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the way Alvin Ailey
and Maya Angelou
and George Floyd
and Breonna Taylor
down the yellow
the heels of their dirt-kissed feet:
i wanna be ready/to put on my long white robe....
we are survivors
we are survivors
we are survivors
who were free
and became slaves
who were slaves
and became free
we know why the caged bird sings
we know what a redemption song brings
we them people
we the people
we are those people
who shall never forget
our ancestors all up in us as we sleep
our grandmother all up in us as we weep
because we are
black irish welsh french german polish italian
jewish puerto rican mexican greek russian
dominican chinese japanese vietnamese
filipino korean arab middle eastern
we are biracial and we are multicultural
we are bicentennial and we are new millennial
we are essential and we are frontline we are everyday people and we are people everyday
we are #metoo we are #metoo we are #metoo
we are muslim christian hebrew too
we are bible torah koran atheist agnostic truer than true
we are rabbis and imams and preachers and yoruba priests
tap-dancing with buddhists and hindus and rastafarians
as the Nicholas Brothers
jump and jive and split the earth in half
while Chloe and Maud Arnold
them syncopated ladies
twist and shout and stomp and trump
still we rise still we surprise
like we got Judith Jamison’s crying solo in our eyes
every hello ain’t alone every good-bye ain’t gone
we are every tongue every nose every skin every color every face mask
we are mattered lives paint it black
we are mattered lives paint it black
we are mattered lives paint it black
we are every tattoo every piercing every drop of blood
every global flood
we are straight queer trans non-gender conforming
we are she/he/they
we are disabled abled poor rich
big people little people in between people
we are protesters pepper-sprayed with knees on our necks
we are protesters pepper-sprayed with knees on our necks
we are protesters pepper-sprayed with knees on our necks
we them people
we the people
we are those people
who will survive
because we done
where pandemics were
trail of tears and lynchings and holocausts
where pandemics were
no hope and no vote and no freedom spoke
we them people
we the people
we are those people
while our planet gently weeps
we bob and bop
across the tender bones
of those tear-stained photographs
to hand to
the next generation
that blues suite
that peaceful dance
inside a raging tornado
Saturday, June 6, 2020
This poem is an exclusive excerpt from Kevin Powell’s new book When We Free The World, published by Apple Books. Kevin Powell is a poet, journalist, civil and human rights activist, and the author of 14 books. His next will be a biography of Tupac Shakur.
Photography by Kay Hickman
The hook to Royce da 5’9”’s “Hard,” from his 2016 album Layers, has to be talked about. It’s almost like a Rosetta Stone into the current thought process that undergirds his current output. But, before that’s done, the song itself has to be taken into context. It’s pure superhero music—triumphant horn blasts and defiant autobiographical rhyme bursts with a quasi spoken-word opening verse. It’s a stylistic extension of what he had been doing for years—breaking rap bars into uneven run-on pieces with entangled and elongated metaphors and complicated punchlines that are impossible to get on the first (or fourth) listen. In the beginning, he’s back in grade school, speaking to a teacher in what’s probably a monologue courtesy of l’esprit de l’escalier. “Look around you: Do I look like anything like the rest of your class?” he asks. “Can’t you see that I’m special? I don’t act like these f***in’ crumbsnatchers. I don’t even breathe like ‘em’. I was born with my lungs collapsin’.”
It’s not pure braggadocio—on Trust The Shooter, the mixtape he released before Layers, he shared that he was born at “four-pound, dark purple, couldn’t even breathe on my own/ Shakin’ baby in the incubator, breathing machine for my lung.” He then obliquely spoke on dysfunctional families, drug addiction, a broken medical insurance system, major label disasters, the prison industrial complex, idol worship, and ADHD treatment—all within the first minute of the first song. “I learned everything I need to know at day one in the hospital.”
It was the introduction to an artistic explosion and growth spurt that may be unprecedented in the annals of hip-hop. Sure, there’s maybe another artist who has evolved in the ways that Royce has over the past half-decade—going from rapping about rapping to rapping about the ills of the world and exposing the raw nerves of his life—but it’s hard to think of one. And it’s hard to think of anyone who has the poetical focus of a member of a group as rhyme-driven as Slaughterhouse, who literally and lyrically hangs with Eminem, who doesn’t care about marketplace success so much that he constantly talks about his commercial achievements and shortcomings at almost every turn.
