R.I.P. Phife Dawg
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Street dedication ceremony for Phife Dawg, late A Tribe Called Quest rapper, draws big crowd in Queens
Phife Dawg street dedication ceremony draws big crowd in Queens
BY Rich Schapiro
NEW YORK DAILY NEWS
Saturday, November 19, 2016, 6:24 PM
Family and friends of the late rapper, Malik "Phife Dawg" Taylor gather at street dedication ceremony at 192nd Avenue and Linden Boulevard in Queens.
(David Wexler/For New York Daily News)
Rich Schapiro
NEW YORK DAILY NEWS
Saturday, November 19, 2016, 6:24 PM
Dozens of hip hop fans gathered in Queens Saturday for a street co-naming ceremony honoring the pioneering A Tribe Called Quest rapper Malik “Phife Dawg” Taylor.
The crowd chanted the beloved rapper’s name as the Malik “Phife Dawg” Taylor Way sign was unveiled at the corner of 192nd St. and Linden Boulevard in St. Albans.
Taylor died last March from complications related to diabetes.
(David Wexler/For New York Daily News)
“Tribe” rappers Q-Tip and Jarobi White, along with Busta Rhymes, were among the bold-faced names attending the ceremony led by Councilman Daneek Miller (D-Queens).
“People get murals and tributes to them all over the place, but to have a mural on the very block, the very street, we walked everyday,” White said, letting the thought trail off.
A huge crowd of fans gathered for the ceremony.
(David Wexler/For New York Daily News)
The 45-year-old Taylor died last March at his California home due to complications from diabetes.
Taylor’s death came after the ground-breaking hip hop group reunited to work on their first album in nearly two decades “We Got It From Here... Thank You 4 Your Service,” which was released this month.
damn, it's been a year...RIP Phife, we still miss you
The concert A Tribe Called Quest called its last ever in New York was a massive tribute to Phife Dawg
- 10h
- 1,457
- at Panorama Festival would be its last "ever" in New York City.
Q-Tip made the announcement to the crowd mid-set, stopping the music and giving a tribute to Phife Dawg, the Tribe Called Quest member who died of complications from diabetes last year.
Q-Tip announced that Phife Dawg's parents were in the audience and then led the crowd in a chant thanking Phife Dawg.
An image of the deceased rapper with his hands in prayer against a backdrop of the sky was shown during the tribute and at numerous times throughout the show.
Q-Tip ended the tribute by playing Phife Dawg's verse, without music, from the song "Butter" off the 1991 album "The Low-End Theory."
The New York hip-hop group played a wide-ranging set that pulled from 2016's "We Got It from Here... Thank You 4 Your Service" as well as fan favorites such as "Bonita Applebum."
Throughout the set, DJ Ali Shaheed Muhammad let Phife Dawg's verses and rhymes play, while the video screen focused on an empty microphone at the center of the stage. Q-Tip and Tribe member Jarobi White often played off the microphone, trading verses with their absent member.
Case in point:
Phife Dawg had health issues for years, Rolling Stone reported last year. He received a kidney transplant in 2008 amid a long battle with Type 1 diabetes.
Toward the end of the set, Q-Tip thanked the crowd for supporting the group since its inception in the 1980s. Q-Tip and Phife Dawg were childhood friends who originally performed as solo acts in the early '80s before forming Tribe with Muhammad and White.
Phife Dawg appeared on all of Tribe's albums, serving as a vocal counterpoint to Q-Tip.
Q-Tip of A Tribe Called Quest performing at Panorama. Photo by Theo Wargo/Getty Images for Panorama
Here's another one of the Phife images the group played on the screens:
And a clip from "Bonita Applebum" for good measure:
Though the group broke up after 1998's "The Love Movement," it has occasionally reunited throughout years. Following the release of 2016's "We Got It From Here... " the group announced that it would perform a final world tour in 2017.
The group, which remains one of the most important acts in hip-hop history, is set to play at Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado and at Outside Lands Festival in San Francisco next month.
Inside The Apollo: A Tribe Called Quest, Kanye West, Andre 3000 & More Honor Phife Dawg
4/6/2016 by Eric Diep
- EMAIL ME
The atmosphere at the funeral of Phife Dawg of A Tribe Called Quest at The Apollo Theater on April 5, 2016 in New York City.
