![]() The next night, I was prepared, with a prehistoric tape recorder in hand and a black-and-white composition notebook. My friends starting calling, way past grandma’s weeknight deadline: “Did you just hear that!?” It was like our version of Orson Welles’ War of the Worlds. Philadelphia row house walls were thin, so I could hear the neighbors on both sides blasting this jam on their stereo. I said a hip, hop, the hippy to the hippy/To the hip hip-hop you don’t stop/The rock it to the bang bang a boogie say up jump the boogie/To the rhythm of the boogie the beat! How was I to know that my world would come crashing down in a matter of 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … Me and my sister Donn were sneaking a listen of the local soul station while we washed dishes when an army of percussion and a syncopated Latin piano line came out of my grandma’s JVC clock radio – what appeared to be Chic’s “Good Times,” or a good duplicate of it. ![]() on a Thursday night, after a dinner of porgies, string beans and creamed corn. I was eight years old when “Rapper’s Delight” made its world premiere on Philadelphia radio.
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