Arts
6B — Thursday, February 16, 2017
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
STYLE NOTEBOOK
ARTIST PROFILE
DETROIT VS. EVERYBODY
Popular Detroit t-shirt shown above
STONES THROW
The T-shirt conundrum
Deceased Detroit rapper J Dilla
Ten years later, J Dilla’s legacy continues to live on Late Detroit producer’s work manages to maintain ingenuity SALVATORE DIGIOIA Daily Arts Writer
What would you do if you knew that your days were numbered? Or, more specifically, what would you do if, at just thirtytwo years young, at the peak of your career, right as the infinite hours you had spent studying, honing your craft and preparing to champion your competitors had finally begun to gain you infinite credibility and creative freedom, your days became numbered, indefinitely numbered, by a rare, irreversible blood disease? A decade ago, James DeWitt Yancey — also known as Jay Dee, or perhaps most famously, J. Dilla — faced this exact scenario. In early 2003, after returning from a short tour abroad, Yancey fell ill. Upon visiting an emergency room, he was diagnosed with thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura (TTP), a rare condition that causes small blood clots to form throughout the body, inhibiting the flow of oxygen-rich blood. Suddenly, Yancey’s days became numbered, his fate eternally altered and eerily given an expiration date, but he seems to have been more inspired by the news of his life’s brevity than he was impaired. He resumed his creative process as usual, teaming up with legendary Los Angeles producer Madlib for their historic, collaborative Jaylib LP in 2003, then eventually relocated from Detroit to L.A., along with his mother, Maureen “Ma Dukes” Yancey, to both seek out optimal medical treatment and plant roots closer to the musical action. Of course, this wasn’t the first time that Detroit’s own Jay Dee departed from the
Suddenly, Yancey’s days became numbered Mitten-state. In 1994, his early musical mentor, Joseph “Amp” Fiddler, a keyboardist and producer who toured with George Clinton and the P-Funk All-Stars, introduced Yancey’s work to Q-Tip of A Tribe Called Quest upon running into him at Lollapalooza. Q-Tip was impressed by Yancey’s work, so much so that, after the meeting, the producer began “traveling, networking, and doing credited and uncredited work for artists such as Janet Jackson, Busta Rhymes, De La Soul, and The Pharcyde,” according to his official biography. He eventually became a part of the Ummah production team,
which created primarily for A Tribe Called Quest and also included Q-Tip, Yancey, and DJ Ali Shaheed Muhammad. Unfortunately, Dilla’s newfound success as a producer put the progression of Slum Village, a Detroit rap group made up of him, along with childhood friends R.L. “T3” Altman and the late Titus “Baatin” Glover, largely on hold. Though he would return to his roots shortly to work on the team’s first major project, Fantastic, Vol. 1., after earning serious praise from ?uestlove and D’Angelo, figureheads who could offer him access into an entirely separate realm of sound, Yancey became distanced from his bandmates, likely due to his increasingly demanding solo work-load. In the early 2000s, J. Dilla produced ten songs for Common’s classic LP, Like Water For Chocolate, and contributed to Erykah Badu’s Mama’s Gun, crafting standout track “Didn’t Cha Know” and earning himself a Grammy nomination in the process. He had separated from Slum Village to join one of the most premier musical movements of the last few decades, one that indefinitely inspired Kanye West’s early interest in sampling soul records and led to the creation of records that remain vital almost two decades later. “I went to a recording session with Talib Kweli at Electric Ladyland and you guys had the whole building,” Dave Chapelle recalled, appearing as a guest on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon in 2014 and aiming his comment at ?uestlove, the drummer of the show’s house band, The Roots. “They had D’Angelo downstairs, and Common was in one floor, and Erykah [Badu] was in another show, I mean another recording studio, and Mos [Def ] and [Talib] Kweli are on the roof, and Ahmir [“?uestlove” Thompson] is running up and down, and James [DeWitt Yancey, a.k.a. J. Dilla] and everybody playing on everybody’s sessions…” Nowadays, such a scenario sounds like a music nerd’s fantasy, a session that’s obviously too good to be true. But back then, it was business as usual: Some of the greatest hip-hop, neo-soul and R&B tracks ever created came out of sessions that were more closely related than most people realize. Furthermore, James DeWitt Yancey was present in quite a few of them, masterminding the finer details and deciding when each was finished. But towards the end of 2005, after arriving in Southern California, J. Dilla became seriously unwell. He was soon diagnosed with Lupus, a disease wherein one’s immune system hyper-actively attacks healthy tissue, and eventually, this led to kidney failure and
his requirements of repeated dialysis treatments. Like I said, right as the infinite hours that he had spent studying sound, honing his craft and preparing himself to sonically champion his competitors had finally begun to gain serious attention, James DeWitt Yancey’s days became numbered.
