Music is weirdly cyclical. You think a sound is dead, buried under the weight of new synthesizers and TikTok trends, and then a specific drum beat kicks in that reminds you exactly where hip-hop found its soul. When De La Soul dropped the Me Myself and I song in 1989, they weren't just trying to move units. They were fighting for their lives, or at least their reputations. People kept calling them "hippies" because of the flowers on their album cover, 3 Feet High and Rising. It annoyed them.
Honestly, the song was a middle finger to being pigeonholed. It’s funny how a track meant to define individuality became one of the most sampled, played, and misread anthems in the history of the genre.
The George Clinton Sample That Changed Everything
You can’t talk about this track without talking about Funkadelic. Specifically, the 1979 hit "(Not Just) Knee Deep." Prince Paul, the mastermind producer behind De La Soul’s early sound, didn't just loop a beat; he caught a vibe. The bassline is thick. It’s heavy. It has that elastic, rubbery feel that defined P-Funk, but Paul layered it with a sense of playfulness that was totally foreign to the aggressive "tough guy" rap dominating the airwaves at the time.
Posdnuos, Trugoy the Dove, and Maseo were teenagers. Basically kids. They were playing with sounds in a way that felt like a basement hangout rather than a corporate recording session. When you hear that high-pitched squeal—the "Detroit" vocal sample—it isn't just noise. It’s a texture. It creates this chaotic, colorful atmosphere that stood in direct contrast to the stripped-back, minimalist beats of Public Enemy or the street-heavy grit of N.W.A.
Critics often miss the irony. The group actually grew to dislike the song because it became so much bigger than them. It was a "pop" hit for a group that prided itself on being alternative. Think about that for a second. The song about being yourself made them so famous that they felt they were losing the very identity they were rapping about. It’s a meta-loop that most artists never recover from.
Why the Hippie Label Was Total BS
Everyone saw the daisies. They saw the bright colors. They heard the skits about "The DAISY Age" (Da Inner Sound, Y'all) and assumed De La Soul were the rap version of Woodstock. But if you actually listen to the lyrics of the Me Myself and I song, it’s pretty defensive.
"De La Soul is from the soul," Posdnuos rhymes. He isn't talking about peace and love. He's talking about authenticity. He’s saying, "I’m not going to wear a gold chain just because you think a rapper should." At the time, the "uniform" for hip-hop was becoming standardized. Big ropes, leather jackets, B-boy stances. De La Soul showed up in floral prints and talked about plug tunin'.
It was radical.
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By the time the second verse rolls around, they’re mocking the people who try to copy their style. They saw the industry coming for their "look" before the album was even out of the charts. Trugoy’s verse is a masterclass in laid-back flow. He isn't shouting. He doesn't have to. The confidence comes from the fact that he knows he’s weird, and he’s fine with it.
The Legal Nightmare You Didn't See Coming
We have to talk about the lawsuit. This is the dark side of the Me Myself and I song legacy. De La Soul and their label, Tommy Boy, got sued by The Turtles. Yes, the 1960s pop band. The sample in question wasn't even the main funk loop; it was a snippet from "You Showed Me."
This lawsuit changed the entire music industry. Forever.
Before this, sampling was a bit like the Wild West. Producers grabbed what they liked, and usually, nobody cared unless it was a massive hit. The Turtles won. It set a legal precedent that meant every single tiny noise, every "hey," every drum kick taken from another record had to be cleared and paid for. This is why modern albums don't sound like 3 Feet High and Rising. It’s too expensive. To make a record that dense today, you’d need a legal team of fifty people and a budget of ten million dollars just for clearances.
It’s kind of tragic. The very song that celebrated creative freedom became the catalyst for the legal shackles that now define digital music production.
The 2000s Renaissance: G-Eazy and the Re-Imagining
Fast forward to 2015. A whole new generation hears those words: "It’s just me, myself, and I." But this time, it’s G-Eazy and Bebe Rexha.
Purists hated it. They thought it was a travesty. But let’s be real—G-Eazy’s "Me, Myself & I" tapped into the same universal nerve. It’s about isolation. It’s about the loneliness of success. While the De La Soul version was about protecting your personality, the G-Eazy version was about the psychological toll of fame.
