On Saturday morning, hip-hop lost Sean Price at the too-young-to-die age of 43.
The Brooklyn rapper entered the fray in the 90s as part of Heltah Skeltah and the larger Boot Camp Clik collective and remained true to his roots, grafting in the music’s so-called underground until he could, sadly, no longer breathe.
Price’s voice was well-known to those of us who came of age in the 90s when New York City’s beacon still shone bright, attracting attention and accolades for a culture it had birthed but had, arguably, refused to admit it no longer owned.
Whether or not you were familiar with Sean’s body of work, hip-hop lost an important voice this weekend. A voice that was part of the dwindling chorus that is the music’s consciousness, and what is art without conscience? Price was a man who placed himself in stark contrast to the music’s adulation of fame and money, who had no time for its games and even less for its niceties. The brokest rapper you knew, who could still split the craniums of the richest rappers everyone thinks they know while cracking jokes that showed he was human, just like you and me, and not some unattainable star in the sky.
It seems ironic and cruel that Price would pass at the tail end of the recent feud between Drake and Meek Mill. Price stood for authenticity in rap, he articulated the conscience of the music. He was more alpha than Drake or Meek could ever wish to be, and as his friend Just Blaze told NPR, he was also a geek who loved comic books and the simple things in life. He was capable of containing multitudes because he was real. But realness often doesn’t sell, unless it’s packaged a certain way.
As the tributes poured in after the news propagated on Saturday morning, the writer dream hampton tweeted a call to action. “If your fav underground artist is still alive, tell them that now,” she implored. “Seeing all these tributes to Sean P No way he knew how much he was loved.”
The day after his death, I watched Rich Medina and Pete Rock pay their respects with short musical tributes at a party in Brooklyn, the large crowd observing a moment of silence before singing along to Price’s words, as I’m sure countless people did all weekend around the world.
Maybe Price didn’t know, or fully realise, how much he mattered to so many people like me who grew up far away from the music’s cultural and commercial centres but who heard his voice and felt a genuine connection, one that remained strong even after he reinvented himself under his real name and continued to throw shadow punches at hip-hop’s overinflated ego. hampton is right, the best way we can remember Price is by telling those like him that are still with us that we care. No pointless tweet or self-pitying Facebook update. Just a genuine, heartfelt reach out to those who live their artistry the only way they know how to: from the heart.
You can contribute to a fund for Sean Price’s family here. Stream a small selection of Price’s music, solo and with Helter Skeltah and Boot Camp Clik:
