A long line of people extends outside the Canvas at L.A. Live, an event space in Downtown Los Angeles, on a sunny Friday in January. An equal mix of teenagers, millennials, parents, and grandparents, the predominately African American crowd rocks with excitement and anticipation. Many people wear Tupac Shakur T-shirts and other apparel, as though they’re about to attend a concert by the famous rapper. But Shakur, of course, has been dead for more than 25 years.
Today is the opening of the exhibit Tupac Shakur. Wake Me When I’m Free. It’s billed as a “fully immersive, thought-provoking experience” celebrating the late rapper and actor’s brief life and even briefer career. People have come here from all over the country, many of them traveling with their families in tow. Melody Robinson, 43 years old, came from Kansas City, Missouri, with her three grown children. “They got their own music, but they like Tupac, too, because they know he’s extraordinary,” she says.
Robinson’s 21-year-old son, Keith, goes even further. “I think he’s the best rapper in the world,” he says, notably using the present tense.
Even in death, Tupac Shakur has never stopped interesting and captivating fans young and old. If anything, this veneration has grown in the more than
