Throwback Thursday: "One Sweet Day" -- Mariah Carey ft. Boyz II Men

Last week, we skipped the regular weekly Throwback Thursday post. Normally that's a sign of me either being too tied up with work, or too absent-minded to remember to put together a post. Neither was the case in this instance, however.

Those who've paid attention have surely figured out that my attention was shifted elsewhere by the sudden and gut-wrenching news I received that morning. In my writings for this site I'm always honest, first and foremost, so I'll tell you that I can't remember a 72-hour period during my life when I've shed more tears. You'll forgive me, then, for this week's Throwback being of a decidedly different nature than the norm.

Given these recent events, though, nothing seems more fitting than this song. Otis was an incredible singer, and a huge fan of R&B. And this 1995 Mariah and Boyz II Men hit harkens back my high school years, when Otis, myself, and the rest of our crew seemed to have the whole world ahead of us. The photos and stories my friends and I have shared this past week have brought that time back to mind vividly and often. I can only hope we get to experience that feeling again in the next life, homie. Love you, O. Be at peace, and rest knowing we all miss you.

Love is Love

I had a dear friend. Someone killed him.

I suppose that, in and of itself, doesn’t make me much different than a large portion of people on this planet. And, at 35, it’s certainly not the first time I have dealt with death. But this feels different. Maybe the shock hasn’t worn off yet. Maybe it never will.

Otis, for several years of my life, was like a brother to me. We hung out at family barbecues, we cracked jokes and wasted away days, we chased girls at the mall and drank St. Ides Special Brew at graduation parties. We knew each other in middle school, became friends in high school, and then were half of a strong crew of friends through our college years. No two members of that foursome went to the same school after high school, mind you. But we didn’t even consider the thought of not kicking it with each other when two or more of us were home for a weekend or a holiday.

We worked on music together. E and Chris were masterful emcees with brilliant flows. I was the apprentice of sorts; skillful with a pen and a pad, but still raw when it came to making it all sound right on a mic. O, though, was probably the most naturally gifted of all of us. The brother’s pipes were legit, and he could stop a room with one note. He even sang at our high school graduation, something I had somehow forgotten until talking to my mother on the phone today.

Life happens, of course. You can try to fight it, but time eventually pulls each of you in a different direction. Guys get jobs, guys get girlfriends and wives, guys move. In the last ten years or so I hadn’t seen Otis—not in person. I hadn’t talked to him frequently, though the odd Facebook conversation, often centering around one or both of our birthdays (mine fell just two weeks after his on the calendar) was known to happen. Maybe we weren’t still brothers, but the mutual love never wavered. Maybe we were still brothers.

I was there when O brought home his first car, a used ‘97 Mitsubishi Gallant in pristine condition. He was there when Shanti ended my first summer romance. And he was there when subsequent summer romances with Jen and Julie came and went. I wasn’t there when he finally came out to someone in our crew, though. It was something that ate at me. I knew it was up to him to do it when he was ready, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say it hurt just a twinge that I wasn’t one of the first people he confided in about it. But no matter what, that love between us was never in jeopardy. We were brothers.

Otis never really liked it in Pittsburgh. None of us professed to, though the rest of us are still here. But O got out, having moved to Florida not long after college. Talking to him after that felt like talking to a new man.

He grew up in a deeply Christian family and background, and I can only guess that it contributed to him feeling at odds with who he truly was. We tend not to think of our world as a very tolerant one today for gay men and women because more than half the states in America won’t let them marry. But when you compare that to what things were like just 15 years ago, when a young man had to pretend he was something he wasn’t simply out of fear that his closest friends and family would disown him, it gives you hope. Florida seemed to give O hope. He was free from the burden he’d lived with for most of his life in Pennsylvania, and was ready to embrace his new life in the Sunshine State.

For reasons I’ll never understand, that new life ended at 35.

People, especially those speaking in Christian rhetoric, talk about loving everyone. Loving your neighbor and your common man, even loving your enemies. Otis had one of those rare souls that was truly full of love. Love for everything and everyone. I’m not a religious man, and have often found it naïve at best when hearing those who practice the Christian faith speak of this blind love for all that surrounds you. But Otis was the light that stopped me from totally shutting the door on that philosophy.

Even if he didn’t like you, he didn’t truly hate you. And if he did like you, he showed you no mercy when jokes started flying. He cut up with the best of us, and wouldn’t hesitate to clown you when an opportunity presented itself. But somehow he was always laughing with you and not at you, his eyes shut tight and two big rows of teeth flashing as he convulsed with laughter. There was always laughter.

I had a dear friend brother. Someone killed him.

The laughter, though? That will always live on. Rest in peace, homie. Be there with pound and a hug when I join you.

