J Dilla x Paris

She had pissed me off! I mean REALLY pissed me off to the point that I would just switch off, walk off away to mutter wishes of badness under my breath, until she was no longer in my presence.

I stayed away from her for a good few weeks after that, found myself on a plane towards Paris knowing that she would be there, all hoping that she remembers that I actually do love her. 

And then she put it on me and showed me reminded me how much she loves me, which in turn reminded me how much better my life has become with her in it, and how I’m now a better person simply because of her.

I love her… And that my friend was the emotions behind the J Dilla x Paris experience.

The ‘Tribute to J Dilla’ night’s, since his passing in 2005, are always a key calendar entry for me in the UK.  Flashbacks of the first event vivid, with only a hand full of people in attendance, captured perfectly the niche of his genius.  And for the year after that first event, those that were in attendance preached the word of Dilla at each event they blessed.  And all believed, left with the wanting to witness and hear J Dilla’s gospel of musical miracles for themselves.

But three years in to the politically acclaimed ‘custodial’ yearly event, I received a cold shudder after sensing something wasn’t right.  Where we were once surround by lovers, fan filled dance floor corners with those lyrically praying and paying their own homage to Dilla, it had been replaced by VIP areas, T-Shirt stands and women with gold weaves, purple wigs and shaved head patch hair styles supporting 4 inch wannabe Primark heels.

It had happened.  J Dilla was now commercial.

Paris to me was like a fable.  I’d heard so much about their love for Hip Hop and music in general for years, but never had the chance to experience it myself until now.

The usual pre-event preparations took place. Warm up tracks served like a starter, over conversations which filled the Metro air, ranging from on the must play tracks, to the dreaded ‘what is your favourite track?’ all until the venue was found.  Expectations by all were pretty minimal based on what was experienced at the UK show earlier in the month.

My expectations were the same up until meeting French DJ and producer Saneyes for his interview earlier in the day just before he had to dash of to prepare his set.  I asked what I was likely to expect from Paris.  

His smile, which lazily rose from the corner of mouth, was crammed with everything I need to see.  And I can only compare it to the smile given to a lady that does not have a clue about how I’m going to put in on her ass!! *straightens eyebrows* He bounced, and the scene was set and announced to the mind.

In a nut shell the night in Paris was awesome… FUCKING AWESOME!

I was really going to Zelda slay the UKs tired efforts of educating the masses, who they decided to piss off before they had even entered a venue.  A venue which would have left battery chickens asking what they had done to deserve such an upgrade being packed in a venue with random levels like the tower of Babel.  And let’s not start with the amount of repeated tracks by the DJs and mini karaoke session. It was a shambles; the organisers clearly have no shame. But they tried bless them..

Between the three DJs/Producers on the night - Onra, DJ Fab and Saneyes - there was only ONE repeated track. ONE! J Dilla’s catalogue was finally showed on the immense level that it is!

In the six hours that I danced, I stopped only once because it just got too emotional for me.  I was home.  When I took a moment to look at the sea of people that I stood before on stage I saw there were no girls supporting France’s Primark equivalent shoe wear, they came in flats and came to sweat it out!

The gentlemen on the decks controlled the crowd with the music to the point where no one was looking confused or lost.  They just moved with J Dilla.  Everyone was zoning out.  Naturally at that.

But what moved me the most was it wasn’t about the words to the songs you knew or what Stussy t-shirt you resurrected.  It was all about the feeling, which was later echoed in an interview with Onra later in the week in London.

Amazingly most of the people that I spoke to after coming of the stage thought one, I had organised the show - a stereotype I didn’t mind being associated with.  And two, didn’t know a word of English but were so amped about what they had just experienced, innocently didn’t realise that I hadn’t said a single word of French, and was just smiling and nodding my head like my name Prince Hakeem of Zamunda.

But that’s how good the night was!

There was none of the class, fashion, colour or creed boundaries that you would correlate with an event in London (apart from the end of the night McDonalds throng…) But we were all together, sweating as one, in celebration for one of the most intelligent producers I have been blessed to witness in my life time.

I really can’t say anymore (the article picture really says it all…) other than I know I will be in Paris again next year, or any other city that wants to represent what J Dilla stood for.

J Dilla wasn’t just a producer; he was a gift of emotion to Hip Hop.

Thanking the event organisers, those that joined me on the Plane to Paris (and those that caught the later one – hahaha!) and everyone that made the weekend possible…

Rest in peace J Dilla…