Kanye’s recent meeting with Trump has raised eyebrows, causing the public to further question his sanity. Considering that we weren’t present to witness what transpired, coupled with Ye’s recent mental hospital stint, I’m not jumping to conclusions or calling Kanye Uncle Ruckus like Complex alludes. I’m more concerned with the recent events surrounding a different Windy City legend: Lupe Fiasco.
Lupe is known for being smart, insightful, unapologetic, brash, and for dipping his toes in Hip Hop’s iconic pool without fully submerging himself. His first two albums, Food & Liquor and The Cool, are sonically pleasing representations of his elevated socially conscious rhymes that comprise his identity. These albums’ tracks simultaneously compete for Lupe’s number one song while collaborating to demonstrate his extensive list of hits: “Kick Push,” “I Gotcha,” “Daydreamin’,” “Pressure,” “The Coolest,” “Superstar,” “Hip-Hop Saved My Life,” “Little Weapon,” “Dumb it Down,” “Fighters.” I think I have to give the nod to “Kick Push.”
Read that list. Now read it again. I don’t think anyone questions Lupe’s mid-2000s dominance.
When I peruse these two album’s track listings, nostalgia relocates my mind to early high school bus rides, where I absorbed Lupe’s dope music and messages through my blue iPod mini. At 14-15-years-old, I couldn’t quite grasp the depth and complexity of his rhymes, but I could still comprehend enough to fall in love. I would rewind tracks again and again until I was relatively cognizant. Lupe had an indistinguishable ability to command the listeners attention by grabbing them by the ears and shouting in their face, “Hey, did you get that? Well, better go back and try again!” Not only did I feel guilty missing a lyric or message, I wanted to understand as much as I could. He was influential; he was talented; he was different.
Lupe impressively straddled the line of integrity and commercial appeal, catapulting him to the top of the best emcee conversation. He threw caution to the wind by confidently presenting an unafraid mindset of truth that didn’t cower from anyone’s opinion. We loved his unapologetic honesty; we loved his brashness. These qualities made Lupe, Lupe. The same characteristics that once held him so high are the very ones ripping him down.
Several years passed since Lupe’s The Cool was released. Kanye and Kid Cudi’s increasing popularity, coupled with Fiasco’s silence, demoted Lupe from top of my music library to sparse listens. Sure, I would revisit these classic albums, but playing them was a sad reminder of his palpable absence. That silence was triumphantly broken with what would become his most successful single, “The Show Goes On”—a re-imagination of Modest Mouse’s “Float On” and promotion for his third album, Lasers.
I played that track relentlessly. The fusion of Lupe’s lyrics with a modified Modest Mouse instrumental created a flourishing scenario for Lupe. Unfortunately, these qualities weren’t redeemed on his third album.
While it had bright spots (“The Show Goes On” and “Out Of My Head”), Lasers found Lupe treading in unfamiliar waters: exchanging resounding truths for commercial appeal. You could feel his label, Atlantic, puppeteering Lupe to thicken their bottom line, completely compromising his vision and artistic integrity—foreshadowing his ultimate downfall. Simply put, it just wasn’t Lupe.
Their plan worked, considering Lasers was one of Lupe’s best commercially performing albums with 500,000 sales—second to The Cool with 579,000—and going number one in peak chart positions in the US, US R&B and US Rap—a feat he only accomplished with this album. Lupe lost his soul with Lasers, and his successive projects, Food & Liquor II: The Great American Rap Album Pt. 1 and Tetsuo & Youth, continued his fall from grace. However, after parting ways with Atlantic due to creative differences (to put it lightly), I was looking forward to Lupe’s three album 2017 promise—to hear him unshackled from his label’s clutches. But with one lyric aimed at the label exec who wronged him the most, that all changed.
Lupe emerged from the darkness when he released the track “N.E.R.D.” this past Monday—a crude two-minute recording over J. Cole’s “Everybody Dies.” About three quarters through, Lupe states, “Artists getting robbed for their publishing by dirty Jewish execs who thinks that it’s alms from the covenant.” Directed specifically at Lyor Cohen—the Warner Music executive puppeteering Lupe—Lupe is clearly frustrated and jaded by the music industry, causing his issuance of this pejorative, blanketed statement. People weren’t pleased.
A DJ Booth article claimed his “anti-semitic lyrics are dangerous;” the CEO of the Anti-Defamation League, Jonathan Greenblatt, tweeted at him questioning his motive to perpetuate hurtful stereotypes. As a Jew, I really wasn’t too offended by this lyric. I think it was misguided and potentially harmful, as it incorrectly paints Jews as greedy vampires, but I also think that Lupe has continuously witnessed the music industry’s artist exploitation, that he felt forced to create the song that he did. He wanted to give a voice to the voiceless artists who are at the mercy of their labels; those who don’t have his platform or elasticity to communicate a message.
After responding in a barrage of tweets to Greenblatt, and SoundCloud’s supposed removal of “N.E.R.D.” (it’s still there so…) for “hate speech,” Lupe threw up his hands and officially announced his retirement through the following tweet (his Twitter account is now private):
It’s clear: he’s had enough.
If this really is it for Lupe, then as a fan and a Jew, I would like to say thank you to the man who gave us Food & Liquor and The Cool.
Thank you, Lupe. You provided us timeless albums that defend Hip Hop’s position as a legitimate genre, and not just one that showcases materialism. You were never afraid to speak your mind, even if it left you vulnerable to vicious media attacks. You fought peacefully through your lyrics to expose a corrupt musical infrastructure. You delivered one of the coldest Sway freestyles off the top. More often than not, you brought an element of realism to the game that is no longer present. I’m sorry that you’re misunderstood. Thank you for being unapologetic, for being brash, for being you. You showed me what it truly means to be cool.
I really hope this isn’t it for you. But in case it is, I’d like to tell you one thing, Lupe: Thank You.