From the hours of approximately 11:30 p.m., Feb. 9, to 1 a.m. Feb. 10, everyone in my apartment was in disbelief.
We, as well as the majority, if not all, of the L.A. media were focused on a 40 mph car chase that started in North Hollywood, went all the way down to Manhattan Beach and then came back to North Hollywood, where the driver of the car stopped his white Bentley Flying Spur in Universal City near Lankershim Boulevard, after which promptly began a tense police standoff.
On top of that, we all thought it was Chris Brown.
As the media speculated, and as we all thought, it appeared that R&B entertainer Chris Breezy, still distraught from his previous allegations of physical abuse against girlfriend Rihanna, was pulling a royal white Bronco.
It all made sense. The driver of the Bentley was originally pursued due to a domestic violence call. The car was a Bentley, a signifier of wealth, and popular with the hip-hop elite.
However, as the chase came to a close, the police and/or media were able to get a better look at the driver, who indeed wasn’t Chris Brown, but was now assumed to be DJ Khaled, a Palestinian American Miami area hip-hop radio DJ and rap world celebrity famous for his compilation albums and Alvin, Simon, Theodore-style voice.
I was convinced. The man looked to be of Middle Eastern descent, was wearing aviator sunglasses, of a heavier build, and he was driving a Bentley. On his “Cribs” episode Khaled had a baby blue Bentley, but he could have traded it for classic white.
The media was convinced too. The anchor even mentioned his affiliation with “Terror Squad,” which she intoned with more than a little worry in her voice. No worries, Anchorwoman, it’s just a hip-hop crew that hasn’t been the same since Big Pun died, not a terrorist cell.
In any case, I was hooked on the drama. You see, I have a love-hate relationship with DJ Khaled. On one hand, he’s very entertaining. On the other hand, he’s a complete buffoon, with all the subtlety of a seven-year-old. On the one hand, I know the majority of the words to the “I’m So Hood (Remix).” On the other hand, I completely resent the way Khaled puts his name on albums that he merely organized, rather than produced or performed on.
So to me, this low-speed chase seemed like innocent shenanigans, something that would have the hip-hop blogs buzzing for days, and something that confirmed Khaled’s utter buffoonery once and for all.
Then it got real.
As police angled to end the standoff, they approached the car, and as soon as they pried open the car door, it appeared that the man had already shot himself. An ambulance arrived and carted the body off.
DJ Khaled was dead.
I was shocked. I’ve never been totally affected by a musician’s death. I was six when Kurt Cobain died. And I got into hip-hop way after the deaths of Tupac, Biggie, Big L, Big Pun, and ODB. Was this to be my musical martyr?
I desperately combed the Internet in search of more information. As I scoured, I found more and more evidence that suggested it wasn’t in fact Khaled, including a MySpace press release that stated that Khaled himself was in Miami at the time.
Lo and behold, the next morning, it came out that it indeed was not Khaled, but a Pakistani man distraught and suicidal over losing his business.
After the media cleared up the identity of the driver, the story seemed to evaporate, like so much of DJ Khaled’s imported Bahaman pool water.
This weird only-in-L.A. roller-coaster of a news story illustrated two things to me.
First, the depth of the recession and the unwillingness of the media to cover non-celebrity related items. I guess that’s more like two things, but hear me out. The sad thing is that even though it wasn’t DJ Khaled in that car or Chris Brown, the story is almost more newsworthy. If a man is so distraught about the loss of his business that he kills himself after threatening his girlfriend and a 40 mph chase, isn’t that a sign of how bad things are economically?
Obviously there are other factors, such as the driver’s own state of mind and level of sobriety, but to me this seems more like a sign of the times. Despite that, the story was out of the news by the next day, and no one seemed to know or care about it. If it was indeed Khaled or Brown, I can’t imagine the level of coverage the story would have gotten.
On top of that, the cycle made me realize what the Notorious B.I.G. said was completely true: “You’re nobody ’til somebody kills you.” Even if that person is the self. The instant assumed passing of my beloved and be-hated Khaled made me instantly re-evaluate his work. Maybe all that yelling at the beginning of a track was what made those tracks work. Was I going to genuinely miss the guy that was previously the target of multiple jokes and impressions by my friends and me? Or was he still a buffoon, post-mortem?
It was hard not to avoid the rose-tinting that comes with an early death, even when the musician himself is a totally contemptible materialist. Of course, after I found out he was still alive, the jokes resumed.
But what is really the source of post-mortem idolization? Is it out of an inborn respect for the dead? Or is it because the media, group memory and cult of personality create an impenetrable bubble of myth and respect, around musicians and other celebrities that die young that willingly ignore the often truth about their character?
It’s probably a combination. It’s always easier to remember the good things than to dredge up the bad things, especially when the person is a mass media figure, lest the media be seen as character assassinators.
In any case, Khaled is still around to scream on song intros and drain Bahaman aquifers for his waterfall pool, and a Pakistani businessman took his own life, who won’t end up on any murals anytime soon. Rest in peace.
We the best.
If you’re looking forward to DJ Khaled’s next LP, then e-mail Ayres at jayres@media.ucla.edu.