In the middle of Hip-Hop’s growing and varying contrasts, two were specifically interesting to me in 1991. Here in the same month (May of 1991), you have NWA, (“Efil4Zaggin” Ruthless), and De La Soul (“De La Soul Is Dead” Tommy Boy). One group not only embracing their persona, but amplifying it. And the other, almost desperately attempting to abandon theirs.

And NWA, although excellently and innovatively produced, simply reheating the inner-city turmoil/profanity-laced soup? Is there any uncharted territory, left? A voice unheard? An underrepresented community, to sprout?

Yes….

Cypress’ debut (“Cypress Hill” RuffHouse/August ‘91) trail-blazed a new path into so many different walks of culture, that the “funky bilinguals” had to have not only been unaware that they hadn’t yet been meshed, but also that they even should be. This wasn’t just the introduction of a new group. It was the introduction of a community and a sound. It was also, an olive-branch to fan bases outside of rap. Most specifically the firecracker commercial success of “How I Could Just Kill A Man (kick-started by a beautiful cameo in the movie “Juice”, 1992. A song that was good on such levels, it almost derailed Ice Cube’s career. For Cube’s next two albums “The Predator” 1992, and “Lethal Injection” 1993, he chased his own “Kill A Man…”, unsuccessfully, LOL.)

The Latino lens, the weed-positive (which at the time in 1991, was still seriously taboo) bars, the gang-bang lingo, the low-rider landscape, B-Real’s vivid storytelling and psychedelic nasal flow, Sen Dog’s gritty baritone, and (THE GREAT!!!) DJ Muggs’ blunted azz beats (the first to make their music INTENTIONALLY sound stoned). A PERFECT collage of a South LA lifestyle, that hadn’t yet been explored on a mainstream level, and in a way this vivid.

There are few times in music history, where it can undeniably be pinpointed when a revolution took place, and in 1991, grunge/alt-rock was burgeoning. Cypress Hill, and their sonic authenticity, are responsible for bridging the gap between two rebellious and raucous cultures, Rap and alternative-rock. It was beautiful to see. There were kids (like me) who loved Cypress and the Chili Peppers. Nirvana, and BDP. And we owe a large part of that connection, (along with the Beasties and PE), to Cypress Hill.

One of the more stellar rap debuts you’ll ever hear, and the groundwork for one of raps truest legacy, classic groups.

“MJ will be my new name, no more Michael Jackson. I want a whole new character, a whole new look, I should be a totally different person. People should never think of me as the kid who sang ‘ABC’ [and] ‘I Want You Back’. I should be a new incredible actor singer dancer that will shock the world. I will do no interviews. I will be magic. I will be a perfectionist, researcher, a trainer, a masterer. I will study and look back on the whole world of entertainment and perfect it.” - MJ pre-“Off The Wall”

How does one of the biggest superstars in music, at just 20 years of age (and with SEVENTEEN(!) albums already under his belt by this time), need a reintroduction?! Welp. Being a child star raised in the limelight, and by a notoriously authoritarian father in Papa Joe, is enough to make anyone painfully self-conscious. So, worried that he might never be able to shake his kid celebrity image, Mike in all of his awkwardly teenage pubescence, said no. He didn’t want to merely hang on grimly to his family’s fading notoriety.

He wanted to break away from it completely.

He wanted to self-identify.

He wanted…control (sorry, lol)?

And “Off The Wall” (Epic 1979), is his first step towards that liberation.

A crossroads moment for an aging child-star, who at one time would seemingly be forever married to the Motown-machine of chart-toppers, and its assembly line of icons. The equation for a pre-life crisis. But for those with keen enough foresight, Michael’s 1973 solo performance of “Ben” at the Academy Awards, was a peek into other possibilities. Clearly the outright star of the Jackson 5, sure Yung Michael possessed the charm, talent, and looks, to swoon pre-teen girls. But closer observation, revealed a precocious technician. Michael’s desire to be not only great, but be magical, is the lifeblood of his transformation. His transformation, which had to be married to forging his own path. Apart from, The Jacksons. His family, by 1977, was showing a future shadowed in doubt, only to be kept afloat by a television variety show. Which Michael HATED.

Enter 1979. After a less than amicable divorce from Motown, gone are Berry Gordy and Motown’s formula (J5 had four singles damn near immediately go No.1 when they signed, “I Want You Back/ABC/Stop/I’ll Be There”, which is a DIRECT reflection of Berry’s record genius. One of the true great record minds, ever.), and also gone, is Jermaine who left the group to stay with Motown. Gone too, are the advantages that a Black-owned, Black star-studded, Midwestern (key for the Jackson’s’ familiarities and values), first of its kind record label, offered young Michael. The kinds of advantages he wasn’t likely to get anywhere else. Berry’s father-figure warmth, tutelage from master teachers, and the camaraderie of Black artists and executives in the Civil Rights 1960’s, all gone now. And a sharp contrast from the disco-influenced/melting pot of the mid/late 70’s, breaking down color lines and radio formats, which awaited Michael in the not-so-distant future.

