MEET THE PARENTS.
[image]
"There is video content at this location that is not currently supported for your eReading device. The caption for this content is displayed below."
You're Killing Your Son. (2:16) Woo! Uhh, uhh / / It's "The Gift & the Curse" It's "The Gift & the Curse"1 / Uhh, uhh yea / First they love me then they hate me then they love me again /...they love me again / Let's take a trip down...I gotcha / / Uhh, uhh yea / First they love me then they hate me then they love me again /...they love me again / Let's take a trip down...I gotcha / Let's take a trip down memory lane at the cemetery Let's take a trip down memory lane at the cemetery2 / Rain gray skies, seems at the end of every / young black life is this line, "Damn-him already? / Such a good kid," got us pourin Henn' already / / Rain gray skies, seems at the end of every / young black life is this line, "Damn-him already? / Such a good kid," got us pourin Henn' already / Liquor to the curb for my niggaz up above Liquor to the curb for my niggaz up above / / When it cracks through the pavement that's my way of sendin love When it cracks through the pavement that's my way of sendin love3 / So, give Big a hug, tell Aa-liyah I said hi / 'Til the next time I see her, on the other side / He was just some thug that caught some slugs / And we loved him cause in him we saw some of us / He walked like ussss, talked like ussss / / So, give Big a hug, tell Aa-liyah I said hi / 'Til the next time I see her, on the other side / He was just some thug that caught some slugs / And we loved him cause in him we saw some of us / He walked like ussss, talked like ussss / His back against the wall, nigga fought like us-damn His back against the wall, nigga fought like us-damn4 / Poor Isis, that's his momma name / Poor Isis, that's his momma name5 / Momma ain't strong enough to raise no boy, what's his father name? / Shorty never knew him, though he had his blood in him / / Momma ain't strong enough to raise no boy, what's his father name? / Shorty never knew him, though he had his blood in him / Hot temper, momma said he act just like her husband Hot temper, momma said he act just like her husband6 / Daddy never fucked with him, so the streets raised him / Isis blamin herself, she wish she coulda saved him / Damn near impossible, only men can raise men / He was his own man, not even him can save him / He put his faith in, uh, thirty-eight in his waist / But when you live by the gun you die by the same fate / End up dead before thirty-eight and umm / / Daddy never fucked with him, so the streets raised him / Isis blamin herself, she wish she coulda saved him / Damn near impossible, only men can raise men / He was his own man, not even him can save him / He put his faith in, uh, thirty-eight in his waist / But when you live by the gun you die by the same fate / End up dead before thirty-eight and umm / That's the life of us raised by winter, it's a cold world That's the life of us raised by winter, it's a cold world7 / Old girl turned to coke, tried to smoke her pain away / Isis, life just ended on that rainy day / When she got the news her boy body could be viewed / down at the City Morgue, opened the drawer, saw him nude / Her addiction grew, prescription drugs, sipping brew / / Old girl turned to coke, tried to smoke her pain away / Isis, life just ended on that rainy day / When she got the news her boy body could be viewed / down at the City Morgue, opened the drawer, saw him nude / Her addiction grew, prescription drugs, sipping brew / Angel dust, dipped in Angel dust, dipped in woo woo!8 / She slipped into her own fantasy world / She slipped into her own fantasy world9 / Had herself pregnant by a different dude / But reality bites and this is her life / He wasn't really her husband, though he called her wife / It was just this night when moon was full / / Had herself pregnant by a different dude / But reality bites and this is her life / He wasn't really her husband, though he called her wife / It was just this night when moon was full / And the stars were just right, and the dress was real tight And the stars were just right, and the dress was real tight10 / Had her soundin like Lisa Lisa / Had her soundin like Lisa Lisa11-I wonder if I take you home / / will you still love me after this night? will you still love me after this night? / Mike was the hardhead from the around the way / that she wanted all her life, shit she wanted all the hype / Used to hold on tight when he wheelied on the bike / He was a Willie all her life he wasn't really the one to like / It was a dude named Sha who would really treat her right / He wanted to run to the country to escape the city life / / Mike was the hardhead from the around the way / that she wanted all her life, shit she wanted all the hype / Used to hold on tight when he wheelied on the bike / He was a Willie all her life he wasn't really the one to like / It was a dude named Sha who would really treat her right / He wanted to run to the country to escape the city life / But I-sis, like this, Broadway life But I-sis, like this, Broadway life12 / She loved the Gucci sneakers, the red green and whites / Hangin out the window when she first seen him fight / / She loved the Gucci sneakers, the red green and whites / Hangin out the window when she first seen him fight / She was so turned on that she had to shower twice She was so turned on that she had to shower twice13 / How ironic, it would be some fight that / turned into a homicide that'll alter their life / See Mike at thirty-two was still on the scene / Had a son fifteen that he never saw twice / Sure he saw him as an infant, but he disowned him like / "If that was my son, he would look much different. / See I'm light-skinnded and that baby there's dark." / / How ironic, it would be some fight that / turned into a homicide that'll alter their life / See Mike at thirty-two was still on the scene / Had a son fifteen that he never saw twice / Sure he saw him as an infant, but he disowned him like / "If that was my son, he would look much different. / See I'm light-skinnded and that baby there's dark." / So it's momma's baby; poppa's maybe. So it's momma's baby; poppa's maybe.14 / Mike was still crazy out there runnin the streets (fuck niggaz want?) / had his old reliable thirty-eight gun in his reach / It's been fourteen years, him and Isis ain't speak / He runnin around like life's a peach, 'til one day / he approached this thug that had a mean mug / / Mike was still crazy out there runnin the streets (fuck niggaz want?) / had his old reliable thirty-eight gun in his reach / It's been fourteen years, him and Isis ain't speak / He runnin around like life's a peach, 'til one day / he approached this thug that had a mean mug / And it looked so familiar that he called him "Young Cuz" And it looked so familiar that he called him "Young Cuz"15 / Told him, get off the strip but the boy ain't budge (fuck you) / / Told him, get off the strip but the boy ain't budge (fuck you) / Instead he pulled out a newer thirty-eight snub Instead he pulled out a newer thirty-eight snub16 / He clearly had the drop but the boy just paused (hold up) / There was somethin in this man's face he knew he seen before / It's like lookin in the mirror seein hisself more mature / / He clearly had the drop but the boy just paused (hold up) / There was somethin in this man's face he knew he seen before / It's like lookin in the mirror seein hisself more mature / And he took it as a sign from the almighty Lord And he took it as a sign from the almighty Lord17 / You know what they say about he who hesitates in war / (What's that?) He who hesitates is lost / He can't explain what he saw before his picture went blank / / You know what they say about he who hesitates in war / (What's that?) He who hesitates is lost / He can't explain what he saw before his picture went blank / The old man didn't think he just followed his instinct The old man didn't think he just followed his instinct18 / Six shots into his kin, out of the gun / Niggaz be a father, you're killin your son / Six shots into his kin, out of the gun / / Six shots into his kin, out of the gun / Niggaz be a father, you're killin your son / Six shots into his kin, out of the gun / Niggaz be a father, you killin your sons Niggaz be a father, you killin your sons19 / Meet the parents... / Meet the parents...20
WHERE I'M FROM [image]
"There is video content at this location that is not currently supported for your eReading device. The caption for this content is displayed below."
