We're starting work on a new Roots record, which has some ideas attached to it, some jams, some lyrics, though it's subject to change, depending on what happens in the studio, depending on Tariq's ideas, and depending also on the rest of the band: on Captain Kirk and Knuckles and Tuba and James and Kamal and everyone else. It's strange sometimes to think of yourself as an individual, which is something you have to do for sanity's sake, something you have to do to take responsibility for your own thoughts and actions, but to realize at the same time how you've been defined almost entirely by this tapestry you've been woven into for twenty years, and how grateful you should be for that tapestry. It's a sentimental thing to say that I wouldn't exist without the band, but sometimes sentimental things are true. I spent years looking for this commune or that one, the jam sessions on St. Albans or the Soulquarians at Electric Lady, and all the while, Dorothy-style, I could have gone home any time-or rather, I was already home. And yet, at the same time, there's yin and yang. There's such push and pull. Let's say there's an event and people around me get invited and I'm not invited. Some part of me will feel like a failure. How can you not? The real me knows that it's just an event, but doubt enters my mind about why I'm not there. Is it because I'm not good enough? Part of me would just like to relax and have one job that pays me the amount I need to survive. And another part of me wants the creativity that comes out of struggle and frustration and fear. It's a never-ending cycle, which must be how I want it, on some level.

And so that's how it goes. I keep moving through time and time keeps moving through me. And through that process, life takes shape. The question is what shape it is. I'm not the first person to ask this question, or to see how absurd it is to think there's a real answer. Maybe life's a circle. Maybe what goes around comes around. Maybe there's karma and an account ledger that balances off all debts and credits. Part of me believes that: the part of me that remembers that my drums are circles, that turntables are circles. But drumsticks are straight, and there are times when life seems like an arrow that goes in one direction and one direction only, toward a final target that might not be a final reward. Part of me believes that, too: the part of me that sees the "dun" in undun, and that believes that the story of that record, the life that ends before it's properly told, the life that has to unspool in reverse to exist at all, is the more common form of life. Music has the power to stop time. When I listen to songs, I'm transported back to the moment of their birth, which is sometimes even before the moment of my birth. Old songs, rock or soul or blues, still connect with me because the human emotions in them, whether jealousy or rage or hope, are recognizably similar to the emotions that I'm feeling now. But I'm feeling all of them, all the time, and so the songs act like a chemical process that isolates certain feelings at certain times: maybe one song helps illuminate the jubilation and one helps illuminate the sorrow and one helps illuminate the resignation. Music has the power to stop time. But music also keeps time. Drummers are timekeepers. Music conserves time and serves time, just as time conserves and serves music. I think I have to believe in circularity, even if I know that the arrow's coming in on the wing. I think I have to cast my lot with cycles, and revolution, with the Beach Boys' "I Get Around" and Chuck Berry's "Around and Around" and James Brown's "World Cycle Inc." Will the circle be unbroken? That's not the only circle that's a question. Every circle is. Lines are statements. Arrows are especially emphatic statements. They divide and they define. They count up and count down. Circles are more careful. They come around again. They overthink. They a.n.a.lyze. They go back to the scene of the crime. They retrace their steps. That's where I end up, definitely maybe, always circ.u.mspect, always circ.u.mscribed by questions, by curiosity, by a certainty that I need a certain amount of uncertainty.

There's a Tribe Called Quest song called "What" on Low End Theory. That word is a statement, a line. The song samples "Uncle Willie's Dream," by Paul Humphrey. That sample is another line. But who was Paul Humphrey? That's a question that makes you circle back around. Paul Humphrey was a session drummer who worked with everyone from Jimmy Smith and Charles Mingus to Frank Zappa and Marvin Gaye. He was also the drummer for Lawrence Welk's TV show in the late seventies, and his children would sometimes appear with him on the show. Sound familiar? That's another rhetorical question. On the Tribe song, over the (circular) sample, Q-Tip asks a series of questions, one after the other, rapid-fire, staying on the Q tip so vigilantly that there's no time (or s.p.a.ce) to answer them-which is okay, because answers seem beside the point anyway. There are many, many questions in that song, but a few remain with me: "What is position if there's no contorting?" "What is a compound without an element?" "What is a war if it doesn't have a general?" and "What is a Quest if the players aren't willing?" Not all of the questions are that philosophical. Some are about pop culture. Some are about s.e.x. Some are about money. Some are about jurisprudence. But they're all questions that move your mind forward and then pull it back: a fish hook, a circle, an orbit. There's a moment just past the halfway point where Q-Tip says "Chill for a minute; Doug E. Fresh said silence," and then there's silence, four seconds of it, and the song is moving along so jauntily at that point, and the momentum of the questions is building so nicely, that it's shocking but also peaceful, a period of forced reflection, a pause that almost refreshes but doesn't give you quite enough time to answer anything before the drum returns and the flood of questions with it. That's sort of how life operates. What does that mean? What doesn't it mean? What is the role of the artist? What is the chance that an artist will actually create something new, something lasting? What is the responsibility the artist has, if any, to old forms, to old questions? What is a community? What do you call the parts of the community if not individuals? What is a band? What do you call the parts of a band if not brothers? What is soul? What is a soul? What is a blues? What is a life? What is a death if not the confirmation of life? What is a sound if not the reminder of silence? What is the top if not the confirmation of the bottom? What is the bottom if not the confirmation of the Roots? What is the matter with asking again? What is the best way to know why and when? What is the answer? What is the reason? What are they growing when it's growing season... WHAT?!?!

