By Laura Walton (Writer’s Choice)
Emogene Williams smiled as she drew the curtains apart to observe the El Camino cruising her street with the bass reverberating loudly.
“Lucille, Velma – come look,” she said excitedly.
The three women – all in their 70s – exclaimed happily at the site of the car, which had four teenagers bobbing their heads along to the beat of the rap song.
Even from the distant vantage point of the living room window, the ladies could guess the boys in this car were likely sporting sagging britches with boxer shorts tucked up over the top. What was wrong with this generation?
And the two girls with their overly tight camisole tops showing all of God’s glory spilling over and those piercings all over the one. Again, no accounting for taste and where were their parents anyway?
But not to worry. It would all be changing soon enough.
By now the car had passed on by Emogene’s house, but she knew they’d be back around eventually. They were even now becoming addicted to “The Grandma Rap.”
It had been two months since the ladies conceived of the idea for the recording.
They had been holding a weekly bridge club meeting at Velma’s house when the front room windows began to rattle from the awful racket those teens were making with their car stereo. Velma had gone outside to try to catch a license plate number of the car so she could make a complaint to the police.
To the shock and dismay of all the bridge club ladies, one of the teenagers made an offending middle finger gesture in their direction while another pointed fingers as if they were a handgun ready threatening to take out anyone who would dare to report them.
The women had scurried back inside upset at the development, their nerves disturbed to the point of not remembering where they left off in the bridge game.
Mary Lou Henthorne promptly began packing her belongings into her designer bag declaring she had made her last visit to the “old neighborhood” and henceforth if anyone wanted her for a bridge partner, well she’d be waiting at the safety of her eastside retirement center.
Betsy Bagwell began delicately dabbing at the corner of her eye lamenting the state of the world and pondering when God might decide to just end it all with all the evil around.
Dorothy Simmons nodded her head in agreement with the conversation around her while she filled her bag with napkin-wrapped goodies from the buffet bar.
Velma was worked up into such a state she had to lay her head back in the mauve recliner while her guests milled about on their own.
Only Lucille and Emogene remained on the front porch of the home. The two sisters were deep in discussion agreeing “something” must be done to change the state of affairs in their town. Lucille was a bit reluctant to follow Emogene’s plan. It could be dangerous, of course. But, in the end, Emogene convinced her the power of suggestion they would utilize could only result in a better world than the one that now existed in Fairview Heights neighborhood.
Long after the other guests left Velma’s house, Lucille and Emogene stayed to share their plan with the hostess. Poor Velma was still so rattled with fear that one of those awful kids was really going to come back and shoot her, that the sisters cancelled their plan to go to bell choir practice and stayed overnight.
Velma appreciated the company of her friends, but she remain unconvinced about their grand plan to turn the world around. I mean really – what did a bunch of old women know about producing a rap record and who would ever listen to it?
But once the plan became a reality, Velma saw first-hand the power of a song.
“Grandma’s Rap” was recorded in a local studio where wanna-be artists scheduled time in a setting with professional equipment designed to make the most of their voices and hopefully propel them into stardom. In the midst of all the Justin Bieber look-alikes and country music hopefuls, the group of three senior citizens stood out as an oddity. But it worked in their favor.
Gibson’s Recording Studio sound engineers were bored with the everyday crowd and were amused that three “Betty Whites” had just walked in the door. They pulled out all the stops when the group who dubbed themselves “The Old Ladies” asked to have a voice-over and lay down a beat.
When Emogene quietly pulled one of the employees aside and asked about including some “backward masking” in the song, it just added to the studio’s amusement. The sound engineers thought it was a hoot adding phrases like “Pull up your pants” and “Mow the lawn” to the recording.
And because the studio was enthusiastic about the song, marketing representatives immediately decided to promote it for regional airplay. Soon enough “Grandma’s Rap” was playing on every hip-hop and pop music station on the radio. As the popularity of the song grew, some of the soft rock , oldies and news stations began adding it to their playlist for an occasional slot.
The ladies enjoyed their new-found fame despite the baffling looks they received at the garden club meeting. While their friends struggled to praise their “interesting” choice in music, the three women exchanged smug smiles.
“Never underestimate the power of song,” Velma would say when approached about the recording.
It was two weeks after the song hit the air waves when Lucille was startled awake by the sound of a motor outside her bedroom window. Climbing cautiously out of bed, she peered through the slats in the blinds and then nodded her head approvingly. It was that Jake boy from down the street – the one who used to leave empty beer cans on her driveway every couple of weeks. He was looking sober enough this morning – and he was voluntarily trimming her lawn with a weed-eater.
Lucille hurried to the phone to call Emogene. Three rings, four rings – where could she be? Finally on the fifth ring, Emogene picked up with a breathy “hello.”
“Emogene! You won’t believe what’s going on at my house,” Lucille began.