Where I'm From. (1:54) I'm from where the hammers rung, hammers rung,1 news cameras never come news cameras never come2/ You and your man hung in every verse in your rhyme/ where the grams is slung, niggas vanish every summer niggas vanish every summer3/ Where the blue vans would come, we throw the work in the can and run we throw the work in the can and run4/ Where the plans was to get funds and skate off the set skate off the set5/ To achieve this goal quicker, sold all my weight wet sold all my weight wet6/ Faced with immeasurable odds still I gave straight bets/ So I felt I'm owed something and you nothing, check/ I'm from the other side with other guys don't walk too much I'm from the other side with other guys don't walk too much7/ And girls in the projects wouldn't fuck us if we talked too much/ So they ran up to Tompkins and sought them dudes to trust/ I don't know what the fuck they thought, those niggas is foul just like us I don't know what the fuck they thought, those niggas is foul just like us8/ I'm from where the beef is inevitable,9 summertime's unforgettable/ summertime's unforgettable/ Boosters in abundance, buy a half-price sweater new Boosters in abundance, buy a half-price sweater new10/ Your word was everything, so everything you said you'd do/ You did it, couldn't talk about it if you ain't lived it You did it, couldn't talk about it if you ain't lived it11/ I from where niggas pull your card, and argue all day about/ Who's the best MC, Biggie, Jay-Z, and Nas Who's the best MC, Biggie, Jay-Z, and Nas12/ Where the drugs czars evolve, drugs czars evolve,13 and thugs are at odds/ At each other's throats for the love of foreign cars/ Where cats catch cases, and thugs are at odds/ At each other's throats for the love of foreign cars/ Where cats catch cases, hoping the judge R-and-R's hoping the judge R-and-R's14/ But most times find themselves locked up behind bars/ I'm from where they ball and breed rhyme stars I'm from where they ball and breed rhyme stars15/ I'm from Marcy son, just thought I'd remind y'all/ Cough up a lung, where I'm from, Marcy son, ain't nothing nice/ Mentally been many places but I'm Brooklyn's own Mentally been many places but I'm Brooklyn's own16/ I'm from the place where the church is the flakiest church is the flakiest17/ And niggas is praying to god so long that they atheist And niggas is praying to god so long that they atheist18/ Where you can't put your vest away and say you'll wear it tomorrow/ 'Cause the day after we'll be saying, damn I was just with him yesterday / I'm a block away from hell, not enough shots away from stray shells / An ounce away from a triple beam still using a handheld weight scale An ounce away from a triple beam still using a handheld weight scale19 / You're laughing, you know the place well / Where the liquor stores and the base dwell / / You're laughing, you know the place well / Where the liquor stores and the base dwell / And government, fuck government, niggas politic themselves And government, fuck government, niggas politic themselves20 / Where we call the cops the A-Team / Cause they hop out of vans and spray things / / Where we call the cops the A-Team / Cause they hop out of vans and spray things / And life expectancy so low we making out wills at eighteen And life expectancy so low we making out wills at eighteen21 / Where how you get rid of guys who step out of line, your rep solidifies / / Where how you get rid of guys who step out of line, your rep solidifies / So tell me when I rap you think I give a fuck who criticize? So tell me when I rap you think I give a fuck who criticize?22 / If the shit is lies, god strike me / And I got a question, are you forgiving guys who live just like me? / / If the shit is lies, god strike me / And I got a question, are you forgiving guys who live just like me? / We'll never know We'll never know23 / One day I pray to you and said if I ever blow, I'd let 'em know / Mistakes and exactly what takes place in the ghetto / / One day I pray to you and said if I ever blow, I'd let 'em know / Mistakes and exactly what takes place in the ghetto / Promise fulfilled, but still I feel my job ain't done Promise fulfilled, but still I feel my job ain't done24 / Cough up a lung, where I'm from, Marcy son, ain't nothing nice / I'm from where they cross over and / Cough up a lung, where I'm from, Marcy son, ain't nothing nice / I'm from where they cross over and clap boards clap boards25 / / Lost Jehovah in place of rap lords, listen Lost Jehovah in place of rap lords, listen26 / I'm up the block, round the corner, and down the street / From where the pimps, prostitutes, and the drug lords meet / / I'm up the block, round the corner, and down the street / From where the pimps, prostitutes, and the drug lords meet / We make a million off of beats, cause our stories is deep We make a million off of beats, cause our stories is deep27 / / And fuck tomorrow, as long as the night before was sweet And fuck tomorrow, as long as the night before was sweet28 / Niggas get lost for weeks in the streets, / Niggas get lost for weeks in the streets, twisted off leek twisted off leek29 / And no matter the weather, niggas know how to draw heat / Whether you're four feet or Manute-size, it always starts out with / Three dice and shoot the five / Niggas thought they deuce was live, until I hit 'em with trips / / And no matter the weather, niggas know how to draw heat / Whether you're four feet or Manute-size, it always starts out with / Three dice and shoot the five / Niggas thought they deuce was live, until I hit 'em with trips / And I reached down for their money, pa forget about this And I reached down for their money, pa forget about this30 / This time around it's platinum, like the shit on my wrist / And this Glock on my waist, y'all can't do shit about this / Niggas will show you love, that's how they fool thugs / / This time around it's platinum, like the shit on my wrist / And this Glock on my waist, y'all can't do shit about this / Niggas will show you love, that's how they fool thugs / Before you know it you're lying in a pool of blood Before you know it you're lying in a pool of blood31[image]
I don't remember exactly where I was in August 2005, but at the end of that month I was mostly in front of the television, like most other people, transfixed and upset by the story of Hurricane Katrina. Most Americans were horrified by what was happening down there, but I think for black people, we took it a little more personally. I've been to shantytowns in Angola that taught me that what we consider to be crushing poverty in the United States has nothing to do with what we have materially-even in the projects, we're rich compared to some people in other parts of the world. I met people in those shantytowns who lived in one-room houses with no running water who had to pay a neighbor to get water to go to the bathroom. Those kids in Angola played ball on a court surrounded by open sewage, and while they knew it was bad, they didn't realize just how fucked up it was. It was shocking. And I know there are parts of the world even worse off than that. don't remember exactly where I was in August 2005, but at the end of that month I was mostly in front of the television, like most other people, transfixed and upset by the story of Hurricane Katrina. Most Americans were horrified by what was happening down there, but I think for black people, we took it a little more personally. I've been to shantytowns in Angola that taught me that what we consider to be crushing poverty in the United States has nothing to do with what we have materially-even in the projects, we're rich compared to some people in other parts of the world. I met people in those shantytowns who lived in one-room houses with no running water who had to pay a neighbor to get water to go to the bathroom. Those kids in Angola played ball on a court surrounded by open sewage, and while they knew it was bad, they didn't realize just how fucked up it was. It was shocking. And I know there are parts of the world even worse off than that.
