The Low, Dark Bass of Mobb Deep's "Cradle to the Grave".......

is all I hear right now. However, I'm not going to talk about Mobb Deep right now. Instead, I'll riff a little about soul in music. Not soul music, but soul in the music.

Know what my biggest issue with the mainstream music scene is? Not that the music is bad, or even that there's a sameness that resides in nearly all of it, but that the music lacks soul, lacks feeling. I may not agree with the "Music died in (insert year here)" crowd, because music will always live on with a number of performers talented enough to carry it. However, they do have somewhat of a point when they point out that the major performers of their time cared about their craft. In R&B, you had guys like Marvin Gaye, The Temptations, Aretha Franklin, and Mahalia Jackson; blues had Coltrane and Miles Davis. Later, when hip-hop was born, guys like KRS-One, Slick Rick, Rakim, and Grandmaster Flash carried the torch. Nowadays, with the business factor added in, we've got the musical equivalent of chain restaurants: mass-produced, and, while sometimes good, largely bland. There are still a number of performers across genres who care about their music, but there are very few in the mainstream. As I sit here typing this, I'm listening to Marvin Gaye's "I've Got My Music," which is bar none one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. He sings praises to music throughout, about what it means to him, and he doesn't even need music to help him. The message is clear with just the sound of Marvin's divine voice. That's the kind of soul mainstream music needs; not necessarily Marvin's, because no one can duplicate that, but a love of the music would be nice to hear in the music. In R&B, it hurts the most given artists like Gaye, Pendergrass, and in current times, Mary J. Blige and John Legend; whenever you listen to those guys, you know they care about what they're singing about, and you can hear it in their voices. When Blige sang "I'm Goin Down," you could hear the pain in her voice; it dripped from every syllable she uttered; conversely, you can feel the joy Gaye conveys on "I've Got My Music," as he talks about how important music is to him. So when you turn on the radio and hear something by an R. Kelly (who actually used to care about his music) or an Ashanti, it just doesn't sound the same by comparison. Perhaps it's unfair to compare contemporary music to older music; the dynamics between artists and the record labels are different. However, there's something wrong, almost criminal, about stripping music away from the emotion that should inspire it. When that happens, what do you have left?

On another note, how hard did DMX fall off? Really, just look at what he's become in the past few years compared to what he was back in 1998. He had the hip-hop world in the palm of his hand in those days, especially after "Ruff Ryders Anthem" blew up the way it did. He was the new-age Pac, and the artist who came closest to emulating the aforementioned rapper's style and persona. Those prayers he puts at the end of all of his albums? They sounded sincere the first few times around. DMX truly sounded like a man who was conflicted between living right or sliding into chaos. However, as time went on, and the arrests mounted, the veneer of the conflicted man began to fade away; eventually, it shattered, and all that was left was the true DMX: indifferent, uncaring, immature, and unwilling to change. On record, DMX played the quintessential street poet like Pac did--hardened by his circumstances, yet dying on the inside to change and become a better person. During his "Damien" series, X constantly fought between right and wrong, and even when wrong prevailed, one at least got the impression that X genuinely fought his demons; at worst, then, he was weak-willed. In reality, however, Simmons was a man who'd made millions and sold millions more, yet was unwilling to become a better person; there was no fight or inner turmoil that existed, only more and more trouble. Anyone who looked at his rap sheet--and happened to get a glance at charges such as impersonating a police officer and sodomy--saw not a weak-willed person who gave into temptation, but a man who deemed himself above the law and above any consequence--and still sees himself that way. DMX is in his late 30s now, and was recently arrested three times in an eight day period for marijuana and cocaine possession.

His turmoil is reflected in his music, as well, though not in the way one would think. Instead of exorcising his demons in the studio, X has suffered from a bad case of arrested development, an indication that art truly does reflect life. Just as he continues to make the same mistakes in his own life, he continues to rely on the same, tired thug cliches in his music. What was fresh, new, and intriguing about Simmons in 1998 is now boring; even as gangsta rap was (misguidedly) lambasted by the media for its thug tenets, X plowed forward with his act. Now, he finds himself basking in irrelevancy, the sales of his last album failing to even go Gold (this, after each of his previous efforts went Platinum). If the constant stints in courts weren't enough to convince X that his act was getting old, the deafening silence of his fans certainly must be. Now, he faces a choice, one that another rapper of his ilk in 50 Cent faces: either grow up, and show that there's more to life than peddling the ugliest and most grim aspects of ghetto life, or be pushed further into the depths of the forgotten. Judging by Earl Simmons' most recent actions, one may already have an idea of the path he's chosen.