CBS/Epic wasn’t too thrilled about signing the post-Motown Jacksons and had little interest in promoting them once signed, with decent enough reason. In their sights, a stale boyband, and a song about a dead rat by its lead, wasn’t exactly a goldmine. But the biggest two linchpins between MJ and “Off The Wall”, weren’t a record company or even recording driven. First, MJ being in NYC to film “The Wiz” (1977), opened him up to a world of club music nightlife (specifically Studio 54 at its glam-ified disco pinnacle), that he was inspired by, and studied feverishly. He now knew he wanted to include disco energy into the equation. But how could he weld this disco, (which was obvious to Mike had an expiration date, and a growing disdain amongst elitists), with his already present DNA sensibilities of funk, ballads, and mature rhythm and blues, to have them all play nicely together?

Quincy.

Second, and another result of the Wiz’s filming, was Michael and Quincy Jones’ newfound working relationship. Mike knew Q was his Yoda. Quincy was a polished musician, producer extraordinaire. Under Quincy’s guidance, Michael’s discipline never would become his captivity. Quincy’s music was precise, but not inflexible. It breathes. It trusts its own rhythm. And Michael understood ALL of this. CBS, though? Not so much. I’m unclear how MJ convinced Epic that Q was the guy (and NOT Maurice White of EWF fame, who Epic wanted to produce “Off The Wall”), but the rest is history.

OTW lives in a space, that’s infinitely married to its successor. Where “Thriller” (Epic 1982) is the explosion, OTW is the origin. A sophisticated blend of disco, R&B, and funk. The perfect storm, the perfect time. Michael (and the beginnings of his new, identity. The shrieks, the grunts, the hollers, all introduced, on OTW), is perfect. But perhaps the album’s most important moment, is the understated “Burn This Disco Out”, in which OTW as a concept, almost becomes a statement of transition. Buried in the track list as the final song on side B, could it be a recognition that one era is ending and another is being born? And this, is Michael’s genius. He doesn’t reject what came before. He refines it. He carries forward what is essential and leaves the rest behind. Motown University, James Brown, Fred Astaire, Sammy Davis Jr., Gershwin, Ellington. Michael was finally able to combine all of the influences, all of the hours of study, all of the hours of practice, into something that was HIS.

Superstar, to supernova.

At the peak of its powers in 1995, the Wu empire introduced most of its first-generation parallel (albeit personal), solo universes. *Wu-Tang was a complete masterclass in business development, strategy marketing, and branding. But that’s a different conversation* But within the orbit of Meth (Tical ‘94), Dirty (Return ‘95), GZA (Swords ‘95), something unlikely happened.

A specified kinship, WITHIN the Clansmen. And for the first time in the Wu fold, filled with brazen danger, and bust ya’ shit open boldness, came a benevolence between two that stood out even amongst the biological family of RZA/GZA/ODB/Divine, and the Wu’s core community. Rae and Ghost. Speed and power. Pacino and DeNiro. Luxury and brawn. The Clan counterparts lay out a MASTER narrative with OB4CL. Two 20-something Black men that endear each other deeply, with the nightmarish crack-epidemic still looming in their sub-consciences, trading stories from the New York crime side. Seldom seen in hip-hop, that when a young man’s introductory solo project gets to take center stage, he allows a comrade to share in that light equally, as Rae allows Ghost. Not as a contractually obliged duo, but simply as a-alike. Ghost wasn’t Rae’s hype man or his henchman, but for all intents and purposes, his heart. Rae a calculated, articulate, menace. Rugged, but smooth. And Ghost, a combustible, colorful, rap Picasso. Both slang masters. Both razor sharp, dangerous, witty, and serious. Serious enough in fact, to take an indirect uppercut to anyone, including niggas biting offa Nas shit… RZA’s perfect cinematic crime backdrop of beats, the fellow Clansmen darting in and out of tracks, and a legendary guest spot from Nas, reinforced what, and who this album was for… The Lex ES, the GS, pearl white Ac Legend, the ‘Lo wears, Tommy Hill fly shit, 360 waves, mafia flicks, leathers, AK’s, Cristal, and truck jewels.

MASTERPIECE THEATER.

Happy B-Day, Purple Tape.

“The South got somethin’ to say!!” © Andre 3000

“The East Coast ain’t got no love for Dr. Dre, and Snoop Dogg…and Death Row?! Y’all don’t love us??!! Y’ALL DON’T LUV US???!!??” © Snoop Doggy Dogg

“Any artist out there wanna be a artist, and wanna stay a star, and don't wanna – and won't have to worry about tha ‘xecutive producer tryna be all in the videos, all on the records, dancin' – COME TO DEATH ROW!” © Marion Suga Bear Knight

What many remember in real-time of the 1995 Source Magazine Hip-Hop Awards Show, or have only gotten through the glory of the grapevine, are the tensions between the East and West coast armies. An evening etched in infamy. Certainly.