He begins the second verse of "Hard" bombastically: "My finest hour is here/This what I see in my prayers/ This is me, though I'm facin' all of my fears/ Making all my enemies look in the mirror/ And see the face to the Jordan meme of the Jordan face with all of the tears…" and he goes on, dropping intertwined bars about his skillset, a brush with divorce, what may or may not be physical or sexual assault on "your whore," and how the song was inspired by watching Hamilton on Broadway (a slight flex in of itself). So it almost makes sense when he breaks out into a Lin-Manuel Miranda-esque semi-song:
I said f***in’ the baddest bi**hes around wasn’t hard as I thought/ Man, what the f**k was I thinkin’? (get money)/Jewelry and cars/ Achievin’ the highest level of success ain’t as hard as I thought (top of the world)/ What the f**k was I thinkin’?/ I was drunk or I was lost/ My people said it would be hard/ My teacher said it would be hard/ What the f**k was she thinking’?/ Why did I listen to y’all?
The obligatory Infinity Saga analogy says that Royce is Thanos between movies; the one who acquired all the Stones—wealth (he brags about designer jeans and driving an Aston Martin), marketplace recognition (his Bad Meets Evil project with Eminem went gold and debuted a number one on the Billboard 200 a decade ago), peer respect (he's quickly replacing Black Thought as the "most underrated" rapper in spaces where those discussions take place), and whatever the other three Stones would be in this analogy. But somewhere offscreen, he realized that such things only served as temptation and he destroyed them. It's a neat analogy, but not perfect. We don’t know if Royce ever achieved what he wanted—he equates himself with Leonardo DiCaprio ("all they have on me is the awards") in a way that suggests he wouldn't mind winning a Grammy. What we know is he came close enough to those things to not want them. And, even though he compares himself to the Mad Titan on "Upside Down" from his latest album, The Allegory ("to the genre, I'm Thanos"), he’s actually Vision.
Despite his claims, Royce isn't the one who has the conviction to destroy half the universe; he's the one who used the Mind Stone properly, in ways that Marshall Ultron never imagined; the one who surpassed Dr. Dre Stark and Paul Banner’s expectations. His last two studio albums—2018's Book of Ryan and the recently released The Allegory–are all about building connections and showcasing emotional vulnerability in a way that someone as stoic as Thanos only revealed when alone with his daughter.
All "they" got on Royce is the awards, but if there were blind justice in this world, he would have been nominated for one for Book of Ryan. It's an album that spiritually began on a song that isn't on the album. "Tabernacle," the first song on Layers and nestled in the middle of Trust The Shooter, is the song. It's the one you play for people who don't get Royce, the one you play for people who don't listen to hip-hop because they think rap doesn't have depth, the one you listen to when you need to be inspired by the meaning of the chaos of your own life story. There's really no way to encapsulate the song without listening to it.
"Tabernacle" is the Sankofa song; the one where Royce looks back to move forward. And Book of Ryan is an astounding album-length look back at Ryan Montgomery and the Montgomery family. Full of domestic violence, humor, drugs, love, and dark and light moments in equal measure, it's a black Black comedy that is a coming to terms story masquerading as a coming of age tale. It's as if Lemonade, 4:44, and EVERYTHING IS LOVE were put into the blender of one mind and shredded by rap skills and spoken narrative. And, for good measure, there are a few songs that are about nothing but rhyming. One of them features Pusha T, Jadakiss, and Fabolous and feels like something that was erroneously leftover from a DJ's compilation; the other, "Caterpillar," featuring Eminem, could be construed as a callout against Kendrick Lamar ("remember when you praisin' the butterfly, don't you ever disrespect the f**kin' caterpillar"). "Caterpillar" isn't a dis—Royce too regularly praises Kendrick for such a thing to be taken seriously. He's also too direct in his conflict (he goes straight at Yealowolf's neck for a not fully-disclosed reason). But he's also so cut-throat that reading lines like,"Guess what I'ma never do?/ Show so much respect to you/ That I feel like we friends so now we no longer competitors/ That could be the death of you" is the kind of camaraderie as bloodsport the game needs. (But don't think too much about it. Royce's following lines—"Never let someone who's not as smart as you gas you up and tell you something that you never knew/Always stay professional"—feels like a preemptive subconscious strike against people who read too much in between the lines of rap lines.)
