Critics called it mid. Fans seemed unsure what to make of it. But at 60 years old, Slick Rick may have delivered something hip-hop has never truly heard before: the perspective of an elder who lived long enough to tell the story.
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Grief can be a story told again and again.
I’ve told this story before. At least parts of it. I had a friend that I loved. They died suddenly.
But this loss, its timing, and who was taken from us, hit me close and I was not the same.
I don’t want this open journal to morph into a think piece gallery responding to whatever trend of the moment is irking the intrawebs. Yet, it feels like no matter what, the news of the day will somehow be “in today’s news another rapper murdered”.
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Birthed from the American Third World, it is arguable that Hip-Hop has been a tool for Black and Brown, men particularly but not exclusively, to convey interpretation of the elusive American Dream, document environs of the ignored and ultimately to profess their value. In a society that repeatedly and historically highlights the value of dead Black men, Hip-Hop becomes solace and salvation.
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