The worst thing about being poor in America isn't the deprivation. In fact, I never associated Marcy with poverty when I was a kid. I just figured we lived in an apartment, that my brother and I shared a room and that we were close-whether we wanted to be or not-with our neighbors. It wasn't until sixth grade, at P.S. 168, when my teacher took us on a field trip to her house that I realized we were poor. I have no idea what my teacher's intentions were-whether she was trying to inspire us or if she actually thought visiting her Manhattan brownstone with her view of Central Park qualified as a school trip. But that's when it registered to me that my family didn't have as much. We definitely didn't have the same refrigerator she had in her kitchen, one that had two levers on the outer door, one for water and the other for ice cubes. Poverty is relative.
One of the reasons inequality gets so deep in this country is that everyone wants to be rich. That's the American ideal. Poor people don't like talking about poverty because even though they might live in the projects surrounded by other poor people and have, like, ten dollars in the bank, they don't like to think of themselves as poor. It's embarrassing. When you're a kid, even in the projects, one kid will mercilessly snap on another kid over minor material differences, even though by the American standard, they're both broke as shit.
The burden of poverty isn't just that you don't always have the things you need, it's the feeling of being embarrassed every day of your life, and you'd do anything to lift that burden. As kids we didn't complain about being poor; we talked about how rich we were going to be and made moves to get the lifestyle we aspired to by any means we could. And as soon as we had a little money, we were eager to show it.
I remember coming back home from doing work out of state with my boys in a caravan of Lexuses that we parked right in the middle of Marcy. I ran up to my mom's apartment to get something and looked out the window and saw those three new Lexuses gleaming in the sun, and thought, "Man, we doin' it." In retrospect, yeah, that was kind of ignorant, but at the time I could just feel that stink and shame of being broke lifting off of me, and it felt beautiful. The sad shit is that you never really shake it all the way off, no matter how much money you get.
SOME GET LEFT BEHIND, SOME GET CHOSEN.
I watched the coverage of the hurricane, but it was painful. Helicopters swooping over rooftops with people begging to be rescued-the helicopters would leave with a dramatic photo, but didn't bother to pick up the person on the roof. George Bush doing his flyby and declaring that the head of FEMA was doing a heckuva job. The news media would show a man running down the street, arms piled high with diapers or bottles of water, and call him a looter, with no context for why he was doing what he was doing. I'm sure there were a few idiots stealing plasma TVs, but even that has a context-anger, trauma. It wasn't like they were stealing TVs so they could go home and watch the game. I mean, where were they going to plug them shits in? As the days dragged on and the images got worse and worse-old ladies in wheelchairs dying in front of the Superdome-I kept thinking to myself, This can't be happening in a wealthy country. Why isn't anyone doing anything? This can't be happening in a wealthy country. Why isn't anyone doing anything?
Kanye caught a lot of heat for coming on that telethon and saying, "George Bush doesn't care about black people," but I backed him one hundred percent on it, if only because he was expressing a feeling that was bottled up in a lot of our hearts. It didn't feel like Katrina was just a natural disaster that arbitrarily swept through a corner of the United States. Katrina felt like something that was happening to black people, specifically.
I know all sorts of people in Louisiana and Mississippi got washed out, too, and saw their lives destroyed-but in America, we process that sort of thing as a tragedy. When it happens to black people, it feels like something else, like history rerunning its favorite loop. It wasn't just me. People saw that Katrina shit, heard the newscasters describing the victims as "refugees" in their own country, waited in vain for the government to step in and rescue those people who were dying right in front of our eyes, and we took it personally. I got angry. But more than that, I just felt hurt. In moments like that, it all starts coming back to you: slavery, images of black people in suits and dresses getting beaten on the bridge to Selma, the whole ugly story you sometimes want to think is over. And then it's back, like it never left. I felt hurt in a personal way for those people floating on cars and waving on the roofs of their shotgun houses, crying into the cameras for help, being left on their porches. Maybe I felt some sense of shame that we'd let this happen to our brothers and sisters. Eventually I hit the off button on the remote control. I went numb.
SO I GOT RICH AND GAVE BACK, TO ME THAT'S THE WIN-WIN It's crazy when people think that just because you have some money and white people start to like you that you transcend race. People try this shit all the time with successful black people, even with someone like me who was plenty black when I was on the corner. It's like they're trying to separate you from the pack-make you feel like you're the good one. It's the old house niggerfield nigger tactic.
But even if you do get it into your head that somehow you're exceptional, that you've created some distance between where you are and where you're from, things like Hurricane Katrina snap you right out of it. I couldn't forget that those were my kin out there in New Orleans, and that, forget the government, I was supposed to do something to help them. I got together with Puffy and we donated a million dollars to the relief effort, but we donated it to the Red Cross, which is barely different from donating to the government itself, the same government that failed those people the first time. Who knows how much of that money actually made it to the people on the ground?
