Brown Paper Bag

Cas McGee
Cas McGee
Aug 23, 2017 · 4 min read

Delphonic,

I started this in earnest last night, on the eve of 43. I know I said it might be cute to debut words here on my birthday proper. But then I thought about being on the Leo/Virgo cusp all my life and, if one were to put stock in such things, what a volatile mixture of textures that is. Hubris hemmed in by insecurity mistaken for humility. That outfit has never fit me well. So in the 11th hour of four-deuce I tried to manifest this thing definitively in Leo on the cusp of muthafuckin’ Leo territory. After all, this endeavor requires swagger sans the head games. Alas, putting it all on the stars wasn’t meant to be. So here I am on the first day in this new age, willing this into existence. And it will happen today. Because tomorrow brings full on Virgo realness. And fuck that noise.

But seriously…I need to start somewhere. Start over somewhere. To put words down and not hit delete. Let things stand where they land and take it from there. It will get better. And clearer. And eventually it might even start to be something I do instead of did.

The way you look at those cds and wonder if you’ve listened to them all (possibly maybe, probably not) is the way I consider the box of ticket stubs I have for shows I’ve seen. There are so many. Do I remember every detail of seeing A Tribe Called Quest and De La Soul at Bailey Hall…

…in the vicinity of those crisp Fall nights in Ithaca back in 1993? Not particularly. I can’t remember who with special guest was, for instance. I doubt I went by myself but I can’t begin to recall who went with me. What I do clearly remember is fucking weeping when we saw them at Rock the Bells at Shoreline in 2006. It was right as they went into “Lyrics to Go.” Bruh, did you see me dropping buckets? I wasn’t exactly trying to hide it. I remember spotlights hitting me in my face, probably bouncing rainbows off my tear-stained cheeks. It was an entire moment for me. All the memories of growing up with A Tribe Called Quest soundtracking my steps…through the halls of McMain in junior high and high school, forging friendships with folks over Tribe lyrics…marching through snow from North Campus down to Collegetown, skirting Linden (Avenue as opposed to Boulevard) on my way to WVBR….venturing a little further out of the closet in San Francisco’s Outer Mission with the first guy I ever dated, before I was out to all of my friends, and long before that bit of me ceased to feel afraid and shameful. It was all happening in that moment. So the tears came. But I smiled through it all.

And then Phife died. And MCA before him. And Prince in between the two of them. Good lord, Prince is dead! Can you see me?! It’s hard not to contemplate one’s mortality when your heroes are leaving the building en masse. Knowing you’ll have to leave at some point too.

But until then there’s still ground to cover. Last month, I saw Bjork, Missy Elliott, ATCQ, Frank Ocean, Solange and Nine Inch Nails play the same stage over the course of a 3-day weekend (for me) in LA at FYF. So, so dope. And emotional. I shudder a bit, overwhelmed by the thought of attempting to write about it. I’m not there yet. Anxiety creeps. But I will say that it was probably the last time I got to see Tribe. I wondered how they would deal with Phife’s absence and what they did was rather poignant. They set up one microphone stand just about at center stage and when Phife’s part of a song would come on, Q-Tip, Jarobi and Consequence would all post up around the microphone stand, dancing and addressing the space as if Phife was right there rhymin’ in the middle. Still, the void was there. So it wasn’t surprising when Tip said that FYF would be among their last shows. And to drive this point home, some two weeks later they were a no-show at Outside Lands here in SF. I called it when I suggested to folks that it was likely related to Phife’s death. Two days later they wrote a heartbreaking open letter to the LA Times explaining just that. And despite their insistence they’ll make it up to fans, I hope they’ll just leave it be. They lost the heart of the group. There’s no beats, rhymes and life for A Tribe Called Quest without Phife.

A Bay Area visit would be nice. Have I seen you since the wedding? Fuck man, that’s five years! To be fair, I’m overdue for an east coast trip. I would love to meet the kids, whichever coast hosts.

Caswell

Between Parks

Mythologies + Meditations

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    Cas McGee

    Written by

    Cas McGee

    NOLA born. SF residing. I don't kill spiders.

    Between Parks

    Mythologies + Meditations

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