I’d like to make this clear at the very beginning: I am white. Whiter than white. I’m a Dairy Queen. I’m translucent. That being said, I think you should know something else: I love rap music. Love it to its core. I love the whole culture. The sound of the music, the throbbing bass, the dexterous wordsmiths, the street verse. I also love the dress. The dashikis, baggy pants, giant clocks that hang around your neck, throwback jerseys — they’re all vibrant and different and fun.

Now just because I appreciate and respect the culture, doesn’t mean I falsely (and lamely) try to emulate it. It has its place. That place just is not in my house or on my body. Like I said, I’m white and I deserve khakis and loafers with pennies in them. When I see a white kid from Rye County or Long Island or any other blessed region dressed in FUBU jeans and a doo rag, I think to myself, “That’s a shame. That kid has no identity.” But just because I know my place doesn’t mean I can’t get down to any type of music I please. I’m often pleased by Rakim and De La Soul.

Some people have a problem with that. The loudest and most ignorant contention comes from ostrich-headed, older (typically white) men. They say that since 75% of all rap records are sold to white kids, these kids are embracing a culture they simultaneously envy and know nothing about it. This just doesn’t make sense to me.

My father is a police officer. I know crime sucks. But in the same way I want to hear him tell me stories about wiretaps and drug busts, I yearn to hear the other side from Raekwon the Chef and Kool G Rap. There’s something stirring and electric about the found sound approach hip-hop uses. It’s an abandonment of tradition in that most songs don’t use instrumentation, and verbal acrobatics are consistently on display. Raekwon may not know Raymond Chandler. He doesn’t have to. He’s already Phillip Marlowe.

My favorite MC, Jay-Z, often talks about Brooklyn’s Marcy Projects, where he grew up and dealt drugs. I don’t really know much about any projects. The only projects I saw in growing up were science projects. And my science projects were terrible. But I like to hear another perspective, another way someone grew up. It doesn’t hurt that producer Kanye West layers Jay’s voice over a lush Al Green sample on “Never Change.”

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, first check out Al Green, then check out Jay-Z’s “The Blueprint.” Don’t let me lose you.

Here’s an example that may be closer to home. I love country legend Johnny Cash, too. I have absolutely no idea what it’s like to be in Folsom State Prison. But “Folsom Prison Blues” is still a timeless song. Just because I’m not a convicted felon doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate that song. This immediately justifies a nation of awkward, crater-faced white kids listening to 50 Cent. And just because I didn’t grow up in the projects doesn’t mean I can’t listen to Jay-Z.

The music doesn’t make those kids cool. What they learn from it, whether it’s how to dance or why it’s not good to be shot nine times, is entirely up to them. But don’t mock me because I know all the words to Mos Def’s “Black On Both Sides.” Just call me cultured. Back Beat appears in this space every week. E-mail Sean Fennessey at sfennes1@ithaca.edu.