It also made me think of the bigger picture. New Orleans was fucked up before Katrina. This was not a secret. The shame and stigma of poverty means that we turn away from it, even those of us living through it, but turning away from it doesn't make it disappear. Sooner or later it gets revealed, like it was in New Orleans. The work we have to do is deeper than just putting Band-Aids on the problems when they become full-blown disasters.
To some degree charity is a racket in a capitalist system, a way of making our obligations to one another optional, and of keeping poor people feeling a sense of indebtedness to the rich, even if the rich spend every other day exploiting those same people. But here we are. Lyor Cohen, who I consider my mentor, once told me something that he was told by a rabbi about the eight degrees of giving in Judaism. The seventh degree is giving anonymously, so you don't know who you're giving to, and the person on the receiving end doesn't know who gave. The value of that is that the person receiving doesn't have to feel some kind of obligation to the giver and the person giving isn't doing it with an ulterior motive. It's a way of putting the giver and receiver on the same level. It's a tough ideal to reach out for, but it does take away some of the patronizing and showboating that can go on with philanthropy in a capitalist system. The highest level of giving, the eighth, is giving in a way that makes the receiver self-sufficient.
Of course, I do sometimes like to see where the money I give goes. When I went to Angola for the water project I was working on and got to see the new water pump and how it changed the lives of the people in that village, I wasn't happy because I felt like I'd done something so great. I was happy to know that whatever money I'd given was actually being put to work and not just paying a seven-figure salary for the head of the Red Cross. And I did a documentary about it, not to glorify myself, but to spread the word about the problem and the possible solutions.
That's what I tried to do with my Katrina donations, and with my work for Haiti in the aftermath of their earthquake and with other causes I get involved with. I also like to make a point about hip-hop by showing how so many of us give back, even when the news media would rather focus on the things we buy for ourselves. But whether it's public or private, we can't run away from our brothers and sisters as if poverty is a contagious disease. That shit will catch up to us sooner or later, even if it's just the way we die a little when we turn on the television and watch someone's grandmother, who looks like our grandmother, dying in the heat of a flooded city while the president flies twenty thousand feet over her head.
MINORITY REPORT.
[image]
[Intro: news excerpts] The damage here along the Gulf Coast is catastrophic. / There's a frantic effort underway tonight to find / survivors. There are an uncounted number of the dead tonight.../ People are being forced to live like animals.../ We are desperate.../ No one says the federal government is doing a good job.../ And hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of people.../ No water, I fought my country for years.../ We need help, we really need help.../ In Baghdad, they drop, they air drop water, food to people. Why can't they do that to their own people? / The same idiots that can't get water into a major American city in less than three days are trying to win a war... The same idiots that can't get water into a major American city in less than three days are trying to win a war...1 / [ / [Jay-Z] People was poor before the hurricane came People was poor before the hurricane came2 / Before the downpour poured is like when Mary J. sang / Every day it rains, so every day the pain / Went ignored, and I'm sure ignorance was to blame / but life is a chain, cause and effected / Niggas off the chain because they affected / It's a dirty game so whatever is effective / / Before the downpour poured is like when Mary J. sang / Every day it rains, so every day the pain / Went ignored, and I'm sure ignorance was to blame / but life is a chain, cause and effected / Niggas off the chain because they affected / It's a dirty game so whatever is effective / From weed to selling kane, gotta put that in effect, shit From weed to selling kane, gotta put that in effect, shit3 / Wouldn't you loot, if you didn't have the loot? / and your baby needed food and you were stuck on the roof / and a helicopter swooped down just to get a scoop / / Wouldn't you loot, if you didn't have the loot? / and your baby needed food and you were stuck on the roof / and a helicopter swooped down just to get a scoop / Through his telescopic lens but he didn't scoop you Through his telescopic lens but he didn't scoop you4 / and the next five days, no help ensued / They called you a refugee because you seek refuge / and the commander-in-chief just flew by / Didn't stop, I know he had a couple seats / Just rude, JetBlue he's not / Jet flew by the spot / What if he ran out of jet fuel and just dropped / huh, that woulda been something to watch / Helicopters doing fly-bys to take a couple of shots / Couple of portraits then ignored 'em / / and the next five days, no help ensued / They called you a refugee because you seek refuge / and the commander-in-chief just flew by / Didn't stop, I know he had a couple seats / Just rude, JetBlue he's not / Jet flew by the spot / What if he ran out of jet fuel and just dropped / huh, that woulda been something to watch / Helicopters doing fly-bys to take a couple of shots / Couple of portraits then ignored 'em / He'd be just another bush surrounded by a couple orchids He'd be just another bush surrounded by a couple orchids5 / Poor kids just 'cause they were poor kids / Left 'em on they porches same old story in New Orleans / Silly rappers, because we got a couple Porsches / MTV stopped by to film our fortresses / We forget the unfortunate / Sure I ponied up a mill, but I didn't give my time / / Poor kids just 'cause they were poor kids / Left 'em on they porches same old story in New Orleans / Silly rappers, because we got a couple Porsches / MTV stopped by to film our fortresses / We forget the unfortunate / Sure I ponied up a mill, but I didn't give my time / So in reality I didn't give a dime, or a damn So in reality I didn't give a dime, or a damn6 / I just put my monies in the hands of the same people / that left my people stranded / Nothin but a bandit / Left them folks abandoned / Damn, that money that we gave was just a Band-Aid / Can't say we better off than we was before / In synopsis this is my minority report / / I just put my monies in the hands of the same people / that left my people stranded / Nothin but a bandit / Left them folks abandoned / Damn, that money that we gave was just a Band-Aid / Can't say we better off than we was before / In synopsis this is my minority report / Can't say we better off than we was before Can't say we better off than we was before7 / In synopsis this is my minority report / [ / In synopsis this is my minority report / [Outro: news excerpts] ...Buses are on the way to take those people from New Orleans to Houston... ...Buses are on the way to take those people from New Orleans to Houston... / They lyin'.../ People are dying at the convention center /...Their government has failed them /...George Bush doesn't care about black people / They lyin'.../ People are dying at the convention center /...Their government has failed them /...George Bush doesn't care about black people
DYNASTY (INTRO).
