In April, the rapper Nas' debut album "Illmatic" will turn 30. But those of us who participated in the 1990s DJ-mixtape economy knew what was about to drop months before the official drop date. And to my ear, it hasn't aged a day. "Illmatic" is much more than a classic rap album. It is a piece of art that changed the way we saw ourselves, our communities and the world we young street kids were set to enter.
Nasir "Nas" Jones exploded onto the scene a few years earlier with his breakout feature on the 1991 Main Source song "Live at the Barbeque," jumping on the track to spit, "Verbal assassin, my architect pleases/ When I was 12, I went to Hell for snuffin' Jesus/ Nasty Nas is a rebel to America/ Police murderer, I'm causin' hysteria".
"Police murderer?" "Went to hell for snuffin Jesus?" Who was this guy? We had never heard anything like him. And no, we did not want to kill police; and no, we did not want to snuff Jesus. However, we were disenfranchised at the highest level — we felt like the system hated us and the church hated us, and if they were going to hate us, then we were going to hate them back. Everybody in the streets felt it but Nas had the heart to say it. He also delivered it with a perfect voice, as raspy as it was smooth, reminiscent of the blues or the ghetto hymns you had to travel up to the corner to hear.
Thirty years ago when Nas was coming up, an artist couldn't just catch some momentum with a hot song and then capitalize on it by dropping a full album on streamers within weeks like they can today. The record label needed time to sign you, to trust you, to believe in you, to develop you into an artist ready to face mainstream America. A guy like Nas might disappear to most of America after a breakout feature while his label decided how to roll him out. But most of America didn't have access to Busy Bee like we did.
Back before Soundcloud and YouTube, '90s kids knew the joy of receiving a mixtape from a DJ like Busy Bee whose sole purpose was to generate hype in the streets for the best unheard music. Busy Bee is a hip-hop legend, a founding pioneer of the genre. His name rings bells when you mention the 1983 hip-hop film "Wild Style," the legendary rap battles, and the Zulu Nation. I would have expected him to live in some New York mansion; after all, he was at the head of a billion-dollar genre. But many artists responsible for rap's beginnings didn't get a fair portion of the proceeds once it gained popularity. In the early '90s, Busy Bee was roaming the streets of east Baltimore selling the best mix CDs in the world.
We were all headed back to school after Christmas break. It was January 1994 in Baltimore, and I bumped into Busy near the sandwich spot in Church Square. He had a small duffel full of goods, from which I grabbed a few items. One of the tapes I copped had unreleased tracks from Craig Mac, The Notorious B.I.G., and Nas. I never thought I would pop one of those tapes into my Walkman and hear a song that would change my life forever. The track was called "One Love."
"One Love" showcases Nas's natural storytelling style and features Q-Tip singing the catchy hook in a repetitive tone, unlike the Bob Marley and Whodini tracks of the same title. In verse one, Nas pens a letter to his incarcerated friend. He reports on everything happening in the neighborhood, including that he has a son who looks identical to him. Nas also tells his friend that his girlfriend is cheating on him, but not to worry about it because he'll get a fresh start when he comes home. He ends the letter and verse by telling his friend that he put something on his commissary and that he would be there by his side until he was released.
Sometimes, the smallest letter and the promise that you won't abandon someone can help them get through their jail bid and assure them they will one day come home. Many incarcerated people only make it through their sentence because of letters, photos from the outside, and the promise of a family to return to.
In verse two, Nas writes a letter to another incarcerated friend, his friend Born. Again, Nas reports everything happening on the streets, but he warns Born about some of the wild activities he's been hearing about in prison. He begs Born to stay calm, and stop fighting behind the wall: “So stay civilized, time flies/ Though incarcerated your mind dies." He encourages him to maintain his sanity so that they can fight for a better quality of life upon his release.
Incarceration doesn't just happen when you're behind a wall; sometimes, we feel locked up in our communities. Nas addresses this in his final verse. He catches a kid from the neighborhood called Shorty Wop who tells him about a shooting he was involved with. Nas pulls back and tells Shorty Wop that he'll be nowhere if he doesn't change his ways. The most important part of the verse is when he tells him, "'Cause when the pistol blows /The one that's murdered be the cool one." That rang true to me; that has been the case throughout my life. The slickest, flyest guys are always the ones who end up murdered, with their young, innocent faces then screenprinted on T-shirts we show up to the funeral wearing. It happened to my cousin Don Don, my cousin Damon and even my brother Bip.
"One Love" taught me how to deal with my family members who were incarcerated. It taught me to give them hope when we spoke; it taught me to write them, and it taught me to let them know that I would never forget them. And in exchange, many of them have let me know that my letters, my thoughts, and my love helped them survive situations that many don’t make it out of.
"One Love" also left me with so many questions, like what happens to Black families when Black mothers and Black fathers are ripped away and forced to spend time in jail? In many situations, the sole provider is taken away from the family, leaving them stuck, and then when that sole provider comes back into the family after they are released, there may be limited opportunity for them to find employment, so they become a liability, putting extra strain on the family. And this sends them back to the streets, repeating the cycle.
"One Love" taught me to consider the person incarcerated as much as the family dealing with that incarceration, and I know I'm not alone. Nas added empathy to the conversation around criminal justice by adding names and storylines to the stats pumped through the media. He helped me see how to love all my people harder.
So many people comment on how messed up urban America is, even the people who found a way out. But Nas showed us that we need to go back, too. Through his words and his music, he reminded us with precision why we need to be in these spaces with the people, being the people we need and are needed to be.
