The Marathon Don’t Stop: The Life and Times of Nipsey Hussle
The comparisons to Tupac are consistent in the music industry. If an emcee creates a song with an element of protest, or if the song is considered revolutionary, they might be the next Tupac. When an emcee is active in his community, the label is assigned. Accolades are often given without consideration of the history of the person and in many instances the rapper doesn’t have the catalog of music to justify the comparison, but because Tupac died so young, there is a constant need for fans to create a legacy tied to Tupac.
The world loves a comparison.
In sports, fans look for the next Jordan. This creates a situation where athletes are not admired for what they accomplish in real time. They are diminished by comparison and in some instances the comparisons can prevent fans from ever really discovering what the athlete is capable of… Comparison may appear to be flattery, but it isn’t. Comparison derives from perception and perception prevents really listening or viewing the work being done. This problem exists in music. For years Nipsey Hussle was a West Coast emcee who looked like Snoop Dogg and because of his affiliation with the Rolling 60s Crip set appeared to be another rapper simply following the path laid out by Long Beach’s most famous Crip. Nipsey Hussle didn’t sit in the shadows of Snoop. Yes, he was tall, thin, a Crip, a rapper, but like the comparison of Kobe to Michael Jordan, Kobe became his own brand rising above the “next” label.
I didn’t really know a lot about Nipsey before reading Rob Kenner’s The Marathon Don’t Stop: The Life and Times of Nipsey Hussle. I could be placed in the category of potential listeners who saw a facsimile of Snoop. I didn’t give Nipsey a chance during his time on this planet. It wasn’t until both Kobe and Nipsey were gone that I took a moment to move beyond my perceptions of Neighborhood Nip. I had seen others labeled as the next Tupac and I accepted it with Kendrick Lamar. His lyricism reminded me of the emcees who I admired. Kendrick could be the next Tupac because he derived from the family tree of West Coast Hip-Hop rooted more in Digital Underground than being a Good Kid who grew up in Blood affiliated Compton where the music has a direct line to DJ Quik than the revolutionary Oakland that formed Tupac.
In West Coast terms his lyrical content was more Ice Cube than laid back G Funk. Nipsey Hussle just didn’t seem like he could deliver anything musically beyond what I felt like I already knew after living with Rolling 90s Crips. That moment in my life was unintentional and unnerving. I lived in San Diego and basically got stuck living in Los Angeles for a time and the people I kicked it with were rivals with other Crips which included the 60s. I wasn’t about that life and from what I could ascertain, whenever I began listening to Nipsey prior to his death, was he was definitely a Slauson Boy. I had biases, so I didn’t give Nipsey a chance. I labeled him. I was wrong.
I finished The Marathon Don’t Stop and discovered the history/root of how neighborhood organizations were birth. I learned that Nipsey was Eritrean, and I immediately defaulted to athletes and students I taught in San Diego who were from the continent. I understood what Sudanese, Somalian, Kenyan and Ethiopian families went through to make it to America. In Kenner’s book he focused several chapters on Ermias’ trip with his family back to Eritrea. Rob Kenner utilized his full name throughout his book. This was important to humanize Ermias Joseph Asghedom. Hearing Nipsey’s real name and reading about his background, I realized what I thought about Nipsey was akin to how people view all neighborhood people who may or may not be affiliated. I placed Ermias into a box incorrectly. Much like I may have been placed into a box when I lived in the 90s.
It didn’t matter that I was a Navy veteran, I was in blue khakis and although I hadn’t grown up there and ended up there by chance, I was only those Blue khakis to anyone who saw me. Nipsey had to deal with this on two fronts. To people in the neighborhood, he wasn’t really Black and to people outside he was only a Crip. Forget music, the man was so much more. Rob Kenner in this unofficial biography laid out Nip’s life and established how Nip searched for information. Ermias read like a scholar. He hustled to get equipment. When Nipsey began to generate considerable income,
he launched a co-work styled space named Vector 90 in his neighborhood. He had already gone above and beyond the words and actions of Tupac by opening a smart store that allowed him to utilize merchandise to integrate his fans into a database allowing him to be an independent artist. Tupac was never an indie artist and to my knowledge he didn’t open stores and actually buy the block. I understand the comparisons, but Ermias should not be compared or called the Tupac of this generation.
Nipsey Hussle was a scholar, a businessman, an emcee, a father, a lover and a Crip who made millions, but never left the set. He remained to be a blueprint and it may have cost him his life. The paradox of his storytelling, work ethic and goals make for a complex narrative. Kenner’s text will make you cry. The knowledge that there is no happy outcome after the immediate success of Victory Lap is heartbreaking. The vivid description of the setting creates pictures and the fact that his murdered was only recently prosecuted keeps the wounds open. In life, I overlooked Nip. In death he made me a more motivated, dedicated man.