[image]
The theme song to The Sopranos1 / / plays in the key of life on my mental piano plays in the key of life on my mental piano2 / Got a strange way of seein life like / / Got a strange way of seein life like / I'm Stevie Wonder with beads under the do-rag I'm Stevie Wonder with beads under the do-rag3 / Intuition is there even when my vision's impaired, yeah / Knowin I can go just switchin a spare / On the highway of life, nigga it's sharp in my sight / 0Oh! Keen senses ever since I was a teen on the benches / / Intuition is there even when my vision's impaired, yeah / Knowin I can go just switchin a spare / On the highway of life, nigga it's sharp in my sight / 0Oh! Keen senses ever since I was a teen on the benches / everytime somebody like Ennis everytime somebody like Ennis4 was mentioned / was mentioned / I would turn green, me, bein in the trenches I would turn green, me, bein in the trenches5 / Him, livin adventurous not worryin about expenditures / I'm bravin temperatures below zero, no hero / No father figure, you gotta pardon a nigga / But I'm starvin my niggaz, and the weight loss in my figure / / Him, livin adventurous not worryin about expenditures / I'm bravin temperatures below zero, no hero / No father figure, you gotta pardon a nigga / But I'm starvin my niggaz, and the weight loss in my figure / is startin to darken my heart, 'bout to get to my liver is startin to darken my heart, 'bout to get to my liver6 / Watch it my nigga, I'm tryin to be calm but I'm gon' get richer / / Watch it my nigga, I'm tryin to be calm but I'm gon' get richer / through any means, through any means,7 with that thing that Malcolm palmed in the picture / Never read the Qu'ran or Islamic scriptures / Only psalms I read was on the arms of my niggaz / Tattooed so I carry on like I'm non-religious / Clap whoever stand between Shawn and figures / Niggaz, say it's the dawn but I'm superstitious / Shit is as dark as it's been, nothin is goin as you predicted / I move with biscuits, stop the hearts of niggaz actin too suspicious / with that thing that Malcolm palmed in the picture / Never read the Qu'ran or Islamic scriptures / Only psalms I read was on the arms of my niggaz / Tattooed so I carry on like I'm non-religious / Clap whoever stand between Shawn and figures / Niggaz, say it's the dawn but I'm superstitious / Shit is as dark as it's been, nothin is goin as you predicted / I move with biscuits, stop the hearts of niggaz actin too suspicious / This is food for thought, you do the dishes This is food for thought, you do the dishes8
MY PRESIDENT IS BLACK (REMIX).
[image]
My president is black / My Maybach too / and I'll be goddamn if my diamonds ain't blue / my money dark green / and my Porsche is light gray / I'm headin for D.C. anybody feel me I'm headin for D.C. anybody feel me1 / My president is black / My Maybach too / and I'll be goddamn if my diamonds aint blue / / My president is black / My Maybach too / and I'll be goddamn if my diamonds aint blue / my money dark green my money dark green2 / and my Porsche is light gray / I'm headin for D.C. anybody feel me / My president is black / in fact he's half white / so even in a racist mind / he's half right / if you have a racist mind / / and my Porsche is light gray / I'm headin for D.C. anybody feel me / My president is black / in fact he's half white / so even in a racist mind / he's half right / if you have a racist mind / you be aight you be aight3 / my president is black / but his house is all WHITE / Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther could walk / Martin Luther walked so Barack Obama could run / / my president is black / but his house is all WHITE / Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther could walk / Martin Luther walked so Barack Obama could run / Barack Obama ran so all the children could fly Barack Obama ran so all the children could fly4 / So I'ma spread my wings and / you can meet me in the sky / I already got my own clothes / already got my own shoes / I was hot before Barack imagine what I'm gonna do / Hello Ms. America / Hey pretty lady / that red white and blue flag / / So I'ma spread my wings and / you can meet me in the sky / I already got my own clothes / already got my own shoes / I was hot before Barack imagine what I'm gonna do / Hello Ms. America / Hey pretty lady / that red white and blue flag / wave for me baby wave for me baby5 / never thought I'd say this shit baby I'm good / you can keep your puss I don't want no more bush / no more war / no more Iraq / / never thought I'd say this shit baby I'm good / you can keep your puss I don't want no more bush / no more war / no more Iraq / no more white lies no more white lies6 / the president is BLACK / the president is BLACK
When I first started working on this book, I told my editor that I wanted it to do three important things. The first thing was to make the case that hip-hop lyrics-not just my lyrics, but those of every great MC-are poetry if you look at them closely enough. The second was I wanted the book to tell a little bit of the story of my generation, to show the context for the choices we made at a violent and chaotic crossroads in recent history.
And the third piece was that I wanted the book to show how hip-hop created a way to take a very specific and powerful experience and turn it into a story that everyone in the world could feel and relate to.
All of those threads came together at a pivotal moment for me, the moment when I fully crossed from one life to another.
CLARK SOUGHT ME OUT, DAME BELIEVED.
I hadn't been to Manhattan in a minute; in fact, I probably hadn't seen any of the five boroughs in months. There's a line in a song I did with Scarface, guess who's back, still smell the crack in my clothes, guess who's back, still smell the crack in my clothes, and that's real after you've been putting in work for a while. No one else can actually smell the coke, of course, but you still feel it coming off you, like your pores are bleeding a haze of work into the air around you-especially if you're sitting still for the first time in weeks, ass on a hard chair in a carpeted room with the door closed and windows sealed and a man in a suit staring you down. I could practically see the shit floating off of me. and that's real after you've been putting in work for a while. No one else can actually smell the coke, of course, but you still feel it coming off you, like your pores are bleeding a haze of work into the air around you-especially if you're sitting still for the first time in weeks, ass on a hard chair in a carpeted room with the door closed and windows sealed and a man in a suit staring you down. I could practically see the shit floating off of me.
I was sitting across a table from Ruben Rodriguez, a music business vet wearing the uniform: a double-breasted silk suit, a pinky ring, and a tie knotted like a small fist under his chin. The room, the table, the view outside the window of a pinstriped skyscraper-the whole scene was surreal to me. I'd been living like a vampire. The only people I'd seen in weeks were the people in my crew down south and my girl in Virginia. And, of course, the customers, the endless nighttime tide of fiends who kept us busy. My hands were raw from handling work and handling money; my nerves were shot from the pressure. Now I was in this office, sitting quietly, waiting to hear something worth my time from this dude, who was looking back at me like he was waiting for the same thing. Luckily the silence was filled by the third guy in the room. Sitting next to me was Dame Dash.
