So considering the content of his hit song, is anyone else bothered by the fact that Soulja Boy was born in 1990?

Here’s a transcript of a text message conversation I had with C-Ho last night. It started innocently, but things heated up pretty quickly:

C-Ho: Cars-for-xmas commercials and jewelry-for-xmas comercials should be banned.

J-Ho: Yeah. There should be a moratorium on selling anything over $1000 between Thanksgiving and New Year’s.

C-Ho: How uncreative, and how much of an asshole, do you have to be to buy your wife a Lexus for xmas?

J-Ho: Bitches. Love. Lexuses.

C-Ho: I gotcho back like chiroprac… tic.

J-Ho: Stuck on you like a dog got a black tick?

C-Ho: Correct. Keep your heart three stacks!

J-Ho: So much cash banks be runnin’ outta sacks?

C-Ho: Enough sacks to sell that crack from the back of my ‘Lac.

J-Ho: Car so hot I got rims on my rims. Bitches so fly been wit’ like fit-ty Kims.

C-Ho: If you fat I might take one for the team. But I gotta be drunk first, you know what I mean?

J-Ho: Posse roll 30 deep. Too much chedda to reap. Even got a lil midget to carry my grillz. Anotha wit’ a pad to tally my killz.

C-Ho: You win. You’re an awesome battle texter.

J-Ho: You give up, I jus’ keep on goin’. Like dem oompa-loompas don’t show no signs of slowin’.

C-Ho: Do you have Ghostface in the room? I’m impressed.

J-Ho: Ghostface use my cast-offs the last 10 years. My real shit so good would blow ya ears.

You’re gonna have to read this sooner or later. To wit, Sasha Frere-Jones gets bored at an Arcade Fire show and attacks indie rock as chronically too white. Sasha is the guy standing next to RZA by the way. He also defends his own white funk band as implicated better than most of my favorite bands because they play black music.

So here’s what I think.

Dear Mr. Frere-Jones,

So I like a lot of indie rock loving nerds, I want to tell you to shut up. But i’ll give you that lots of the music I love and listen to everyday is very “white” and lacks deep soulful rhythm. When I feel like listening to soulful music, I go for the real stuff; actual black artists or honkies devoted and talent enough to pull it off. Why settle for white funk when you have the real stuff?

Where I think your article was really misleading to the oldsters dumb enough to read the New Yorker to learn about pop music, not only because it didn’t bother to mention the huge success of TV on the Radio, the Black Keys and the White Stripes, both with indie fans and in relative mainstream, but because it implied that rolling was inherently more important than rocking.

Your identity politics are bush league. You don’t say anything about the utter mess of rap-rockers that ruined rock for 5 years. You’re picking on Arcade Fire, Wilco, and Pavement for even dumber reasons than you did poor little Stephin Merritt.

J-Ho and I have talked about this many times. We never really came to any conclusions. I guess The Chronic is amazingly great, but Slanted and Enchanted ultimately speaks to me more. Two great California albums from ‘92, but come on more indie fans and musicians grew up closer to somewhere like Stockton than South Central. Why should we pretend otherwise? Why should we have to keep trying to be Snoop, or even Little Richard? Malkmus pointed out Dave Brubeck, Rush, and REM are closer to our experience, why can’t we ironically celebrate that?

Pavement, with all of it’s toss-off musicianship and shambled lyricism, on some goofy level validates me to me. Before that record, I knew great art could from the ghetto and sharecroppers, because of Motown and the blues, and the classic rock that celebrated them. What Pavement said was meaningful music that was true to itself could come from my suburban existence. Lo-fi noise rock by over-read undergrads with more vinyl than talent meant there was hope for me as me. Not as somebody playing dress-up.

I rock the suburbs. Irony is my sincerity. I love hip-hop, but a white riot is the best I’m gonna do and I’m fine with that.

PS - BACK IN THE DAY, HALL AND OATS WAS NOT AS GOOD AS MICHAEL JACKSON. YOU ARE FUCKING NUTS.

UPDATE -More kindling for our indie nerd bonfire:

Exhibit A: Lester Bangs tackling real racism in the punk era.

Exhibit B: Pavement on Leno refusing to play nice.

Exhibit C: Animal Collective playing “For Reverend Green,” which somehow might be the missing link to this whole thing.

Today learn how to beatbox …

Thanks for ruining one of my favorite songs.

Stupid rich people and their fancy exterminators.

Almost ten years later, Biggie still winning East Coast/West Coast feud. The only way 2Pac can fight back now is to have his ashes sprinkled in the NY water supply.

Am I the first one to consider that Kanye West and Glen Rice might be the same person?

-We should take up a collection to fix the bass player from Death Cab’s hair.

-It’s OK if at my funeral, somebody gets up and tells everyone that I was wrong about Jay-Z. Staring into his eyes I can feel him willing me into believing he is an extremely handsome and talented man, and I can’t disagree.

-Actors blogging in character or other people blogging for them in the name of the character is so fucking stupid it hurts.

-The third worst thing about incest (right behind the actual physical act itself and the deformed kids) would be if you broke up and had to keep seeing each other on holidays.

-“The Queer Eye For Straight Guy” Guys’ celebrity iTunes playlists from best to worst: Ted (Food), Kyan (Hair), Thom (Decorator), Carson (Clothes) and Jai (?) tied for shittiest.

You can take tha thug out tha hood, but you can’t take tha hood out tha thug.