The Advocate

R.I.P. Ol’ DB:
An Appreciation
Tony Monchinski

Russell Tyrone Jones is no longer among us. The rapper variously known as the Old Dirty Bastard, Unique, Dirt McGirt and Big Baby Jesus collapsed and died in a recording studio in the middle of November, two days before his 36th birthday. It was the same weekend Dick Cheney was rushed to the hospital citing labored breathing. Old Dirty Bastard came to fame in the world of rap with the debut of the Wu-Tang Clan’s Enter the Wu-Tang Clan (36 Chambers). This premier album by a group that reinvigorated the East Coast rap scene introduced the various members of the Clan, giving them each time to shine.

Old Dirty stood out. His style, in music and life, could best be described as funky. Imagine if Chapelle Show’s crack addict Tyrell Biggums pursued a singing career: you’d probably get something akin to the trajectory of Old Dirty’s rise and fall. That the Ol’ DB battled drug addiction and seeming mental illness only enhanced his street creds and lyrical ability. In his debut solo album, the Ol’ DB exhibited a style that was equal parts freestyle, free association, and far out. How else to explain his penchant to burst unexpectedly into “Somewhere over the Rainbow” or “Bad, Bad LeRoy Brown” hooks?

“I keep my breath smelling like shit so I can get funky,” he rapped. And funky he was, the epitome of Ronald Reagan’s much ballyhooed welfare queens, proudly displaying a check from his Wu-Tang earnings on MTV News as a camera followed him in his limo to visit social services and pick up his food stamps. Less royalty than court jester, it was a role Old Dirty seemed to embrace.

Gangster rap used to be about singing about being shot, shooting at people, dealing drugs and the size of your jimmy. One criticism of gangster rap today is that performers really are gangsters, with, for example, Jamaica, Queens phenom Fifty-Cent breaking into the rap game after a life of drug-dealing and catching bullets. Old Dirty was no exception. He’s been embroiled with the law for crimes ranging from failure to pay child support – his wife claims he only fathered their 3 children, whereas Old Dirty is rumored to have fathered a total of 13 – to stealing a fifty-dollar pair of shoes from a store, from possession of marijuana and 20 vials of crack to attempted murder of police after a shootout on the New York City streets. In his defense on the latter charge, the evidence seems to indicate that undercover cops boxed in Old Dirty’s car, advanced on him with guns drawn, and failed to identify themselves as peace officers. In such a situation, the Wu-Tanger claimed he was just trying to protect himself. Along the way, he was shot twice, remanded to rehab, and attempted suicide.
Old Dirty’s lyrics were not free of homophobia or misogyny, but his skills, like Eminem’s, were undeniable. His star shone brightest early on, with a marked decline in the quality of his second album, Nigga Please. He had his share of detractors, and it’s safe to say Bill Cosby wouldn’t have approved. Newspapers have been chronicling the burgeoning feud over the Russell Jones’ “estate,” but I somehow don’t think Old Dirty managed to hold onto much of his money. He had a reputation for partying and philanthropy, hooking up family members with cars and homes and handing out money to children on the streets of his native Brooklyn.

At the time of this writing, the exact cause of his death is unknown. Old Dirty had recently been released from prison, was living at home with his mom, and had signed with Roc-a-fella Records (Jay-Z’s label). Family members believe depression medication may have played a part.

“It just seems like the end of hip hop,” lamented one fan. But, although Old Dirty Bastard’s will be missed, hip hop will live on.

Tony Monchinski is a student in the PhD program in Political Science.