Clark Kent, the producer/DJ/sneakerhead, is the one who introduced me to Dame. I knew Clark through Mister Cee, Big Daddy Kane's DJ. Clark was pivotal at this stage in my life. In the mirror, all I saw was a hustler-a hustler who wrote rhymes on corner-store paper bags and memorized them in hotel rooms far away from home-but still, first a hustler. It's who I'd been since I was sixteen years old on my own in Trenton, New Jersey. I couldn't even think about wanting to be something else; I wouldn't let myself visualize another life. But I wrote because I couldn't stop. It was a release, a mental exercise, a way of keeping sane. When I'd leave Brooklyn for long stretches and come back a hundred years later, Clark would find me and say, "Let's do this music." I don't know if he smelled the blow on my clothes, but if he did, it didn't matter. He kept on me when I was halfway gone.
I appreciated him-and Ty-Ty and B-High-when they'd encourage me, but I was so skeptical about the business that I would also get annoyed. B-High used to really come down hard on me. He's real honest and direct, and he told me straight up he thought I was throwing my life away hustling. He may have had a job, a gig at Chemical Bank with a jacket and tie, but he wasn't exactly in a position to judge. He'd see me on the street after I'd been away for six months and give me a look of absolute disgust. There were whole years when B-High, my own cousin, didn't even speak to me.
But Clark wasn't family like Ty-Ty and B-High. He had no reason to come after me, except that he thought I had something new to offer this world he loved. Clark would call me if there were open mics at a party, and if I wasn't too far away, I'd come home, get on at the party, then head back, sometimes in the middle of the night, to get back to my business. The beats would still be ringing in my ears.
Clark had been passing Dame groups to manage and splitting a signing fee with him. He knew Dame was hungry for talent to represent so he could break into the music industry and thought we'd be a good match. So he arranged a meeting at an office somewhere. Dame walked into the room talking and didn't stop. He would later tell me he was impressed because I had on Nike Airs and dudes from Brooklyn didn't wear Airs, but I didn't say much at that first meeting. I could barely get a word in edgewise. He was a Harlem dude through and through-flashy, loud, animated. Harlem cats enter every room like it's a movie set and they're the star of the flick. Dame was entertaining, but I could see that he was serious and had a real vision. His constant talking was like a release of all the ambition boiling in him, like a pot whistling steam. He was a few years younger than I was, just barely in his twenties, but he projected bulletproof confidence. And in the end, underneath all the performance, what he said made sense. I believed him.
Dame knew I needed convincing to leave hustling alone, so right away he offered to put me on a record, "Can I Get Open," with Original Flavor, a group he was managing. I went to the studio, said my verse, and as soon as we finished the song and video, I skated back out of town and out of touch. When Dame could catch me, he would set up these meetings with record labels and drag me to them, but none of them were fucking with us. Not Columbia, not Def Jam, not Uptown. Sometimes there was talk of a single deal, but whenever it got to the point where it was supposed to be real, the label would renege.
THE WORLD DON'T LIKE US, IS THAT NOT CLEAR So one more time here we were, again, in this office with Ruben Rodriguez. I didn't know Rodriguez, but I knew this wasn't like taking a meeting with Andre Harrell or Sylvia Rhone, both of whom had already shut us down. We were working our way down the industry depth chart. I didn't have my hopes up, but I respected Dame's hustle enough to keep coming to these meetings. Dame made his pitch and then Rodriguez sat back in his chair and leveled his eyes at me. "Yo, give me a rhyme right now," he said.
I'm not against rhyming for people when they ask. I'd rapped for free at open mics all over the tri-state area, battling other MCs, spitting on underground radio shows, getting on mix tapes, hopping on pool tables in crowded back rooms. So I wasn't too arrogant to break out into a rhyme. Maybe it was the drive into the city still wearing on me or maybe I was anxious about some loose end in Virginia. Or maybe I was just disoriented by the whiplash of my life. But when he asked me to rhyme, it felt like he was asking a nigger to tap-dance for him in his fancy suit and pinky ring. So I bounced. Well, first I said, "I ain't giving no free shows," and then I walked. It wasn't arrogant, but I did expect a level of respect, not just for me personally, but for the art.
It's hard to explain the feeling in the air in the early and mid-nineties. MCs were taking leaps and bounds. You had Big getting established. You had underground battle legends like Big L creating dense metaphorical landscapes, inventing slang so perfect you'd swear it was already in the dictionary. You had Nas doing Illmatic Illmatic. Wu-Tang starting to buzz. There was some creative, mind-blowing shit going on. Every MC with a mic was competing to push the art further than the last one, flipping all kinds of new content, new ways of telling stories, new slang, new rhyme schemes, new characters, new sources of inspiration. When I would come back to New York and get into the music, that was the world I was walking in, competing in. For all of my disgust with the industry, I never stopped caring about the craft or my standing in it. When I was in the presence of another true MC, I'd spit for days; I never said no. I'd put all the money and hustling to the side and be just like a traveling bluesman or something, ready to put my guitar case down and start playing. I wasn't so thirsty for rap to pay my bills. It wasn't just about money.
Every time Dame left these meetings he'd get so heated. He couldn't believe they didn't "get" me. But I wasn't surprised. I expected nothing from the industry. I just tried to shrug it off and get back to my real life. Dame was getting frustrated trying to keep up with me, so he put together a makeshift tour to keep me focused on music. At the time, Dame was trying to do business with Kareem "Biggs" Burke, his man from the Bronx. Biggs and I clicked right away. We had a similar outlook and disposition. He came on and acted as a kind of road manager to help Dame with the tour dates, if you could call it a tour. Sometimes Dame and his group Original Flavor-Suave Lover, Tone, and Ski-and I would just pile up in a Pathfinder and do shows up and down the East Coast. I was being a team player; I piled in the truck, stayed in the double rooms with the rest of them. In some ways, those were like my college days, taking road trips, bunked up with friends, learning my profession, except that I still had a full-time job. It was a schizoid life, but it was all I knew.