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- De La Soul (1989): External defiance. "Don't tell me how to dress or rap."
- G-Eazy (2015): Internal struggle. "I don't need anyone else because I can't trust anyone else."
Different vibes, same core loneliness. It’s fascinating how the phrase "Me, Myself and I" acts as a magnet for artists who feel misunderstood. Even Beyoncé jumped on the title in 2003 for a track about self-reliance after a breakup. There is something fundamentally "human" about that trio of words. It’s the ultimate statement of self-sufficiency.
The Struggle to Get the Original Online
For years, you couldn't find the original Me Myself and I song on Spotify or Apple Music. It was a digital ghost. Because of those messy 1980s contracts and the aforementioned sampling lawsuits, De La Soul’s catalog was stuck in legal purgatory for decades.
It was a literal tragedy for music history. You had kids who loved hip-hop but had no easy way to hear the foundations of the genre. The members of the group fought their label, Tommy Boy, for years. They even told fans not to stream their music when it briefly appeared because they weren't getting paid.
Finally, in 2023, the clouds cleared. After Reservoir Media bought the catalog and worked with the surviving members (sadly, Trugoy passed away just before the re-release), the song officially hit streaming platforms. The impact was immediate. It wasn't just a nostalgia trip; it sounded fresh. In a world of over-processed, AI-generated beats, the raw, dusty groove of 1989 felt like a breath of fresh air.
Why We Still Care
Most songs from 1989 sound like a time capsule. They have that "eighties" reverb or those specific drum machine sounds that date them instantly. But the Me Myself and I song feels strangely modern. Maybe it’s the funk. Funk doesn’t age.
It also speaks to the "main character energy" everyone is obsessed with today. Long before Instagram filters and personal branding, De La Soul was talking about the importance of the individual. They were influencers before the term existed, except they were influencing people to be less like them and more like themselves.
The production is layered in a way that rewards repeat listening. If you wear good headphones, you hear the scratches, the ambient hiss, the way Maseo cuts the record. It feels alive. It’s not "perfect." There are moments where the timing is slightly off, where the vocals overlap in a way that feels like a real conversation. That’s the "human quality" that modern music often polishes away.
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How to Truly Appreciate the Track Today
Don't just put it on a "Throwback Thursday" playlist and ignore it. To get why this song matters, you have to look at what was happening around it.
- Listen to the full album: 3 Feet High and Rising is a continuous experience. The song hits harder when you hear the weird skits that lead into it.
- Check the samples: Go listen to "(Not Just) Knee Deep" by Funkadelic. Then listen to how Prince Paul chopped it. It’s a lesson in musical surgery.
- Watch the video: The music video features the group in a "hip-hop classroom" being taught how to be "real" rappers by a grumpy teacher. It’s hilarious and explains the whole concept better than any essay could.
The legacy of the Me Myself and I song isn't just a catchy chorus. It’s the permission it gave to every artist who followed. Without De La Soul, you don't get Pharrell. You don't get Outkast. You don't get Tyler, The Creator. They proved that you could be black, talented, and "weird" without losing your seat at the table.
If you're feeling overwhelmed by the pressure to fit in—whether that's at work, on social media, or in your creative life—go back to 1989 for four minutes. The message is still the same. You are the only person who can be you. Everyone else is already taken.
Actionable Steps for Music Discovery
If you want to go deeper into this specific sound and its impact on the industry, start by exploring the Native Tongues collective. This wasn't just one band; it was a movement including A Tribe Called Quest and Queen Latifah. Their shared philosophy focused on Afrocentricity and positivity without being corny.
Next, look into the history of copyright law in music. Understanding the "Grand Upright Music, Ltd. v. Warner Bros. Records Inc." case will change how you hear every sampled song. It’s the reason why modern pop songs often credit twelve different writers for a three-minute track.
Finally, try creating something "unfiltered." The Me Myself and I song was a product of three friends making each other laugh. Try to find that same spark in your own work, whatever it is. Stop worrying about the "hippie" label or whatever the modern equivalent is. Just lean into the soul.