Death by 9-To-5: The Power of Kanye’s “Spaceship” & Phonte’s “The Good Fight” Posted by Yoh on 11/12/13 | Filed under Opinion, Kanye West, Phonte, Yoh Issues

Clocking in, clocking out – a universal curse that’s inherited by not having a wealthy inheritance. Curse my forefathers for not acquiring wealth upon wealth that would allow me the yacht of successful legacy to sail the sea of life languorously pissing on responsibilities and leaving excrement on adulthood. Work – the graveyard of imagination, the door into misery, the beginning of the end, the unfair sacrifice of time in exchange for maximum labor and minimum reward. My mentality is young, lazy, and jaded. I want my destiny controlled by imaginative creation, not physical labor. I hate rules, people of power, and people in general. I want life free of time clock authority, the stench of dead dreams on the breath of poorly qualified managers, and employee’s whose life ambition is to twerk in a Travis Porter video. 

There’s a scene in "Radiant Child – The Jean Michel Basquiat Documentary" where Suzanne Mallouk (who Basquiat was previously living with) told the story of Jean Michel first day at work; how he came home crying, spirit crushed from slaving away an entire day. The bills needed to be paid but she allowed him to live with her, painting while she worked. Where would Basquiat be if he was forced to work his life away? That very scene still strongly resonates with me, but it wasn’t until Kanye’s “Spaceship” did I hear the absolute truth from the absolute prophet. 

Takin' my hits, writing' my hits
Writing' my rhymes, playing' my mind
This fuckin' job can't help him
So I quit, y'all welcome
Y'all don't know my struggle
Y'all can't match my hustle
You can't catch my hustle
You can't fathom my love dude
Lock yourself in a room doin' five beats a day for three summers
That's a different world like Kree Summers

The verse fell from heaven, it was hearing the raw, arrogance of a voice starved and determined to be heard; Kanye the rebellious, Chicago angel that would whisper devil evils until you’re on the way to unemployment. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his resolve, his cadence pure certainty, even his singing was like a Negro spiritual to a better tomorrow. At the time he was Roc-A-Fella’s in-house producer, his acclaim wasn’t for rhymes, and even without the sureness that he’ll prevail as a rapper he still persevered. Hip-hop was the “Spaceship” that would take him past the skies; I was working the grave shift, my checks deserved their own comedy central special, and here comes Kanye, riding a flaming chariot like the 6 AM burning Sun speaking the language of promise. “Spaceship”, will forever be a gem for a young generation who spirit won’t be broken by “The Gaps” of the world, but the older you get, the more you accept how the dream might not be coming soon. Working while pursuing a career in writing is when I found Phonte’s “The Good Fight”…. 

The voice of adulthood in the form of a narrative bullet piercing the illustration of all pathetic illusions created by unrealistic confidence; it’s completely honest, spoken from the heart of maturity. I’m used to hip-hop glorifying geologist studying rock bottom, hustlers who prevailed through unlawful methods, rarely someone reach into the depth of American reality and voice the trial and tribulations of desiring the intangible goal. Phonte brought the perspective of a family man, pseudo-Atlas who has the weight of multiple Earths on his shoulders, without the selfish luxury to pursue the "Spaceship". It’s about surviving, this T-Rex eat T-Rex world doesn’t have sympathy for dream chasers, – the romanticism loses novelty when you begin to outgrow mother’s basement, Sallie Mae wants your balls, and child support checks more often than label executes. 

Why live in a fish bowl when the entire world can be your castle? That’s Kanye’s logic – to continue pushing the limits of probable until you end up breaking the fabric of what’s deemed possible. It’s a destructive path, uncertainty will lay underneath you every night for the rest of eternity until your driven mad or succeed. Its sky diving without a parachute expecting to sprout wings, Phonte’s ideology preaches the safety net. That you can indeed fly, but prepare for the fall; both voices will ring eternally; Kanye’s “College Dropout” was dipped in the river Styx, Phonte’s “Charity Starts At Home” is aging like Phylicia Rashād – these two rare wines that will intoxicate the imminent future. 

I write this with the fear of the future looming over my shoulder reading every word. My personal goals exceed being tied down by the anchor of 9-to-5 complacency. I hate the idea of a boss; I’m naïve in my belief that I will be compensated handsomely for what I do well. Its frustrating balancing confidence and self-doubt while forced to channel ambition into uninspiring task, wasting precious hours knowing you rather be pouring all this time into something you love. I go to work now, at a place of business where I see the grotesque, hungry faces of ungrateful swine that only want to devour soup, salad, and breadsticks, tip poorly, and expect to be treated royally. Biting my tongue has become more exhausting than work itself, and even though I rather delve deep into my inner-Kanye conscious, I understand and heed Phonte’s wisdom. Does that make me a coward or a realist? Dreams don’t keep the lights on; eviction is the worst word in the dictionary next to poverty and if I must lose a few battles to win the war then I accept my faith. Accept Based God as your Pretty Bitch and Savior. Most importantly – Survive. 

(By Yoh aka I Quit aka @Yoh31)