In my modest and mostly unqualified opinion the hallmark of a truly special recording artist often lies within their ability to turn the everyday, quotidian experiences of life into something enthralling. Art is at its most endearing when it mimics life: when it is simultaneously relatable and empathetic. To approach such subject matter as; the number of potholes in Blackburn (The Beatles), simply sitting in an Italian restaurant (Billy Joel) or leaving your wallet in a backroad diner (A Tribe Called Quest), requires a lovable scoop of boyishness from the artist.
Despite their lack of geographical proximity to Welham Green, a tiny village slap-bang in the middle of the English home counties, the rhymes of Kamaal Fareed and Malik Taylor (better known around the world as Q-Tip) and Phife of A Tribe Called Quest often rang so true in my adolescent ears. The Tribe were masters of opening up their world - that of Queens, New York, to the universe. Their sound, lyrics and aesthetic were both informative of life as a young African-American and equally open to ubiquitousness. The ability to transform such mundane and adolescent activities as a cross-country road trip or simply chilling with the homies into colourful and universal narratives surrounding themes of identity and “growing up” was the Tribe’s greatest gift to a mid-90s hip-hop community tearing itself apart at the seams. Existing within a world of East Coast / West Coast lyrical and physical violence, the Tribe offered an ever-relatable and “unrefined” sense of conscious “black intellect.” A necessary tonic for the times, the always playful and perceptive messages of The Tribe stood proudly among a discourse of other-worldly violence and vulgarity emanating from the Bad Boy vs Death Row rap feud.
A Tribe Called Quest’s early manifestation of true geniality and universal relatability, one that allowed a teenager from Hertfordshire with a Sony Walkman CD player to learn about girls, adolescence and Seamen’s furniture (went straight over my head in ’06), is exactly why the group should NOT release another album. Speaking to Rap Radar Podcast, L.A. Reid, current CEO to Epic Records has revealed that before the passing of Phife, Tribe had been in the studio. Recording what Reid described as “a brand new album” the LP is now rumoured to be getting a release “very soon.”
Before we jump into this (probably controversial) opinion of mine, I’ve got to stress the lack of qualification in my opinion here: When the Tribe dropped their debut album, People’s Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm, I was minus 4 years old…two more Tribe albums would also drop before my first birthday. People always say that you can’t truly understand The Beatles unless you lived through their meteoric existence. The same I am sure can be said for A Tribe Called Quest. Listening with a contextualised ear is everything; whilst I can dig into the history that surrounded their now classic discography, I cannot live through them. Yet, despite existing within a time and an era that I can only really remember fondly as one where I spent my days eating, pooping and sleeping, the sound that came from the first three Tribe records of the early 90s guided me through my teenage years. The final two records…not so much. The exact reason A Tribe Called Quest should not release another record is the same reason why, for me, their final two LPs haven’t stuck in my library all these years.
How a 19 year old Q-Tip ever made something as sonically intelligent as “Can I Kick It?” has always been beyond reason for me. Lou Reed and Lonnie Smith meeting together over rhymes celebrating Afrocentricity and teenage freedoms: “Can I Kick It?” defined the Tribe’s early identity. This joyful narrative encapsulated the first three Tribe records. The lyrical counselling that these teenage MCs were offering to youths around the world was what drove the early vogue of the group. Where my love affair with the Tribe faltered was with album number four: Beats, Rhymes and Life. The playfulness, one that I believe is mutually exclusive to youthfulness, had since departed the Tribe’s production and lyrical tone. Admittedly, there is only a small window of time in which you can play upon the innocence of being young before it becomes a tragic throwback: (see most 90s and 00s pop boybands and girlbands.) And whilst Tip, Ali and Phife were smart enough to move on from their youthful image to continue making great, and more importantly age appropriate records - by the time Beats, Rhymes and Life came around their level of relatability had drastically diminished. Their ability to resonate with me through their spirited portrayal of everyday life had evaporated into a narrative defined by darker themes and more clinical instrumental production.
This is not to discredit either of the latter two Tribe records. Whilst the unstoppable inevitability of age forced the transition of this once more playful group to record a more refined and considered duo of long players, they are still hip-hop masterpieces in their own right. Yet, for me, the iconography of A Tribe Called Quest will always remain entrenched in their choice to defy hip-hop convention in the early 1990s: donning vibrant, traditional African clothing and discuss the position of young African-Americans within New York’s inner-city milieu.
To attempt to recreate this era would be foolish; I believe the group understood that twenty years ago when recording their latter two albums and I sincerely hope they believed it in this past year (if they truly have been recently recording a sixth album.) Whether or not a new release might see the light of day is questionable; with Phife having now passed would it be fitting or somehow unpalatable? It is not a question of whether another Tribe album would be good or not… it will undoubtedly be yet another masterpiece to add to their unparalleled discography – it’s a question of whether they can capture that relatable, happy-go-lucky spirit that has made them heroes among multiple generations of teenagers.
As much as A Tribe Called Quest defined my teenage years and informed my later musical tastes: I could probably do without a final record.
