Just as I went to bed last night, I got a terrible text from my friend Matt. ‘Damn. Phife died. Shit.’ It was like getting punched in the gut. Frankly, not much more needs to be said, but I feel compelled to do so, anyway. A Tribe Called Quest is my favorite rap group ever, and Malik “Phife Dawg” Taylor was its raspy-voiced heart. Sure, Q-Tip was the more technically skilled, complex rapper, but it was Phife who made you smile with his sometimes silly, always on-point lyrics.
The “five-foot assassin with the roughneck business” was the perfect counterpoint to Tip’s abstract intellectualism, bringing a raw but fun edge to every song he rapped on. He somehow managed to combine humility with braggadocio, maybe best represented by the line “I never walk the streets/Think it’s all about me/Even though deep in my heart/It really could be.”
Phife’s work on the first Tribe album, People’s Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm, was something of an afterthought. He was barely a member of the group at the time, and his only really memorable contribution was his great verse on “Can I Kick It?” It was on The Low End Theory that Phife came into his own. From his first appearance on “Buggin’ Out,” it was clear that he was stepping forward in a big way. “Yo, when you bug out, you usually have a reason for the action/Sometimes you don’t, it’s just for mere satisfaction.” Throughout that CD and even more so on their next, Midnight Marauders, Phife delivered track after track of wacky, clever lyrics with an energetic flow that perfectly played off Tip’s more laid-back demeanor.
I’ve probably listened to The Low End Theory more than any other single CD I own. For many years now, I’ve had the superstitious habit of always playing it when I first set up my stereo in a new place. It’s my way of ensuring good vibes and energy in a new home. Nothing bad could happen with Low End Theory playing, right?
Like a lot of old school hip-hop heads, I could toss out a bunch of great Phife lyrics off the top of my head, where they’ve taken up permanent residence – I’m just a short brother, dark skin face/Weigh a buck fifty, 36 waist – To top it off, Starks got ejected. – Ridin’ on the train with no dough/sucks – Fit like Mr. Furley/To this day I still believe that no MC can serve me – But reading them in print doesn’t really do them justice. It’s Phife’s excited yet controlled style that really made them work.
So I’ve spent the day listening to Tribe, soaking up their greatness as the tunes made indelible memories spring to mind. Convincing the guy at Morninglory Music in Santa Barbara to sell me his last, behind-the-counter copy of Instinctive Travels. Bouncing around in the sunshine as they hit the Lollapalooza stage in ’94. Seeing Tribe’s “last show” at the Sunset House of Blues, with the bouncer upstairs making Ruth Pointer cracks and Black Star as the unannounced opening act. Listening to Beats, Rhymes & Life on my Walkman on a train rolling through the Belgian countryside, rain streaming diagonally down the windows. And a new one: sitting at Big 5 on a sad Wednesday morning wearing headphones and realizing that Tribe’s been one of the biggest contributors to the soundtrack of my life.
Doing a Google news search this morning, I found a long list of tributes to Phife from all over the world. I don’t speak the languages, but when you see words like ‘raplegenden’ or ‘legendaire’ in a headline, you can pretty much guess what they mean. Phife, Q-Tip and Ali Shaheed Muhammed created music that moved people in every corner of the globe. I was living in Amsterdam when Beats, Rhymes & Life came out, and I remember being surprised that Dutch record stores had storefront displays for it! Don’t know why I was so surprised, our Dutch DJ friend Alex treasured his vinyl copy of Revised Quest for the Seasoned Traveler.
Phife suffered from serious diabetes problems for years, to the point of having a kidney transplant in 2008. Makes lines like “Drink a lot of soda/So they call me Dr. Pepper” quite a bit less funny in retrospect. He died at just 45 years old. “When’s the last time you heard a funky diabetic?” he asked on “Oh My God”. I doubt we’ll ever hear one as funky as Phife again.
Someone at my work today asked why I looked so upset. I didn’t want to get into it, so I said that I’d just found out an old friend had died. Really, though, that’s exactly what happened. Although I never met him, Phife was a friendly, positive voice in my ears through good times and bad, in cities all over the world, often when I didn’t feel like I had another voice to turn to. Rest in Peace, Phife Dawg. Everybody else: Sit back, relax and let yourself go. Don’t sweat what you heard, and act like you know.
Oh, I don’t have to act like I know.
We’ll stated, my man. I’ll always remember that HOB show as well. Not only was that the night of the Ruth Pointer jokes and the “Is that Mos Def?” moment; I also fondly recall you vigorously booing Shaq and seeing Big Game James outside afterward. Indelible, precious memories. Rest in Beats, 5-Footer.
Heh, I’d forgotten all about the Shaq and Worthy stuff. Wasn’t Worthy waiting for his car from the valet or something? Many late-night events of my youth are a bit hazy. I seem to remember being none too impressed by Slum Village, too.