Hut One, Hut Two, Hut Three, HUT!!!!!

I've got about three partial posts going (one of which is devoted to the staggeringly dope weekend/religious experience from Madison and Milwaukee), but I would be remiss if I were to let the 13th of November pass without a brief post about Russell Jones, better known as the Ol' Dirty Bastard.

As a late arrival to hip-hop, most of my musical memories from childhood involve either long-haired vulgarity (Guns N Roses, Metallica), designed to complement the ever-widening holes in my elementary school jeans; or bong-water soaked cassette tapes I stole from my dad and later played until I'd memorized each and every nuance.

Black music came to me eventually (the floodgates obviously exploded, as anyone unfortunate enough to witness a drunken tirade of mine about "The Payback" can tell you), but early exposure came more insidiously. I remember seeing Ghostface brushing roaches out the cereal box[1], learning from Left Eye what a rubber looked like, and finding out that the raw shit is always on public access[2]. Most importantly, though, I remember every O.D.B. publicity stunt.

I had seen "Da Mystery of Chessboxin" on public access before, but Wu-Tang hype was hard as fuck to figure out as an 11-year old white kid. I knew there was definitely some shit going on, but without any prior exploration in that direction, it would take another 7 years before I could really (w)rap my head around East-Coast hip hop. What I could figure out instantly, though, was O.D.B.'s insatiable thirst for attention. I didn't know shit about how welfare worked, or why most white people bitched about it all the time, but I knew damn well that Dirty cashing a welfare check in a limo was funny as fuck, as proven by the relative worthlessness of people angered by the stunt. It was like, everything that dude did was put into such a perfect set of surroundings that you got to observe how a cornucopia of people responded, and then pick your allegiances accordingly. I didn't know if Wu-Tang deserved "Best Rap Artist" at the Grammy's,but I knew that if anyone was boring enough to deserve their acceptance speech crashed, it was Shawn Colvin. Furthermore, when I finally appreciated rap enough to delve into his catalog, you could tell that he left everything he had out there, with verses as reckless as he was. Motherfucker was like the black Iggy Pop.

I had about a year and a half of being a full-fledged Wu-Tang Stan under my belt before dude passed away (on my sister's 20th birthday, actually, which turned the party into a bizarre wake/celebration that unsettled more than a few). I thought about the great records he had made, and the energy he brought to the clan, and what a shame that he couldn't pull it around after he got out of jail. The main thing I thought of, though, was that I would have been just as impacted ten years prior, when I was sitting on the couch, seeing Dirty wild the fuck out in public. Musicians die all the time, often from circumstances that don't affect your average member of the private sector. While we miss the art, and empathize with the families, none of us really think "boy, it's a shame I never got a chance to be flipped off by Kurt Cobain", at least beyond some sort of People Magazine impulse. Dirty didn't have that, though. He was like that friend everyone has, that your mom hates. She's always thought he was the reason you smoked dope, or blew off your homework, or talked back in high school; and often she was right. But he was also the guy that was part of all your favorite stories, or would offer you the last beer in his fridge. Use today not just to remember Dirty; his records, his stories. Use it to contemplate just how willing you are to act like the man every now and again. It's a sad fate to slide through life looking like Shawn Colvin.


[1]The first musical moment ever to make me cry
[2]Shouts to "Video Mix"

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Ol' Dirty Bastard - Shimmy Shimmy Ya



Wu Tang Clan - Da Mystery of Chessboxin'