For the most part, Royce uses Book of Ryan to eschew well-worn rap roads and travels to the past to talk about his dad's addiction, his brother's incarceration, family outings, and his eccentric elders. The album also goes inward to talk about depression, alcoholism, and recovery. And Royce goes back to his old neighborhood to talk about his love affair with a lucky basketball signed by Isiah Thomas and buying snacks at a local store. He also talks to his son about his fears—the greatest being his shortcomings as a father and passing on his alcoholic tendencies: "You in a gene pool with a lot of sick fish/ And I’m the sickest of them all." It's hard to quantify things like "heart," and talking about them in regards to music is so subjective. But Book of Ryan is full of heart. There's really no better way to say it.
Royce wore a rhinestone du-rag so you don't have to. He tells you to Google it, as he does a few things on The Allegory. He's not willing to break down things for the listener all the time, but he presents the donning of the headpiece as a symbol of the sacrifices he made following commercial success early on in his career. And it makes sense. The first time I heard of Royce was while working in the Source offices from Riggs Morales, who was one of Eminem's first industry advocates (and would go on work at Paul Rosenberg's Goliath Artists amongst other industry positions). At the time, Source co-founder Jonathan Shecter was no longer with the magazine, but was running a small label called Game Recordings that released vinyl records with sexy girls on the cover. It was a bit ahead of the curve—since then, selling things hamburgers and beers via women in bikinis has become mainstream, but back then Riggs had a 12" of Bad Meets Evil that he was exceptionally fond of. Riggs had good taste in music and assured that the two emcees were amongst the best he'd ever heard. I never listened to it, but I kept it in mind.
At the time Royce released his debut, Rock City in 2002, I remembered that this was the kid Riggs was championing and listened. I was unimpressed. The lyrics were good, but the music and message felt too indistinct and trendy. And dude was running around with a rhinestone du-rag. This is why, now on "Upside Down," Royce announces: "Whoever think I'm here to make some corny-ass radio Viacom jingle got my whole diatribe tangled."
He's no longer making music for mass consumption. He's no longer after those stones.
A few things have to be said about The Allegory. Firstly—and this can't be understated—it's entirely produced by Royce, who wasn't making beats two years ago when he made Book of Ryan. It's important because while these aren't "superproducer"-level tracks, they're incredibly accomplished album cuts. The sounds aren't one-note, the arrangements aren't regular, and he often makes space for singers to come in on hooks and mini-verses. Moreover, it doesn't come off as an insular, navel-gazing vanity project. It's an album that stands on its own as a collection of music, stripping funk, warning basslines, sprinkling keys, and interpolating Dana Dane with a reserve that surpasses his position as a novitiate.
The rhymes are often amazing and every guest appearance by a rapper is spectacular. Griselda's Benny the Butcher, Conway, and Westside Gunn show up individually, as does fellow Slaughterhouse alum, KXNG Crooked. T.I and Cyhi da Prince gang up on "Black Savages." His brother and longtime collaborator Kid Vishis shows up, as does Grafh. Oddly enough, Eminem shows up on an interlude to make the most cohesive observation of race on the album, which is both confusing and not.
It's not confusing, because—through beefs and dis records and death and reconciliation—Eminem and Royce have emerged as an amazing mixed-race bromance. And, with his past few records, Royce's transparency about his upcoming explains his bond with Em in ways that are pretty opaque until now. They're not just rappers who came up together, they're products of tumultuous families, addicts who have leaned on one another, men who found sobriety, artists who genuinely use the recording booth as therapeutic havens. In the past, Royce spoke and rapped drunkenly on record; now he's making hour-long meditations on society and has motivational hustler Derrick Grace running through flash quizzes with Grace's daughter in between songs—distinguishing bullet calibers and reciting Black empowerment lessons.