“Well, I’d love to hear about it Lucille,” her sister countered. “But I’m visiting with Destiny right now. You know – my neighbor? She baked some cookies and brought them over. Isn’t that thoughtful?”
“You mean that horrible girl who wears pajama bottoms and bikini tops everywhere she goes,” exclaimed Lucille. “Are you sure you want to eat her cookies?”
“I’m sure,” said Emogene. “She’s very well-dressed at the moment. And she made the cookies with her mother last night. It seems she decided it would be fun to stay home and bake on a Friday night instead of going to one of those tired old parties at the old landfill site.”
Lucille caught her breath at Emogene’s report. Hearing more activity on her street, she carried the phone to the window and glanced outside. Across the street she saw the Baker twins washing their mother’s car. Two doors down, there was another teenage boy mowing Rob Johnson’s lawn. Well thank goodness for small favors. Since Rob took to using a walker, his lawn only got mowed when his son got around to stopping by – usually once a month.
Music sure was turning out to be a powerful thing alright. As the weeks went by and “Grandma’s Rap” remained popular, the novelty of a song by three senior citizens caught the attention of an NBC news show assistant producer. A broadcast crew came out to do a pleasant feature on “The Old Ladies” and their new rap career. The song – and its persuasive power – began to spread nationwide.
All was going well until the day Mary Lou Henthorne showed back up to bridge club in the old neighborhood. Anyone could see she was flustered.
“I declare we can’t get any rest at Restful Havens anymore,” complained Mary Lou. “We are just flat-out overrun with visitors. Boy Scout groups who want to clean our garden beds and church youth groups who want to sing to us. The company started a new candy striper program and 40 kids signed up to bring us magazines and have thoughtful visits with us. I don’t want thoughtful visits – I want to watch my shows!”
Emogene and Velma exchanged glances before excusing themselves to meet Lucille in the kitchen.
“Ladies, our plan here has worked perhaps to well,” Emogene said. “I think it’s time we took that offer from a new manager and went on a European tour. I’ve seen pictures of those youth in London. They could use a good influence.”
“I agree,” said Velma. “And I’d like to record a couple of new songs to take on the road with us as well. I hear our soldiers sometimes broadcast songs loudly in those Middle Eastern war zones when they want to rattle the enemy. I think a little grandmotherly rap might be just what they need, don’t you?”
The ladies smiled to each other. The power of music could indeed change the world.
Emogene Williams smiled as she drew the curtains apart to observe the El Camino cruising her street with the bass reverberating loudly.
“Lucille, Velma – come look,” she said excitedly.
The three women – all in their 70s – exclaimed happily at the site of the car, which had four teenagers bobbing their heads along to the beat of the rap song.
Even from the distant vantage point of the living room window, the ladies could guess the boys in this car were likely sporting sagging britches with boxer shorts tucked up over the top. What was wrong with this generation?
And the two girls with their overly tight camisole tops showing all of God’s glory spilling over and those piercings all over the one. Again, no accounting for taste and where were their parents anyway?
But not to worry. It would all be changing soon enough.
By now the car had passed on by Emogene’s house, but she knew they’d be back around eventually. They were even now becoming addicted to “The Grandma Rap.”
It had been two months since the ladies conceived of the idea for the recording.
They had been holding a weekly bridge club meeting at Velma’s house when the front room windows began to rattle from the awful racket those teens were making with their car stereo. Velma had gone outside to try to catch a license plate number of the car so she could make a complaint to the police.
To the shock and dismay of all the bridge club ladies, one of the teenagers made an offending middle finger gesture in their direction while another pointed fingers as if they were a handgun ready threatening to take out anyone who would dare to report them.
The women had scurried back inside upset at the development, their nerves disturbed to the point of not remembering where they left off in the bridge game.
Mary Lou Henthorne promptly began packing her belongings into her designer bag declaring she had made her last visit to the “old neighborhood” and henceforth if anyone wanted her for a bridge partner, well she’d be waiting at the safety of her eastside retirement center.
Betsy Bagwell began delicately dabbing at the corner of her eye lamenting the state of the world and pondering when God might decide to just end it all with all the evil around.
Dorothy Simmons nodded her head in agreement with the conversation around her while she filled her bag with napkin-wrapped goodies from the buffet bar.
Velma was worked up into such a state she had to lay her head back in the mauve recliner while her guests milled about on their own.
Only Lucille and Emogene remained on the front porch of the home. The two sisters were deep in discussion agreeing “something” must be done to change the state of affairs in their town. Lucille was a bit reluctant to follow Emogene’s plan. It could be dangerous, of course. But, in the end, Emogene convinced her the power of suggestion they would utilize could only result in a better world than the one that now existed in Fairview Heights neighborhood.