THE SAME PLACE WHERE THE RHYME'S INVENTED In some ways, rap was the ideal way for me to make sense of a life that was doubled, split into contradictory halves. This is one of the most powerful aspects of hip-hop as it evolved over the years. Rap is built to handle contradictions. To this day people look at me and assume that I must not be serious on some level, that I must be playing some kind of joke on the world: How can he be rapping about selling drugs on one album and then get on Oprah Oprah talking about making lemon pie the next day? How can he say that talking about making lemon pie the next day? How can he say that police were al-Qaeda to black men police were al-Qaeda to black men on one album and then do a benefit concert for the police who died on 9/11 to launch another? How can a song about the election of a black president and the dreams of Martin Luther King have a chorus about the color of his Maybach? When I was on the streets, my team would wonder why I was fucking with the rap shit. And when I was out doing shows, music cats would shake their heads at the fact that I was still hustling. How can he do both unless he's some kind of hypocrite? on one album and then do a benefit concert for the police who died on 9/11 to launch another? How can a song about the election of a black president and the dreams of Martin Luther King have a chorus about the color of his Maybach? When I was on the streets, my team would wonder why I was fucking with the rap shit. And when I was out doing shows, music cats would shake their heads at the fact that I was still hustling. How can he do both unless he's some kind of hypocrite?
But this is one of the things that makes rap at its best so human. It doesn't force you to pretend to be only one thing or another, to be a saint or sinner. It recognizes that you can be true to yourself and still have unexpected dimensions and opposing ideas. Having a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other is the most common thing in the world. The real bullshit is when you act like you don't don't have contradictions inside you, that you're so dull and unimaginative that your mind never changes or wanders into strange, unexpected places. have contradictions inside you, that you're so dull and unimaginative that your mind never changes or wanders into strange, unexpected places.
Part of how contradictions are reconciled in rap comes from the nature of the music. I've rapped over bhangra, electronica, soul samples, classic rock, alternative rock, indie rock, the blues, doo-wop, bolero, jazz, Afrobeat, gypsy ballads, Luciano Pavarotti, and the theme song of a Broadway musical. That's hip-hop: Anything can work-there are no laws, no rules. Hip-hop created a space where all kinds of music could meet, without contradiction.
When I recorded "Hard Knock Life (Ghetto Anthem)" over a mix of the theme song from Annie Annie-a brilliant track put together by Mark the 45 King that I found through Kid Capri-I wasn't worried about the clash between the hard lyrics (where all my niggas with the rubber grips, buck shots) and the image of redheaded Annie. Instead, I found the mirror between the two stories-that Annie's story was mine, and mine was hers, and the song was the place where our experiences weren't contradictions, just different dimensions of the same reality.
To use that song from Annie Annie we had to get clearance from the copyright holder. I wasn't surprised when the company that owned the rights sent our lawyers a letter turning us down. Lord knows what they thought I was going to rap about over that track. Can you imagine "Fuck the Police" over "It's a Hard Knock Life"? Actually, it would've been genius. we had to get clearance from the copyright holder. I wasn't surprised when the company that owned the rights sent our lawyers a letter turning us down. Lord knows what they thought I was going to rap about over that track. Can you imagine "Fuck the Police" over "It's a Hard Knock Life"? Actually, it would've been genius.
But I felt like the chorus to that song perfectly captured what little kids in the ghetto felt every day: " 'Stead of kisses, we get kicked." We might not all have literally been orphans, but a whole generation of us had basically raised ourselves in the streets. So I decided to write the company a letter myself. I made up this story about how when I was a seventh-grader in Bed-Stuy, our teacher held an essay contest and the three best papers won the writers a trip to the city to see Annie Annie. A lie. I wrote that as kids in Brooklyn we hardly ever came into the city. True. I wrote that from the moment the curtain came up I felt like I understood honey's story. Of course, I'd never been to see Annie Annie on Broadway. But I had seen the movie on TV. Anyway, they bought it, cleared it, and I had one of my biggest hits. During my live shows I always stop the music and throw it to the crowd during the chorus. I stare out as a sea of people-old heads, teenagers, black, white, whatever-throw their hands up and heads back and sing like it's the story of their own lives. on Broadway. But I had seen the movie on TV. Anyway, they bought it, cleared it, and I had one of my biggest hits. During my live shows I always stop the music and throw it to the crowd during the chorus. I stare out as a sea of people-old heads, teenagers, black, white, whatever-throw their hands up and heads back and sing like it's the story of their own lives.
But it's not just the music that allows hip-hop to contain contradictions. It's in the act of rhyming itself. It's simple: Rhymes can make sense of the world in a way that regular speech can't. Take my song "Can I Live," from Reasonable Doubt Reasonable Doubt. The song opens with a spoken intro, just me talking: We hustle out of a sense of hopelessness, sort of a desperation, through that desperation, we become addicted, sorta like the fiends we accustomed to serving. But we feel we have nothin' to lose so we offer you, well, we offer our lives, right. What do you bring to the table?
That's some real shit! But it's a statement that raises questions. It's sort of like the beginning of an argument. You can agree or disagree. Now here's a line from the body of the song: I'd rather die enormous than live dormant/that's how we on it That's it. No argument, it is what it is. Why? The rhyme convinces you. The words connect. That simple couplet takes the idea of the spoken intro and makes it feel powerful, almost unassailable. Think about it: O. J. Simpson might be a free man today because "glove don't fit" rhymed with "acquit." It was a great sound bite for the media, but it was also as persuasive as the hook on a hit song. That's the power of rhymes.
But while it seems like rhymes are tricking you into making connections that don't really exist-wait a minute, what about the DNA evidence, dammit!-the truth is that rhymes are just reminding you that everything's connected. Take the first verse of Rakim's classic "In the Ghetto." If you just made a list of the rhyming words in that first verse, here's what it would look like: Earth, birth, universe / Soul, controller / First, worst / Going, flowing / Rough, bust / State, shake, generate, earthquakes / Hard, boulevard, God, scarred, / Hell, fell / Trip, slip, grip, equip / Seen on, fiend on, lean on / Go, flow, slow / Back, at First of all, when you look at a list like this, you realize how brilliant Rakim in his prime was. The rhyming words alone tell stories: Rough/bust. Go/slow/flow. Rough/bust. Go/slow/flow. The combination of The combination of earth/ birth/universe earth/ birth/universe is a creation epic in three words. But what's really dope is when you look at words that seem to have nothing to do with each other, like is a creation epic in three words. But what's really dope is when you look at words that seem to have nothing to do with each other, like seen on/fiend on/lean on. seen on/fiend on/lean on. What's What's that that story? Here's the couplet: story? Here's the couplet: any stage I'm seen on, a mic I fiend onI stand alone and need nothing to lean on Fantastic. Rakim chose the words because they rhymed, but it was his genius to combine them in a way that made it feel like those words were always meant to be connected.