Throwback Thursday: "I Ain't Mad At Cha" -- 2Pac ft. Danny Boy

Everyone knows this track. While I've always loved it, the video has always been tarnished for me by its eerily prophetic premise and timing: Tupac was gunned down on Sept. 7, 1996 and died Sept. 13th; this video was released on Sept. 15th.

R.I.P. Tupac

Throwback Thursday: "Warm It Up" -- Kris Kross

Really don't think there was any question what today's throwback would be after last night's news that Chris Kelly—a.k.a. Mac Daddy—passed away. R.I.P.

R.I.P. Chris "Mac Daddy" Kelly

The sad news just broke tonight that Kelly, half of the '90s rap duo Kris Kross, has passed at the age of 34. I know almost everyone my age was a fan of Kris Kross during their prime, and probably can recite "Jump" word-for-word. It's a shame to see him go so soon.

R.I.P.

R.I.P. Michael Clarke Duncan

RIP MCA (Adam Yauch)

I feel remiss for not posting about this on Friday, but I suppose the old edict of "better late than never" applies here.

The music world lost a giant that day. As a member of the Beastie Boys, MCA helped ignite an appreciation for insight within a generation—my generation—and gave voice to its disenfranchised passions. Though his battle with cancer was first announced in 2009, a sense of hope—one which we learned all-too-late was a false one—remained that he would eventually beat the disease with the same rebellious spirit that had bellowed forth every time he gripped the mic.

When life's plans aren't in line with your self-interests, you're left feeling betrayed. Losing Yauch, an older brother to millions of Beastie fans and billions of hip-hop fans, at the age of 47 elicits one word in my mind: Unfair.

Sasha Frere-Jones wrote a beautiful and personal column for The New Yorker:

The ideal memorial is written from distance, a generous calculation of merit that proceeds honorably without abandoning accuracy. I have to apologize right now for being unable to give you that—Adam Yauch was a part of my childhood, an ambassador to America from our New York, which is now gone, as is he.

The Smoking Jacket posted this video, which shows part of MCA's last performance.

In 2009, Adam Yauch revealed, on the Beastie Boys website, that he’d been diagnosed with cancer. That summer, 30 years after the band had formed, Yauch played his last show. The band was as good as ever.

We'll miss you, MCA.

R.I.P. Junior Seau

Sad news has come out of San Diego today: Former NFL linebacker Junior Seau has died in an apparent suicide.

From North County Times:

Police responded to Seau's home on The Strand on Wednesday after receiving a call about a reported suicide. The San Diego County medical examiner's office said an investigator was sent to the scene.

Wood said Seau was beloved in the community and will be deeply missed.

"He was a local hero ---- he certainly gave back to the community and to the youth through his Junior Seau Foundation," Wood said. "Our thoughts and prayers go out to his family and friends."

Seau was one of my favorite players when I was a kid, and always struck me as one of the "good guys" in the world of sports. My condolences go out to his family and friends. He will be sorely missed.

R.I.P. Don Cornelius

The world has lost a legend; Mr. Cornelius will forever be missed and remembered warmly. Our condolences to his family and friends.

RIP Patrice O'Neal

Sad news breaking today that O'Neal, one of the comedy world's most underrated talents, has passed away at the age of 41.

Throwback Thursday: "Nuttin' But Love" -- Heavy D

Got nothin but love for ya, Heavy. RIP.

Heavy Hearts

TMZ is reporting that hip-hop icon Heavy D (real name: Dwight Arrington Myers) has passed away at the age of 44. Tragic news for one of my generation's most cherished artists and personalities. Today we lost one of the "good guys", in both the entertainment world and the "real" world. R.I.P. Heavy.

RIP Smoking Joe

A Thug Poet Turns 40

June 16, 1971. To the idle fan of hip-hop and rap, that date means very little. Especially to a generation of fans who were merely a twinkle in their parents' teenage eyes at that point in time. For those of us who loved Tupac Amaru Shakur as though he was a member of our very own family, though, it means much more.

That was the appeal of Pac. He wasn't just a musician or a personality, but a kindred soul of every man, woman, and child. His passion for life and social justice spilled out of every song he sang and every antagonized sound bite he gave with a greedy reporter’s microphone pressed to his face. And it was this passion that captivated us. His raw emotion flowed through every word that he put forth, whether over a drum beat or a hushed courtroom. He got angry like us. He spoke like us. He made mistakes like us. He felt downtrodden like us. He loved like us. He fought like us.

…He bled like us.

Today would have been Tupac’s 40th birthday, a milestone so many take for granted. It’s a day when a man stands roughly at the midway point of his timeline in the yet-to-be-written history book. A moment that often causes him to look at all the time he’s lost, while simultaneously ruing the thought that he has so much yet to accomplish.

If only Pac had been lucky enough to experience it.

R.I.P.