My “notable death” Dossier (11/21/24)

Source-ery

Reggie Gibson, better known as the rapper Saafir, passed away on November 19. While no official cause of death has been released, it was reported that he had experienced ongoing health challenges since a severe back injury in 1992, sustained during his escape from the hard landing, crash, and subsequent fire of TWA Flight 843.

Details about Saafir’s early life and family are scarce. According to Wikipedia, he reportedly lived with Tupac Shakur during their youth. Given Tupac’s background as an effeminate ballet student at the time, some may speculate about the nature of their relationship, though this remains purely conjecture.

In 1994, Saafir participated in one of the most infamous rap battles in the Bay Area, a pivotal moment covered by The Source magazine. This coverage helped bring national attention to the region’s hip-hop scene and cemented Saafir’s place in the genre’s history.

The Source is the longest-running rap publication in the world, originally founded as a newsletter in 1988 by David Mays. Despite his influence on hip-hop culture, little personal information about Mays is available on Wikipedia, which can only narrow down his birth year to 1968 or 1969. Mays began The Source as a single-sheet newsletter while an undergraduate at Harvard University. During this time, he also co-hosted a radio show on WHRB, Harvard’s student-run commercial radio station, called Street Beat. His co-host and collaborator on The Source was Jon Schecter, whose surname has Yiddish roots meaning “ritual slaughterer” or “a maker of spear shafts.”

Interestingly, the definitive authority on rap and hip-hop was created by two white, Jewish Harvard graduates—a detail that should prompt reflection on the cultural intersections and power dynamics within hip-hop’s rise to prominence. Instead of organically emerging from the projects, the project arose from the Iv(or)y League.

In 1995, the infamous “Source Awards” became a flashpoint in hip-hop history, escalating tensions between East and West Coast factions of the industry. Some speculate that these tensions contributed to the subsequent “deaths” of Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls. According to Wikipedia, the nationally televised event also amplified America’s moral panic over the perceived influence of rap and hip-hop on youth culture. The division and fear porn never end.

It’s also curious that many hip-hop icons transition to Hollywood, where they frequently portray law enforcement officers—often casting the “Po-Po” in a more favorable light. I got the following excerpt from yelenabailey.com

It is somewhat unsettling to see those who were once known for their brash, counter cultural critiques of the police system now playing members of it. On one hand, this move seems to represent a disingenuous form of reconciliation. It supports a narrative of linear progress in which those who once had issue with the police in the 1980s and 1990s can now make their peace with them. One the other hand, their choices speak, at least in part, to the performativity of rap music itself…What Ice-T’s biography reveals is that figures like him are often performers first and foremost. In this sense, their decision to crossover makes sense. What makes less sense though, is that their politics are not allowed to crossover as well. Why aren’t there former rapper/actors who continue to represent their concern for black life in their roles? I realize these figures exist, but they are rarely in the mainstream. Members of the black community are still channeling the energy of N.W.A., but it seems like its leaders have left them behind.

Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar. But when it comes to Gangsta Rap, I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and wager it’s entirely performative and manipulative. Take Tupac Shakur, for example—a ballet enthusiast with an effeminate flair who, in my opinion, either was or became a CIA asset. He was cast in the role of the ultimate thug and martyr, playing it to perfection. The tragic ripple effects of his performance on countless lives are immeasurable.

David Mays’ Boston rag The Source magazine featured a section called “The Record Report,” where hip-hop albums were rated on a scale of one to five mics. Reggie Gibson, a.k.a. Saafir, wasn’t given heavy promotion or a tragic ending, suggesting he was just a useful tool. For that, I’d give him a solid four mics—at least he didn’t sell out like some bitch ass ho.

Y’all feel me? Peace out!