R.I.P. Dirt McGirt
Danjaruz Depiction:
Daily Danjaruz Deliberation:
Oooh baby, I like it rawwwwwwww!
Danjaruz Disclosures, Declarations, and Diatribes:
Death never takes a day off from His job. He works twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and at least 365 days a year. There is no avoiding Death once he lays claim to your soul. Try as we might, we cannot negotiate our time here on this Earth. Death removes our souls from Earth, transporting us to our eternal dwelling place. He claims us as His own, at His will, by His method of choice. Death’s latest minion: Russell Jones a.k.a. Ol’ Dirty Bastard a.k.a. Dir McGirt a.k.a. Big Baby Jesus a.k.a. Osiris a.k.a. Father a.k.a. Husband a.k.a Brother a.k.a. Son.
His brother in Hip-Hop, RZA, referred to him as a “unique soul” in his eulogy, delivered at his funeral on November 18, 2004. That is one of the greatest understatements in Hip-Hop history. Not only was ODB one of the most unique MCs to ever spit on wax, he was also one of the most honest MCs. Too often, especially in this post-bling era of Hip-Hop glitterati, MCs tell tales of life that they cannot relate to, having never experienced them. It is as though these so-called “artists” convened one day, maybe seven or eight years ago, and decided to share a meal. EPMD warned us of this Crossover Meal, yet their warnings fell upon deaf ears. At this meal, these “artists” drank Bling-Bling wine, and dined on a dinner of Chicken Shit salad, a few Apathy appetizers, Sell-Out soup, and a for the main course: Main Stream Madness. By the truest Dirty design, Big Baby Jesus missed the meal, more than likely making a baby somewhere. How thankful are we for this mishap? Had he sat down with these people, we would have never known that Big Baby Jesus simply could not wait to explode onto the Hip-Hop scene with his unusual style of making us laugh and think at the same time. The MTV generation might have never witnessed the rite of inner-city passage that is cashing a public assistance check. The WuTang Clan might never have had such mass appeal, because as we can gather by the current climate, variety is the spice of Hip-Hop life. In this time of Hip-Hop/R&B collaborations, Hip-Hop/Country duets, Hip-Hop actors/actresses, diversity is key. As Dirt informed Mariah Carey, he was a little bit of all of this and this is why we loved him.
Yes, he had brushes with the law. Yes, he could be considered a complete nut case. Yes, he pimped the “system” until they caught onto him. But we’d be damned if we did not love the gonads he so willingly put on display while bucking the same system and letting America know: Ol’ Dirty Dog was no liar. He never attempted to hide his imperfections; in fact, he wanted everyone to share in his life’s adventures. How many of your friends willingly share their STD experiences? Did you not feel a special closeness to Russell then? I mean, did you not think, “Yo, Dirt is CRAZY!!!” And did you not laugh, and guiltily relate, every time he shouted, “Ooooh baby, I like it rawwwww”? We recognized that he was indeed a fool, and we loved him.
Artists do not compromise. Artists remain true to their calling, their natural form, and they maintain loyal to the muse that inspires them. For most, it is their lives and experiences in them. For others, money is the motivator. Because of the diversity in motives, Hip-Hop has become a mess. Yes, Virginia, Hip-Hop is a mess. Reporting the realities of the Street is no longer a priority. People would rather have a danceable beat than listen to rebellious lyrics. Young people prefer to hear the stories of the lifestyles of their favorite rich and famous rapper than the gutter tales of the local Hip-Hop griot. Honestly, who can blame them? In this country’s political climate, in the world’s political and social chaos, young people crave and seek positive hope. They look for something to strive for. They are not particularly interested in hearing gritty accounts of what they already know; it is depressing to say the least.
