Part of 7 days of Proof at DetroitHipHop.net.
Questlove from The Roots wrote the following after the passing of Proof:
Proof. cotdamn. to hear about life in the d from the dilla related projects i swore them mofos was super exxxxxagerating. why? everyone in the D was so nice to me.
i guess most of you know that super monster freestyler Proof of D-12 was murdered this morning in the D. i consider Proof to be the thin line between Em’s version of the D and Dilla’s version of the D. im mean sure i know that Royce the 5″9 did some joints with dilla. but for the life of me i could never fathom why the man considered one of the worlds finest mc’s (Em fans please note i said ONE) never linked with the the greatest beatmaker of all time (note i said THE).
however i know that Proof indeed was connected to both worlds.
although i met proof at detroit designer’s maurice malone’s store when the roots first came out in 1995 (this day would also mark the last full american performance of root malik b)—it wasn’t until december of 1998 that i got a taste of the man they called Proof.
December 31st 1998 tariq, elo (the other mc on The Roots THINGS FALL APART’s “dynamite”) and i just did a long night at studio a (the home to most of the material on fantastic vol 2 (slum), and most of the Ready For The World records (they were from the D too) and i guess this being the eve of 1999 we were looking for some fun.(elo and tariq had other new years eve plans)
dilla being the gracious host he was rang his man up on the phone to set some shit up and sure enough coming in like a hurricane with this crazy foul mouthed hillllllllarious motherfucker named proof.
i mean he had jokes from the second he stepped in and NEVER stopped. he was far crazier than the character that Proof’s life was based on in 8 mile (m phiffer’s role).
at first i thought he was a sarcastic fuck because every 2 seconds he was on some rick james “oh my fucking gawd….its quest….motherfucking….love!!!!” shit.
i dunno….call it low self esteem, call it modesty, or whatever…but i pretty much took this regular joe guy stance once i realized after our debut album wasn’t gonna get us all the riches and the bictches of the world. i am greatful for it. so whenever anyone makes a big deal of me i just shrug it off simply because i don’t see the proof or results of such a clamour. however that dosn’t mean that i don’t appreciate it. i realized that he was sincere in his words and that he was simply trying to rep his city so that i left with a good impression.
the d has me at “hello”.
he had the whole intenerary set up:
strip club
after strip club
bring the strip club home.
repeat
rinse.
so we piled into the caDILLAc: me, dilla, frank of frank n dank, and proof.
being the sheepish fuck i was, i asked whether or not we needed to stop to the ATM to get cash so that we could gain admission.
proof was dying:
“you hear this *****? he tryna pay and shit ***** do you know who you is?!?! you are motherfucking brother ?uestion!!!! they should be paying you!!!!!”
poor child i said.
he don’t know that i mean as much to the bouncer/cashier person at the door as the man on the moon
“jay lets be safe and lemme get some cash”
proof snickered.
well sure enough strip club number one (and mind you this is riiiiiiiiiiiight before “you got me” hit) proof was like “let me do the talking”
(walks to guard)
(whispers)
(guard ganders at us..)
(ponders…)
(pauses…)
(gets another guard)
(points me out)
(i know what they thinking….why the fuck did i let proof talk me into this)
(guard walks to proof in 5…4..3…i can feel it coming)
“he said its $30 each”
damnit proof!!!!!!!!!
i mean proof was mad FOR me. he was on some “yall dont know who the fuck this is?!?!? this man is a legend!!! this man is god’s gift to drumming! yall better recognize!!!!!!!!” shit.
poor child.
just as i was suggesting maybe we should go to the bank to get some cash, proof was screaming “FUCK THAT! we going to get some love elsewhere!”
it was 10:30pm december 31st 1998.
we drove and drove to no avail. not that we got fronted on….but somehow the business owners of the east side of detroit knew what time it was come midnight, so most kept their doors shut and locked until waaaaaaay after midnight.
now dilla was worried because we really needed to find shelter before the bullets were going to rain out the sky. we been riding for an hour in traffic and closed doors to any party worth going to. proof was sensing my patience wearing thin, so he blurted out
“fuck it! we rolling to retha’s house.”
dilla and dank started ROLLING. they KNEW this ***** was frontin’ aint no way he can make this happen if he couldnt make 3 clubs let us in for free (again i was willing to pay, but proof was on some “fuck that i run the d and these *****s better show some love or else!”
the “re” he was referring to was the mother of a friend of his. you know her by her full name: aretha franklin.
you had to admire this mofos balls: he “failed” at 4 attempts to have the scrippers hanging off the rafters into my lap and now im just suppose to think that i can crash areatha franklin’s livingroom to avoid a hail of bullets courtesy of the midnight uzi patrol?
i told frank (driving now) “yo, i really dont think we should be in the east side of detroit when the clock strikes 12…why dont we try to get to (the much safer) westside.
proof could sell water to a drowner.
“fuck that! we getting in!!!!”
(we pull up to aretha’s house)
(sit in the car.)
(”you getting out”?)
(”well you get out first”)
(i don’t know her you should go!”)
(well you have the house number at least? i dont wanna crash this bitch)
at 11:56 we decided to haul ass and run for cover. we was too scared to press the doorbell and we did NOT want to be outdoors when they yelled HAPPY NEW YEARS. talk about bullet the blue sky….shesh!
new years eve searching for something and all i got was a rock.
well not really:
we got out of the eastside of detroit just in the nick of time. (we heard bullets ringing out everywhere) we settled on greektown around the corner from my hotel for grub and that was where proof saw his boy who told us about a party to go to.
we went and you know what?
shit was hillllarious. he was ranking and playing the dozens on everybody and clowning all his female friends like “eat a dick im with questlove!!!!!”
“who?!?!?”
sigh. poor child.
we took those ghetto ass polaroid flicks where there is a air brush painting of a bmw and you front like you living the good life.
when the night wound down (5am ish) in all seriousness he apoligized for “a failed mission of hoes hoes hoes” that he promised the beginning of the night.
but the whole night within itself was the bigger experience. that shit was just like all of em cramped in that car in the 8mile movie. for 4 hours we peeped all these slum joints, proof had a demo of “its my fault” from the slim shady lp (this is the first time i ever heard about em) we argued up and down about hip hop and all the opinions along with it.
a failed night?
once again proof was wrong.
poor child.
rest in peace my brother.
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