DMX: An Ode To Rap's Everyman by Sheldon Taylor

 

                                              

Life and death are one thread, the same line viewed from different sides. Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu's words shine a reflection of truth that penetrates delusion. It defies all filter. DMX lived that truth every day of his life. During periods of joy his chiseled frame seemed to shoulder that duality effortlessly. During times of pain he often struggled manage his heavy burdens.

X is many different things. He's rap's Antwone Fisher locked in a struggle for his divided soul.Turning inward to soothe the soul of his ravaged peace, he emerges with lyrical masterpieces like Slippin. 

For some he's the people's champ whose hard-fought success had vindicated faltered rap careers recalling AZ's grandiose lyrics from 1994's Life's A Bitch: I'm destined to live the dream for all my peeps who never made it. For others, he's a welcome detour from hip hop's road to the riches re-routing the music back towards commonality reaching all rap regions.

A social media post branded X "the new Tupac." Similarities exist between them: urgency of their  rhyme deliveries, tireless work ethic, classic catalogs, budding film careers and of course---their "thug poet" personas. At various points, Jay-Z, Nas, 50 and others flirted with carrying on tradition, injecting their songs with Pac references. Hov's were figurative ("the soul of Tupac hovers"). 50's were literal ("they like me/I want them to love me/like Pac"). Without even trying it was X who came the closest.

For my money---X is more akin LL Cool J. Toned, muscular and dynamic, both approached their careers with a single-minded focus. X's We Right Here, Who We Be, Get At Me Dog and What's My Name matches the swagger of LL anthems Rock The Bells, I'm Bad  and Mama Said Knock You Out. Tilting the scales of masculinity, both were adept at making music resonating with female rap fans.

Nestled firmly in ancestral reincarnation's big picture, X is spiritually tethered to music's past. Never one for polish or pretense, he recalls James Brown and Otis Redding's common-man personas. His manic sandpaper slur mirrored James' garbled plain-speak that begged for translation. Then there were their vocal signatures. X's raspy bark, Brown's screams and Redding machine-gun got-tas punctuated their songs as they plowed through shows at break-neck speed mesmerizing audiences at every turn.

Balancing the spiritual/secular tightrope, X walked it with ease. Like Al Green, he was prone to break out in prayer mid-song or lapse into spontaneous religious dialogue. When Green did it, he puzzled fans or ran them out of arenas. X's devotionals endeared him to his followers. 

Marvin Gaye's What's Goin On and In Our Lifetime? put his beliefs on full display. X 's Prayer interludes and Lord Give Me A Sign followed suit.

 " N--- couldn't wear my shoes cause the places I walk couldn't bear my dues": I'm A Bang (2001)                                                                         

 Beyond the glitz and glam,  frailties and shortcomings of yesterday's entertainers were off-limits. Open secrets to a few, or buried deep, only to be unearthed years later in documentaries and biopics. During his come-up X kept his struggles close. Finally achieving his hip hop dream at age 27(!) X poured out his soul on a series of best-selling albums. His celebration was in his exhalation.                   

    "And there on his face/a gold tear should be placed
    To honor every tear he shed
    And I think it would show/and everyone would know
    Concealed inside is a broken heart."-----Statue of A Fool (1975)                                                                                                                    -

Black music's tradition of utility is long. Coded negro spirituals sang songs of survival and freedom. The Temptations, the Dramatics and Keith Sweat used rain to mask pain. Smokey ("smiling in this room in the crowd I try/but in this lonely room I cry")  and the Spinners ("lost somewhere deep in shell/ there's an ember of pride/watch how he tries to hide/ that he's dying inside") leaned on Pagliacci's clown to masquerade their melancholy. Others looked outward. 

X  relied on his inner muse---transparency.  

That same transparency exposed a trusted mentor whose ultimate act of betrayal banished X to the grips of addiction from which he'd never release himself from. That addiction ultimately robbed him of his life. In death his revelation would provide him the redemption he always sought. Not only the kind that comes from a merciful god---but also the kind from a judgemental and now forgiving public. 

DMX's passing pulls Lao Tzu's dividing line between life and death closer and closer. No matter how many sides its viewed from, one single reflection is clear: the tragic number of Black men departing from this earth on the cusp of, or barely into middle-age. This reality brings the power of DMX's poetry clearer into focus like the poignant words pulled from the pages of his 2002 autobiography:

 To live is to suffer. But to survive, well, that's to find meaning in the suffering.