This is why artists like ODB are important to Hip-Hop culture. ODB was that uncle who could tell the story about losing his leg in the Vietnam War that would make everyone within earshot laugh heartily at his light-hearted tale. ODB would more than likely take his prosthetic leg off and wave it around. He softened the blow, somehow, and gave us a way to think about life in a not-so-serious way, as many disenfranchised people are forced to do day in and day out. To say the least, he was the ‘hood’s comic relief. This is not to say that Russell Jones was an innocent bystander, life gone too soon, before his time. We have heard the stories of his drug abuse, his arrests and prison stints. We have heard the stories about having various children, no concrete number, just a lot of them with a lot of ladies. We know that Dirt McGirt was no angel. Yet, just as he has nothing angelic about him, we felt familiar with him and his life. As consumers of his art, we grew to know a lot about ODB, and this is yet another beautiful thing about Hip-Hop music and the greater Hip-Hop culture: identification. Hip-Hop, as a culture, has existed longer than the 25 (or 30) years that mainstream media will give it credit for. Hip-Hop music grew out of this culture’s desire to express itself, complete with angst, joy, depression, desperation, and hope. The times have changed; no one can deny this fact. However, it is naïve to suggest that the images and ideals pushed through Hip-Hop music in the new millennium are representative of the collective Hip-Hop community.
Gone are the Ole Dirty Bastards, which have been replaced by the New So Fresh, So Clean Hood Social Elite. Millionairres flossing button-downs, retiring in their 30s like their dot-commer peers, wearing laymen’s yearly salaries on their wrists and teeth, and living like it is all good. For a small number, it really is all good. But for Russell Jones’ children and other children like them, the reality is harsh. The reality is that there is still struggle in the hood, and Hip-Hop artists are obligated to tell the stories and bring light to the strife. Let the entertainers ignore the problems, dance around in shiny and expensive suits and make people dance. Their jobs are to entertain the masses. Let us reflect on the lives of our fallen Hip-Hop icons and legends and allow Hip-Hop (the culture and the music) to resurrect Truth. Truth is the light my people and right now, Hip-Hop exists in darkness. Peace Russell.
Daily Danjaruz Deliberation:
Oooh baby, I like it rawwwwwwww!
Danjaruz Disclosures, Declarations, and Diatribes:
Death never takes a day off from His job. He works twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and at least 365 days a year. There is no avoiding Death once he lays claim to your soul. Try as we might, we cannot negotiate our time here on this Earth. Death removes our souls from Earth, transporting us to our eternal dwelling place. He claims us as His own, at His will, by His method of choice. Death’s latest minion: Russell Jones a.k.a. Ol’ Dirty Bastard a.k.a. Dir McGirt a.k.a. Big Baby Jesus a.k.a. Osiris a.k.a. Father a.k.a. Husband a.k.a Brother a.k.a. Son.
His brother in Hip-Hop, RZA, referred to him as a “unique soul” in his eulogy, delivered at his funeral on November 18, 2004. That is one of the greatest understatements in Hip-Hop history. Not only was ODB one of the most unique MCs to ever spit on wax, he was also one of the most honest MCs. Too often, especially in this post-bling era of Hip-Hop glitterati, MCs tell tales of life that they cannot relate to, having never experienced them. It is as though these so-called “artists” convened one day, maybe seven or eight years ago, and decided to share a meal. EPMD warned us of this Crossover Meal, yet their warnings fell upon deaf ears. At this meal, these “artists” drank Bling-Bling wine, and dined on a dinner of Chicken Shit salad, a few Apathy appetizers, Sell-Out soup, and a for the main course: Main Stream Madness. By the truest Dirty design, Big Baby Jesus missed the meal, more than likely making a baby somewhere. How thankful are we for this mishap? Had he sat down with these people, we would have never known that Big Baby Jesus simply could not wait to explode onto the Hip-Hop scene with his unusual style of making us laugh and think at the same time. The MTV generation might have never witnessed the rite of inner-city passage that is cashing a public assistance check. The WuTang Clan might never have had such mass appeal, because as we can gather by the current climate, variety is the spice of Hip-Hop life. In this time of Hip-Hop/R&B collaborations, Hip-Hop/Country duets, Hip-Hop actors/actresses, diversity is key. As Dirt informed Mariah Carey, he was a little bit of all of this and this is why we loved him.
