And, if I may speak like Cam’ron for a second, for a remarkably gully album, the foundation of the work is extremely soulful. The album cover isn’t just a photo, it’s a call to arms. It’s a double album, but unlike most, it merited its two discs. And Diplomatic Immunity.Įverything about the album, released in March 2003, stood out from the pack. I knew the forefathers, was well-versed in my Biggie and Pun and Rakim and Wu-Tang, but when it came down to it, my appreciation for the city and its hip-hop will always come back to “Dipset Anthem.” And the Diplomats.
This was my real introduction to New York hip-hop. To this day, I don’t remember a single thing that happened for the remainder of that trip. I’d never felt as lame in my entire life. I was the only one standing upright as the rest of the room dipped. I know that now, but at the time I wasn’t aware that with “Dipset Anthem” came “the Dipset Anthem dance.”
When the first notes hit, it was that moment at every good party when you can see people prepping themselves for a move that will sweep through the entire room. These were not the songs played in Montclair that night.Īlready feeling out of place, because I knew only one person in this crowded room filled with tall tees and Avirex jackets, the situation only worsened as the soundtrack became more and more foreign to my crunk-only ears, the tipping point being the song “Dipset Anthem.” I knew the song, but I didn’t know the song. (Forever I Love Atlanta)”), one album managed to supply the entire soundtrack for the first quarter of the year.
Between the Trillville side (“Neva Eva,” “Get Some Crunk in Yo System,” “Some Cut”) and the Lil Scrappy side (“Head Bussa,” “No Problem,” “F.I.L.A. It was spring 2004 after all, and in Atlanta that meant one thing: the all-out radio assault of singles from the legendary The King of Crunk & BME Recordings Present: Trillville & Lil Scrappy. While no stranger to a high school Bacardi Limón grinding session, the scene at this Jersey rager was markedly different from the ones I’d grown accustomed to back home. After the ceremony, picture-taking, and some family time, it became clear I was tagging along with Dean, the graduate, for the requisite postgraduation party. It was my first trip up north, and I was excited but nervous. My closest childhood friend was graduating from high school in Montclair, New Jersey, and my mother and I made the trip up from Atlanta to watch him walk across the stage.
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