The House of Puff. The House of Death Row. The self-starting South playing neutral, would however eventually seize the crown in a Mexican standoff between the two houses. A theater of misfortunes, and a culture whose lines between performance and reality, were becoming unrecognizably blurred. And although this Civil War wouldn’t reach its complete tragic crescendo until March 9th, 1997, the Battle of the Source Awards ‘95 spawned repercussion reaching further than only to those in either shiny-suits, or G-Funk armors.

Many of us spectators, have watched Hip-Hop culture come of age, right before our eyes. Its playful Jurassic-era (‘77-'81), its exuberant Discovery-era (‘82-’85), its peak Golden-era (‘86-’89), its refined Renaissance-era (‘90-’94), and perchance its most questionable period to date, its Jiggy-era (‘95-’99). From rhymes for sport, to bloodsport. From adolescence to convalescence. And each era, accompanied by a ruler. Prior to regionalism and partisanship, rappers were anointed based on penmanship. Young Nasir Jones from the borough of Queens, seemed primed to take the throne with the promise given on his debut “Illmatic” (Columbia 1994). Nas, a prophet rap phenom, with a phenomenal art piece of an album, was not at all the king-in-waiting, in the minds of many. He WAS the king. His electing body, the Queensbridge Houses. His commission, the Honorable Large Professor, the esteemed DJ Premier, and the commission of Pete Rock and Q-Tip, respectably. And his political platform, “Illmatic”. Hailed by many as the greatest rap album of all-time, even in its infancy, Illmatic’s folklore is still very likely to be the largest debut shadow ever to cast over any artist’s career. A critical masterpiece, unparalleled. Throw in several very calculated, amazing guest appearances courtesy of Raekwon, and Mobb Deep in the early summer of ‘95, and Nas’ enthronement seemed to be only a mere technicality.

But.

What was SUPPOSED to be Nas’ coronation moment as rap’s biggest solo star at the 1995 Source Awards, instead became the evening that changed the trajectory of the wunderkind’s career, for the next half-decade. THEE Christopher Wallace, from the adjacent borough of Brooklyn, and the House of Puff, most evidently, and assuredly, thwarted what was believed to be the predestined.

With stunning blow,

Rap Album of the Year - “Ready to Die” - The Notorious B.I.G.

after blow,

Lyricist of the Year - The Notorious B.I.G.

after blow,

Live Performer of the Year - The Notorious B.I.G. aka “We did it, Brooklyn we did it!!!”.

A cleanest of sweeps. Biggie, crown-holder. Game. Set. Match.

Nas, freshly dipped in an oversized Hilfiger fit, watched rap music’s highest honor slip through his fingers. And in my belief, at that moment a transformation took place. It went from Nasty to Nas, and now Nas, to Escobar.

So. An expert eye for detail, chilling wordplay, and oodles of ink spillage words all past the margins, still didn’t result in his peers’ majority vote. And although Illmatic was a critical masterpiece, what revisionism will omit, is that it was just as equally a commercial disaster. Drudging along in sales, the Kid’s debut took two calendar years to reach gold in the US, and seven years to touch platinum. Young Nasir now has the privilege AND dilemma of being the only rap artist to simultaneously have the most anticipated debut AND sophomore albums, in history. What would he do next? And now with more questions than answers, the stakes couldn’t have been higher.

What’s his identity? Is it still artistic ghetto-wild golden-child?

What’s his muse? Still the Queensbridge Houses? He’s seen the world, by now.

What’s his endgame? Hood fame? Platinum in the streets? Can’t be.

And maybe most importantly, who’s his Cus D’Amato? His Puff? His Suge?

“Better find out before your time’s out, what the f*ck.”

A Black man attempting to remove himself (and his boys) from the ghetto’s grip, and make some millions concurrent with commercialism, is an understandable detour. Even if you’re an artistic visionary, cultural savant, and possibly savior.

Who am I to disagree? Everybody’s looking for something.

“It Was Written” (Columbia 1996), bore the burden of extreme circumstances, before the first bar was laid. A Nas variant was born to much dismay, but a brilliant artist (Prince, MF DOOM, etc.) understands the flexibility aliases can provide. Especially considering, there is NO way IWW could’ve lived up to the feat of following up Illmatic. Nas handled the weight of it all, rather respectably. He entrusted his petitioning in the boardroom to Steve Stoute, he added the Trackmasters production team into the musical equation, and a crew (The Firm) to round out the rollout. The result, an excellent album. The introduction, “If I Ruled The World” (coincidentally?), a shoutout to Kurtis Blow, raps FIRST true ruler on wax. Nas, now unmistakably coming for the crown, featuring Lauryn Hill, are in hindsight both being fitted for royalty. Ms. Hill, a star, is not yet the charming media darling/5-time Grammy award winning dynamo she would become in the near future. Both artists, on the brink of their superstardom, resting on the weight of IWW.

