A young DMX looked like a the bad ass avatar in a video game that was never made. His frame thin but muscular, his style and demeanor one you couldn't hope to achieve. His voice that raspy sound that gave gravitas, and his face an expression that let you know without question he'd seen it all and done and it all and that he wasn't about to fuck around on the way to the final boss.
An older DMX looked like your favorite uncle when you were a child. A little thicker but still with a aura of joy. Quick with a joke but working every day to make sure the spiritual was right too. This was the uncle that would spot you twenty and beer out the cooler when your mother wasn't looking, but would also show up when you were in trouble ready to handle business.
In between we got classics. I spent to today jamming to It's Dark and Hell is Hot, the classic ...And Then There was X, and The Great Depression and singles from Grand Champ and Year of the Dog Again. I was stunned at how many of the songs I still knew the words too. (I was also surprised that at this age simply rapping like we used to I was out of breath, damn.)
And then the social media deluge started. Of DMX being Earl Simmons. Father. Friend. Philosopher. And guy who while he struggled with his own demons didn't let it color his zest for life.
His kind shall not pass this way again.
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| Because they don't even try to do it like this no more.... |
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