Be careful about trusting people who are not nostalgic for nostalgia is for those who care about where they come from. Nostalgia is for those who mourn and grieve the loss of safety, greatness, peacefulness and fellowship. I write this tribute to a legend almost lost in the wild 2020 – the Friday the Thirteenth type year of the calendar. With his ears for music and sound of the streets, Doctor Dre penciled true rebellion with music that loops and extrapolates pushing even the most silent and broken in spirit to fight for freedom. His sound is for breaking free from cycles of abuse and self-destruction. His spoils are his to possess, for others to envy, and yet the living legend breathes gently in the still quiet night with reports about his personal life striking eyes and tears. This is my tribute to Southern California’s true introverted genius with all of the problems of the world crashing his creative mind spaceship.
I prayed this morning to a God I choose to believe because humanity is a monstrous thing sometimes. My search for God is a search for my ears before deceived by my enemies disguised as foes and my friends I treated like foes. Always take note of those that strangers despise and disrespect in their envious bloodlust. A winner listens and Doctor Dre listened his way into an immortal empire and that is the reason for this tribute.
Raised in eastside 818, a place I hardly know now, Doctor Dre, Warren G, Daz Dillinger, Battle Cat, and so many street music stars grabbed my ears. They grasped my attention with music so comforting while disturbing launched out of windows of those boys your dad doesn’t want you to know. He told stories of those whose lives are blank slates at morgues where real gangsters die silently with no fanfare or family that wants to claim them.
Doctor Dre may be the only peaceful and beautiful audio mosaic to these lost and craven souls that Jesus Christ himself was tortured with while sacrificed by crucifixion.
Closely I listen to the call with in me. I laugh at my pain.
