So. Where to begin? This here is my last proper column of this particularly intense trip around the sun. I can only hope I never have to write another column like the first one I wrote this year—if you'll recall (I'm sure many of you, like me, couldn't forget), in the early hours of January 4, local rapper 29-E was murdered at a local hiphop show. Our little scene was shaken to the core, especially when beloved local promoter Tyrone Love was gunned down in the CD the following month. Just this fall, our friend Talksick passed from complications of the H1N1 virus. (This doesn't even begin to tackle the amount of people we've lost this year.)

Something about death though—it reminds you that you're still here, and if it doesn't capsize you with grief, it steels your resolve to survive. Local hiphop did just that this year, making some deeply astounding fucking strides and producing an absolute bumper crop of dope new talent. It's of course seen a major and much-ballyhooed (by myself and a ton of others) upswing since 2005—and had already more than proven itself as a family (albeit dysfunctional, like yours) and a true force to be reckoned with; but never did it really seem that Seattle hiphop could match the excitement, sweat, and creative possibilities that were for so long to be found in Seattle's rock scene (critically influencing the shape of music since the early 1990s).

This year though, local hiphop went balls (and sometimes, ovaries)-out, defiantly whatever-the-fuck-it-wanted-to-be, outrocking the rockers, the message scrawled on the passed-out faces of those sad mopes sleeping on their acoustics overclear: We are here, we are hungry, we will eat your fucking lunch. It's not an anti-rock thing we're talking about (do you know me?), it's a pro-hiphop thing; fuck that, it's simply the proper understanding (that only recently came to many out here) that hiphop is a part of the Seattle music landscape—and as sick as it is, from here on out it refuses to be quarantined.

That said, go see the proof for yourself—these days, there are as many ways to do this shit in Seattle as there are MCs/DJs/producers/b-boys/writers/groupies/haters/dickriders. On the night of December 26, you can see the newest incarnation of Yo, Son!, over at the Crocodile with its Christmas After Party, sure to bring in plenty of slutty elves. You can also hit the free show at Nectar, the third installment of Type's "The Jokes on You" comedy/rap/comedy-rap event. He, Gran Rapids, Mr. Xquisit, and Eli Porter will be performing, and Type's video for "Man Crush" will premiere. (Shudder.) On December 28, the Jet Set goes down over at the Capitol Club—quiet as kept, it's been the unofficial Monday-night clubhouse for all those third-wave cool kids; DJs 100Proof and Swervewon have done a great job of providing an intimate party atmosphere with 'nuff guest DJs and occasional live sets. The rest of the year is on you though—do it right, do it safe, don't pay too much like a nerd, and most of all, meet me back here next year.