"Hear me speak what's on my mind...let me give this testimony." From 1992 through 1994 my taste in pop music was rather questionable. As I've once written before, my mix tape selections differed from those of my classmates at New Rochelle Catholic Elementary in the early 90s. During art class we were given the opportunity to bring in cassette tapes from home, a sort of play-and-tell to stimulate our artistic instincts with every papier-mache sculpture and watercolor portrait that would be graded by the yellow-toothed Mrs. Baron, a Woodstock alumna who was known to chain smoke the afternoons away in the faculty lounge. In the art room was a small, corner table on which sat a rinkydink, circa-1985 boombox next to a bunch of paint jars and brushes. It would blare bass-heavy singles from Dr. Dre, House of Pain, En Vogue and Nirvana. My musical contributions to the class were, to say the least, not as popular as the others. Among the cassette singles I had brought in: