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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Gone And Forgotten

A few weeks ago I went to check out a special screening of the recent DVD release of Tupac Assassination: Conspiracy Or Revenge. Throughout the screening I couldn’t help but realize how incredible the documentary’s underlying message – that Suge Knight essentially orchestrated the murder of Lesane in the most diabolically cartoonish way possible – had the entire audience eating out of the palm of its piss-poorly produced hands.

It makes me wonder if the level of love Lesane has would have happened had he not been shot the fuck up on two separate occasions. Questionable rapping skills and background dancing past, even I’ll admit it’s pretty gully to catch bullets on more than one occasion, because I know I sure as shit wouldn’t do that for a three-way with Kerry Washington and Tamala Jones while Malinda Williams and Lauren London are watching and getting each other off with a Klondike bar.

OK I’m lying. I would catch a slug for some girl-on-girl-on-Klondike action. But that’s beside the point.

It’s common knowledge that ‘Pac’s legacy has exponentially grown thanks in part to his frequent hospital visits. In fact, it’s hip-hop’s twisted infatuation with mortality that puts more emphasis on a rapper’s willingness to risk bodily harm for street credibility, which is sadly why you see more Terminators than teachers nowadays. Being able to inspire the masses has long since taken a backseat to being able to catch an eye jammie Tapdancer P style.

In that sense, why should fans be surprised when someone actually ends up dead? While I may feel some sense of remorse (if that’s even possible), I honestly don’t feel bad when a rapper that spits about his own demise actually gets ethered. Call me callous, but that shit’s not fucking up my day.

But it does bring to mind the fact that his death is perhaps what he’s known for now than his “poignant” lyrics. Hell, I even forgot the date of my grandmother’s passing 16 years ago yet still remember September 13th, 1996 like it were yesterday.

By this logic, we should all pop bottles in honor of the murders of Jam Master Jay, alongside the likes of Freaky Tah and Big L as well as countless others as we do 2Pac. But seeing as how we don’t (Hell, I even forgot about Jay’s date), why should we even give a shit if the guy was “assassinated” or not [1]? Perhaps I’m not seeing things in the eyes of the general public (and thank God[dess] I don’t), but I never understood the reasoning behind the placing of one man’s martyrdom upon a pedestal higher than the others, as if we should even do that in the first place. But maybe I’m once again just looking too deep into this, as I tend to do.

[1] He wasn’t.

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