It's confusing because The Allegory presents itself as Royce's "woke" project. In the beginning, he compares it to Homer's Illiad and Plato's Allegory of the Cave—two references that guarantee that this is not a project that will make itself known plainly or with ease. It's part To Pimp A Butterfly and part DAMN. And, like those projects, as much as it seeks to be progressive in terms of race, it remains shockingly regressive on sexual politics. On the opening of “Upside Down,” Royce begins: “Why the gay ni**as tryna f**k the straight ni**as that's tryna f**k the gay bi**hes that look just like the straight ni**as?/ Why the straight ni**as that the gay bi**hes tryna look just like the gay ni**as?” It’s a confusing bit of nothing—something that Royce routinely does with such verve that how it sounds trumps what it means. But, it’s troubling and manages to wave away the realities of multiple gender identities unnecessarily. Though it marries to the title of the song, it’s divorced from the rest of his verse and there’s no exploration of what he means beyond thought-twisting. While The Allegory is great on many levels, it's definitely misogynistic and often transphobic and homophobic on others. Royce still seems to be cheating on his wife and saying so publicly—or at least willing to allude to infidelity for a punchline. He's still under the spells of capitalism and bars violence. He outs himself as an anti-vaxxer. In short, it's a mess.
It's a mess, but it's a beautiful one because it's honest. "Pendulum" alone is disturbing in its dismissal of women. Royce confesses that he's "too narcissistic to be lickin' carpet, too artistic to nut/ This a catharsis" before going on to add that "my side chick is still burnin', now my dick is scorchin'/ Talkin' bout 'I think I'm pregnant; I'm not with abortion'/ Any child that slides out you is an instant orphan." The song's hook doesn't add any clarity: "We gon' rob the rich and leave them with the f**kin' bill." It's a thinking person's album that becomes uncomfortable if you think about it too intensely. And that’s a shame.
But The Allegory is also an album that speaks on growing old in rap, living and dying in Black America, the importance of owning your masters as a recording artists, and contains an apology to Royce's father for bringing up his dad's past without talking to him about it first. Yet, what the "allegory" is isn't quite clear. And it may be too meta and too lazy to say that that's the point. What's clear is that Ryan Montgomery, after 20 years as a professional rapper, is making the best music of his career and expanding his arsenal in profound ways. And that's going to have to be enough. He's learned that f**king the baddest bi**hes around and achieving the highest levels of success aren't as hard as he thought. He's still learning. If he continues to release music—or follow on his plans to "screenwriter a movie or write a play"—the caterpillar may do things with the Mind Stone that Thanos never imagined.
When listing the most pivotal and popular artists in the history of gangsta rap, many of the names mentioned will have ties to New York or California: N.W.A., The Notorious B.I.G., 2Pac, Kool G Rap, Ice-T, and others. Artists from Philadelphia - the home of rap legend Schoolly D, who many credit with helping pioneer and popularize the sub-genre - were often an afterthought in these conversations, particularly during the '90s, when the city's dearth of rap talent on the national stage paled in comparison to that of other major markets across the country. Following the success of the hit singles "P.S.K." and "Gucci Time," Schoolly D's style would shift towards sociopolitical rap during the late '80s and by the turn of the decade, was considered past his prime. Cool C and Steady B had a hot streak during the '80s, but faded into obscurity shortly before being convicted for their roles in the murder of a Philadelphia Police officer during a botched bank robbery. And for all of their commercial success and groundbreaking accomplishments, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince were often maligned for their lack of street cred, both on wax and off, and released their last album as a unit in 1993. Sure, The Roots, Jamal, Bahamadia and others made noise during the mid '90s, but lacked the mainstream appeal or staying power to truly put the city on their back, leaving the City of Brotherly Love without a rap artist with the lyrical chops, credibility and platform to possibly be mentioned alongside those aforementioned names for the better part of the '90s.