Yes, he had brushes with the law. Yes, he could be considered a complete nut case. Yes, he pimped the “system” until they caught onto him. But we’d be damned if we did not love the gonads he so willingly put on display while bucking the same system and letting America know: Ol’ Dirty Dog was no liar. He never attempted to hide his imperfections; in fact, he wanted everyone to share in his life’s adventures. How many of your friends willingly share their STD experiences? Did you not feel a special closeness to Russell then? I mean, did you not think, “Yo, Dirt is CRAZY!!!” And did you not laugh, and guiltily relate, every time he shouted, “Ooooh baby, I like it rawwwww”? We recognized that he was indeed a fool, and we loved him.
Artists do not compromise. Artists remain true to their calling, their natural form, and they maintain loyal to the muse that inspires them. For most, it is their lives and experiences in them. For others, money is the motivator. Because of the diversity in motives, Hip-Hop has become a mess. Yes, Virginia, Hip-Hop is a mess. Reporting the realities of the Street is no longer a priority. People would rather have a danceable beat than listen to rebellious lyrics. Young people prefer to hear the stories of the lifestyles of their favorite rich and famous rapper than the gutter tales of the local Hip-Hop griot. Honestly, who can blame them? In this country’s political climate, in the world’s political and social chaos, young people crave and seek positive hope. They look for something to strive for. They are not particularly interested in hearing gritty accounts of what they already know; it is depressing to say the least.
This is why artists like ODB are important to Hip-Hop culture. ODB was that uncle who could tell the story about losing his leg in the Vietnam War that would make everyone within earshot laugh heartily at his light-hearted tale. ODB would more than likely take his prosthetic leg off and wave it around. He softened the blow, somehow, and gave us a way to think about life in a not-so-serious way, as many disenfranchised people are forced to do day in and day out. To say the least, he was the ‘hood’s comic relief. This is not to say that Russell Jones was an innocent bystander, life gone too soon, before his time. We have heard the stories of his drug abuse, his arrests and prison stints. We have heard the stories about having various children, no concrete number, just a lot of them with a lot of ladies. We know that Dirt McGirt was no angel. Yet, just as he has nothing angelic about him, we felt familiar with him and his life. As consumers of his art, we grew to know a lot about ODB, and this is yet another beautiful thing about Hip-Hop music and the greater Hip-Hop culture: identification. Hip-Hop, as a culture, has existed longer than the 25 (or 30) years that mainstream media will give it credit for. Hip-Hop music grew out of this culture’s desire to express itself, complete with angst, joy, depression, desperation, and hope. The times have changed; no one can deny this fact. However, it is naïve to suggest that the images and ideals pushed through Hip-Hop music in the new millennium are representative of the collective Hip-Hop community.
Gone are the Ole Dirty Bastards, which have been replaced by the New So Fresh, So Clean Hood Social Elite. Millionairres flossing button-downs, retiring in their 30s like their dot-commer peers, wearing laymen’s yearly salaries on their wrists and teeth, and living like it is all good. For a small number, it really is all good. But for Russell Jones’ children and other children like them, the reality is harsh. The reality is that there is still struggle in the hood, and Hip-Hop artists are obligated to tell the stories and bring light to the strife. Let the entertainers ignore the problems, dance around in shiny and expensive suits and make people dance. Their jobs are to entertain the masses. Let us reflect on the lives of our fallen Hip-Hop icons and legends and allow Hip-Hop (the culture and the music) to resurrect Truth. Truth is the light my people and right now, Hip-Hop exists in darkness. Peace Russell.
posted by MBT4679 at 11/23/2004 02:29:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home