Incredulous to think, that this song was met with even moderate level disdain. But it was. And even some severe disdain, too. Alas, Nas’ first radio hit.

And, first hit album.

Platinum in THREE MONTHS. And a Grammy nomination. What this recognition symbolizes to me, is success. Critically, commercially, and one of the many rebirths of Nas, to come. He was now on the red carpet, along with the House of Puff, and House of Death Row, that had snubbed him that famous night only a year prior. No matter how controversially.

Hey. A drug dealer’s destiny is reaching a key.

Happy 30th, “It Was Written”.

Buss it. In order to quantify the importance of “Beats, Rhymes, and Life” (Jive 1996), it has to be evaluated on its own merit, and not in any comparison to A Tribe Called Quest’s spotless catalog prior. So. If one can isolate it, then it can be taken into its fairest consideration.

Now.

With that being said, I won’t be referencing or even referring to Tribe’s previous albums, here. The singular focus will be BRL, and how it performs independently. After 30 years of revisits, and with much more recent views as an autonomous case-study, BRL clearly presents as the band’s most controversial moment. But at a deeper look, also possibly its most defining moment. Not achievement, but MOMENT.

Immediately noticeable, is the missing charm of Tribe’s youthful enthusiasm, humor, and camaraderie. Present instead, are maturity, spiritual growth, and a candor we’d not seen before from the Questers before. This in fact so evident, that an actual moment of clarity plays out in a skit, as an exhausted Q-Tip tires of “getting crazy high at a party”, where “stupid shit be jumping off”, and the need to “find something new.” Tip (Kamaal)’s conversion to Islam, Phife now residing in Atlanta (and seemingly trying to find his footing as a result of his BFF’s newfound spiritual identity), the addition of emcee Consequence upending the chemistry, Ali as neutral as Switzerland while observing his buddies navigate their first very public spat, and last but not least the inclusion of prodigy producer, Jay Dee. The working parts of this, could very easily be seen as Tip assembling a new group roster, while still confronting the issues of the current. Exit Ali, exit Phife. Enter Jay Dee, enter Consequence. ALSO, not to mention the continued absence of (sometimes) fourth member, Jarobi. All of this, equally (and indiscreetly), is a LOT for any band to confront. Especially one, with an unblemished discography to this point. Q-Tip, is even more reluctant in his leadership role here (at least in public view). The Phife we all knew as the funny, wise-cracking, high-voiced, perfect counterattack to Tip, is now also edgier and less playful. There’s a restrained tension between the two, on BRL. And one that Tribe’s seasoned travelers, could notice quite easily.

Also not lost in the sauce, is the underlying sentiment of where hip-hop was as a culture, in mid-1996. The bi-coastal feud was soon to reach its crescendo, as raps two biggest stars would be murdered within an 8-month span, following the release of “Beats, Rhymes, and Life”. As a result, BRL is cloaked in a soberness (almost sadness) that’s a definite about-face from, the Tribe that neutralized the Native Tongue’s country. Not as introverted as De La Soul, and not as intentionally political as the Jungle Brothers, Tip, Phife, and Ali, were the populists of the Native Tongue crew. Welcoming to the casual rap fan, and yet calculated enough creatively, to still belong. BRL, shows up a new Tribe. Uninviting, bleak, and unfortunately, clairvoyant.

(A Tribe Called Quest - “1nce Again” 1996)

In my opinion, BNR is the most important moment in Tip’s evolution, crossing the threshold from young adulthood, into grown man status, on wax. The most poignant and self-effacing pen game of his entire catalog, solo efforts included.

For long-time Questers, you get the feeling that the three years in between 1993’s PRISTINE third album “Midnight Marauders” (Jive), and BRL, brought forth both intense creative, and internal crises. Creatively, it (along with De La’s 1996 offering “Stakes Is High”) very admirably challenged the dysfunction of hip-hop’s burgeoning materialism-era, but Tribe (particularly Tip) is giving exhausted, and borderline bored with it all. Kamaal gives outstanding but glum, performances. The record plays as an observation of what hip-hop is, or what’s left of it, in 1996. A closer look at the album’s artwork, could be seen as a hip-hop cultural landscape in ruin, peril. And the flag-bearing Tribe figures, coming in to fight the apocalyptic territory, with restoration, resurrection, and reflection. Or, a predicament that embodied Tribe’s OWN predicament. Amid a changing landscape, a band attempting to remind a culture of what it was losing, while lamenting what it would ultimately become. There’s no connecting tour guide voice here, no recurring sonic themes, no Hip-Hop serenades about derriere perfection. Only prophecy, and manifestos.

