It’s been interpolated by people who win Pulitzers and bitten by countless young rappers, either in their formative periods or when they fly a little too close to the sun. This is “Ha,” one of the most singularly brilliant rap songs of the 1990s. A man on crutches hobbles down a street lit only by that ambulance’s siren lights a boy feeds a piece of deli meat to a dog money is counted and blurs until the bills are indistinguishable. There are roller skaters and pickup basketball games. Magnolians get chased and cuffed and clutched by their fathers. Women in church clothes pose soberly-so do EMTs, with arms crossed in front of their ambulance. The rest of Magnolia pops to life, either in eerily real tracking shots or in static frames that might as well be portraits. Peete he’s dancing around a porch while the family that lives there sits motionless he’s mugging in a hallway next to Baby and Mannie Fresh he’s shadowboxing. You see Juve shirtless, shimmering with sweat he’s grimacing in front of convertibles he’s showing off his gold fronts in jarring close-up he’s rapping animatedly-skinnier than you expect, all elbows and sharp angles-in front of a mural bearing the projects’ official name, C.J. A hard cut and suddenly, the frame fills with action: Juvenile in the foreground, perched over a puddle, a sea of Magnolia residents waving their arms behind him, hanging from balconies, poking curious heads out of windows. You see the rows of buildings stretching out toward the horizon, seemingly vacant and endless.
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