Yesterday, the journalism world received the sad news that D Magazine writer and editor Zac Crain had died. His colleagues sent him off with a loving and affecting collection of memories; I’m using this space to celebrate his 2017 piece about Erykah Badu, a once-in-a-generation artist who, like Crain, is woven deeply into the city she lives in. As a profile, it’s a writearound like few others, though you leave with the satisfaction of knowing that when they finally did talk, it was well worth the wait.
There she is, in front of her house that overlooks White Rock Lake, sitting at a card table with her girls, passing out cups of water to runners and bikers on a hot summer day. She’s at Beauty Bar on a Thursday night, sitting in with DJ Sober at his Big Bang party, or visiting the kids at the Dallas International School. She’s stranded at DFW Airport during an ice storm, in a fur and “Badu in Japan” hoodie. You never really know when you’ll find her, and that’s the point.
Maybe you were there when she performed an aerial ring routine with the Lone Star Circus. Maybe you were at the Bad Boy Family Reunion show at the American Airlines Center, when she showed up unannounced and took over the stage near the end. Or maybe you happened to be at Dealey Plaza the day she filmed her video for “Window Seat,” slowly disrobing until she stood where JFK had been shot, naked, in and out in one take, here and gone so quickly you could hardly believe what you’d just seen.
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