. I study the old records Like monks with old disorders But somewhere in the process A little voice appears— “…you know what this needs?” Fast part. [Verse 3 – go technical] Now I’m in a lab coat soldering Balkan-jungle With Mongolian throat tones over modular rumble Doing French-house-dreamcore while the bassline tumble Trying not to rap and every measure start to crumble Built IDM-krautrock with algorithmic stutter Made alt-country-dubstep with the low-end butter Made breakcore-choral-metal with cathedral thunder Whole thing hit hard but the verses hit harder Did bossa-nova-horrorcore Polka-no-wave Afrobeat-coldwave Psychedelic-groove-cave Made surf-rock-trip-hop Made glitch-folk-swing Made twelve different genres Still the bars do the thing And I finally accepted it— I’m not trapped in rap Rap trapped me. I’m just decorating the room. [Final Hook] I keep changin’ genres Genres change me back Every weird experiment Just bends into a track Bluegrass-klezmer-jungle Bedroom-pop-jazz No matter what I build— the rap comes out best. [Outro] …alright next one I’m making a quiet ambient record. (beat drops) ah come on.