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Back when Richmond was not gentrified so badly, and
VCU cut off at Broad and Belvidere almost entirely except for that one office
where you went to pick up your refund check if you were broke ass first
generation college student from shitty southside VA, and you could walk down
Broad, or ride your bike if you had one that wasn’t stolen yet, or you were the
thief, which meant you had a bike, and go to bright ass Willie’s downtown, to
check out whatever new singles were out. Warm days meant the boom of Jeeps,
this was prime Jeep boom baptistry days, and thus that was the beauty of
dancehall during this era, because it was reggae but cross-pollinated with that
boom bap, and a Jeep would roll by just absolutely rattling windows, and the
air would be humid but it was still chill out and lots of foot traffic and
though the murder rate was crazy high back then, you knew where that was likely
to happen and where not, and the rare outbursts beyond murderous norms tended
to happen long after Willie’s was closed, usually when Ivory’s was letting out,
or at the neighborhood smack and/or crack den, but you learned to be aware of
do’s and don’ts and operate accordingly.
Whenever some of these classic riddims hit, my
adrenaline and memory serotonins start flowing, and it’s impossible not to want
to just turn that shit up until the side view mirrors fall off your old ass
Civic with the clutch about to go out and you’re not sure how you’re gonna
afford to fix it when that happens so you’re gonna be another one of those
dudes with a brokedown Honda Civic out front of the rental you living in, with
the missing sideview mirrors because you turned the bass up too high. But fuck
it man, you only got one life. Can’t be sitting around worrying about when your
clutch gonna go out. Gotta keep moving.
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