“Beats, Rhymes, and Life” gives breadcrumbs, for the listener to ultimately decide its theme, its importance, and question hip-hop culture’s newfound role, and direction in society.

“Hip-Hop, could never be a way of life, it doesn’t tell you how to raise a child or treat a wife…” - Q-Tip, “Keeping It Moving”

Tribe had never been more popular commercially, and more out of sorts. “Beats, Rhymes and Life” would become the group’s quickest record to reach RIAA certified platinum sales, by the fall of 1998. A conundrum, considering that the relationship with their long-time and only record label to this point, Jive, was becoming more acrimonious by the minute. Now with a deepened interest in pop acts, Jive - who’d just signed over a 20% stake in the company to BMG in 1996 - found it most beneficial (lucrative) to focus on their newly signed pop acts, N’SYNC, the Backstreet Boys, and Britney Spears. Factoring in, that Hip-Hop culture is in the middle of its very own civil war, and its Reconstruction (Jiggy)-era is looming in 1997, ATCQ was ahead of the curve in its diagnostic, and BRL has many burdens to bear.

Musically though, here enters Jay Dee, for the world to see. Jay’s addition to the production forms a formidable concern. Is this a continuation of Tribe’s beloved sound, or a departure from it? Is Jay handling the weight of producing a Tribe album, alone? Or is there a division of labor between he and Tip? And were does Ali factor in? Many questions unanswered in the moment, that still loom with cloudiness, thirty years later. But the benefits of hindsight, show that not only was it a genius addition at the time, giving Tribe a kick-in-the-ass sonically, but Jay Dee continued on to become possibly the greatest beat-maker, ever. The same keen ears that led Q-Tip and Ali to a fortune of jazz samples yet untapped by the Hip-Hop masses at the start of their careers, are the same ones that led them to Jay Dee. An extension of Tribe and not an abbreviation, Jay (and his group Slum Village), are a large portion of why the subsequent ATCQ breakup wasn’t entirely deafening. And we have the hand-off/coronation of BRL, to thank for that.

Although seen as a confusing mess of disappointment in 1996, BNR has aged comparatively well, musically. Especially considering the group in transition it represented. The artistic results it spawned (the Ummah’s formal intro, and cementing Jay Dee as the next ONE.), are the ones that set the stage for next movements of The Roots, Common, Black Star, etc. It also reintroduced Tribe now as a brotherhood, and a true community, and not simply 3 (sometimes 4), brothers from Queens.

Triumphant in so many ways, misunderstood in so many others.

Happy 30th, Beats, Rhymes, & Life.

If “Enter the Wu-Tang 36…” (Loud/RCA 1993) was a grimy, oily, nuts and bolts peek under the hood of the Wu’s universe, “Wu-Tang Forever” (Loud/RCA 1997) was the shiny showroom floor of it. The Clan, now all solo superstars in their own rights, went from coronation in ‘93, to graduation in ‘97 with their 2nd LP, “Wu-Tang Forever”.

RZA, the Clan’s de-facto leader, implemented a 5-year plan for his nine (sometimes ten, shoutout Cappa) member crew in 1993, which was now closing in on realization. During that stretch, the RZA transformed them all - including 2nd generation/Wu-affiliates and even management - into rap royalty. Orbiting around its native Staten Island (Park Hill and Stapleton Projects, to be specific), with branches in Brooklyn, the Wu-Tang Clan’s universe sprawled into every corner of the cosmos. The Clan’s dojo, including everything from martial arts to Spider-Man, and everyone from Mariah Carey to Sunz of Man, helped to resurrect a dormant East Coast rap scene.

They created their own culture WITHIN Hip-Hop’s culture, one so insular, so layered, so cavernous, and so rabidly successful, that it almost outgrew its host, breeding solely on its own popularity.

Almost.

The group’s crescendo, 1993-1997, included deeper dives into the Wu abyss with solo efforts from five of the nine core members - Method Man, Tical (Def Jam 1994), Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Return to the 36 Chambers: The Dirty Version (Elektra 1995), Raekwon, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx… (Loud 1995), GZA, Liquid Swords (Geffen 1995), Ghostface Killah, Ironman (Epic 1996) - but these classics came at a cost, and played meaningful parts as catalysts to a noticeable divide. The Wu, with its massive successes, had become split between the haves and have-nots of its operation. And what seemed like an impenetrable force, and rap’s premier creative shit over the prior five years wasn’t yet fully bleeding, but the writings on the wall were that the only entities with chances of stopping the Wu, would in fact BE the Wu. Whether it be internal strife, or their increasing (although warranted) arrogance. RZA’s leadership, once singular and iron-fisted, was weakening as the individual members’ stars began to rise. Money, and particularly its distribution among group members, had begun to become an issue. “Forever” marked both the height of the Clan’s indomitability, and the point where one of the greatest rap groups of all-time, began to implode.