He was trying to push hip-hop to be better, work harder and think longer According to J. Dilla’s official biography, he “spent his final months doing what he loved the most—creating music. He released Donuts, his third solo LP, on February 7, 2006 before passing away three days later at the age of 32.” Since then, Donuts has evolved into one of the most praised pieces of music ever. In his critical analysis of the project for the 33 1/3 series, Jordan Ferguson calls the odd LP “a synthesis of everything [Dilla] had done to that point,” and it surely is a jumpy, exciting package of music that twirls its listeners around and takes them on a journey across genres and time. But Donuts is deeper than that too. Dilla wasn’t just re-tracing his musical steps — he was trying to push hip-hop to be better, work harder and think longer. Dilla was one of the most, if not the most, notorious perfectionist to ever sample a drum loop. On Donuts, he spends every last bit of life in him, literally, reinforcing his musical legacy. He strives to define future soundscapes, raise his genre’s expectations and pen a sincere goodbye in his first-language of rhythms, all at once. In 2005, speaking publicly on Donuts for the only know time before his death, J. Dilla said: It’s just a compilation of the stuff I thought was a little too much for the MCs. That’s basically what it is, ya know? Me f lipping records that people really don’t know how to rap on but they want to rap on.” Though some modern rappers may be capable of facing his challenge (imagine Kendrick Lamar rapping over “The People”!?!), Donuts remains as enticing, difficult and inspiring as ever, more than ten years later, in its exact original format. I can only hope that, should my days ever become numbered, I might respond to the news with the bravery and tenacity of James DeWitt Yancey. Rest in beats, J. Dilla. You truly were a great one.
TESS GARCIA
Senior Arts Editor
New York vs. Everybody? Chicago Hustles Harder? Though they say imitation is the highest form of f lattery, let’s just put it out there: Detroit did it first. Over the course of the city’s recent history, Detroit aficionados have moved from the simple calligraphy “D” to shirts emblazoned with a profusion of slogans: Made In Detroit in 1991, Detroit Hustles Harder in 2007 and finally, the ubiquitous Detroit vs. Everybody in 2012. The variety of merchandise quickly expanded from simple tees to coasters, keychains
and everything in between, each printed with the quippy slogan of their specific brand. Though one could easily argue that the Pinterestfriendly products are merely a byproduct of gentrification, the popularity they have garnered cannot be denied. In 2014, unofficial Detroit ambassador Marshall Mathers (AKA Eminem — can’t believe I have to say that) released a single titled “Detroit vs. Everybody,” drawing direct inspiration from a phenomenon that started as a mere article of clothing. The song features fellow Detroit musicians Big Sean, Danny Brown, DeJ Loaf, Royce da 5’9” and Trick Trick, paying homage to the slogan in its
repeated hook. The phrase itself may not literally mean much, but that’s not what matters. What does matter is the notion that Detroit has served as a model for other great cities. Sure, they may be copying a mere T-shirt, but the idea that Detroit has had aspects worth imitating has been alarmingly obsolete for the last several decades. This is not an ode to gentrification, but rather an acknowledgement of Detroit as a shining new archetype of city pride. Calm down, New York and Chicago. But thanks for reminding Detroit that it is worthy of emulation. Just wait until you see what else we have up our novelty T-shirt sleeves.
