6B — Thursday, February 16, 2017
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

What would you do if you 

knew that your days were 
numbered?

Or, more specifically, what 

would you do if, at just thirty-
two years young, at the peak 
of your career, right as the 
infinite hours you had spent 
studying, honing your craft and 
preparing to champion your 
competitors had finally begun 
to gain you infinite credibility 
and creative freedom, your 
days 
became 
numbered, 

indefinitely numbered, by a 
rare, irreversible blood disease?

A decade ago, James DeWitt 

Yancey — also known as Jay 
Dee, or perhaps most famously, 
J. Dilla — faced this exact 
scenario. In early 2003, after 
returning from a short tour 
abroad, Yancey fell ill. Upon 
visiting an emergency room, he 
was diagnosed with thrombotic 
thrombocytopenic 
purpura 

(TTP), a rare condition that 
causes small blood clots to form 
throughout the body, inhibiting 
the flow of oxygen-rich blood.

Suddenly, 
Yancey’s 
days 

became numbered, his fate 
eternally altered and eerily 
given an expiration date, but 
he seems to have been more 
inspired by the news of his life’s 
brevity than he was impaired. 
He 
resumed 
his 
creative 

process as usual, teaming up 
with legendary Los Angeles 
producer 
Madlib 
for 
their 

historic, collaborative Jaylib 
LP in 2003, then eventually 
relocated from Detroit to L.A., 
along with his mother, Maureen 
“Ma Dukes” Yancey, to both 
seek 
out 
optimal 
medical 

treatment 
and 
plant 
roots 

closer to the musical action.

Of course, this wasn’t the 

first time that Detroit’s own 
Jay Dee departed from the 

Mitten-state. 
In 
1994, 
his 

early musical mentor, Joseph 
“Amp” Fiddler, a keyboardist 
and producer who toured with 
George Clinton and the P-Funk 
All-Stars, introduced Yancey’s 
work to Q-Tip of A Tribe Called 
Quest upon running into him at 
Lollapalooza.

Q-Tip was impressed by 

Yancey’s work, so much so 
that, after the meeting, the 
producer 
began 
“traveling, 

networking, and doing credited 
and 
uncredited 
work 
for 

artists such as Janet Jackson, 
Busta Rhymes, De La Soul, 
and The Pharcyde,” according 
to his official biography. He 
eventually became a part of 
the Ummah production team, 

which created primarily for 
A Tribe Called Quest and also 
included Q-Tip, Yancey, and DJ 
Ali Shaheed Muhammad.

Unfortunately, 
Dilla’s 

newfound 
success 
as 
a 

producer put the progression 
of Slum Village, a Detroit rap 
group made up of him, along 
with childhood friends R.L. 
“T3” Altman and the late Titus 
“Baatin” Glover, largely on 
hold. Though he would return 
to his roots shortly to work on 
the team’s first major project, 
Fantastic, Vol. 1., after earning 
serious praise from ?uestlove 
and 
D’Angelo, 
figureheads 

who could offer him access 
into an entirely separate realm 
of 
sound, 
Yancey 
became 

distanced from his bandmates, 
likely due to his increasingly 
demanding solo work-load.

In 
the 
early 
2000s, 
J. 

Dilla produced ten songs for 
Common’s 
classic 
LP, 
Like 

Water 
For 
Chocolate, 
and 

contributed to Erykah Badu’s 
Mama’s Gun, crafting standout 
track “Didn’t Cha Know” and 
earning himself a Grammy 
nomination in the process. 
He had separated from Slum 
Village to join one of the most 
premier musical movements 
of the last few decades, one 
that 
indefinitely 
inspired 

Kanye West’s early interest 
in sampling soul records and 
led to the creation of records 
that remain vital almost two 
decades later.

“I 
went 
to 
a 
recording 

session with Talib Kweli at 
Electric Ladyland and you guys 
had the whole building,” Dave 
Chapelle recalled, appearing 
as a guest on The Tonight Show 
Starring Jimmy Fallon in 2014 
and aiming his comment at 
?uestlove, the drummer of the 
show’s house band, The Roots.

“They 
had 
D’Angelo 

downstairs, and Common was 
in one floor, and Erykah [Badu] 
was in another show, I mean 
another recording studio, and 
Mos [Def] and [Talib] Kweli 
are on the roof, and Ahmir 
[“?uestlove” 
Thompson] 
is 

running up and down, and 
James [DeWitt Yancey, a.k.a. J. 
Dilla] and everybody playing on 
everybody’s sessions…”

Nowadays, such a scenario 

sounds like a music nerd’s 
fantasy, 
a 
session 
that’s 

obviously too good to be true. 
But back then, it was business 
as usual: Some of the greatest 
hip-hop, neo-soul and R&B 
tracks ever created came out 
of sessions that were more 
closely 
related 
than 
most 

people realize. Furthermore, 
James 
DeWitt 
Yancey 
was 

present in quite a few of them, 
masterminding 
the 
finer 

details and deciding when each 
was finished.