The fever-pitch of anticipatory energy leading up to “Forever”, couldn’t even be stopped by the absence of Wu-Tang music from New York City terrestrial radio (Ghostface yelling “F*ck Hot97!” on that Summer Jam stage didn’t help), or an abandonment of their post supporting Rage Against the Machine on tour in the summer of ‘97. Wu fans are beyond diehards by mid-’97, and with the murders of both The Notorious BIG and Tupac in ‘96, Eminem still only heating up the underground, Jay-Z only on the cusp of superstardom, and the Hip-Hop nation still reluctant to totally acknowledge the superiority of OutKast and the South, the Wu is unexpectedly left sitting atop Hip-Hop’s hierarchy. The expectations, and the stakes, were high.

It’s no surprise that (presumably) RZA brilliantly chose the lead single to be “Triumph”, a match to gasoline/middle-finger to the record biz, six-minute, no chorus, resistance to the idea of commercial compromise, in rhyme form. The beat, sparse and hypnotic, the bars, without blemish. Inspectah Deck’s opening barrage ends up being the verse of the decade, and Deck ironically, took the most substantial blow to a promising solo career as any of the Wu brethren, when his debut LP’s foundational pieces were drowned in a flood of RZA’s basement studio. Add that to a list of growing grievances with the boss (RZA), and it wouldn’t be a complete shock to hear the Clan take “Forever” as a formality. As employees and not artists, milking the clock after putting in a two-week’s notice. But given the gumbo of agitation, unrest, and infighting, it’s remarkable how smoothly and kismet “Forever” plays. There’s not a phoned-in verse, lazy beat, or lack in charisma. RZA’s production, is a slow move away from samples and aimed at a more cinematic sound but does nothing to distort the groove. The universal goal, to save Hip-Hop from the (shiny) suits, using Five Percent Nation fervor, mic skills, martial arts, humor, numerology, and mafioso monikers. The goal so important, that the fellas put aside their widening internal differences and all bring their sharpest swords to the fight. Their connection is no doubt mystical. But, with the brotherhood between them being as special as their disagreements are seething, “Forever”, would woefully be the Wu’s last offering as a completely unified front.

So. Whether considered to be the Shaolin ensemble’s greatest example of the connectedness that made them so loveable, or a bloated, unfocused mess that for the first time (I’ve heard it referred to as both dominant, and a dud), didn’t quite dart their bullseye, “Forever” is unmistakably amazing, but simultaneously their final bow as Voltron on record. Soon after, the supremacy wore off, rap music became glossier and more decadent, and Wu-Tang group projects became increasingly fractured, more stitched together, and passable. Possibly because they were too high on their own supply, possibly because Diddy was in the rear view, with his own “Forever” (Bad Boy 1999), or my best theory, that the group’s spirit died along with Ol’ Dirty Bastard in 2004. Nevertheless, “Forever” is the entire Wu, at their most egotistical, functional, and BANGING. The coolest pop stars of the 90’s. Wu Tang. Happy 28th “Forever”.

Buena Vista Social Club (World Circuit, 1997).

Lucy Pearl (Virgin, 2000).

Lauryn Hill (Ruffhouse/Columbia, 1998).

Cru (Def Jam, 1997).

Madvillain (Stones Throw, 2004).

Lisa Fischer.

A mixed bag of supergroups, ensemble bands, solo artists, and solo artists removed, alike. Some obscure, and some unexpected. Some met with grand critical and commercial successes, and some remain with classic remnants of nostalgia only. But the commonality, all spectacular projects, without a proper follow-up.

Grand opening, grand closing.

The music business satiates off of amplifying artist successes. It doesn’t feed its pupils; it feeds on them. And for the artist, the more obvious the successes, the more opulence they’re offered. Some gladly accept, and some, however, willfully choose a different path.

In the fall of 1990, powerhouse divas Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey (and also ultimately Clive Davis (Arista) and Tommy Mattola (Columbia), supplying their jet-fuels and bankrolls) had a complete stranglehold on the world of pop/R&B. Carey, already established as a virtuoso singer on her debut “Vision Of Love” (Columbia, 1990), would soon redraw the lines of what a pop effort could sound like, and more than any other artist, bridge the gap between pop and hip-hop. Houston, now at a crossroads between catering completely to commercial/pop dominance, or attempting to regain her Black audience (she chose the latter, with 1990’s “I’m Your Baby Tonight”, enlisting Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis/Babyface & LA Reid/Lutha/Stevie for production). With both singers at their commercial crests thus far, was there any room for another woman, NOT named Whitney or Mariah, to double-dutch into the spotlight?

Enter, Naranda Michael Walden.

