Go Ahead in the Rain: Notes to A Tribe Called Quest

by Hanif Abdurraqib

The police showed us what the body of Rodney King could take, didn’t they? On the concrete of Los Angeles, the batons cut through the air and then fell again on King’s writhing body. It is hard to tell what could bring this specific type of ferocity out of anyone—particularly those who insist on serving and protecting. Yes, Rodney King was drunk, and had led police on a high-speed chase through the L.A. streets while behind the wheel of a Hyundai. I don’t know what measure of recklessness warrants a type of anger that results in what Rodney King got, but the American public got Rodney King. It must be an odd life, to be introduced to the world first through your flaws and then through your blood on the ground, or your swollen face in a mug shot, or your bent body in a wheelchair. It is said that King patted the back of his pants when exiting the vehicle, which made police believe he had a weapon. I’ve been thinking a lot about invisible weapons and how they relate to the body itself. I have nothing on me, but in the wrong neighborhood, I have everything on me. And it’s as simple as a move for a pocket, or a low whistle in the wrong direction, or the song spilling out of my rolled-down car windows.

It’s impossible to speak of this album without also speaking of the time it arrived in. The second song, “We the People . . .” is powered by its mocking, scathing hook: “All you Black folks, you must go / All you Mexicans, you must go / And all you poor folks, you must go / Muslims and gays / Boy, we hate your ways / So all you bad folks, you must go . . .” It’s the voice of America turned in on itself, the voice that many of us pretended was at a distance until it was a consistent and low drone, until it had begun activating the most violent among us, from the highest office in the country. It’s jarring, to hear a sentiment made that plain in a week when the country vomited on its own shirt and then looked around and asked who made the mess. It says what we’ve known all along, even as people now wring their hands, eager for the “new” art that marginalized people will create: Black folks have been creating with their backs against the wall for years, telling the future, speaking what is coming to the masses that aren’t eager to hear it until what’s coming actually arrives, looming over them.