But towards the end of 2005, 

after 
arriving 
in 
Southern 

California, J. Dilla became 
seriously 
unwell. 
He 
was 

soon diagnosed with Lupus, a 
disease wherein one’s immune 
system hyper-actively attacks 
healthy tissue, and eventually, 
this led to kidney failure and 

his requirements of repeated 
dialysis treatments.

Like I said, right as the 

infinite hours that he had spent 
studying sound, honing his 
craft and preparing himself 
to 
sonically 
champion 
his 

competitors had finally begun 
to gain serious attention, James 
DeWitt Yancey’s days became 
numbered.

According to J. Dilla’s official 

biography, he “spent his final 
months doing what he loved 
the most—creating music. He 
released Donuts, his third solo 
LP, on February 7, 2006 before 
passing away three days later at 
the age of 32.”

Since 
then, 
Donuts 
has 

evolved into one of the most 
praised pieces of music ever. 
In his critical analysis of the 
project for the 33 1/3 series, 
Jordan Ferguson calls the odd 
LP “a synthesis of everything 
[Dilla] had done to that point,” 
and it surely is a jumpy, exciting 
package of music that twirls 
its listeners around and takes 
them on a journey across genres 
and time.

But Donuts is deeper than 

that too. Dilla wasn’t just 
re-tracing his musical steps — 
he was trying to push hip-hop 
to be better, work harder and 
think longer. Dilla was one 
of the most, if not the most, 
notorious perfectionist to ever 
sample a drum loop. On Donuts, 
he spends every last bit of life 
in him, literally, reinforcing 
his musical legacy. He strives 
to define future soundscapes, 
raise his genre’s expectations 
and pen a sincere goodbye in 
his first-language of rhythms, 
all at once.

In 2005, speaking publicly 

on Donuts for the only know 
time before his death, J. Dilla 
said: It’s just a compilation of 
the stuff I thought was a little 
too much for the MCs. That’s 
basically what it is, ya know? 
Me 
flipping 
records 
that 

people really don’t know how 
to rap on but they want to rap 
on.”

Though 
some 
modern 

rappers may be capable of 
facing his challenge (imagine 
Kendrick 
Lamar 
rapping 

over “The People”!?!), Donuts 
remains as enticing, difficult 
and inspiring as ever, more 
than ten years later, in its exact 
original format.

I can only hope that, should 

my days ever become numbered, 
I might respond to the news 
with the bravery and tenacity 
of James DeWitt Yancey.

Rest in beats, J. Dilla. You 

truly were a great one.

SALVATORE DIGIOIA

Daily Arts Writer

STONES THROW

Deceased Detroit rapper J Dilla
Ten years later, J Dilla’s 
legacy continues to live on

Late Detroit producer’s work manages to maintain ingenuity

COURTESY OF BILL MEYER

This is where we put a humorous cutline of our own devising.
Remembering unknown 
Detroit legend DJ Holiday

Local singer achieved cult status through talent and tragedy

If you run a Google search DJ 

Holiday you get a bunch of hits 
for a C-list rapper and maybe, if 
the algorithm works just right, 
something about a Detroit singer. 
DJ Holiday was a phenom with one 
of those warm, room-filling, larger-
than-life voices. She was a regular 
at Bert’s Market Place Jazz Club 
singing with the RGB Trio during 
Thursday open Mic nights.

Holiday was found dead in 

a home in West Detroit earlier 
this week. The singer had been 
squatting in the property and 
presumably 
froze 
to 
death, 

although the official cause of death 
was ruled a heart attack, after the 
heating was cut off.

She started singing publically 

in Detroit in the ’60s at the Black 
Horse Saloon, but had been singing 
since childhood. Sixteen years 
ago she started singing at Bert’s 
in Eastern Market, when she met 
longtime friend Bill Meyer who she 
called her “Piano Man.”

“She struck everybody right 

away as a unique person,” Meyer 
said of Holiday, “She was a really 
beautiful soul.”

Meyer worked with Holiday on 

Before I Go, her first, and only CD. 
He developed the idea for the CD 
last year as a way to help Holiday 
make money. She told Meyer that 
before she met him she had never 
made any money singing.

Holiday had also recently caught 

the eye of French filmmaker 

Arno Bitschy, who made the 
documentary 
“Reslience.” 
The 

documentary 
focuses 
on 
the 

triumphs and struggles of the city 
from the declaration of bankruptcy 
to the mayor’s State of the City 
speech in 2015. Holiday was 
featured on the film’s soundtrack 
alongside other Detroit musicians.

