"When civilization is in control of technology, you have medicine,
you have philosophy, art, music, things that help humanity
along. But we don't realize this and as a result we're becoming
more of a technological society and not a civilization."
--KRS-One, quoted in the book Move the
Crowd
The appearance of fresh albums by dead artists is nothing
new. Unheard tracks by late greats like Otis Redding and
Jimi Hendrix, for example, have dropped long after the artists
passed on, enlightening today's youth about music from previous
eras.
Lately, though, a surge of posthumous releases of a different
kind has hit record stores. The late '99 releases of Bob
Marley's Chant Down Babylon, 2Pac and Outlawz' Still
I Rise and The Notorious B.I.G.'s Born Again
came as no surprise to hip-hop connoisseurs familiar with
crazy tales about these artists' prolific studio sessions.
As Big Gipp of the Goodie Mob told me a couple of years
back, 'Pac was able to "smoke good, drank good, mess with
them guhls and still do 50 songs by the end of the day."
However, there was no way to ready the ear for what comes
through the speakers. Natalie Cole shook things up when
she recorded songs "with" her pops, but Marley's sons and
Puff Daddy (Biggie's producer) have taken it to the next
level.
Whereas the Marley Brothers pull in MCs whose steelos match
the revolutionary spirit of their father, damn near everybody
and they mama appear on Biggie's joint. Even though it's
eerie to hear the Hot Boys, Eminem and Ice Cube rhyme with
the Notorious one, Born Again overcomes such uneasiness
by being dope product, an opus suited to Biggie Smalls'
voice and commercial popularity.
The 20-plus guests (Nas, Method Man, Redman, Missy Elliot)
fill the void left by the lack of enough verses from B.I.G.,
yet their presence almost makes you forget that the man
born Christopher Wallace no longer walks the earth. This
feeling plagues the back of the mind, causing a slight detachment
from the listening experience.
"The album bangs," Supreme Magnetic, a nice, young MC 'round
town, says. "But I don't wanna fall in love with it because
I know there's nothing coming after it." The grief and alienation
spurred by these surreal marvels echo throughout the culture.
"Tupac and Biggie were the voices of the '90s and their
music is timeless," a local jazzy belle named Danielle says.
'Pac and the Outlawz provide militant messages of struggle
for freedom, justice and equality, with less work done postmortem
than on Chant Down Babylon and Born Again.
Like most of Tupac's joints, Still I Rise is suited
for dolo excursions, making a ride through Portland's desolate,
early morning streets quite enjoyable.
Rebel music is also the theme of Chant Down Babylon.
Modernizing the music and using alternate takes of Bob's
vocals, tracks such as "Guiltiness" and "Jammin'" are beautifully
remixed into legitimate hip-hop street bangers. The eloquence
of Chuck D, Guru, Rakim and Erykah Badu take nothing away
from Marley's lyrics. Instead, they show there's still a
need to chant down Babylon.
Sadly enough, Born Again, Still I Rise and
Chant Down Babylon are tighter than most anything
else out there. Marley, Shakur and Christopher Wallace live
on after death, and music has suffered since they went up
yonder. But how long can we continue to rely on technologically
manipulated, posthumous records for inspiration? Yes, we
have been robbed of the opportunity to witness the evolution
of these artists' souls. At some point, though, the living
must live, building upon the creative spirit of our departed
heroes and their dreams of a fair, civilized society.
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Willamette Week | originally
published January 26,
2000
|
