Outkast died. The Beatles did too. A comparison.

Legendary Atlanta hip-hop duo Outkast effectively died last Friday afternoon when in an interview leaked from a forthcoming print edition of GQ, Andre “Andre 3000″ Benjamin stated that he and Antwan “Big Boi” Patton had absolutely no desire to record new material. From reading the interview, the split feels amicable, but for the hip-hop community, Friday afternoon felt like a wake for a few hours. One of our favorites had seemingly died suddenly, leaving no time for reflection and no thought as to our apparent collective desires to purchase tons of new material. However, given that Outkast were easily the Lennon and McCartney of hip-hop, lets examine Outkast as the Beatles of rap music that they became.

Money changes everything. Access to wealth creates access to closely held dreams. A lack of wealth creates an abundance of passion, a universal instinct that is easily understood and allows performers to create connections with audiences. The Dungeon Family of Outkast, Cee-Lo and so many other beloved southern precedents literally started in a basement studio that lacked an actual floor. 1994 Outkast debut Southernplayalisticcadillacmusik literally rose from the earth to hit the desk of LA Reid and Babyface, a miraculous tale of honest storytelling and earnest desire. The Beatles? They left Liverpool, England to play dingy basement bars in Hamburg, Germany, the ultimate barnstorming house band, getting their material down “ice cold” before “Hey Ya” ever existed, their rise to Capitol Records one of pop music’s best up-by-their-bootstraps tales.

Money hit Outkast hard. “‘Dre” became “Andre 3000,” a spaced out funkateer with an incredible flow, the child of the Brides of Funkenstein and Afrika Bambaataa. It was strange, but the homie was still dope, so we gave him a pass. Dating Erykah Badu? A case of access, as if you listen to The Love Below‘s “A Life in the Day of Benjamin Andre,” being in clubs where similarly intriguing intellectuals existed? Not exactly something Andre Benjamin ever expected. Similar to Andre 3000 was John Lennon. A fiercely creative artist with a passion for intellectual revolution, Yoko Ono didn’t exist in Liverpool. Only when he had the money to make London and New York a part of his ideal reality did she become a part of his creative dream.

Paul McCartney and Big Boi love women and ballin’ out of control. Always have, always will. Whether it’s a freewheeling life spent exploring free love that has always involved tales of love had and lost, or once owning a “Boom Boom Room” in his basement, both iconic lyricists have a penchant for the ladies. Insofar as wild expenditure of money? McCartney’s a noted philanthropist, and Big Boi’s love of rare pit bull terriers has allowed him to open a successful kennel. Talented men with manageable aspirations, music didn’t so much expand their minds as expand their financial possibilities.

Both Outkast and The Beatles expanded so far, so fast. Between 1994 and 1998, Outkast expanded from Southernplayalisticcadillacmusik‘s deceptively simple trap album to Aquemini‘s full scale assault on Issac Hayes-styled exquisite largesse, the 1998 release a perfect end of the 20th century take on both extremes of the black creative ideal. Between 1963-1967, The Beatles expanded as well, going from teeny-bopper idealists with hearts of soot to the pop definition of the universal hippie ideal. In both cases, so much had been creatively wagered with so much individually gained that cohesion clearly was an impossibility.

Outkast’s 2003 album was split release Speakerboxx/The Love Below. The former is a note-perfect take on the trunk-rattling southern expectation with a taste of high-class soul, the kind of pop record a brother who remembers the hood makes when he gets a little dough. The latter is an aural pop extravagance, clearly the work of someone who walks the same planet we all inhabit, but mentally interprets everything into a wholly different experience.

The Beatles’ 1968 White Album? Entirely similar. It’s the first album to show clear division in songwriting for the band. The two best examples dealing with two very different takes on proto-punk and heavy metal. Lennon’s “Revolution 9?” Dense, ambiguous and possibly Velvet Underground-inspired, it’s one of the most indigestible yet direct songs in the Beatles’ late era canon. McCartney’s “Helter Skelter?” Basic and pointed MC5 level thrash, an ear-f***ing good time.

Both groups soldiered forward until the end with material that was solid if rarely inspired in a unified fashion. In death, there’s so much intellectual and creative worth in both acts. Instead of taking the long and winding road to create a fat diamond out of dusty coal, let’s be inspired and move ahead. Memories often contain pain. A future lived remembering the past contains pleasure.