This would change during the late '90s when a crop of new talent emerged out of Philadelphia, the most touted prospect being Beanie Sigel, an artist who embodied the gritty aesthetic and culture of the city, all the while possessing skills comparable to the most lauded wordsmiths of all-time. Born and raised in Philly, Sigel, the product of a broken home, took to the streets at an early age, dropping out of school and quickly building a reputation as a brute hustler and stick-up kid. Charged with aggravated assault as early as age 13, Sigel had numerous run-ins with the law, most notably in 1994, when he, along with a neighbor, were accused of shooting an off-duty police officer during a physical altercation. However, those charges were ultimately dropped, leaving Sigel a free man and adding to his legend in his South Philly stomping grounds. That close call did little to deter Sigel from continuing his criminal lifestyle, as he became even more entrenched in the streets in the subsequent years. But in 1998, Sigel – a longtime fan of acts like EPMD, Kool G Rap and Big Daddy Kane who had developed a gift for rhyming himself – stumbled upon the opportunity of a lifetime after linking with a local Philly rapper named Murder Mil, who inspired him to take his craft a bit more seriously. "It was just something I knew how to do," Sigel recalls. "I met a cat named Murder Mil and he actually made me want to start writing, we actually battled and I felt, at that time, that he had got over on me. He won that battle and I ain't like that."
From there, Sigel and Murda Mil sparked a partnership, taking on various rappers on the local battle circuit, most notably Philly's Most Wanted, one of the hottest duos in the city who were on the cusp of signing a major label record deal at the time. Trading off bars over Destiny Child's "No, No No (Remix)" instrumental, Murda Mil and Sigel fared favorably against their counterparts, with Sigel stealing the show with an onslaught of couplets. The performance caught Philly's Most Wanted member Boo-Bonic's attention, who convinced his management team to allow Sigel to accompany Philly's Most Wanted to a meeting with Roc-A-Fella Records in New York City. Sigel, still skeptical of taking a full dive into the music world, was initially reluctant to take the trip, even considering attending an illegal dogfight instead. "I had a few rhymes that I had 'cause where I was from, what we was doing, that rap thing was out the window," he explains. "That was something I had to do on my own time. We was doing what we was doing so it wasn't cool to be a rapper. We was clowning people who was trying to rap at that time, we was getting money. We was dressing like rappers and we had things that the rappers had." However, he ultimately decided to take Boo-Bonic and his manager, Sadiq, up on their offer, making the trek up I-95 to Manhattan for a night that would forever change the trajectory of his life.
By 1998, Jay-Z, Damon Dash and Kareem "Biggs" Burke had taken Roc-A-Fella Records from an independent label into a potential industry powerhouse, with a distribution deal with Def Jam, along with Jay-Z's platinum-certified sophomore album, In My Lifetime, Vol. 1, positioning the Roc as the next seismic movement on the east coast. While commercially successful, In My Lifetime, Vol. 1 received mixed reviews for its glossy production and contrived radio-friendly singles, leaving many pondering whether Jay-Z had let the Cristal and Moet go to his head, to the point he'd lost touch with his roots as a battle-tested lyrical wizard. In spite of housing Hov's protege, Memphis Bleek, and R&B acts Rell and Christión, Roc-A-Fella had yet to become the army it is now known as, with the label's brain trust still in search of a prize prospect to add to the roster. Keying in on Philadelphia as a breeding ground to poach new talent from, the Roc heavily considered Philly's Most Wanted as the free-agent acquisitions that would help take the label over the top. But, as fate would have it, their interest would shift towards a relative unknown named Beanie Sigel, who remembers his first encounter with Roc-A-Fella fondly. "Jay was actually working on, I believe, the Hard Knock Life [album]," Beans shares. "'Cause he was doing a song with Too Short, ‘It Was All Good Just A Week Ago.’ I remember Too Short being in the studio with Jay. So we in the lobby of the studio and Dame Dash was out there talking, he had Philly's Most Wanted with some other cats that was in there that was rapping. And Dame sparked up a little confrontation about Philly rappers and New York rappers and, 'I hope they this, that and the third.'"
