Rest in power to Sean Price (fka Ruck of the Boot Camp Clik duo Heltah Skeltah), a Brownsville titan, who at 43 years of age passed away in his sleep earlier this month. Price was hilarious, completely unpretentious—he called himself "The Brokest Rapper You Know"—intimidatingly skilled (and steady improving over two decades of work), and totally genuine. His candor on the mic was legendary—whether it was his precisely measured vitriol or naked testimony to his deep heart. He was part of the legendary Brooklyn gang known as the Decepticons, an essential part of the borough's quintessential Clik, and a testament to endurance—both through the fickle game of rap and just through life.

Whether solo or in a group setting, Price's catalog is mandatory listening—Heltah Skeltah's Nocturnal is part of the BCC's own Wu-Tang-esque run of classic debut albums, and while 1998's Magnum Force was spottier, "I Ain't Havin' That" is way up there on the list of "Rap Songs That Will Get Me Hype Enough to Run Through a Fuckin' Wall." I'll never forget how, after falling from the spotlight, the BCC returned with their 2002 The Chosen Few album and the posse cut "And So"—where Black Moon's Buckshot, Smif-n-Wessun, and OGC's Top Dog all reasserted their crew's importance. Yet somehow, Ruck dominated the cut with a few sober bars, talking about how he hated his life, how his mother had shoplifted to feed his family, how he'd gotten locked up trying to provide for his. It was totally unlike everything I was hearing from cats at the time, and I found it hugely inspiring—it broke an epic case of writer's block for me. I'm willing to bet a whole lot of folks who've tried to make words rhyme at some point spent some time rewinding one of P's precise verses for inspiration—and that a lot more will.

Price was the Ghostface Killah of his Crooklyn clan. It might've been easy to miss him back when he first rapped on Smif-n-Wessun's posse classic "Cession at the Doghillee," but as he refined his style, his presence became unmistakable—and he wound up being the crew's stoutest and truest soldier, if not the last man standing. As the Camp fully came back swinging in the mid-aughts, a reinvigorated Price led the charge. His solo run—Monkey Barz, Jesus Price Supastar, and Mic Tyson—made him an underground icon to the post-Rawkus indie-hop generation, a keeper of NYC's old ways in the landscape found between the poles of pop and emo rap from the South and Midwest.

Teaming up with like-minded talents as the bruise-rap supergroup Random Axe, becoming as much a beloved personality as a respected rapper, Price—and his cavernous "P!" ad-lib—became a brand that stood for authenticity and staying true. As we seemingly transition to a post-"authenticity" hiphop landscape, where heads bemoan the dominance of a "soft" rapper (who apparently doesn't even write his raps), or worry that a successful rapper can flout gender norms with impunity—the "yang" implicit in the legend and legacy of Sean Price can only grow in importance, forever ringing in the underground where he found his home and success. RIP.