Last year, when De La Soul made its entire catalog available for free in celebration of the 25th anniversary of 3 Feet High and Rising, I jumped at the opportunity to grab the albums I didn’t have.
More recently, though, as I sat around listening to Stakes Is High, a question came to mind.
Why were there albums I didn’t have?
I did get four out of the first five, but after that nothing. I just lost track of what they were doing, but with a little hindsight — and listening to songs made in 1996 that sound as fresh as anything created in 2015 — maybe I shouldn’t have.
And you? Where have you been?
There has to be a reason that it’s been more than a decade since the last official full-on De La release, and I think that’s on us — “us” meaning anyone who’s ever listened to music. It is an encouraging sign that their recent Kickstarter campaign was a smash and that there is an album on the way, but labels should have been clamoring to have this group on their rosters. Rappers should aspire to do what De La’s done. The lyrics, which delve into both serious and lighthearted issues, are always on point; the flows are phenomenal; and the production is flawless. “Digging in the crates” essentially started with them, going past break beats pulled from James Brown records to bringing Steely Dan and Hall and Oates to the forefront on the rap landscape.
Of course, tastes change, but if there’s one thing De La’s been through the course of its career is adaptable.
They went from the neo-hippieness of 3 Feet High to near-abandonment of that with their next release, De La Soul Is Dead.
The third album, Buhloone Mindstate, took things even further, offering clever bits of satire along the way, as evidenced by “Ego Trippin’.”
And that ends my commentary on De La joints.
I skipped out on Stakes Is High At the time, it was going to be hard to break out of the Smashing Pumpkins obsession I had going on. And perhaps that’s been the case with my wanton neglect over the years: There was always something else.
I was there with them at the beginning, though. Not literally, as I was a teenager in Mobile, Alabama, when 3 Feet High… came out and Trugoy the Dove/Dave, Posdnuos/Pos and P.A. Pacemaster Mase/Maseo — only a few years older than me — were operating out of the faraway land of Long Island, NY. I got the tape shortly after seeing the video for “Potholes in My Lawn,” with its grainy black and white imagery, and featuring dudes with a look I’d never seen before in rap: neckties for belts, John Lennon glasses and half-dreadlocked haircuts that defied convention.
And musically, they were rhyming over the craziest beat I’d ever heard.
“Potholes” was one of those watershed moments in my life, and at that point, only one thing mattered: I wanted to be just like them.
Only in appearance and lifestyle, mind you; I never had any aspirations to grab the mic or start writing rhymes. My wardrobe and haircut were the primary ways of showing that I’d entered the D.A.I.S.Y (Da Inner Sound Y’all) Age: tie-dye T-shirts, baggy jeans, a wanna-be high-low fade.
Deeper than that, though, I just really connected with the music. You see, I was a kid that had always gone my own way when it came to listening to what was out there. At 6, my parents took me to the record store every Friday to get the latest 45s from The Police, Blondie or Michael Jackson. I went in hard on the English bands that dominated MTV in the early 80s, like Duran Duran and Culture Club. And when I first heard “Sucker MCs” by Run DMC, my mind was officially blown.
I stuck with rap for a while, but it started to take a backseat to the impenetrable, in my mind, triumvirate of INXS, R.E.M. and U2. I picked up LL, EPMD, Eric B. and Rakim albums — all great stuff — but it took 3 Feet High.. to change how I looked at hip-hop, and how it was viewed from the outside and within the community, as well.
The group has received its share of accolades over the years, with a couple of their albums recognized among the all-time greats.
But De La should be consistently lauded as one of our nation’s finest musical institutions. It’s hard for most musicians, particularly in hip-hop, to have decades-long commercial success, which has eluded this group for the most part. However, Plugs 1, 2 and 3 should be forever lavished with the critical acclaim reserved for such artists as Lou Reed or Wilco.
The De La sound is timeless — both lyrically and musically. They’re a rap group that won’t descend into nostalgia — it won’t be weird to hear them perform “Itzsoweezee” in say, 10 years, or see them on stage.
I’m not going to name names, but there are a lot of rappers I don’t want to see in 10 years on stage.
If we ever make enough technological advances where time machines are the norm, I know exactly what I’d go back and tell twenty or thirty-something me: “Grab that new De La album. Go catch them in concert. Spread the word about their genius.”
And maybe someone would heed the words of the returned-to-the-fold De La fan, creating a bandwagon for a music group that captures the essence of artistry — and could continue to do so for years to come.
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