By David Drake
Article Reprint
Strike the knee-jerk cliche about rappers who live by the gun. It is true that the Jacka, who was murdered on the streets of Oakland this past Monday, rapped often about death and violence. But despite his menacing demeanor and pulp cover art, he approached these subjects with intelligence and unwavering integrity. The psychic costs and consequences floated freely to the surface, experienced as dramatically as the intoxicating sense of control that makes street rap so seductive. He was too close to the action, too compromised by its pull, to demonize those who’d also fallen from grace. You still felt a rush from the lifestyle through his music; he didn’t deny its self-evident appeal. He was neither a scold nor a nihilist, but one who recognized the impossibility of moral clarity.