JAMEL JOHNSON / MEDIA PUNCH/IPX
On Tuesday afternoon (April 5), the same fans that stood in the rain 24 hours prior at St. Albans Park in Queens, New York to honor A Tribe Called Quest's Phife Dawg sported their “Phife Diggy” shirts for the "Celebration of Phife Dawg" at Harlem's Apollo Theater. Hundreds of supporters, as well as Phife's family and friends and several hip-hop VIPs, made the trek to W. 125th Street to salute their hip-hop hero.
Hosted by Quest Green, the four-hour memorial service was packed with artists paying tribute to the “Five Foot Assassin,” special performances, and sentimental dedications from the remaining members of A Tribe Called Quest: Q-Tip, Ali Shaheed Muhammad and Jarobi White. Phife Dawg, born Malik Izaak Boyce-Taylor, was honored by a Who’s Who of hip-hop, past and present as Chuck D, Busta Rhymes, Consequence, Kanye West, Andre 3000, KRS-One, Grandmaster Flash, Kid Capri and many more paid their respects to the 45-year-old rhymer, who passed away on March 22 due to complications from diabetes. The audience included the likes of Barry Weiss, L.A. Reid, Lyor Cohen, LL Cool J, DJ Kool Herc, DJ Red Alert and Dave Chappelle -- a mix of music industry veterans and celebrities with a special connection to the self-proclaimed "funky diabetic."
A Tribe Called Quest Fans Gather in Queens for Phife Dawg Memorial
The service also served as a tribute concert as Kelly Price sang “Because He Lives,” Angela Winbush and The Roots performed “Angel" and D’Angelo belted a gospel/soul rendition of Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend.” The Roots’ Black Thought rapped a freestyle incorporating Phife Dawg’s most iconic lines; KRS-One played Boogie Down Productions’ "I’m Still #1" and followed up with some free-associative rhymes backed by Kid Capri on drums.
Chuck D and Busta Rhymes offered some of the first opening remarks on Phife. “His rhymes were honest. He had to be honest. He was honest since 1992,” Chuck D said. “We all rode with Phife and his struggle -- all his fans, 100 times over -- because he let everybody know, 'This is what I am going through.' He kept it real, and he kept it in rhyme.”
Rhymes was brought to tears when he spoke about spending his teenage years with Tribe, sitting in nearly every studio session with the pioneering rap group, even when he wasn’t supposed to. “That’s why I ended up on so many Tribe songs,” he said. A frontman for Leaders of the New School, Rhymes explained why appearing on “Scenario” off ATCQ's 1991 The Low End Theory elevated his career. “That song changed my money. That song changed my ability to provide for my family. It allowed me to be a good father, a great son -- taking on the responsibility of securing the well-being of my house. Many others directly and indirectly. I’m forever in debt to Tribe.”
'Long Live the Phifer': Hip-Hop Writers Reflect on Phife Dawg, the Lyrical Genius & Relatable Rapper
Phife was a well-known sports fanatic, too. Michael Rapaport, the director of the 2011 documentary Beats, Rhymes & Life: The Travels of A Tribe Called Quest, played a montage of Phife’s career moments and showed him waxing poetic about sports. Another video featured prominent basketball players in the NBA—Jamal Crawford, Damien Lillard, Draymond Green and Chris Webber—talking about what Phife and his music meant to them. Hot 97 radio host Peter Rosenberg (who introduced a touching video from ESPN’s Scott Van Pelt) said it best about Tribe: “A Tribe Called Quest is Led Zeppelin, and by that, I mean they are timeless music.”
Kanye West also made an appearance, delivering an impromptu speech where he discussed Phife’s legacy and how Tribe influenced his own personality and worldview. A common theme in each Phife-centric sermon was a love note to hip-hop. Out of respect, ‘Ye pointed out that he didn’t want Zeppelin to be mentioned at Phife’s funeral, which made the crowd laugh. West continued to be unapologetic about his outspoken behavior because “Tribe made Kanye West. Made the kid with the pink Polo. Made it so I could dress funny. I'm not sorry if I said something wrong.”
Intro to Phife Dawg: 8 Songs You Need to Know
Andre 3000, another longtime Tribe fan, revealed there was once a joint project withOutKast and A Tribe Called Quest in the works that never materialized. His speech, like many others, touched on not letting time passing you by (a nod to Tribe’s “Excursion” lyrics) and asked every hip-hop OG to pay it forward to the new MCs instead of hating on them. To put it simply, OutKast would not be OutKast without Tribe.
