Note: This is the realest shit I’ve written in a while (as SOTB, mind you). Sorry, there aren’t any pictures or a butt-load of jokey jokes. That said, I hope you stick with me.
Forever Your No-Fi King,
Speed on the Beat

The only thing that’s permanent, I guess, is biological death. I’m not talking about the “oh, I died for a few seconds but was brought back” type of death. Clinical death is, in theory, reversible. I mean, when your heart beats its last beat and the cells start to go. Once that happens, your physical self is no longer alive and you’re either, some time later, buried or cremated. I mean, yes, you can donate your organs and your spirit lives on forever. If you’re a believer in reincarnation, you (may, depending on how good a person you were) get a fresh start. However, once your heart stops beating for you as you, at the point of your biological death? That means that, you, as that you, are gone, done, dead.

Everything else, however, is just a state of being that can go one way or the other.

Take wrestling, for instance. Retirements, unless you’re seemingly John Cena, are rarely etched in stone or permanent. At April’s WrestleMania 42, Oba Femi retired Brock Lesnar in a pretty convincing manner. I mean, Brock left his boots in the ring. About a month and a few days later, at Clash in Italy, Brock Lesnar got his lick back and seemingly unretired. Now, I’m not here to go into much detail about how much of a clusterfu[dge] having Brock beat the guy who “retired” him only a month or so after that initial retirement. Nor am I here to talk about how many Black wrestlers have been fed to Brock Lesnar over the years. It’s just common knowledge that, when a wrestler retires, they often don’t stay retired unless they’re injured beyond repair (though Adam Copeland, Paige and some others may argue this one), are seemingly John Cena, or they are dead.

The same logic goes for music. Someone who could be considered Brock Lesnar-esque in their original reign, Jay-Z, retired for the first time with 2003’s The Black Album. Afterwards, he dropped “Dear Summer,” did a verse for Lupe on “Pressure,” ran Def Jam–among other things–and then returned with Kingdom Come. If you remember me from my J Dot Speed days, you’ll know that I wasn’t the biggest fan of KC. One day, I’ll get into why, but not today. At 38, I’m still not its biggest fan–though I get its purpose. However, like with wrestling, music retirements are rarely permanent. Snoop will probably, Orange Man-affiliated or not, make songs until he puffs his last pass. LL Cool J and Will Smith still drop occasional bars and albums. Hell, Rakim’s dropping new music this year.

When it comes to dismissing self-proclaimed retirements, I’m living proof of that. I’ve probably “retired” from the whole music thing as many times as I’ve dropped music. Dating back to high school, I’ve probably retired a total of 15 times, give or take. Twice in 2015, since Mama Young’s passing really did a number on me. A running joke within DAR, specifically with True, is that I’m equally one step away from “actually” walking out the door as I am from backing right back into the house. I mean, let’s think about all the verses/random EPs/etc that I’ve worked on over the years while I was supposedly “retired.” One thing remained constant, though, during those retirements: I still continued to write on SOTB.

That is, until late 2024 through June 2026. Believe it or not, this is my first post in over a year. Sure, I’ve kept my pen game strong in other ways. I even, sometimes, write under my actual name. However, there hasn’t been much on the SOTB front for a year-plus. Simply put, I had to walk away from it all.

If you’ve followed me through social media and the like, you probably know that the last year-and-a-half was full of upheaval. My therapist would call this an “age of transition.” I moved back to Baltimore, to reconnect with my roots. I lost a job that I’d been at for several years, and had to reinvent myself professionally. I lost friends and family, some in a way more permanent sense than I wanted. From finding out about Reyna (and my reactions to that) to seeing my stepdad “Mr. Roland” and his coffin being lowered into the damp Annapolis soil that snowy February afternoon, the last 18 months or so have been life-altering. To top it all off, my mental health usually saw better days than during this period. And, truth be told, all of that led me to a singular conclusion: I was burned out from “supporting dope music in all its forms” over, at that point, the thirteen years before that last post. Really, it’s closer to 25 years if you go back to my middle school days. But, I digress. Life finally caught up to me and forced me to sit my ass down. In a sense, I crashed the fuck out (sorry for using “strong language”).

