I never had the likelihood to fulfill Rico Wade. Hell, I’ve never even seen this man in person. Yet by some means it made an enormous impression on much of my early hip-hop education and sound that defined the way I saw myself in the world. For this reason, I even have at all times felt a certain debt of gratitude to Organized Noize – the production team of Rico Wade, Sleepy Brown and Ray Murray – who were chargeable for this sound. If you were a fan of Outkast and Goodie Mob (and other Dungeon Family projects), HE probably held a special place in your heart as well.

I even have news of Rico Wade’s death once I was at a soccer game for one in all my kids. I ended taking note of the game almost immediately. Even though every article said the same thing, I read every article I could find that mentioned his death. I wanted it to be unfaithful, like he was a member of the family taken too soon. This is what happens when art lets you remember beneficial parts of your life. The reason he (and Organized Noize) took this spot is due to Outkast’s debut album, Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik, a 17-track album that took 14-year-old me on a tour of the Atlanta I knew, giving me (and others like me) a hip-hop identity to cling to. Although the sounds of New York and Los Angeles dominated my music collection and movie viewing, I had never been to either city. The identity I gathered from these places is cosplay without context; I attempted various things, but I never felt prefer it really connected to what I used to be seeing. Outkast modified that with “Southern…”

“Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik” turns 30 on April 26 the same day Rico Wade was buried in Atlanta, the place where the record was born. What a wild ride.

It’s fascinating to take into consideration art that has been an element of your life for 3 a long time. Most of the hip-hop from the classic era, not from the west coast, was present in my life, but in bits and pieces. I knew the artists and the songs, but can I say I used to be there on the first day? Not really. Outkast, nevertheless, was probably the first group that I could really say I used to be fully invested in from the very starting. From the moment I first saw the music video for “Player’s Ball” until the album was released and I received my copy on release day. I could not wait to dive into the world of Big Boi and Dre (now André 3000). I desired to experience their version of Atlanta, one that did not seem far-off. “Southern…” threw me straight into SWATS (an acronym for “Southwest Atlanta, Too Strong”) and gave me knowledge about life from people barely older than me. That education stuck in my ribs and stayed there. I still take heed to “Southern…” quite frequently because the “Player’s Ball” remix is, in my view, one in all the best songs in Southern rap history. The piano riff that opens the remix gets me each time. I feel it in my sha-na-na.

That’s what Rico Wade and Outkast gave me and probably others. They gave us a soulful version of the hip-hop we were listening to, with lingo that appeared like a stop at grandma’s house. I take Outkast…personally, as if their success is tied to my love for what they’ve given us culturally and musically. When I read that Rico Wade had died, I wasn’t just excited about one other artist/music performer; it was Rico Wade. He was one in all the architects of Atlanta’s future.

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Atlanta as we comprehend it today wouldn’t exist in the cultural zeitgeist without Rico, Organized Noize and Outkast. In the intro to “Player’s Ball,” the first voice you hear is Rico, who talks about “here in black heaven…” That statement itself has grow to be a part of Atlanta lore. While Atlanta had a hip-hop culture and scene before Outkast, the whole lot modified with “Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik” – we had a bunch, a sound, a purpose, and an aesthetic that was reaching the masses.

I suppose I’m at that time in my life where nostalgia is beginning to bring back a few of the romanticism I felt in my youth. I’m probably creating more albums and artists than I ever really felt discovering their music. But Outkast is a bunch that has remained constant in my identity and my relationship to hip-hop; Even though Big Boi and André 3000 are a number of years older than me, I principally grew up with them too. The respect and nostalgia I feel are rooted in something tangible. That’s why Rico Wade’s passing at the age of 52, which seems extremely young for an almost 45-year-old, hits in another way.

Rico was and is the epicenter of the cultural renaissance that Atlanta has experienced and sustained over the last 30 years. Freaknik kicked in the door, but Outkast made it last endlessly. They made me who I’m today and I am unable to thank them enough.

Rest in strength Rico Wade. Hootie hoo.