So, like I said...

What's this gonna be, Ahmir?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

OK, it's 2:34 a.m. on a Friday night. I'm in New York, in my apartment, looking out my window at the Brooklyn Bridge. I think the "A" in the blinking red Watchtower sign just went out, so it's reading "Wtchtower" from where I am. This book is officially over. The hardest part of this process is the one name that I'll forget to mention in the Acknowledgments.

So I would love to thank:

"Your Name Here"

for just being there for me. I know it sounds impersonal and insincere but those who know me know I've got twelve jobs and I'm absentminded when it comes to things like this.

I'd also like to give a shout to those who have all these outlandish Ahmir-back-in-the-day stories that get back to me and wind up being the most hilariously over-bloated versions of my legend. I actually wish that I was as wild and reckless as I'm told I was.

I'mma do my best to remember everyone on this journey. If I forget you, please don't hold it against me more than you already hold it against me.

Roots fans lived for my liner notes in the early years, mostly because there was no social media back in the early nineties. Of course, as time has developed, my notes have become less and less engaging because I save my special zingers for Okayplayer.com and Twitter (well, that and label cost cutbacks on pages in our CDs). And plus, I don't feel like hearing a whole buncha "so why didn't you thank me!!??!" threats in my timeline after these types of projects come out.

My inner circle is pretty conditional on me thanking them for helping me get to where I am today.

I'm kidding.

Am I?

OK... now it's 3:52 a.m. and I've yet to start this list...

THANK YOU TO:

Mom: Thank you for always believing in me when I didn't even believe in myself. Everything I do, I do for you.

Dad: Thank you for always sacrificing and providing for me to ensure that one day I'd be well equipped to live my dream. I remember every lesson you ever taught me.

Donn: Thank you for being my role model. I've tried to emulate every step you took in life. You liked a band, I liked a band. You loved a song, I loved a song. Thanks for being my hero. Thank you for also bringing Jake and Sorren into our crazy family.

Richard Nichols: For being in the lighthouse. Actually, I think you are the lighthouse.

Shawn Gee: For being the shark-proof life preserver. Many days you wanted to kill me for every foolish, reckless purchase I've ever made. You've now made me a productive, responsible businessman... who still makes reckless decision$.

Entire 1992-to-present members:

Josh

Yatta

Hub

Malik

Scott

Kamal

Rahzel

Scratch

Ben

Kirk

Frank

Martin

Tuba

Owen

Dice

Ray

and Mark Salute. I know our motto was to never overtly celebrate, for we knew the other shoe was dropping with bad news. But we've made history, fellas. When all is said and done, we made quality history. Hear, hear!

Joseph "AJ Shine" Simmons: You gave us our first big break. Without you, this would not have happened.

Jimmy Fallon: Thank you for giving us a new lease on life. I absolutely appreciate the risk you took in believing in us.

Mike Shoemaker: For all the gray hair I've added to your life, I apologize. It's a learning curve. One day, I'll get it right. Thank you for being fair.

Jonathan Cohen: JC, a lot of the magical music moments were due to your thankless hard work. Let's make more history!

Lorne Michaels: Thanks for having an open mind. It's an honor to have a footnote in your history.

To the entire staff (present and past, too) of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon: This is one of the most magical-amazingness experiences ever. There are entirely too many of you to name. Thank you for making this the greatest day job in the world.

Wendy Goldstein: You truly believed in us.