One thing they don’t wholly tell you when you try to bring about some sort of profit from your creativity is how exhausting it can be. Being that I’m the type who actively enjoys being the person in “the shadows,” that goes triple for me. Doing music and being a “critic” (whatever that means these days) only adds to the exhaustion levels if you’re not careful. Even if you’re not completely focused on the money, which I wasn’t, it still takes a lot out of you and I, admittedly, wasn’t careful. Between SubmitHubbing to infinity and beyond, becoming more and more active when I probably should’ve prioritized myself, and that whole “season of transition,” I, as I said, crashed the fuck out. Part of that crashout included the fact that I began to hate what I’d spent most of my adult life building up, as the SOTB in 2023-2024 didn’t truly reflect the SOTB I originally started out trying to be. It was heartbreaking, in some ways, that my creation had become a shell of itself.

And no, I don’t blame other artists, fans, supporters, a changing online environment/ecosystem or any of that. The blame solely falls on me.

I didn’t listen to the warning signs. In fact, I overextended myself and ignored my body and my mind. Me, the one who’s always been incredibly pro-mental health, kind of said “fuck that” and tried to keep pushing past my limits to the point of breaking. So, while I wanted to burn the site to the ground forever, I pulled my best Elsa and “let it go” around the 13th anniversary of SOTB: May 2025. I kept the site domain because nothing besides biological death lasts forever. Good days come, bad days go. I also wanted to keep a record of the site. No use for me to delete everything and have all that work go bye-bye forever, right? Besides, I didn’t want someone using the domain to post dick pics or Russian spam. If you’re gonna see dick on SOTB, it’s–never mind, let’s not go down that road. The less the world sees of me, the better.

Bad jokes aside, the last 18 months have been full of resets and restarts. Most importantly, I’ve used the last 18 months to get my mind, my body and my soul right. In doing so, I began to forge a better relationship with God. Don’t get me wrong: I still curse like a ’90s anime dub and like “da bewbs” and all of that. That said, there are some things I’ve put a (hopefully) permanent end to. I’ve stopped drinking again. I’m aiming to be less toxic as a human, as there’s already too much of that crap as is. I’ve kind of gone back to the basics when it comes to music and creative stuff as a whole. Plus, I’ve tried (and continue to try) my best and damnedest to be the best father and friend I can be to those who I love deeply. Finally, I’ve stopped trying to bottle it all up and just keep pushing when everything in my life is telling me that it’s okay to sit down and stop for a bit. Hustlers gotta hustle, sure…but you can’t hustle if you’re at your worst–or worse.

I say all of this to say one thing. This isn’t a comeback. No, it’s more of a reset. Don’t expect me to drop 80 posts a week. Hell, don’t even expect me to drop 80 posts a year. I can’t do that in 2026. Truthfully, I probably shouldn’t have done it when I did it, but live and learn, I guess. I, also and unfortunately, will not be taking submissions. It’s too much and, while I’ll always support all dope music in all its forms, I can’t be THAT SOTB anymore. I’ll be 38 in August. I’m closer to 50 than I am to 21. I don’t really listen to much “newer” music. And I’m, as Roger Murtaugh would say, getting too old for this (2010s-early 2020s SOTB) shit. I’ll write about music, because duh, but I won’t actively be seeking out submissions/fielding them. So, no more high post counts, no more submissions, no more full-length albums. Want my old shit? There’s quite literally over a decade’s worth of it between social media, streaming platforms and the SOTB site. Not to be a dick, but I’ve got to do what’s best for me–and, ultimately, you all if you’re willing to jump in the pool again.

Now, if you’re still reading this, I applaud you. And I humbly thank you. You’re a real one, reader. Let’s get this show on the road, yet again. How long will it last? Who knows? But, for now, let’s enjoy it. After all, doing this creative stuff for as long as I have? If I leave (again), my legacy is good enough for me. And the only people, at the end of it all, I’ve got to answer to are myself and God.