During the last ten minutes of my ten hour work shift, I happen to glance over at a television set. I see Kobe Bryant with a look of subdued glee speaking to reporters in post-game press conference.
I figured that he’d hit another buzzer beater to eek out a victory in a close game. I imagined a wild fade away three pointer from half court, probably shot over two defenders.
But they seemed to be interviewing him for a long time.
After five minutes it occurred to me to ask somebody what happened, half expecting to be told that he’d butt-raped another homely and unfortunate young lady.
Instead I was told that he had scored 81 goddamned points in a win over the Raptors.
“81 goddamned points?” I thought to myself…Teams score 81 points, not people. This information led me to a few questions…
The first was if the Lakers even won the damned game. (They did)
The next was how many shots he’d taken. (Only 46)
There wasn’t a third. I couldn’t think of another way to try to criticize him for it.
A little while afterward, I questioned myself about my instinctual urge to turn this amazing feat into something negative. It didn’t take much to figure it out.
I was protecting the legacy of Michael Jordan in my own mind.
Being a native Chicagoan that grew up in the midst of the Bulls dynasty, it would seem that my reasons for wanting to shield the legend of Air Jordan from this threat would be obvious. It’s actually a bit deeper than geography.
The truth of the matter is that Kobe scoring 81 points reinforces the fact that the Chicago Bulls era happened almost fifteen years ago. It reminds me that some of my happiest moments are quickly becoming distant memories. They are the sands near the bottom of the old hour glass, fast becoming buried by each passing event.
I’m sure that by now you’re wondering what in the blue hell this has to do with hip-hop, but the parallel is fairly easy to draw.
With each year that passes, I find that I’m forced to face the reality that the era of hip-hop that I enjoy is over, done-with and finished.
I find myself having to reconcile the notion that the style of hip-hop music that I enjoy can even be packaged in an “era”.
My peers and I try many means to hold on to these times. The more fervent of us call it “true” hip-hop, while those of us with any real sense of the relativity of human experience can’t part our lips to do so.
We dismiss the materialism of today’s music, even if it means that we must conveniently forget that our favorite rappers wore big “dookie ropes” and four-finger rings.
We unconsciously decide that any artist who doesn’t make music in the exact same way that they did way back when has committed the unforgivable sin of “falling off”. We do not, however, take into account that if they were to do that, the one or two thousand of us that still buy music could not generate the funds to feed these artists’ families for very long.
Whenever we can, we get together. Those of us who remember how to breakdance form a circle and practice defying physics. The rhymers create circles of their own or take the stage at places like Project Blowed, where the DJ’s bring their favorite records instead of just the hot ones. The graf artists try their best not to tag everyone out of house and home.
We get together and pretend like its 1995.And we feel hella better afterwards.
We have to. If we didn’t we’d break our skulls open in frustration.
Just the other day I was at a hip-hop film festival on the campus of UCLA. There was a group of high school students in attendance that had come there as a field trip. The moderator of the post-film discussion asked the group what they considered old school.
Since most of the people in the audience were relics like me, I heard familiar and comforting answers like Doug E. Fresh, Audio Two, and KRS-ONE.
But then they asked one of high schoolers. Try as I might to brace myself, I was nearly floored at the young man’s answer:
Bone Thugs -n- Harmony
I could have vomited in my lap.
But logically, what should I expect? If I remember correctly, most hip-hop fans didn’t know about the music that I listened to when it was new. Why should I be so surprised that this generation knows nothing of it?
As a matter of fact, when I was in the ninth grade, if someone had asked me what old school, was, I might have said LL Cool J. I sure as hell didn’t know who Grandmaster Flash was, let alone the Cold Crush Brothers or Busy Bee. Hell, I just learned who the latter was when I saw Beef.
In the end, it’s such an uncomfortable feeling because hip-hop trends move at quantum speeds. It ebbs and flows so quickly that entire “eras” come and go in the blink of an eye. Since 1978, it seems to have changed completely every ten years, so maybe 2008 will be the year that the current fads collapse. Although corporate sponsorship has a tendency to make things last a little longer than they would naturally.
In any event, I will attempt to open my mind and accept that my time has ended. But let me first take a moment to acknowledge a few heads that started back then but have remained loyal to that sound…
The Juggaknots
Phaorah Monch
The Hieroglyphics Crew
MF DOOM
De La Soul
Project Blowed Family
I sure in the hell wish there were more…
OpenMikeEagle
Peace