The final hour was reserved for ATCQ members to say their piece on Phife Dawg and thank everyone who came to show love to their friend. Jarobi, Ali and Q-Tip all shared heartfelt memories about Phife, but spent a good amount of time acknowledging Phife's wife Deisha Head Taylor, who received a kidney transplant to help extend the life of her beloved husband. While they did not speak on Tribe's future, the group was inspired by everyone’s words.
Phife Dawg's Posthumous 'Nutshell' Video Drops: Watch
“When we look around and we hear [these speeches], whether it be Andre or Kanye or Consequence. Grand Puba is here. KRS. All of our hip-hop family is here and a lot of that has extended into beautiful friendships and brotherhoods,” Q-Tip said. “We need to continue that. When we think about Tribe, Tribe is not just the three of us standing [here] or the four of us. We are all the Tribe.”
It’s been exactly 2 years today.
DeuceZ
Li pitit gason
Opened the thread like please don't tell me it's been over a year already
A Final Farewell to the Funky Diabetic
Phife Dawg was the heart of A Tribe Called Quest. Hanif Abdurraqib’s book is a moving tribute to the lost rapper.
By NITISH PAHWA
APRIL 24, 20192:17 PM
Phife Dawg.
Photo illustration by Derreck Johnson. Photo by Andrew H. Walker/Getty Images for Tribeca Film Festival.
The late 2016 release of A Tribe Called Quest’s final album, We Got It From Here … Thank You 4 Your Service, should have been a moment of absolute triumph. The group’s first album in nearly two decades was a spirited, invigorating reunion, a parade of greats returning to claim their crown. But the album came in the wake of, and was colored by, deep tragedy: first, the untimely death of member Malik “Phife Dawg” Taylor as he succumbed to complications from the diabetes that had plagued him for much of his life, and then the 2016 election, a devastating exhibition that gave bigotry a new national voice. Although not originally intended as such, We Got It From Here became a response to both those things: The verses Phife prepared before the grave echoed all over the record, last gasps about love and music and America transmitted to listeners just when they needed them most. But his ghostly presence proved there could be no one worthy of filling the gap he was leaving behind, and the end of his life would be the final stand of Tribe.
Cultural critic and poet Hanif Abdurraqib’s book Go Ahead in the Rain is the first major work about Tribe created in the sad years since We Got It From Here. Part biography, part autobiography, part historical narrative, and part collection of letters—most addressed from Abdurraqib to individual members of the group—the book sees Tribe through Abdurraqib’s eyes as a black Midwestern teenager coming of age in the ’90s, enraptured by the verbal jabs of a “funky diabetic” hissing through his cassette player. But while the book is a deeply personal, moving meditation on the entire group, I found it most poignant as a tribute to the late Phife Dawg, the “5-Foot Assassin,” to whom the book is dedicated.
Abdurraqib’s attachment to Phife stems in part from how he could see parts of himself within the mythos of Phife: sharp rhymer, jokester, sports fan, distracted slacker, pop culture scholar, member of various creative crews, lover of sweetness and sugar, sometimes insecure character always ready to transcend his position. In the personal letters, bundles of which are scattered throughout the book, Abdurraqib writes to Phife as if he had been a slightly inscrutable yet easygoing friend whose psyche could have used some prodding—someone with whom he could break down great rap songs, rant about the latest Knicks game, and get into how it feels to be the overlooked member of your family or your crew of friends. There are other closer, more heartbreaking ties: In one letter, Abdurraqib writes to Malik’s mother, the poet Cheryl Boyce-Taylor, addressing her upon the moment of her son’s death, speaking of the grief that Abdurraqib can understand, having buried a parent himself—a motherless son speaking to a sonless mother.
There’s something fitting about this Phife focus—the late Malik Taylor was often hailed as larger-than-life, while never seeming to occupy the spotlight. As legendary as Tribe is, it’s often most immediately associated with the distinctive nasal tone and production wizardry of Q-Tip, who was (and still is) often seen as the central driver of the show, with Phife relegated to little brother status, the petulant sidekick and never the frontman. Abdurraqib makes a passionate case, though, that they were “both equals, fighting for [their] own space in relation to each other,” something that led to the infamous tension that would split the group up in the late ’90s. Tip may have sculpted most of the backbone of Tribe, but without Phife’s anarchy, it may never have been truly great—and they both knew this.