After “Resilience” premiered, 

Bitschy 
turned 
his 
attention 

to Holiday in particular. The 
filmmaker had been working on 
a documentary about Holiday’s 
life and had recently extended an 
invitation to Holiday to sing at the 
film’s Paris premiere. It would have 
been Holiday’s first trip outside the 
country.

“Everything was new to her,” 

said Meyer noting the tragic timing 
of the singer’s death, “she was on 
her way up.”

The tragedy is exactly the sort of 

stuff legend is made of. But Holiday 
herself was grounded in reality.

“She was real, she was painfully 

real,” Meyer said, “Her singing 
was honest and real. She wasn’t 
pretentious or affectatious. And 
her emotions were direct.”

She 
was 
straightforward. 

She kept her eyes open, making 
eye contact with her audience 
throughout her sets, avoiding the 
sort of eyes-closed arm-waving 
that characterizes many Jazz 
singers. DJ Holiday was known 
for singing soulful ballads and had 
a deep connection to the music of 
Billie Holiday, whose life mirrored 
her own in many ways. She lived a 
hard life, full of the sorts of things 
that should trample the human 

spirit—poverty, loss, abuse. But, at 
least in song, she soared. Holiday 
created a community around her 
voice

“That’s her story, she sang like 

Billie and emulated Billie.”

Dave Tollington, a former senior 

VP at Warner Music in Toronto 
started coming across the river 
seven years ago and eventually 
found his way to Bert’s, where he 
met Holiday. He ended up helping 
Meyer with parts of Before I Go.

“She 
used 
to 
sit 
by 
the 

washrooms, sort of behind the 
stage by herself,” Tollington said of 
Holiday, “She was just mesmerizing 
and the next time I came it was my 
birthday and a friend asked if she 
would sing “Don’t Explain,” a Billie 
Holiday song, and she sang that one 
straight at me. I literally had tears 
going down my face it was that 
powerful.”

After that song he asked Holiday 

to join his table. He quickly 
became fascinated by her story 
and logged hours of tapes of their 
conversations. Like many people 
that found themselves within 
range of her voice, Tollington was 
drawn in by Holiday’s authenticity.

“She was one of hundreds of 

singers, but for me she was the 
on,” Tollington said, “How real she 
was.”

Friends will be gathering at 

Bert’s Thursday night at 8:30 P.M. 
to celebrate the singers life. There 
will also be a formal memorial 
service 
in 
March 
when 
her 

documentary is premiered in the 
United States.

MADELEINE GAUDIN

Senior Arts Writer

The T-shirt conundrum

DETROIT VS. EVERYBODY

Popular Detroit t-shirt shown above

New York vs. Everybody? 

Chicago 
Hustles 
Harder? 

Though they say imitation is 
the highest form of flattery, 
let’s just put it out there: 
Detroit did it first.

Over the course of the 

city’s recent history, Detroit 
aficionados have moved from 
the simple calligraphy “D” 
to shirts emblazoned with a 
profusion of slogans: Made 
In Detroit in 1991, Detroit 
Hustles 
Harder 
in 
2007 

and finally, the ubiquitous 
Detroit vs. Everybody in 2012. 
The variety of merchandise 
quickly expanded from simple 
tees to coasters, keychains 

and everything in between, 
each printed with the quippy 
slogan of their specific brand. 
Though 
one 
could 
easily 

argue 
that 
the 
Pinterest-

friendly products are merely 
a byproduct of gentrification, 
the 
popularity 
they 
have 

garnered cannot be denied.

In 2014, unofficial Detroit 

ambassador Marshall Mathers 
(AKA Eminem — can’t believe 
I have to say that) released 
a 
single 
titled 
“Detroit 

vs. 
Everybody,” 
drawing 

direct 
inspiration 
from 
a 

phenomenon that started as a 
mere article of clothing. The 
song features fellow Detroit 
musicians Big Sean, Danny 
Brown, DeJ Loaf, Royce da 
5’9” and Trick Trick, paying 
homage to the slogan in its 

repeated hook. The phrase 
itself may not literally mean 
much, but that’s not what 
matters. What does matter 
is the notion that Detroit has 
served as a model for other 
great cities. Sure, they may 
be copying a mere T-shirt, but 
the idea that Detroit has had 
aspects worth imitating has 
been alarmingly obsolete for 
the last several decades.

This is not an ode to 

gentrification, but rather an 
acknowledgement of Detroit 
as a shining new archetype of 
city pride.

Calm 
down, 
New 
York 

and Chicago. But thanks for 
reminding Detroit that it is 
worthy of emulation. Just wait 
until you see what else we have 
up our novelty T-shirt sleeves.

TESS GARCIA
Senior Arts Editor

Suddenly, 
Yancey’s 

days became 
numbered

He was trying to 
push hip-hop to 
be better, work 
harder and think 

longer

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