Saafir, born Reggie Gibson on August 23, 1970, in Oakland, California, was an influential American rapper, producer and actor. He passed away on November 19 at the age of 54.
There’s a song I listen to on the regular. I listen to it so much, it will certainly be on my Spotify year in review. That song is called “3 Card Molly” and it features Xzibit, Ras Kass and the late Saafir. Casually doom-scrolling, I came across some bad news: Saafir had died.
Most people hadn’t heard the name much, but I did. Most recently, X to the Z name-checked him on his dramatic comeback song, wildly named “Play This At My Funeral.” But Saafir was much, much more than a mention in a song. He helped define an era, a swagger and the very core of Hip-Hop itself.
After Xzibit, radio and rap legend Sway Calloway was the first person that came to my mind and he provides a bird’s eye view of the late MC’s legacy.
“Saafir is the quintessential Oakland MC,” he told AllHipHop in a statement. “He represented the reality, hustle, charisma and intelligence of The Bay. He went from battling to the movie screen and never compromised his integrity. He was also my brother. King Tech and I cherish the music we did together and the celebration of life. He is a World Famous Wake Up Show staple. The Hobo Junction versus Souls of Mischief battle is etched in Hip-Hop history. “
That’s a fact. That battle reverberated all the way to the East Coast, where I’m from. It was a decidedly Hip-Hop moment that captivated the culture and streets. In fact, there’s a short, dope documentary by Shomari Smith, which can be seen below.
Before the battle, Saafir was already a hood celebrity after making his Hollywood debut in the movie Menace II Society as Harold Lawson. Before that, the budding legend began his career as a dancer for Digital Underground and shared a residence with future icon Tupac Shakur. Eventually, he made his recording debut on Digital Underground’s 1993 album, The Body-Hat Syndrome.
By the time Saafir released his debut album, Boxcar Sessions, under Quincy Jones’s Qwest Records, he was certified by Hip-Hop devotees. Sessions was a break from convention, punctuated by its jazz-influenced beats and Saafir’s distinctive lyrical style. He continued to create moments. He was in Hobo Junction and Golden State Project (formerly known as the Golden State Warriors) with the aforementioned Xzibit and Ras Kass.
Saafir almost didn’t make it to realize any of his accomplishments.
Hip-Hop historian, activist and journalist Davey D said the rapper’s existence was a miracle. “Saafir survived a plane crash and I’m honestly not sure if he ever really healed from that,” he said.
On July 30, 1992, before all of his accolades, Saafir was one of the passengers flying on TWA Flight 843, a plane that crashed and exploded. The young man, then 21-years old, suffered a terrible back injury after he jumped from the plane, an estimated three-story fall.
“I remember when he told me about the plane crash,” Davey D said. “It was the first time he had ever talked about it. He brought it up during a live interview. We were so stunned [that] we forgot we were on the air and had to go to break to compose ourselves.”
Nobody died on the plane, but Saafir continued to endure significant health issues over the years. He underwent spinal surgery to remove a cancerous tumor, which forced him into a wheelchair.
Saafir passed away on November 19 in his hometown of Oakland. The cause of death hasn’t been publicly disclosed, but he fought for a prolonged period. Realizing I had never met an artist I held in such high regard, I immediately began talking to those peers that knew his legacy better that myself.
Adisa Banjoko, known as Adisa the Bishop, came up as a one-time rapper, publicist and journalist in The Bay during Hip-Hop’s Golden Era.
“I went to Alta Bates Hospital in Berkeley to visit Saafir Sunday afternoon,” Banjoko said. “I met him in 1989 through my homies in the rap crew Various Blends in a garage. He was always a cut above. His physical and lyrical intensity was arguably unmatched in his time. He spit a rhyme in the garage about not snitching called ‘I’ll Do the Time.’ I don’t think it was ever released. I knew he was a legend.”
Banjoko said they became closer as they got older and wiser.
“I converted to Islam in 1990,” he said. “He converted in the early 2000’s and we bonded deeper between our faith and our love for Hip-Hop.”
Saafir continued to release music during this time.
He recorded Trigonometry in 1998 (the same year AllHipHop was born) under the moniker Mr. No No but went back to Saafir on The Hit List the following year. The Hit List featured an assortment of legends like Bad Boy producer Stevie J, Kam, Jayo Felony and the late, great Chino XL. Good Game: The Transition would be his last album, released in 2006 on ABB Records.
Despite his death, Saafir truly lives on— in spirit, energy and even flesh.
“West Oakland lost a 5-Star general,” Banjoko said. “Saafir shifted the level of lyrical respect Oakland and the whole West Coast got. There will never be another like Shaft Yella.”
“Love to his family and kids,” Sway said. “We will keep his legacy alive for sure.”
Saafir’s son now raps under the same name. On Instagram, he uses the handle @lilsaafir. He hasn’t commented on his father’s passing at the time of this writing.
Saafir’s contributions to Hip-Hop, particularly within the West Coast scene, but not limited to, will never be forgotten. On IG, I commented the following:
“#saafir was “one of those” – a gritty, underrated, underground emcee from The Bay. It should be noted that he was reppin lyricism at the time when #gfunk was the dominant sound from the West. It should also be noted that he didn’t sound like ANY other rapper then or now. So special and unique in his bars, cadence and style. I really liked him as an artist and greatly appreciated him.”
RIP, Saafir aka The Saucee Nomad.
The un-edited medic, on the cut, with a degree in metaphysics
A doctor, with a lot of patients/patience
And perseverance — flows like an ocean liner
That sails/sales like a clearance, I’m bilingual
Fly like a flamingo, I’m a pitcha, everything I freak
I heat like Al Pacino, you don’t like me baby
You ain’t happy, you need some Ecstasy
Now you in my properties, but you have to pay my equity
For the lowest point in my character
I’ll reach the highest place in the house when I rock
Like the Qu’ran, fuse hot, fluid with flavor like buillion cubes
Been this way since I was fourteen
And like this I been runnin s### without the use of Sportscreme
Rippin up tracks like immigrant Chinese, peep the game I lay
I’m grim, I brim over my brow when I rip
Never write rhymes with slim fingertips
Each syllable you choose to use is light as a flower
Keep tryin to go gold
But all you’re gettin is a g############