Abdurraqib achingly, beautifully illustrates the evolution of Phife’s role. From Tribe’s debut, People’s Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm (in which Phife only raps on a few songs), through the final album of the ’90s era, The Love Movement, Abdurraqib highlights the unique energy Phife brought to the group—the punchlines and disses and movie references and ribald dikk-swinging—and how he gradually became a more dominant presence in each subsequent Tribe album, in part because he stood up to Q-Tip, making sure he was given his due. Most of the album lyrics showcased throughout the book are Phife’s own, taken from songs like “Butter,” “Oh My God,” and “The Hop,” to show off his penchant for wordplay, his combative nature, his use of patois, and his lovable self-centeredness. (“You see you, your career is done like Johnny Carson’s/ Get me vexed, I do like Left Eye, start an arson.”) Abdurraqib contrasts Phife’s style with Q-Tip’s: how Tip spit his verses declaratively and confidently while Phife would walk in and bellow an opening line that would sweep away everything that had come before, roaring power versus poised self-assurance. Following Tribe’s sad breakup saga, Abdurraqib even explores Phife’s solo album, Ventilation: Da LP, a vibrant project that was unfortunately nowhere near as successful as other members’ post-Tribe works and eventually fell out of print and into obscurity. But Abdurraqib, a lonely fan of the tape at the time, picks apart the features of Phife’s performance and presence that so resonated with him, to see him win and have his journey be a just artistic triumph:
I loved how bitter you sounded, Phife. I always wanted you to sound like you wanted to prove yourself again. I get that you thought you didn’t get your shine, and I believed you then, and I believed you always. I saw you in interviews, sometimes bursting at your edges to speak, only to be drowned out. I saw you in photos, playing in the background. What you gave in song was so much larger than what you were asked to give outside of it. I was thankful for your anger, Malik.
Phife never attained the universal stature outside of Tribe that Q-Tip did—as the go-to assist for acts from Mobb Deep to Kanye—and that only cements his legend with that of Tribe more deeply. As Abdurraqib proves here, there wasn’t much for Phife outside of Tribe, but Tribe was nothing without him. So it’s apt that Go Ahead in the Rain is as much a love letter to Phife as it is to his group and the decade at large, for few embodied the still-beloved ’90s “golden age” of rap and the ethos of Tribe better than Malik: the verbal jabs, the sense of abandon, the vibes and stuff, and most importantly, the constant battle to prove and assert yourself—especially when no one believes in you like you do, and you have to do it all on your own.
Slate’s Use of Your Data
Phife Dawg was the heart of A Tribe Called Quest. Hanif Abdurraqib’s book is a moving tribute to the lost rapper.
By NITISH PAHWA
APRIL 24, 20192:17 PM
Phife Dawg.
Photo illustration by Derreck Johnson. Photo by Andrew H. Walker/Getty Images for Tribeca Film Festival.
The late 2016 release of A Tribe Called Quest’s final album, We Got It From Here … Thank You 4 Your Service, should have been a moment of absolute triumph. The group’s first album in nearly two decades was a spirited, invigorating reunion, a parade of greats returning to claim their crown. But the album came in the wake of, and was colored by, deep tragedy: first, the untimely death of member Malik “Phife Dawg” Taylor as he succumbed to complications from the diabetes that had plagued him for much of his life, and then the 2016 election, a devastating exhibition that gave bigotry a new national voice. Although not originally intended as such, We Got It From Here became a response to both those things: The verses Phife prepared before the grave echoed all over the record, last gasps about love and music and America transmitted to listeners just when they needed them most. But his ghostly presence proved there could be no one worthy of filling the gap he was leaving behind, and the end of his life would be the final stand of Tribe.
Cultural critic and poet Hanif Abdurraqib’s book Go Ahead in the Rain is the first major work about Tribe created in the sad years since We Got It From Here. Part biography, part autobiography, part historical narrative, and part collection of letters—most addressed from Abdurraqib to individual members of the group—the book sees Tribe through Abdurraqib’s eyes as a black Midwestern teenager coming of age in the ’90s, enraptured by the verbal jabs of a “funky diabetic” hissing through his cassette player. But while the book is a deeply personal, moving meditation on the entire group, I found it most poignant as a tribute to the late Phife Dawg, the “5-Foot Assassin,” to whom the book is dedicated.