Dash's thinly-veiled slights and jabs at the away team resulted in an impromptu cipher, with Philly's Most Wanted and other Roc-A-Fella hopefuls going toe-to-toe with one another while Beans played the back. However, when one rapper began to get a bit too animated for Sigel's liking, he inserted himself into the fray, putting forth a showing that left the indefatigable Dash at a rare loss for words. "He was getting too aggressive so I started rapping," Beans says of his decision to step up to the plate. "So when I started rapping, Dame was like, 'See, I told you.' He thought I was from New York, and I had to correct him. ‘Man, I'm from Philly.' So he was like, 'Yo, you from Philly?' So he went and got "Biggs," Kareem [Burke], he brought him out like, 'Yo, you gotta hear this kid.' He was like, 'Yo, spit that rap,' and I wouldn't rap no more. I'm like, 'Nah, I ain't here for that.' I wound up rapping for him, they start flipping out. They went in the joint and pulled Jay out the booth like, 'No, you gotta come out now.'" Slaughtering the "A Week Ago" instrumental for nearly 20 minutes, Sigel's extended rhyme spill was so impressive that Jay-Z, Dash and Burke quickly brokered a record deal with The Broad Street Bully in the subsequent weeks, making him the first bonafide rap free agent to be inducted as a member of the Roc-A-Fella family.
From there, it didn't take long for Sigel to make an impression on the rap world, making his debut on Philly rap band The Roots' 1998 single "Adrenaline," which saw the neophyte anchoring the track with an epic stanza to close the proceedings. Next on the docket was a string of buzzworthy showings to close out the year, including appearances on "Reservoir Dogs," a stacked posse cut from Jay-Zs Vol. 2... Hard Knock Life album featuring The LOX and Sauce Money, and "Crew Love," a cut from the Belly soundtrack featuring Jay-Z and Memphis Bleek. However, 1999 would see Sigel truly put his name in contention for rap's Rookie of the Year, earning over a dozen credits alongside the likes of Foxy Brown ("4-5-6"), Blackstreet ("I Got What You On"), Puff Daddy ("Journey Through the Life"), Eve ("Philly Philly"), Sisqó ("Unleash the Dragon"), and The Notorious B.I.G., Black Rob, Ice Cube ("If I Should Die Before I Wake"). He also provided reinforcement alongside his Roc-A-Fella labelmates, joining Jay-Z and Memphis Bleek on "More Money, More Cash, More Hoes (Remix)," Jay-Z, Memphis Bleek and Amil on "For My Thugs," as well as a pair of appearances on Vol. 3.... Life & Times of S. Carter, the most prominent being "Do It Again (Put Ya Hands Up)." Released as the lead single, the Rockwilder produced cut peaked at No. 9 on the Hot Rap Singles chart and thrust Sigel into the spotlight, with many fans clamoring for the firebrand's debut solo studio album.
Released on February 29, 2000, The Truth was the first Roc-A-Fella release of the new millennium and looked to position Sigel as the next street orator to place his imprint on the rap game. With comparisons to the likes of The Notorious B.I.G. putting even more pressure on Sigel, the first single from The Truth was as much of an opportunity to make a statement to affirm the hype behind his name as it was to gain traction on radio and the Billboard charts, which the album's title track accomplished on both fronts. Produced by Kanye West, who earned his first credit on a Roc-A-Fella project via this record, "The Truth" instantly grabbed listeners' attention upon its release in early 2000, many of whom were captivated by the scorching instrumental, which samples "Chicago" by Graham Nash. But the true crux of the track was Sigel's imposing presence, with the newcomer brazenly warning "I hope you got an extra mic and a fireproof booth/'Cause you know I'm known to melt a wire or two" on the opening bars, making it clear that the lyrical exploits were going to be aplenty. Reaching No. 23 on the Hot Rap Singles chart, "The Truth" presented Sigel as the last of a dying breed, an artist with the street credentials and skills to become the next legendary emcee to emerge out of the east coast.