Long after the other guests left Velma’s house, Lucille and Emogene stayed to share their plan with the hostess. Poor Velma was still so rattled with fear that one of those awful kids was really going to come back and shoot her, that the sisters cancelled their plan to go to bell choir practice and stayed overnight.
Velma appreciated the company of her friends, but she remain unconvinced about their grand plan to turn the world around. I mean really – what did a bunch of old women know about producing a rap record and who would ever listen to it?
But once the plan became a reality, Velma saw first-hand the power of a song.
“Grandma’s Rap” was recorded in a local studio where wanna-be artists scheduled time in a setting with professional equipment designed to make the most of their voices and hopefully propel them into stardom. In the midst of all the Justin Bieber look-alikes and country music hopefuls, the group of three senior citizens stood out as an oddity. But it worked in their favor.
Gibson’s Recording Studio sound engineers were bored with the everyday crowd and were amused that three “Betty Whites” had just walked in the door. They pulled out all the stops when the group who dubbed themselves “The Old Ladies” asked to have a voice-over and lay down a beat.
When Emogene quietly pulled one of the employees aside and asked about including some “backward masking” in the song, it just added to the studio’s amusement. The sound engineers thought it was a hoot adding phrases like “Pull up your pants” and “Mow the lawn” to the recording.
And because the studio was enthusiastic about the song, marketing representatives immediately decided to promote it for regional airplay. Soon enough “Grandma’s Rap” was playing on every hip-hop and pop music station on the radio. As the popularity of the song grew, some of the soft rock , oldies and news stations began adding it to their playlist for an occasional slot.
The ladies enjoyed their new-found fame despite the baffling looks they received at the garden club meeting. While their friends struggled to praise their “interesting” choice in music, the three women exchanged smug smiles.
“Never underestimate the power of song,” Velma would say when approached about the recording.
It was two weeks after the song hit the air waves when Lucille was startled awake by the sound of a motor outside her bedroom window. Climbing cautiously out of bed, she peered through the slats in the blinds and then nodded her head approvingly. It was that Jake boy from down the street – the one who used to leave empty beer cans on her driveway every couple of weeks. He was looking sober enough this morning – and he was voluntarily trimming her lawn with a weed-eater.
Lucille hurried to the phone to call Emogene. Three rings, four rings – where could she be? Finally on the fifth ring, Emogene picked up with a breathy “hello.”
“Emogene! You won’t believe what’s going on at my house,” Lucille began.
“Well, I’d love to hear about it Lucille,” her sister countered. “But I’m visiting with Destiny right now. You know – my neighbor? She baked some cookies and brought them over. Isn’t that thoughtful?”
“You mean that horrible girl who wears pajama bottoms and bikini tops everywhere she goes,” exclaimed Lucille. “Are you sure you want to eat her cookies?”
“I’m sure,” said Emogene. “She’s very well-dressed at the moment. And she made the cookies with her mother last night. It seems she decided it would be fun to stay home and bake on a Friday night instead of going to one of those tired old parties at the old landfill site.”
Lucille caught her breath at Emogene’s report. Hearing more activity on her street, she carried the phone to the window and glanced outside. Across the street she saw the Baker twins washing their mother’s car. Two doors down, there was another teenage boy mowing Rob Johnson’s lawn. Well thank goodness for small favors. Since Rob took to using a walker, his lawn only got mowed when his son got around to stopping by – usually once a month.
Music sure was turning out to be a powerful thing alright. As the weeks went by and “Grandma’s Rap” remained popular, the novelty of a song by three senior citizens caught the attention of an NBC news show assistant producer. A broadcast crew came out to do a pleasant feature on “The Old Ladies” and their new rap career. The song – and its persuasive power – began to spread nationwide.
All was going well until the day Mary Lou Henthorne showed back up to bridge club in the old neighborhood. Anyone could see she was flustered.
“I declare we can’t get any rest at Restful Havens anymore,” complained Mary Lou. “We are just flat-out overrun with visitors. Boy Scout groups who want to clean our garden beds and church youth groups who want to sing to us. The company started a new candy striper program and 40 kids signed up to bring us magazines and have thoughtful visits with us. I don’t want thoughtful visits – I want to watch my shows!”
Emogene and Velma exchanged glances before excusing themselves to meet Lucille in the kitchen.
“Ladies, our plan here has worked perhaps to well,” Emogene said. “I think it’s time we took that offer from a new manager and went on a European tour. I’ve seen pictures of those youth in London. They could use a good influence.”
“I agree,” said Velma. “And I’d like to record a couple of new songs to take on the road with us as well. I hear our soldiers sometimes broadcast songs loudly in those Middle Eastern war zones when they want to rattle the enemy. I think a little grandmotherly rap might be just what they need, don’t you?”
The ladies smiled to each other. The power of music could indeed change the world.