Senseless

My greatest fear is dying senselessly. Every day I leave the house I wonder for a few beats if this is my day, because there’s no way you can know. I have thought much about the two local tragedies this week. First the young girl stabbed to death by her sister’s ex-boyfriend in Albany. She was 20. Who figures their life could ever end stabbed to death? I’ve also thought much about the Shen seniors who passed away last weekend. In the end Dennis Drue, who struck their SUV and has since been crucified, his “troubled past” posted all over the media, wasn’t even drunk, and the DA will have a heck of time proving he did anything wrong. How can he prove it? I think this ordeal ends with Drue walking. Dying senselessly. Horrible.

Did anyone see that Christopher Wallace's AKA Notorious BIG's autopsy was made public this week? Biggie was shot in LA in ’97 leaving a night club. It was a drive by and Biggie was in the shotgun seat of a Chevy Suburban. He was shot four times, including a bullet in the scrotum, and only the final shot was fatal. The rapper was rushed to Cedar-Sinai Hospital where he was pronounced dead at 24. Biggie’s killer has never been found. As I’m sure most remember, this was the unofficial finish to the East Coast vs. West Coast Rap Battle that waged in the late 90s, and was intensified with the shooting death of Tupac Shakur in ’96 in Vegas after the Mike Tyson Fight. Tupac’s killer has never been found either.

I think Biggie’s death is as sad and senseless as the murder of John Lennon. I don’t think Biggie or Puff Daddy or Bad Boy wanted anything to do with this silly East vs. West thing that Death Row and Tupac fueled for so many years. All Biggie ever talked about was making peace with Tupac and enjoying the huge success they both had. But Tupac was 150lbs of walking, talking trouble. He was involved with so many bad people, like Suge Knight and the Black Panthers. The night Tupac died, he was caught on security tape stomping some guy in a casino lobby. The night Biggie died, he didn’t have a drop of alcohol or drugs in his system, despite just leaving a night club. Biggie rapped about the life. Tupac tried being it. Biggie wanted nothing to do with this war.

Every time Tupac got shot, and he got shot a lot, moron rap fans and media people found a way to link it back to Biggie. And Biggie would tell anyone who would listen that he had nothing to do with it. Why would Biggie want Tupac dead? Why would he commit murder, even by accessory, with millions in the bank and living a dream life? But when Tupac was finally finished off at 25 in Vegas, Biggie knew that he was next, even though he was three thousand miles away when it happened. The truth: Tupac’s own people probably killed him to sell posthumous albums. But from the moment Tupac expired, Biggie knew his days were numbered, for this fake war was destined to end no other way. The last seven months of his life, despite releasing one of the best rap albums ever, was lived waiting to die by some idiot screaming “thug life” and putting a bullet in his back for no reason.

The greatest rapper who ever lived was shot dead in LA less than a year after Tupac was murdered. And just like that East vs. West was over. It’s one of the saddest, most senseless chapters in pop culture history, fueled by the mob mentality of total idiots. Biggie and Tupac were rap gods, once-in-a-lifetime talents, and we just wasted them away for nothing. It’s heart wrenching to think how Biggie lived the last few months of his life. Watch some interviews from that time. Biggie is in full-blown paranoia. He knows. And when he went out to LA to promote LIFE AFTER DEATH, he was being threatened in the malls and on the music channels. Many wonder why he didn’t just leave LA on the spot. Why would he? His senseless death was already written in the stars, whether it be LA, NYC, or Fargo.

’97 was my senior year in high school. We hit Lake George for Memorial Day Weekend after the Senior Dinner Dance. Notorious had just died. I remember a few friends from my school pulled up on the Strip in a red Mustang convertible at dusk. They parked outside the arcade across from Taco Bell, and cranked “Mo Money, Mo Problems,” and we all stood around the car, and that last verse, when Biggie raps, we were all singing along, “B-I-G-P-O-P-P-A . . . Tap my cell and the phone in the basement ... Step on stage, girls boo too much . . .” It was the only moment I remember from that weekend. Perhaps people would say it was best he went out on top. To compare, watching Eminem these last few years has been sad, I'll grant that, how he went from a revolutionary to making duets with that joke Rhianna. But at least he's alive. And Biggie's dead. Tragic. Senseless.

Read More: http://www.nypost.com/p/pagesix/notorious_grisly_autopsy_report_alYnOq6Ek4AGdA4O156GfI

Mo Money Mo Problems: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZ4tNmnuMgQ&feature=player_detailpage

Brian Huba
12/8/12