Setting the tone with that introductory number, the Philly rep teams up with Memphis Bleek on "Who Want What," building on the innate chemistry the pair displayed on previous collaborative efforts like "My Hood to Your Hood," from Bleek's own 1999 solo debut, Coming of Age. According to Just Blaze, who produced the track, the song was his first placement within the Roc-A-Fella camp and was one of the more beloved selections from the album. “I had the beat already done and gave it to Hip Hop (aka Kyambo Joshua), who was the A&R for Rocafella at the time," Blaze remembers. "They heard the record and they just went in, did it, and mixed it. I didn’t know as many people liked that record as they did until I was out one night and I heard it [playing out of] five cars driving past." Volleying four-bar couplets before passing off the mic to one another, Bleek and Beans put forth a war-ready salvo, announcing themselves as the future of the label, with Bleek snarling, "You bout ta witness a dynasty like no other/Who flow like Bleek, think, no other/Who rhyme like Sigel, dog, no other/It's Roc-a-Fella twins desert eagle no other," as Sigel assumes the role of enforcer while assuring Jay-Z that they're more than qualified to carry the torch. Speaking of Sigel's over boss, Hov appears on three songs on The Truth, the first being the Bink!-produced standout "Raw & Uncut," which captures Sigel comparing their synergy to that of Micheal Jordan and Scottie Pippen. "Playa," an uptempo anthem for the clubs, also includes a feature from Jay-Z, who joins former Roc first lady Amil and Sigel as the trio holds court over jittery production by T-Mix.
In addition to contributions from Roc-A-Fella's core nucleus, The Truth also includes a guest spot from fellow Philly native Eve, who tackles the hook on the uplifting, feel-good single "Remember Them Days," but perhaps the most enduring meeting of the minds on the album comes via "Mac And Brad," which pairs the Broad Street Bully with southern rap legend Scarface. Produced by J5, this offering finds the kindred spirits and purveyors of the morbid broadcasting their cruel intentions, sans a hook, planting the seed for future collaborations between Scarface and the Roc, as well as a long-rumored joint-album that failed to materialize. While Sigel's various costars turn in admirable performances, The Truth's most brilliant moments come when its host flies solo, with highlights like the Buckwild-produced "What a Thug About" confirming his ability to thrive on his own strength without the added reinforcements. On "What Your Life Like," Mac paints a visceral picture of life behind the wall that has been hailed as one of the more authentic and jarring descriptions of prison to ever be laid on wax, before voicing his undying allegiance to his most trusted comrades on "Ride 4 My," a Bink!-produced number powered by a sample lifted from the Conan the Barbarian soundtrack. However, the apex of Sigel's mastery behind the mic is displayed on "Die," an intense composition that finds him pondering the various ways he could come face-to-face with his demise. Rhyming "When you live by the sword, you die by the sword/I'll probably die in the vocal booth spittin' out raw/Die on stage, rippin' down tours/Die from AIDS, trickin' out-a-town whores," Sigel puts the trappings of fame with the realities of his checkered past and illicit lifestyle into context, resulting in a sobering tune that finds its author closing the proceedings out on an evocative note.
Debuting at No. 5 on the Billboard 200 with 155,000 copies sold in its first week, The Truth was considered a commercial and critical success, with a number of critics praising Beanie Sigel's performance throughout the album and the realism of his lyrical content. In addition to Sigel's own singles, The Truth was also bolstered by "Anything," a solo selection by Jay-Z tacked on the end of the album. The song, which peaked at No. 9 on the Hot Rap Singles chart, features a sample of Lionel Bart's "I'll Do Anything," was a blatant attempt at recapturing the magic of his breakout 1998 single "Hard Knock Life," which Hov admitted himself in an interview years later. Reaching gold certification, The Truth not only solidified Beanie Sigel as a rising star in rap, but gave Roc-A-Fella as a viable movement with a talented stable beyond its leader that was fully capable of holding down the fort. Later that same year, Sigel was prominently featured on Jay-Z fifth studio album, The Dynasty: Roc La Familia, further entrenching him as one of the premier spitters out of the east coast and the most respected rapper out of the streets of Philly. He would also go on to become the leader and frontman of State Property, a crew of Philadelphia rappers that helped rejuvenate and revive interest in the cities rap scene on a national scale. In a career that includes multiple classic bodies of work, The Truth remains the moment that the rap world got introduced to The Broad Street Bully, whose only intent was to put on for his hometown. "That's just me being able to let my home know that I knew how to rap," he says of his mindstate while recording his debut. "They ain't know who I was 'cause I wasn't out on the scene like that, so when I did The Truth, I always knew how to rap. It was just a collection of little raps I would play with when I was in the mix."