J. Dilla Digging

There was a saying during the Harlem Renaissance that went, “I’d rather be a lamppost in Harlem than the Governor of Georgia.”

Tonight, I’d rather be a lamp post on Woodward Avenue in Detroit than anything or anywhere else.

Today marks the two year anniversary of James “J Dilla” Yancey’s death – a moment in time that kicked off possibly the worst year in Michigan hip-hop.

And I miss Shoes’ House.

DJ Houseshoes used to put on a weekly in The D at this retro spot off Woodward on West Baltimore Street called “Northern Lights.” It’s where the entire hip-hop community congregated – usually to celebrate, sometimes to mourn.

The first Shoes’ House after Dilla died was right after Shoes got back from his funeral in Los Angeles. Everyone was there, singing loud through pools of tears to Bobby Caldwell’s “Open Your Eyes.” Somehow, listening to the records that inspired Dilla made everyone feel closer to him than anything else.

Toward the end of the night, Shoes cut the beat and called for a moment of silence.

“We did this out in L.A. and you could have heard a motherfucking pin drop in that bitch,” said Shoes. “Let’s show Jay we got love for him at home too.”

Folks cheered and then the room went still. Some bowed their heads, some held a fist in the air. Then, inexplicably, a couple of douchebags by the bar started clinking glasses and laughing like they were at a kegger in the burbs.

“Yo, shut the fuck up!” Shoes yelled into the mic.

“Hey…Respect,” said Proof, trying to lull the crowd. Proof – a permanent fixture on the scene – was often next to Shoes on stage.

Before either could issue a second warning to the d-bags at the bar, Shoes ripped the headphones from around his neck and took off into the crowd like he could breath fire. He came at these dudes with balled up fists and rumble vision. Right behind him was Proof – not to join in the fray, but to stop Shoes from going bat-shit crazy on these kids. He got in front of Shoes and pushed him back as best he could.

These two brothers – by beats if not by blood – were cut from the same cloth. They are both of the heightened senses that birth demigods among men. To see one stand to the other when emotions were at the highest was the stuff of art and tragedy. But no one had time to understand those moments or process their depth.

Within a couple months Proof’s life was taken in his own heated encounter. On that day in April, just as in February, the collective air was taken from hip-hop in a ubiquitous lung-collapsing moment.

Michigan suffered. Hard. And the state barely had time to catch its breath before Disco D ended his struggle and his life the following January.

It was the worst year.

We should only be so lucky to have Dilla’s music to live on and inspire us. Those “Dilla Changed My Life” T-shirts exist for a reason. There are a lot of people the world over who can pinpoint a moment in time, a beat or a joint from Dilla that forever altered the path their life was on.

I encourage you to share your story, not only because it honors his memory but also because it serves as a testament to the man’s true, everlasting genius.

And even though things have changed in the past two years – Shoes moved to L.A. and so did I – I’d give anything to be in Michigan tonight…To be a lamppost on Woodward.

Listen to a well-known Dustbusters interview with Dilla.

DJ House Shoes Podcast “Shoes House”

J. Dilla R.I.P.