Donuts: Dilla’s Swan Song

Donuts (Outro)

Donuts has become legendary within hip-hop, for its musical contents and the story of its production. A celebrated producer on his deathbed pouring the last of his life into his opus, then releasing this abstract project on his final birthday. You can find a few pictures of Dilla in his studio, skinny and dying, playing the drums, and working on his MCP3000. He even did a bit of touring during his illness, taking the stage in a wheelchair. 

It’s easy to see where this album's acclaim comes from; between masterful sampling and a well-laid tracklist, Dilla beautifully displays his raw talent, and unlike some of his other works, this is a straight-beat tape. The only vocals come from the samples, though MF DOOM and Ghostface Killah would later rap over some of the beats from this album on the joint EP Dilla Ghost DOOM.

It’s been well over a year now since I tried to write this essay. I set out to understand what J Dilla was trying to say in his final album, 2006’s Donuts, even though it’s an instrumental record. I followed this album's history from its conception to Dilla’s passing, and the impact it left on the culture. I was analyzing sample choices and contemplating Dilla’s headspace while he made the album. In my mind, there was something fundamental about him lying at the root of the music, and if I could only peel back enough layers, it would become obvious. Though, once I realized nothing was waiting for me, I lost interest.

See, I was searching for some abstract truth to his character that no one had before uncovered. Something dark and profound, or a story thread meant to be followed through vocal samples. The problem is, that didn’t exist. It still doesn’t. It wasn’t until today that I was lying in bed, listening to Donuts from the top, when I realized what that elusive secret was. It’s simple really. Donuts is not a meditation on the point of existence, or the meaning of life and death. It’s just a nerd trying to communicate how much he loves music one last time. That’s all.

From this intro, I segued into the body by asking “Without lyrics, or the man himself to explain it all, how can we know what Dilla was saying?” but any amount of explanation would be redundant (makes you wonder why I’m still writing this). Dilla made this album full of stuff that was “a little too much for the MCs” because he didn’t really want this to be a hip-hop album. Not like Champion Sound and Welcome 2 Detroit were. This was supposed to be a final sonic statement, a declaration of love before his inevitable end. Like any love, the one Dilla had for his work was complicated, so before we can understand what Donuts is and what it accomplishes, some background on J Dilla is necessary. 

Hi.

Born and raised in the Motor City (the place where Motwon was founded), James Dewitt Yancey, better known as Jay Dee, J Dilla, or just Dilla, was as passionate as he was gifted. He’s a legend among underground hip-hop fans, having produced songs for Common, Q-Tip (of A Tribe Called Quest), Erykah Badu, and The Pharcyde, which incited a fistfight (but that’s a whole other story). He made regular trips to record stores with friends to buy and listen to genuine piles of records. His studio has been described as a library, and in his room at Cedar-Sinai Hospital, he was surrounded by milk crates full of vinyl his mother brought upon his request. 

Even with such a seasoned ear, and talent on the keys, Dilla wasn’t technical or traditional. He never read the manuals for his equipment, he simply got a feel for it and freely changed the settings to create his unique sound. Questlove, the frontman for The Roots, once said that Dilla played the drums like a “drunk three-year-old”. His music also had a unique tempo, referred to as “Dilla Time” by author Dan Charnas. He never conformed to a strict four-count pattern, giving the music the slightly sloppy feel of a live performance.

His personality also created a lot of intrigue. He was silent and reserved, exacting in his prowess and sonically incapable of doing wrong. Dilla was a shooting star, taking the world of hip-hop and its greatest members by storm. Then, the freight train that was Jay Dee came to a screeching halt when he was diagnosed with lupus and thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura. The rest of his life was spent in and out of the hospital, making beats and spending what little time he had left with his loved ones. In his final months, as his condition worsened, Dilla tweaked Donuts to perfection, with the assistance of Stones Throw Records and his mother, Ma Dukes Yancey. She moved out to California at the request of her son, and sat by his side while he was bedridden. It was she that brought him some of his equipment, and she who would help nurse him as his condition worsened. These days, she oversees his estate and has been managing the release of Dilla’s music archive for nearly two decades.

Don’t Cry

Donuts was Dilla’s final gift to the world. It was released on his thirty-second birthday, just three days before his death. The album consists of thirty-one tracks, the age he was when he made it, to symbolize the record being an extension of himself. I spent months trying to find meaning in the tracks he chose to sample, make sense of looped lyrics, and give Dilla a voice. Ultimately, though Dilla had a lot of intention behind this project, nothing he could have said with words would have had as much of an effect as what he did with sound.

On this record, he uses samples from all over the place. From Frank Zappa and 10cc to The Jackson 5 and Beastie Boys. There’s even a sample of a track from the 50s that’s one of the earliest pieces of electronic music ever made. To no fault, a lot of hip-hop samples jazz, soul, or funk as a way of dipping back into the wealth of black culture. Though rather than limit himself to a specific genre, Dilla exposes the listener to new sounds, eras, and artists. That’s how we get tracks full of energy like Workinonit and Anti-American Graffiti. There is the underlying spirit of hip-hop, with more flavor poured onto it, created by Dilla’s huge palette. Some tracks have more glaze, or they’re coated in chocolate. Others are cream-filled or topped with sprinkles. Yet they all come together to create a listening experience that’s soulful, satisfying, and constantly entertaining.

Dilla was always a man of few words, but he was fluent in sound, the most simple and universal language in the world. You can’t mistake an emotion. The sadness of Time: Donut Of The Heart, the dread of Mash, the groove on Lightworks. Rather than attempt to make some final statement via pen and paper, or put any vocals on tape, he tweaked these beats in privacy and only departed when they were perfect. Music was everything for Jay Dee, it’s what he loved most. So he followed it, all the way to his resolution. What we’re left with is a sad story, sure. But we’ve also got all the passion one man held, in as pure a form as it can come in.

Welcome To The Show

Erykah Badu says that you can’t really dissect what Dilla was, but the more I read about his life and artistry, the more I recognize love. You can hear it in the bass, feel it in the rhythm. Love for music in all its many forms. Love for its versatility, its lack of strict form, and what it can do for others. That’s ultimately what Donuts is. A monument to music and a final cry of affection. If you want to be cliche, a love letter. Dilla blends rock, pop, jazz, rap, soul, funk, all these distinct genres into one sound he could use to communicate this message. In this, he lets us into his heart and mind, while creating a tape so varied and distinct that it stands at the crossroads of genres, revered by rhymers and rockers alike. When I think of Dilla on his deathbed, I don’t see a decaying man, clinging to life as he meets his end. I see an artist, drum machine in front of him, records around him, indulging in his purpose one last time. Unafraid of what was to come. Just happy that he still had the strength to do what he was meant to do.