29 Days of Lupe Fiasco: Cult Status

Lupe is liked by Ray Ray and Craig. And somehow heads overseas nod to his beats in droves. “Paris, Tokyo” shows us he’s a globe trotter, an international star. One word: eclectic. Lupe takes his art form, Hip-Hop, and lets it play in the background. Then he commences to tap dance all over it. One minute he can be creativley attached “Day Dreamin” and the next write an anthem for all “Hip Hop Saved My Life”. The beat is the only reason why this isn’t just spoken word. If Lupe ain’t a poet then… It’s as if Lupe transcends all of Rap’s pigeon-holes. Fans see this, hear this. The first thing I think about when I hear “Lupe” is not: Rapper. It’s: communicator. Achieving a cult status may not equal extra zeros. But it garners critical acclaim and artistic freedom. A happy medium is the perfect decal for an artist. If you didn’t have to make a “Snakes on the Plane” to cop cash wouldn’t you?

Wu-Tang. They got cult status like whoa! The fans they got all live and die 36 Chambers; keep up with U-God’s career; and would love to argue why Wu-Tang is the best thing in Rap ever. I swear it seems like Wu-Tang’s style is extra involved on purpose to act as a filter, to get rid of those folk who don’t care to listen and re-listen. I still throw a fit over what their slang means. Maybe they never could be cohesive for a while longer but they showed the Rap world what collective, in-house collaborations mean. Nine people plus hangers-on providing dutiful rhymes with an insatiable MSG Asian flavor and no ego (until lately)?

I was sort of depressed when I first held Tom Waits. His growl was mean. But its realness was inviting. He was down in the dumps, always. I felt like that too for a time. It didn’t even matter that I’d never heard or seen him before. I’m still back cataloging him. The more I search, the more I love him. His fans have to work to get his shit. So that perseverance equals well informed fans.

The Strokes is its own category of Rock. I couldn’t give it a name but it’s so smooth. It’s the ultimate description of young New Yorkers who get drunk in public, get ticketed and walk it off. There are no short-cuts. It’s both classic and new-age. In a time when Rock is disgusting, they give it some dignity. And I’ve never seen them on MTV!?!

Lupe may never get due respect or pay off. Fine. Recognition is not always real, or, most of the times it doesn’t mean anything; it acts as a reassurance. I know I look good, I don’t need you to notice me and regurgitate that info. Sometimes I’m glad you and a hundred other motherfuckers don’t care about him. It makes it better for me; I get to share him all to myself. I know it was wack when everybody thought that that one chick in 6th grade was the only good looking chick. There’s always something better that never gets that shine. Music we hear is for profit music; had dollars not been clocked, we would have never heard it. Cult artists are usually my favorite. I respect them for their desire to get out their love without a complex. They serve us that piff because they’re not concerned with Ciara or being snapped on TMZ.com. Object permanence is so true. We got faith even when we don’t read articles on these people in Rolling Stone. Hell, I’d wait 10 whole hours for the lights to get dim…