A Hitherto Unsuspected Species of Musicality

Chap hop. It has the rhythms of hip hop, with the gentility of Edwardian parlours and smoking rooms, seersucker jackets, pipes, and banjoleles.



Suffice it to say, the P.G. Wodehouse-ian nature of the entertainment is enough to force me running toward Gin fizzes, my best (nonexistent - I must rectify this dreadful oversight!) tweeds, cigarette holders, and punting on the Isis with Oxford men.



(If the only thing that amuses you about the above videobit is the cricket equipment, and you're eager to understad more, you may wish to watch the following, though I can warn you of very unpleasant language and a 'gangsta' worldview some may find . . . also unpleasant. From N.W.A., STraight Outta Compton.)