ARTIST PROFILE
COURTESY OF BILL MEYER
This is where we put a humorous cutline of our own devising.
Remembering unknown Detroit legend DJ Holiday Local singer achieved cult status through talent and tragedy MADELEINE GAUDIN Senior Arts Writer
If you run a Google search DJ Holiday you get a bunch of hits for a C-list rapper and maybe, if the algorithm works just right, something about a Detroit singer. DJ Holiday was a phenom with one of those warm, room-filling, largerthan-life voices. She was a regular at Bert’s Market Place Jazz Club singing with the RGB Trio during Thursday open Mic nights. Holiday was found dead in a home in West Detroit earlier this week. The singer had been squatting in the property and presumably froze to death, although the official cause of death was ruled a heart attack, after the heating was cut off. She started singing publically in Detroit in the ’60s at the Black Horse Saloon, but had been singing since childhood. Sixteen years ago she started singing at Bert’s in Eastern Market, when she met longtime friend Bill Meyer who she called her “Piano Man.” “She struck everybody right away as a unique person,” Meyer said of Holiday, “She was a really beautiful soul.” Meyer worked with Holiday on Before I Go, her first, and only CD. He developed the idea for the CD last year as a way to help Holiday make money. She told Meyer that before she met him she had never made any money singing. Holiday had also recently caught the eye of French filmmaker
Arno Bitschy, who made the documentary “Reslience.” The documentary focuses on the triumphs and struggles of the city from the declaration of bankruptcy to the mayor’s State of the City speech in 2015. Holiday was featured on the film’s soundtrack alongside other Detroit musicians. After “Resilience” premiered, Bitschy turned his attention to Holiday in particular. The filmmaker had been working on a documentary about Holiday’s life and had recently extended an invitation to Holiday to sing at the film’s Paris premiere. It would have been Holiday’s first trip outside the country. “Everything was new to her,” said Meyer noting the tragic timing of the singer’s death, “she was on her way up.” The tragedy is exactly the sort of stuff legend is made of. But Holiday herself was grounded in reality. “She was real, she was painfully real,” Meyer said, “Her singing was honest and real. She wasn’t pretentious or affectatious. And her emotions were direct.” She was straightforward. She kept her eyes open, making eye contact with her audience throughout her sets, avoiding the sort of eyes-closed arm-waving that characterizes many Jazz singers. DJ Holiday was known for singing soulful ballads and had a deep connection to the music of Billie Holiday, whose life mirrored her own in many ways. She lived a hard life, full of the sorts of things that should trample the human
spirit—poverty, loss, abuse. But, at least in song, she soared. Holiday created a community around her voice “That’s her story, she sang like Billie and emulated Billie.” Dave Tollington, a former senior VP at Warner Music in Toronto started coming across the river seven years ago and eventually found his way to Bert’s, where he met Holiday. He ended up helping Meyer with parts of Before I Go. “She used to sit by the washrooms, sort of behind the stage by herself,” Tollington said of Holiday, “She was just mesmerizing and the next time I came it was my birthday and a friend asked if she would sing “Don’t Explain,” a Billie Holiday song, and she sang that one straight at me. I literally had tears going down my face it was that powerful.” After that song he asked Holiday to join his table. He quickly became fascinated by her story and logged hours of tapes of their conversations. Like many people that found themselves within range of her voice, Tollington was drawn in by Holiday’s authenticity. “She was one of hundreds of singers, but for me she was the on,” Tollington said, “How real she was.” Friends will be gathering at Bert’s Thursday night at 8:30 P.M. to celebrate the singers life. There will also be a formal memorial service in March when her documentary is premiered in the United States.