November 08, 2007 | Tags: none
After reading my future ex-wife-in-law AHLOT’s mention of Big L on her post about Cam’Ron and Ma$e yesterday, it actually reminded me of my younger,
Max Payne ways where robbing blond-haired, blue-eyed YTs was much more serene while “The Heist” played in the back of my skull like some unruly soundtrack. Although it dropped during a time where rap was slowly coming out of it’s second grimeball stage – those magical years where I used to run wild on
X-Men Vs. Street Fighter at the local junior college and got my first dose of brain surgery midday at a park full of kids – and into its current Dumbledore era where Harlemites are more known for looking like thugged-out figure skaters than for actual rhyme skills, L’s
The Big Picture stood out as one of the last testaments to Big Apple lyricism.
So it’s pretty disheartening to see what his protégés have become as of late, what with the good pastor looking for he-bitches to
peg (no wonder Curtsy dropped him; he doesn’t need another
fag in his crew) and
Cam going AWOL for a half-year. As much shit I’ve spewed about the
Meaty Cheesy Boys, I’ll admit they were responsible for some
pretty heavy heatrocks during their run. Real talk, I wished they had stayed on the Roc-A-Fella graveyard: before he got shot the fuck up, Big L himself was to sign to the label. So in a sense the Dips would have been honoring the legacy of the man that put them on.
(It does make me wonder, however, if Big L would have started rocking v-neck muscle hoodies and nutcutter slacks, like the rest of the
battyboys in Harlem. Not to sound fucked up, but if that were to happen, then I’m glad he got ethered before he got the chance to actually do so.)
But in the days following Joffe Joe’s unceremonious disappearance, the already shit stain-thin foundation of The Diplomats dissipated even further, with Jim Jones going all Benedict Arnold and sharing meatwatcher jeans with Fiddy, leaving no-talents like Hell Rell and Max B to keep 40 Cal’s bench in Marcus Garvey Park warm at night. So when those goofy-ass “Where’s Cam?” videos started popping up, I more or less didn’t give a shit, what with their best days far behind them.
But lo and behold, Cam’s publicity stunt actually ends up working, albeit temporarily, and he’s now become the talk of the hip-hop town, next to that shitty Jay-Z album. And honestly, I ended up “acquiring” his new mixtape, and I haven’t had this much fun torturing myself to a Dip Set anything in like, ever. Granted, he’s not going to win any numbers race, but Cam going missing has quite possibly been the best thing to happen to his career in years, as he’s managed to swipe attention from Grandpa Simpson and make people forget about that horrible Jim Jones mixtape as well. Hell, he even got my attention, and I fucking hate everything.
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