(photo: Chad Bakta/New York Times/Redux)
If I could have written about anyone, I would have written about them. And so when I asked the folks at Waxwing if I could write a recap of A Tribe Called Quest’s final album–what it meant politically, what it meant to me personally–they said, “Sure.”
Which meant I had to write about my heroes and not fuck it up.
It’s a hell of a thing trying to piece together everything you’ve felt for one of you’re favorite bands, put it out into the world, and have it not come off as biased. So I didn’t try the last part. This piece is inherently biased. It couldn’t be anything else. And if I got even halfway to illustrating how important, how improbable, and how exquisitely timed their masterpiece of a final album was–and continues to be–then I’ll feel pretty good about making this attempt.
Here’s hoping I stuck the landing.
You can read the piece here: The Extraordinary Final Act of A Tribe Called Quest