Last week Sunday after a grocery store race to the end of the line I grabbed my phone. There were about 10 people ahead of me with carts filled to the brim, I decided this was the best time to listen to a podcast because I’d surely be there a while behind the shoppers who obviously waited until the last minute to grab ALL of their weekly supplies. As I swiped my finger across to allow me access Instagram popped up, but before I could swipe I saw it. A Black and white picture of Trugoy The Dove, I gasped loudly, and my heart sank.
In my shock I sent a message to my Sister in Hip Hop:
Me: P, this news about Trugoy I’m gutted”.
Her: I know, it’s terrible.
Me: I was just in a bar talking about how much I love De La LAST NIGHT!
Her: So Cool.
The shock of it all rushed over me, I felt tears well up. What seemed like an eternity passed, I paid for two items and went back to the car. I think he saw it in my face, he just asked “You aight?” No, No I’m not. He looked at me and said I didn’t want you to find out alone. I wish I hadn’t. The text messages rolled in… my love of De La Soul is well documented.
I listened to their entire catalogue on repeat while prepping dinner, through conversations with my husband, Eye Know on repeat as I got the boys ready for the busy week. Usually this helps the grief of losing our legends subside. Not this time.
As a daughter/ sister of Hip Hop there are at least least 20 albums that have changed my life, none so much as 3 Feet High and Rising. It was the first album I bought with my own money, and I cherished it like the diamond it was. More importantly the year it came out, 1989 was a year of transition for me. Second semester of high school, new friends, new interest, and all the uncertainty that comes with being a teenager. Hip Hop was my balm against my ever changing life. Never without my yellow Sony walkman I felt a certainty I’d not experienced before as Me, Myself and I blared through my headphone.
Proud, I’m proud of what I am
Poems I speak are plug two type
Please oh please let plug two be
Himself, not what you read or write
Right is wrong when hype is written
On the soul, de la that is,
Style is surely our own thing
Not the false disguise of showbiz
De la soul is from the soul
And this fact I can’t deny
It was from the soul, a soul steeped in Blackness, a soul we could not deny. And it did not end there. Song after song I found joy, more certainty, more love of my people, JUST MORE of the things I needed. A Movement. I fell in love (figuratively and in real life, POS will always have my heart).
Over the years I’ve kept up with everything De La Soul. Often tweeting and posting about giving them MORE love. When the news broke that their catalogue wasn’t streaming because of record company trickery (This did not apply to me because I burned every single song to a CD, then to my ipod and migrated to my phone) I used my voice to make sure EVERYONE knew. When they were on Cartoon Network, I sat my kids down and made them watch, the way my mom made me watch Eyes On The Prize. This is history.
As I’ve advocated for more focus on the voices of women in Hip Hop, a part of which is analyzing lyrics that we love so much, I can say De La Soul never failed me. They never made me feel less, or that I needed to make the distinction between me and “other girls”. De La has been an intricate part of who I am, so much that are specific moments defined by song. When stress creeps up, Saturday is my go to song. “Five days of work, one whole day to play…..” I lose it every time. Oh what I wouldn’t give to be in the land of “Oooh” where all I do is party, and I can’t count how many times I’ve told someone “Y’all just rookies to me” There is no mood where The Native Tongues and De La Soul can’t fill. And that’s why this hurts so much.
Those of us born in the 70’s, grew up in the 80’s and blossomed in the 90’s have a soundtrack so ingrained in our very existence that when these deaths happen we feel a loss akin to family because that’s what we were.
An entire week later and my heart still hurts. I know his music will live forever but selfishly I guess many of us wish he’d have just a bit more time. A few more moments of the daisy age.
