It's time to forget about Dre and remember Choclair
EDMONTON (CUP) — Last
night, I had a rather worrisome
dream — one so vivid and devastating
that it's almost an insurmountable
task for me just to talk
about, but one that I feel could help
everyone gain some much-needed
perspective.
As I tossed and turned restlessly in bed, I imagined that I was sitting on a park bench in Scarborough, Ont. on a sunny afternoon, one hand protectively clasping an 8x10 glossy portrait of Kareem Blake — the legend otherwise known as Toronto rapper Choclair — and the other holding an iPod playing his most-beloved track Let's Ride.
Waiting for the Suave Dawg himself to arrive, I saw a black EClass Mercedes Benz slowly pull up. Thinking that he might be in it, I approached the vehicle. Thunder clapped loudly above me, and a contemptuous behemoth of a man rose out of the car, looked down upon me, and bellowed, “There is no Choclair!” Petrified, I looked down at my hands, and the iPod and glossy portrait had transformed into tiny gremlins that were attempting to gnaw my thumbs off.
Springing up out of my bed in a panicked cold sweat, I furiously lunged for the iPod lying on my side table, scrolled down my artists list to Choclair, and breathed a massive sigh of relief.
Now, I'm no psychoanalyst when it comes to interpreting dreams, but I believe that this nightmare is indicative of an even greater problem that not just I, but Canada as a whole, is afflicted by: we've taken Choclair for granted.
There's a simple explanation for all of this. Back in 1999, citizens of the world became afflicted by a global epidemic wherein they forgot about Dr. Dre. Upon the release of Dre's Chronic 2001, people started banding together in a more concerted effort towards remembering him, lest they be choked to death with a Charleston Chew. It was in the midst of this process of remembering Dre, however, that these same people began to actually forget about Choclair.
Sure, it's been nearly a decade since the Chiznock has released an album or a single that has attained any significant position on the Canadian charts. And he's been mostly out of the spotlight since Let's Ride blew up MuchMusic Countdown and left all the other musical plebeians smouldering in its wake. But since that magical summer in 1999 when Mr. Blake first began imparting his wisdom on us, it seems that the lessons he taught have since been pushed to the wayside.
Think about it: Choclair, along with the world's greatest hype man Saukrates riding sidecar, are single- handedly responsible for teaching an entire generation of Canadian youth how to “ride,” regardless of whether it involves getting clean, getting dirty, or going left or right. Up until that point, no one even knew what “ride” was, but Choclair heroically informed the masses that as long as they were feeling the vibe, they may one day have what it takes to ride.
When Rubbin' came out soon after, the duo engaged in an earnest, meaningful discussion about sex, picking up the slack when many Canadian parents were too embarrassed to talk about it. Remember kids — “if he/she with it, then shit, you gotta hit it.” Following that up with Skyline in 2002, Choclair formulated an anthem for the downtrodden, preaching that if they aimed high with their aspirations, any adversity could be overcome.
Nowadays, people are talking about “every day I'm hustling” this and “I make it rain on these hos” that, and it's absolutely disgraceful. Here, we have one of Canada's finest rappers providing a discourse for people of all colours, creeds and ages to become involved in, and instead we choose our life lessons from an inferior product.
I would implore everyone to use that Jeezy album you recently purchased as a Frisbee or a coaster, and stop letting Choclair's music suffer extinction in hip hop's evolutionary chain. Go out and study his entire musical library, and if you can't appreciate it for the nostalgic value, then enjoy it for its catchy beats and superb teachings. Choclair, you will be underappreciated no more.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm feeling the vibe. I think I'm gonna go ride.
As I tossed and turned restlessly in bed, I imagined that I was sitting on a park bench in Scarborough, Ont. on a sunny afternoon, one hand protectively clasping an 8x10 glossy portrait of Kareem Blake — the legend otherwise known as Toronto rapper Choclair — and the other holding an iPod playing his most-beloved track Let's Ride.
Waiting for the Suave Dawg himself to arrive, I saw a black EClass Mercedes Benz slowly pull up. Thinking that he might be in it, I approached the vehicle. Thunder clapped loudly above me, and a contemptuous behemoth of a man rose out of the car, looked down upon me, and bellowed, “There is no Choclair!” Petrified, I looked down at my hands, and the iPod and glossy portrait had transformed into tiny gremlins that were attempting to gnaw my thumbs off.
Springing up out of my bed in a panicked cold sweat, I furiously lunged for the iPod lying on my side table, scrolled down my artists list to Choclair, and breathed a massive sigh of relief.
Now, I'm no psychoanalyst when it comes to interpreting dreams, but I believe that this nightmare is indicative of an even greater problem that not just I, but Canada as a whole, is afflicted by: we've taken Choclair for granted.
There's a simple explanation for all of this. Back in 1999, citizens of the world became afflicted by a global epidemic wherein they forgot about Dr. Dre. Upon the release of Dre's Chronic 2001, people started banding together in a more concerted effort towards remembering him, lest they be choked to death with a Charleston Chew. It was in the midst of this process of remembering Dre, however, that these same people began to actually forget about Choclair.
Sure, it's been nearly a decade since the Chiznock has released an album or a single that has attained any significant position on the Canadian charts. And he's been mostly out of the spotlight since Let's Ride blew up MuchMusic Countdown and left all the other musical plebeians smouldering in its wake. But since that magical summer in 1999 when Mr. Blake first began imparting his wisdom on us, it seems that the lessons he taught have since been pushed to the wayside.
Think about it: Choclair, along with the world's greatest hype man Saukrates riding sidecar, are single- handedly responsible for teaching an entire generation of Canadian youth how to “ride,” regardless of whether it involves getting clean, getting dirty, or going left or right. Up until that point, no one even knew what “ride” was, but Choclair heroically informed the masses that as long as they were feeling the vibe, they may one day have what it takes to ride.
When Rubbin' came out soon after, the duo engaged in an earnest, meaningful discussion about sex, picking up the slack when many Canadian parents were too embarrassed to talk about it. Remember kids — “if he/she with it, then shit, you gotta hit it.” Following that up with Skyline in 2002, Choclair formulated an anthem for the downtrodden, preaching that if they aimed high with their aspirations, any adversity could be overcome.
Nowadays, people are talking about “every day I'm hustling” this and “I make it rain on these hos” that, and it's absolutely disgraceful. Here, we have one of Canada's finest rappers providing a discourse for people of all colours, creeds and ages to become involved in, and instead we choose our life lessons from an inferior product.
I would implore everyone to use that Jeezy album you recently purchased as a Frisbee or a coaster, and stop letting Choclair's music suffer extinction in hip hop's evolutionary chain. Go out and study his entire musical library, and if you can't appreciate it for the nostalgic value, then enjoy it for its catchy beats and superb teachings. Choclair, you will be underappreciated no more.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm feeling the vibe. I think I'm gonna go ride.