Walden, a Midwestern jazz giant mentored by Quincy Jones and schooled in the trade of 70’s fusion with band Mahavishnu Orchestra, had already crafted hits for both Carey, and Houston, by 1990. The Walden/Fischer musical marriage, would be arranged and presided over by Elektra Records CEO Bob Krasnow (who low-key, built an IMPECCABLE roster at Elektra in the 80’s - Chaka/George Benson/Funkadelic/Bootsy/Kraftwerk/Anita Baker/Teddy P/Womack & Womack, plus also gave an upstart hip-hop A&R named Dante Ross, a shot), and was a pin-point alley-oop. Walden, accompanied by a glittery roster of writers and producers (Lutha THEE Vandross. Marcus Miller. Arif Mardin. NICK ASHFORD. Cindy Mizelle.), steered the ship for Fischer’s debut release, “So Intense” (Elektra 1991). The result, was Fischer slaying her way into churning out three Top 20 R&B hits, with the Walden penned and produced “How Can I Ease The Pain” reaching No. 1 on the R&B charts, winning a ‘92 Grammy for “Best R&B Vocal Performance”, and more importantly becoming etched into the quiet storm/urban adult contemporary genre upper crust. She sang with beauty, drama, and power. She radiated interviews with elegance, humility, and a 100-watt smile. She had the bops, and the rizz, to be a superstar by the fall of 1991...if she wanted superstardom.

*Yes, Djimon Hounsou was in EVERY SINGLE woman’s 90’s R&B video

But just as quickly as the tide rose, it calmed.

As strange as it may sound, I love it when people reject fame. When they set clear boundaries, assert their power, and their power to choose. Fischer chose the lane she felt most natural in. Out of the spotlight, and (back) into the background. Her spirit still soars, as a session and background singer. Still known worldwide today for her ridiculous range, and still past remembered for her chart-topping mecca moment in the early nineties.

An enigmatic artist, accompanied by such a mercurial project that it isn’t even available on digital streaming platform heavyweights Apple Music, Spotify, or Tidal, Fischer is that the legend. And I suppose that if we all knew that “So Intense” would be her only full-length solo project, we would’ve all held the moment a little tighter.

With solo pop-superstardom looming in just about three years (“I Feel For You” Warner Bros. 1984), here we have Yung Chaka, an irrefutable, sheer firecracker of an artist and performer, still however finding her footing sans the backing of Rufus…

It’s not incredibly presumptuous, to predict the fate of a group, in which a member emerges as its star.

Whether it’s a Method Man (the heartthrob star, in which thralls of the opposite sex determine their position), a Q-Tip (the reluctant star, has star qualities but tends to deflect), a Bobby Brown aka “good to go solo…” (the rebellious star, insubordinate bad boy/girl, pushed out and into stardom), Michael Jackson (the obvious star), Phil Collins (the unassuming star, forced into stardom after a member departure), or a Beyonce’ (an intentional star), once the dust and duties of a band have settled, the writings are clearly on the wall.

Already a powerhouse vocalist, sex symbol, and enigmatic personality by 1981, Chaka was primed for the stardom we’ve all come to appreciate. BUT. Navigating that path was a bit murky for her, particularly within the confines of Rufus. And although not as complex a soap opera as say “Rumours”-era Fleetwood Mac, Rufus has its own set of drama. Khan’s marriage to Richard Holland in 1976, much to the chagrin of her bandmates (particularly Andre Fischer), gave a bit of Yoko/Lennon-esque disruption to the band, and coupled with the ever-present and requisite group “creative differences”, the solo stage was set for Chaka.

A few chance studio sessions with The Average White Band, would lead to demos of what was to become the defining, although embryotic, direction of “What Cha’ Gonna Do…” (Warner Bros. 1981). What resulted was a project, as whimsical, eclectic, and smooth as there had been from a woman funk singer. “What Cha’ Gonna Do…” serves as Chaka’s “Off The Wall” to her 1984 LP “I Feel For You”s “Thriller”, and with the GREAT Arif Mardin serving as the Quincy to her Michael (or the Jerry Wexler to her Aretha, take your pick), it’s a certified post-disco smash.

The title track, interrogative and indifferent, is undoubtedly the album’s most recognizable. A lesson in two-step boogie magnificence. But it’s the record’s fourth single, “I Know You, I Live You”, that combines the Chaka/Arif magic, dance floor staying power, and intensity that builds up into a roaring vocal/horn section/percussive/bass work, blaze.

A towering critical achievement for Khan and Mardin (although 1977’s “Ask Rufus”, is the band and all of its parts’ crown-jewel), and an admirable commercial success (RIAA certified gold status, as of July 1981), “What Cha’ Gonna Do…” solidifies Chaka as soul royalty. Already sharing in funk deity lore with Rufus, Khan refined polished, and expanded her sound, amongst a rapidly changing landscape.

Happy 45th, to Chaka Khan (Chak-Chaka Khan)’ s 3rd solo offering.

As far as top-of-the-line, pop/soul showcases are concerned, “Confessions” (Arista 2004) has no shortage of what made its predecessors definitive...

