Bah Humbug: The Ghosts of J. Cole, Drake, & Kendrick Lamar

“I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it. Their faithful friend and servant, C.D.” -preface to A Christmas Carol, 1843.

I got a friend and he’s the greatest; in his acquaintance, one could count him the GOAT. Yes, I’m talking about him.

Yet of late, this paragon of virtue has turned his gaze backward... far, far backward... to the very genesis of his story.

Methinks he’s out to remind us of why we fell in love with him to begin with. The hunger, the singular talent, the uniqueness of his journey. And, having once given hope to millions, he now appears to need that light shone inward upon himself.

Indeed, it is often said that to advance further, one must retreat a step. But I venture to assume that even he is uncertain of what lies ahead. And for us, for the present, that uncertainty must suffice. $1 and this dream? BAH HUMBUG!

In the end, I think he’s just giving us a peek at the memories of his happier, youthful days. The moments that ironically led to his bitterness. Fueled by the crippling fear of an unlamented death.

As I slept, I asked, “Why?” and “What’re you gonna do now? Are you the GOAT of Christmas Past?”

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look at him quite the same. I want to wake up from his nightmare.

I got a friend and he’s the greatest; in his acquaintance, one could count him the GOAT. Yes, I’m talking about him.

Yet of late, he’s rudderless... stuck in this very unsure moment, not sure of which way to go.

Methinks he knows it’s time to destroy and rebuild. And while his instincts may be on point, he and his paralegals are...paralyzed. Throwing a tantrum on the floor, taking everything around him down with him.

Indeed, the poor child who, for the first time, wasn’t embraced by the village, has decided to burn it down just to feel its warmth. BAH HUMBUG!

Maybe it’s because half of him doesn’t believe in Christmas. Yet, still, I get the feeling that deep down, he’s looking for an invite. Somewhere; anywhere.

After all, he is merely shedding light on the struggles of belonging nowhere, bereft of kin to share in the merry festivities. Fueled by the crippling fear of an unlamented death.

As I slept, I asked, “Why?” and “What’re you gonna do now? Are you the GOAT of Christmas Present?”

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look at him quite the same. I want to wake up from his nightmare.

I got a friend and he’s the greatest; in his acquaintance, one could count him the GOAT. Yes, I’m talking about him.

Yet of late, he’s moving forward at warp speed, heading everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

Methinks he’s frantic. Inventing and reinventing himself in ways we’re not sure he’s even sure about. Fueled with untimely anxiety, bombastic desire, and child-like contempt. Out the cradle, endlessly rocking, he is.

Indeed, does he not like us? I wish he’d breathe so he could stop time, instead he’s inventing new ways to try and stop time just to breathe. Yet, here we are, along for his ride as if it’s our own. I’m not sure this is working for anyone. BAH HUMBUG!

In the end, I think he’s painted a grim vision of his own distraction. Fueled by the loneliness that comes with watching the party die. The same party he invited us to to begin with. Fueled by the crippling fear of an unlamented death.

As I slept, I asked, “Why?” and “What’re you gonna do now? Are you the GOAT of Christmas Future?”

I’m not sure I can ever look at him the same. I want to wake up from his nightmare.

Maybe I’m the elderly miser. Yes, that’s it. The one lacking the joy that the genre once brought him. The type of joy that could get him out of bed in the morning, and tuck him in at night. The kind that once saved him, his friends, and those who may never ever meet each other’s lives all the same. The kind that gave us all something to believe in.

Or maybe, just maybe, this, too, is simply a dream.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, Bah humbug!

I have endeavored in this little blasphemous discussion, to revisit the Idea of the GOAT, which may put my readers out of touch with themselves, with each other, with the genre, or with me. I hope y’all receive it as it was intended, and its music plays beautifully in your ears. Their faithful friend and servant, T.H.”