When I first learned that Tupac Shakur had been shot to death in a drive-by shooting in September of 1996, my immediate reaction was one of shock, terror and disappointment: "What kind of name is Tupac?" I wondered. More than seven years later, few rappers, with the possible exception of this one kid from my high school who claimed to be the rapping representative of the Jewish upper-middle class, have had less of an effect on me than Tupac. And yet, I stay up into the dark and troublesome hours of the night, just contemplating how a man who died over seven years ago (nearly 50 dog years) can continue to make really bad new music.
My mind is completely boggled. I asked multiple people, including some scientists and my dad, and they all concur: Dead people cannot make music, even if they were musicians during their lifetime. This theory is further supported by the smorgasbord of deceased musicians who do not make new music, including Frank Sinatra, Jimi Hendrix, and Bette Midler, although she's not dead yet. However, despite this apparently solid evidence, Tupac's post-mortem career has been highly successful, especially when measured by sales-per-gunshot-wound. Tupac was even nominated for a Video Music Award this year. I imagine that, had he won, he would have walked onto the stage, taken the microphone and proclaimed: "Stop bothering me. I've been dead for seven years. Thank you." It would have been the first ever documented resurrection, no matter what the religious right claims about Jesus, because even Jesus never made a music video while he was dead.
In some respects, Tupac is still considered the king of the rap industry. References to his skills and his legacy are abundant in modern lyrics. In the low budget, relatively unknown rap movie "8 Mile," a Detroit-born rapper named Bunny Rabbit battles his arch rival, Poppa Doc, with lyrics that compare Poppa Doc's rapping skills to those of the late Tupac Shakur: "One, two, three into the four. 1Pac, Tupac, 3Pac, 4. 4Pac, 3Pac, Tupac, 1. You're Pac. He's Pac. You're Pac none." I have absolutely no idea what any of that means, but we can be relatively certain that it has something to do with Tupac, especially since Bunny Rabbit wins the battle.
Tupac's next album drops in November, and it's fairly safe to say that he has no idea it exists. Tupac did not produce this record, did not approve of the album cover, likely hasn't heard of many of the rappers who have created it (Eminem, who is featured in one of the songs, was still on good terms with his mother when Tupac was fatally shot), and won't reap any of the profits from its sales. This CD is being produced only for the benefit of its exploitative and entrepreneurial producers, not unlike the inevitable fate of the movie about Pac's life and death, scheduled to be released merely days after the album. Surely everybody will wait in line to experience it, and eventually they will get their chance.
Conspiracy theories abound with obnoxious claims that Tupac may still be alive. These heavily-medicated people assert that Tupac faked his own death and has been in hiding ever since, in an attempt to increase both his reputation and his sales figures. One would have to be quite deranged to pull a stunt like that. The volume of effort, coordination and willpower required to execute this plan is so large I can't express it in a real word. Unless Tupac has gone through tremendous trouble to prove his own death, we can be reasonably sure that he is in fact dead.
I can't stress this point enough: One requisite of rapping is being alive. Other evidently important requisites include slightly below average intelligence, a strange and distinguishable voice and 25 scantily clad women dancing behind you as if there they have an itch but can't touch it with their hands. Tupac's record label has transcended this apparently obvious fact, however, and is constantly profiting off of it. I encourage everybody to steer clear of his new album and movie, and instead to invest your money in a more worthwhile and less disgusting exploitation of your starved psyche. Perhaps, for instance, you can spend your money on sorority girls. Let me remind you that when Tupac was shot, you were at a friend's Bar Mitzvah party, squeamishly dancing with your best friend, with puddles of anxious sweat forming on your palms. Even if you've never been to a Bar Mitzvah, you were still nervous around the opposite gender when you were 13. To my knowledge, this is not strictly a Jewish phenomenon, like Brandeis. The fewer people who buy this album, the fewer future dead musicians will release new material. Not that they have a choice.
