sagaciously is...

...how did we go from inseparable, to what we are now?

ETA:: happy 200th post, and how fitting that this should be it, eh? see parts I and II for background

the end of the affair:: Looking back, it's hard to pinpoint the exact moment in which our paths veered. I can remember that hip-hop got me through some really rough times (Mary J. and Lauren Hill's "I Used To Love Him"), taught me how to drive like a maniac (Wu-Tang's "Protect Ya Neck"), showed me how not to give a flyin f*ck when the chips fell ( Biggie's "My Downfall").

Man, I can remember the instant I decided to make a career change into the IT field, and it's a definitive hip-hop moment. I was working for a state gov't agency, making very little dough, and pondering whether this gig was where the inept go to retire. Working with a truckload of hopelessly disgruntled, underpaid, complaining women - literally, it felt like this place was where career hopes go to die. And one day, this fine m****f*** pulled in the parking lot, brand spankin new silver Benz, blastin' The Firm's "Phone Tap". Out pops this brother, standard NY gear (at th time, an anomaly in 'white tee' land): Tims, baggy jeans, Enyce sweater. Clearly not giving a damn about our dress code, any noise ordinances, or what anyone thought. Now, don't get it twisted, he was FOINE. But he was also free, and what I craved in that moment was exactly that: freedom. Financial freedom, career freedom, and the freedom to blast Nas all over that parking lot.

but then fate stepped in...: or maybe it was Erykah? Lauren? Jilly from Philly? Nooooo...it was D'Angelo. He walked in, with his braided hair, and swagger. I mean, he was cool, looked like most of my "boys" I'd catch spittin' verses and passin' blunts in any cypher. D walked up on me then, opened his mouth, and while I thought he'd drop a few rhymes, over a tight beat, he....sang. This deep sexy voiced man sang, right in my ear. Oh shyt...I think my panties just melted off. And this is all before he took that dayum shirt off...

I fell in love with 'Neo-Soul'.

And all that it represented. Growth. Movement. Eclecticism. Eccentricity. Sexuality. Maturity. Edge. Allegedly. Well, it was ambitious and progressive. My friends and I topped each other with our new "discoveries". Trumping Erica Wright's demo release, with Jill's snippet of "you got me..." on Come Alive. Debating about whether Res would blow up before Lina (thanks to theChaos for that - and I lost that bet). The edgier and more 'eclectic' it became (I luv you Bilal! and Codie Chestnut is a wild boy!) the more I loved it.

And we, fit. I was getting older, maturing. Putting childish things behind me. Looking for a corporate gig, and a more serious relationship. Allegedly. Ok, really I was getting old. Rebellion is cool, but I had babies to feed.

...and hip-hop?:: well I want to say that we were still feeling each other. But I'd be lying. I'd check my old hood to see how he was doing, and that n*gga was still on the same block. Sometimes he'd be shiny suited up, screaming some shyt about bling, bytches and benjamins. Sometimes he's be in his tims and jeans, wifebeater and white tee, ramblling some bullshyt about Jesus and steady saying "we ain't going anywhere...we right here". Dayum. I swear, for 3 minutes straight, dude faked a gulf shore accent, and just grunted 'uhn' without even catching his breath.

"Yo, you see that bytch right there? Yeah, I had her a$$. She was all sprung and shyt. She was cool for a sec, kna'wha I'm saying, she had my back, you know?! But I needed to make that bread, and she wasn't paying. So I had to do, what I had to do, kna'mean?"

"Hey bytch, do I know you? Yeah, your name is saga, right? So what's up? Oh, so you all stuck up now, f*cking with them singing n*ggas and shyt? Oh, you don't know me? Oh, it's like that? F*ck you then, broke bytch - you lucky I used to let you s*ck my d*ck...."

I started crossing the street when I saw his standing there, as much to avoid revealing my anguish at hearing how he was treating me, as I did it to avoid confrontations. Hip-hop had new fans now, a whole new cypher to entertain. He didn't need me anymore.

...and so it ended with a whimper...:: no more discourses on who was tighter lyrically, or whose reviews were more authentic (Sauce? Extra-Extra-Medium? Who cares?). Jacking for beats was the standard (and this is ''the remix'), without even changing the original drop. Yeah, I still loved hip-hop deep somewhere inside, but not what it had become. So we turned our backs on each other. I still listened to the Roots, Common, Mos Def, Talib Kweli..but the jazz influences had me in a real bad way. I didn't have the ears for a pure hip hop song (in my jazz/soul music's minds eye), so I voluntarily turned in my hip-hop card.

...occasionally though...a song so hot I couldn't ignore it would catch my ear ("ether") ...and against my will, my hopes would soar...only to be dashed by hip-hop using some other gimmick to get new listeners. snap. *eyes rolling* riiiiight.

where are we now, anyway?:: *laughing* twisted, that's where we are. 'Cause the Miseducation of Lauren was a hip-hop album, just like the Roots, and hell, Jill very well could have been the new Queen of Hip Hop soul. And somewhere, heads still doing what they do. Not only did we turn our backs on each other, but we allowed the Media (via commecialization) and the Industry (pimps and whores we all know that they are) dictate our relationship. So that now, when Nas, Reebok and Sprite can agree that 'Hip Hop is Dead', it isn't surprising...it's a self fullling prophecy. "There's a shortage of 'real' hip hop...so you'd better try to lock some down while you can..." riiiight.

My friend pulled my hip-hop card.. He took me back to the block, to check up on him, that hip-hop kid. He was riding a skateboard this time, on the humble, trying to get back to his roots, and keep his bearings. He spit a few verses, and it sounded good. Yeah, I'm feeling that...

I used to love him. Still do. Always will. And I'm not the only one...