The recipe of semi-autobiographical relationship accounts and affairs (“Here, My Dear” Marvin Gaye Motown/1978 , “+’Justments” Bill Withers Sussex/1974), breakup journals (“Rumours” Fleetwood Mac Warner/1977), and the interchanging of lover boy, to playboy, to bad boy (“Don’t Be Cruel” Bobby Brown MCA/1988), all persist on Usher’s fourth album, Confessions. Not to mention “Yeah!”, the requisite juggernaut single that takes an album from opus to orbit, a ’la “Smells Like Teen Spirit/Don’t Stop Believin’/Billie Jean”. Undoubtedly, Usher puts these overarching themes and tools to use perfectly here, and his ensemble cast of writers understood the assignment, famously.

But, Confessions’ significance marks much bigger as an actual moment, than what it does musically…

I’m unsure of which artist would hold the title of releasing the first ever mega-selling, blockbuster, inescapable album in history (but I do believe “Beatlemania” was the beginnings of music’s commodification, and when greed entered the chat). But what I’m certain of, is that Usher’s “Confessions”, is the last.

In 2004, the music business was on the precipice of getting its world-rocked with downloading and (subsequently) streaming, set to confuse the hell out of the entire industry. The old-business models of, feeling over data, satisfaction over mere consumption, and true cast-your-ballot sales, were all about to be past tense. Buying an album pre-streaming, was truly, a vote. A purchase made pre-streaming meant a visit to the record store with intentionality. With purpose. It meant a drive, a carpool, public transit, a walk. It meant making pointed selections, perusing amongst the thousands. It meant possibly even discovering new music (and maybe, also new friends! Yay PEOPLE-ING!), whilst questing for the sought-after. So, at the risk of a blaring “Everything was better in my day!” theme here, I would rather observe the concrete ways the internet has affected the dynamics of culture as a whole, thus of course affecting art and its purchasing. Every generation has its way of romanticizing itself. Just as the young are misled into thinking everything is now better than it was. But these here, is facts...

Pre-2004, the music biz was still for better or worse, a true value-oriented system. And the absence of VALUE (which is palpable), that streaming has placed on art (specifically music) is why Drake will never be Tupac or Jay, why Chris Brown will never be Usher, why NOBODY will ever be MJ, and why Confessions’ dominance on the palisade of streaming, makes it The Last of The Mohicans of the old music business model. It marks The Mason-Dixon line of music sales, and in terms of historic lore, there’s BC and AC. Before and after “Confessions”.

Human behavior shows us time and time again, and without much fail, that value is often based on availability. So yes, the ability to have 20,000 songs in your pocket at all times, cool for convenience’s sake. But, this ultra-availability, lessens value. And also sheds what a human is willing to do, to obtain their desire. Would 2026 20-year-olds, pillage to record stores in droves to buy the latest Taylor Swift album, if they absolutely HAD to? Possibly. Probably not. Either answer is, and would likely remain, hypothetical. But us 2004 20-somethings, DID. And that essence of proof, is the separator. It meant something, to trek to a record store for purchase. There was value in having to wait for local radio to play “My Boo” or “Burn”, whether you and ya’ gal were getting along great, or not at all. And if the COVID pandemic taught us anything at all, it’s that art isn’t simply entertainment, or only arbitrary. It is real, it is valuable, and at its greatest value, maybe even meant to feel slightly inaccessible at times.

Surprisingly, physical media is staging a revival in 2026. Unsurprisingly enough though, streaming platforms also know this, and their counterattack?

More content.

But only this time, even less engaging content. Yep. More “snackable” content (YouTube “Shorts”, anyone?), to further deflect from long-playing, fully engaging, brain-arousing, art. And for every rebuttal the digital era has to the tangible, whether be it Napster, LimeWire, iTunes, a 2007 federal raid into DJ Drama’s mixtape empire, to digital streaming platforms, all only make what Usher and Arista Records accomplished in 2004 not only unique, but immovable.

So, as the digital era has quantifiably devalued art, the harder pill to swallow is that we get back what we invest in it. Perhaps our appetites for sustainable fine art, are at least partly malnourished because the satisfaction of labor-intensive participation in it, is missing? Our favorite artists and their albums were a vital part of our lives. “Confessions” was relentless, spawning five massive singles. Seven if accounting for the equally adored but unofficial singles, “Bad Girl” (enormous club hit), and deep-cut favorite “Superstar”. Legs from the top of 2004, all the way to mid-2005, easily. In fact, when the R&B super-smash baton should’ve been handed over easily to its sister album, Mariah’s “The Emancipation of Mimi” (Def Jam 2005), the Confessions locomotive just kept on rolling, and rolling over, its contemporaries. Will there be another charming, talented, superstar artist, selling their own transparencies, with a diamond-selling, unstoppable, hit album?

Yes.

But will they do it how Usher did it? No.

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