Abdurraqib’s attachment to Phife stems in part from how he could see parts of himself within the mythos of Phife: sharp rhymer, jokester, sports fan, distracted slacker, pop culture scholar, member of various creative crews, lover of sweetness and sugar, sometimes insecure character always ready to transcend his position. In the personal letters, bundles of which are scattered throughout the book, Abdurraqib writes to Phife as if he had been a slightly inscrutable yet easygoing friend whose psyche could have used some prodding—someone with whom he could break down great rap songs, rant about the latest Knicks game, and get into how it feels to be the overlooked member of your family or your crew of friends. There are other closer, more heartbreaking ties: In one letter, Abdurraqib writes to Malik’s mother, the poet Cheryl Boyce-Taylor, addressing her upon the moment of her son’s death, speaking of the grief that Abdurraqib can understand, having buried a parent himself—a motherless son speaking to a sonless mother.
There’s something fitting about this Phife focus—the late Malik Taylor was often hailed as larger-than-life, while never seeming to occupy the spotlight. As legendary as Tribe is, it’s often most immediately associated with the distinctive nasal tone and production wizardry of Q-Tip, who was (and still is) often seen as the central driver of the show, with Phife relegated to little brother status, the petulant sidekick and never the frontman. Abdurraqib makes a passionate case, though, that they were “both equals, fighting for [their] own space in relation to each other,” something that led to the infamous tension that would split the group up in the late ’90s. Tip may have sculpted most of the backbone of Tribe, but without Phife’s anarchy, it may never have been truly great—and they both knew this.
Abdurraqib achingly, beautifully illustrates the evolution of Phife’s role. From Tribe’s debut, People’s Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm (in which Phife only raps on a few songs), through the final album of the ’90s era, The Love Movement, Abdurraqib highlights the unique energy Phife brought to the group—the punchlines and disses and movie references and ribald dikk-swinging—and how he gradually became a more dominant presence in each subsequent Tribe album, in part because he stood up to Q-Tip, making sure he was given his due. Most of the album lyrics showcased throughout the book are Phife’s own, taken from songs like “Butter,” “Oh My God,” and “The Hop,” to show off his penchant for wordplay, his combative nature, his use of patois, and his lovable self-centeredness. (“You see you, your career is done like Johnny Carson’s/ Get me vexed, I do like Left Eye, start an arson.”) Abdurraqib contrasts Phife’s style with Q-Tip’s: how Tip spit his verses declaratively and confidently while Phife would walk in and bellow an opening line that would sweep away everything that had come before, roaring power versus poised self-assurance. Following Tribe’s sad breakup saga, Abdurraqib even explores Phife’s solo album, Ventilation: Da LP, a vibrant project that was unfortunately nowhere near as successful as other members’ post-Tribe works and eventually fell out of print and into obscurity. But Abdurraqib, a lonely fan of the tape at the time, picks apart the features of Phife’s performance and presence that so resonated with him, to see him win and have his journey be a just artistic triumph:
I loved how bitter you sounded, Phife. I always wanted you to sound like you wanted to prove yourself again. I get that you thought you didn’t get your shine, and I believed you then, and I believed you always. I saw you in interviews, sometimes bursting at your edges to speak, only to be drowned out. I saw you in photos, playing in the background. What you gave in song was so much larger than what you were asked to give outside of it. I was thankful for your anger, Malik.
Phife never attained the universal stature outside of Tribe that Q-Tip did—as the go-to assist for acts from Mobb Deep to Kanye—and that only cements his legend with that of Tribe more deeply. As Abdurraqib proves here, there wasn’t much for Phife outside of Tribe, but Tribe was nothing without him. So it’s apt that Go Ahead in the Rain is as much a love letter to Phife as it is to his group and the decade at large, for few embodied the still-beloved ’90s “golden age” of rap and the ethos of Tribe better than Malik: the verbal jabs, the sense of abandon, the vibes and stuff, and most importantly, the constant battle to prove and assert yourself—especially when no one believes in you like you do, and you have to do it all on your own.
Slate’s Use of Your Data