The year was 1996 and I still hadn’t come into my own skin as a music lover. As the youngest and only girl in my family, whatever my big brothers listened to, I would copy and clone. Therefore I grew up on N.W.A., Dr. Dre, Geto Boys, Public Enemy, Naughty By Nature, De La Soul etc. but not necessarily on my own accord. Not to be mistaken, the vast majority of what my brothers liked I tended to genuinely like also, but because of my insecurity there were many instances in which I would judge music not by my own thoughts, but whether or not I thought my brothers would like it as well. They completely unknowingly dictated what I listened to.

All that changed on July 30th as I came back home from Tower Records in Harvard Square, yellow plastic bag in hand. I unwrapped the cellophane from the tape (CDs were still a luxury for me at that time) and popped it in the stereo. No intro. Track one was dope, but I was straight stuck on track two. I must have rewound it ten times in a row before I moved on to the rest of the album From the second the bass dropped after the echoing chants I knew I was listening to something completely different than I had ever heard before:

I blasted that shit so loud my mom came in the room yelling because the glasses in the kitchen were vibrating on the shelves. I had found my summer anthem. But more importantly, I had found it on my own. A Tribe Called Quest’s “Get a Hold” off of the Beats, Rhymes & Life album was the first song I remember being obsessed with without caring about the approval of my brothers or anyone else for that matter. That song was my shit. The verses from Tip were dope, but I was feeling the song mainly because of the insane beat: crazy baseline, perfect arrangement, and unique sample. But still, I was young, and because I had yet to develop a discerning ear for sound, I only new the track as “A Tribe Called Quest’s ‘Get A Hold’.” At the time, I had no knowledge or curiosity as to what a producer’s role in a song was. I had no knowledge of The Ummah, and I damn sure didn’t know who Jay Dee was. All I knew was that beat was a sound I craved more of.

There is something hypnotizing about the feeling good music gives us. It can influence our mood, our thoughts, and our level of creativity. It becomes the soundtrack to our memories. Good music can define and redefine us as individuals. Most music fiends can tell you exactly where they were when they first heard a classic song, as I just described with one of my life’s defining musical moments.

Now, fully equipped with a refined (and individual) taste in music , as I look back through the years it’s eerie to realize the majority of the songs I loved were produced by the same scientist of sound. “J. Dilla changed my life” is a favorite phrase of uneducated band-wagoners who don the t-shirt because it seems to be the ‘Hip Hop’ thing to do. But ask him or her about Dilla’s body of work beyond Donuts or The Shining, and kids start drawing blanks. I can honestly say, Dilla did change my life, though I unfortunately never realized it until a few years prior to his passing when I became more immersed in Hip Hop music from a technical standpoint: drums, loops, samples, “Was that a Soft Machine sample Pete Rock used for the Jamal 'Fades em All' remix?”, I would smugly ask my boys, already knowing I was correct, “Yeah, I found that shit for $2 at The Garment District!” It was only around that time when I came to know who the creative genius was behind countless instrumentals to my favorite songs.

Pharcyde, ATCQ, Busta Rhymes, D’Angelo, the dope tracks were endless. He was a producer, an emcee, a musician (he played cello, keyboards, trumpet, violin, and drums) and on a few select tracks he became a surprisingly good singer as well. But if there was one talent that Dilla had that surpassed all of his others it was discovering the perfect sample. He had an innate ability to find the most obscure sequence of notes, bypassing the obvious breaks the average producer might use, thus creating a more innovative final product. He didn’t just push the envelope of creativity; he tore that shit apart, leaving behind shredded ideals of what we once falsely considered to be good music.

As many know, Dilla was prematurely taken from us due to complications with Lupus. I always find it interesting telling non-Hip Hop fans that Dilla passed in that manner. “Oh… wow…really?” They respond astounded as if the concept of any member of the Hip Hop community dying from anything other than a gun shot wound is a new and foreign concept. “Are you sure?” they ask. Sadly, we are sure this is the reality. At the youthful age of 32, Dilla had over 10 years of amazing music and collaborations under his belt. He gained a cult following of fans and colleagues alike, though many would agree he never received the accolades he deserved. And now, as we approach our second year mourning the loss of J. Dilla, we can’t help but still wonder what direction music would have taken with one of the greats still here to carry the torch. But in the same breath, it is important to not dwell on what could have been, but rather celebrate the life and music of our fallen comrade. After speaking with many of Dilla’s family members and close friends it became astoundingly clear that he wouldn’t have wanted people to use this week to be sullen and somber. Rather, Dilla would want us to know that his spirit lives through his music, and as long as we have that, he will always be with us. Continued on page 2 »