During the mid Nineties
We'd finally driven our music teacher to the point of mental breakdown, and a rather fresh faced, heavy drinking yet ridiculously pleasant substitute teacher was arranged.

He was soft as shit.

His first admission to our class was that he effectively knew fuck all about music and the tuition was going to have about as much point and substance as Jade Goody.

His first homework assignment was to arrange for a song piece each for the class to listen to.

Of course, being the shower of obnoxious little bastards that we were, a few plans were formulated. Firstly his incredibly soft nature would allow us to effectively get away with audible murder regarding song choice. Secondly, the local pirate radio station would furnish us with as much smutty gangster rap and suggestive lyric filled R&B music as our young minds could dream of.

Most of the music was incredibly forgettable and only made the cut due to lines such as "I'm going to fuck your mother, mother fucker!" coming up on an obscenely frequent basis.

The two songs by the insanely untalented Outhere brothers made the cut, along with G-Spot by Wayne Marshal which after being heard on the radio was my particular choice.

He'd proceed to take a tape from each student, taking care to make sure that we all got our own tapes back at the end of the session by randomly slotting them into the box he was carrying.

His plan was to play a song, talk about it with the class, then repeat until he could fuck off to the pub once the 90 minute lesson had finished.

It began, the first one came on, drums, bass, rap... and it carried on. He couldn't care less.

Damn.

We had fell at this hurdle, but this was no real issue to speak of at all, after all, for once in music we were actually having fun. The discussions were still more about the music than lyrical content, but then again I never really expected a lecture about the lyrical profoundness of such lines as "i'm going to snort from your pussy!"

Of course, early teenage rebellion still took a mild kicking when the headteacher walked in accompanied by a number of parents about half way through the lesson, but he managed to blag it in such a way that he kept his job.

Length? About 3 minutes per song.

I know it's not especially on topic, but it's as close as anyone can get whilst still being intersting.
( Muns, Sat 9 Feb 2008, 21:49, Reply)