[image]
So maybe it's not an accident that rhyming kept me sane in those years when I was straddling so many different worlds. The rhymes brought me back to something basic in me, even if they were just technical rhymes, just rhyming for rhyming, with no real, deep subject. And when I started writing about my life and the lives of the people around me, the rhymes helped me twist some sense out of those stories. And eventually the rhymes created a path for me to move from one life to another. Because I never had to reject Shawn Carter to become Jay-Z. Shawn Carter's life lives in Jay's rhymes-transformed, of course: Flesh and blood became words, ideas, metaphors, fantasies, and jokes. But those two characters come together through the rhymes, become whole again. The multitude is contained. It's a power-ful magic. No wonder so many MCs lose their minds.
BLACK ENTREPRENEUR, NOBODY DID US NO FAVORS.
After every label in the industry turned us down, and I do mean every label in town, Dame, Biggs and I decided, Fuck it, why be workers anyway? Being a recording artist on a major label is the most contractually exploitative relationship you can have in America, and it's legal. All three of us had read Hit Men, Hit Men, the industry bible, and we knew what kind of gangsters had established record companies. And the truth is, even if we were willing to be exploited workers, these dudes were not fucking with us, at all. the industry bible, and we knew what kind of gangsters had established record companies. And the truth is, even if we were willing to be exploited workers, these dudes were not fucking with us, at all.
Dame had taken the rejection personally; he wanted to win for the same reasons we all did, but he also looked forward to the day when the same people who'd turned us down would be calling us for hits. I never do things to get a reaction from other people, good or otherwise. My personal breakthroughs came in stages.
First, I had to let go of some of the past. My girlfriend in Virginia would sometimes come with me on my trips to New York. She knew what I was doing in Virginia-her brother was down with my crew-but she didn't really know about my dreams of being an MC. On one road trip I told her about what happened in London with EMI and Jaz and how disappointed I had been. It was my first time really talking about it with anyone-not just the facts, but the feeling of a dream being crushed. When I said it to her, I realized I was actually scared of it happening again. When I heard myself telling her about Jaz, I realized that I was holding on to disappointment over failure that didn't even belong to me. I was standing in my own way.
It still took me a while to let it go, even as things were getting darker for me on the streets. I was doing well in that world, but the irony is that the more success you have in the life, the deeper the costs become and the clearer it becomes that you can't keep doing it. That it's killing you and hurting everyone you know. One of the ways the streets kept ahold on me was that I lived the independence of that life. One of the benefits of me and my crew working out of town was that I never had to be under the thumb of one of the big Brooklyn bosses. We were like pioneers on the frontier, staking out new territory where we could run things ourselves. I didn't want to give that up to become someone's contracted employee. I'd been on my own since I was a kid. But when I could really see myself not just rapping but being part of a partnership that would run the whole show, I knew I was ready to take that step.
So in 1994, Dame, Biggs, and I pooled our resources to form Roc-A-Fella Records. Tone came up with the name, which was aspirational and confrontational.
The first record we made was the single "I Can't Get With That." We recorded it in Clark Kent's basement studio, and my man Abdul Malik Abbott shot the video for five thousand dollars. The song was a showcase for my variety of flows: fast rhyming, slow rhyming, stacked, spare. The video was pretty basic, but our only goal was to get it in on Ralph McDaniels' Video Music Box, a New York institution that aired on a local UHF station. We pressed up our own vinyl. B-High made champagne baskets and sent them to DJs. We made sure that the mix-tape DJs-like Ron G, S&S, and Kid Capri-had it. We sent the record to mainstream stations, too, although getting it played on the big stations was a long shot.
We didn't know the business yet, but we knew how to hustle. Like a lot of underground crews on a mission, we were on some real trunk-of-the-car shit. The difference with us was that we didn't want to get stalled at low-level hustling. We had a plan. We did more than talk about it, we wrote it down. Coming up with a business plan was the first thing the three of us did. We made short and long-term projections, we kept it realistic, but the key thing is that we wrote it down, which is as important as visualization in realizing success.
The early Roc team was kids like Lenny Santiago, Biggs's little brother Hip-Hop, Gee Roberson, and other soldiers-all of whom have gone on to tremendous success in the industry. Back then they'd go to record stores-this is when New York record stores like Fat Beats and the spot on 125th and Broadway still sold singles on consignment. They'd drop the single off and come back every couple of days to collect half the proceeds of what had been sold. They'd show up and collect 150 dollars, an amount that would've been toll money in a former life. Ty, B-High, and I were right in there, too, in the stores, politicking with retailers, and personally building relationships with DJs. It was do or die.
I RAP AND I'M REAL, I'M ONE OF THE FEW HERE "In My Lifetime" was the first song that really connected all the dots for me. It featured a distinctive flow, but subtly. It wasn't a song about about flow. It was a song about the Life. It wasn't a brand-new subject-a million other rappers had already talked about selling drugs-but I knew niggas knew the difference. flow. It was a song about the Life. It wasn't a brand-new subject-a million other rappers had already talked about selling drugs-but I knew niggas knew the difference.
I know the phrase keeping it real keeping it real has been killed to the point where it doesn't even mean anything anymore in rap but to me it's essential. The realness comes from how an MC shapes whatever their experience is into a rhyme. It's in the logic the lyrics follow, the emotional truth that supports it, the human motivations the MC fills in, and the commitment to getting even the smallest details right. That's probably true for all stories, whether they're in books or movies or songs. When I first watched has been killed to the point where it doesn't even mean anything anymore in rap but to me it's essential. The realness comes from how an MC shapes whatever their experience is into a rhyme. It's in the logic the lyrics follow, the emotional truth that supports it, the human motivations the MC fills in, and the commitment to getting even the smallest details right. That's probably true for all stories, whether they're in books or movies or songs. When I first watched Menace II Society, Menace II Society, I had no idea whether or not the Hughes brothers had lived the life they described-or, to be honest, if anyone did-but when I saw the opening scene, I immediately believed the story was real. It was because of the details, the way the smoke filled that red-lit room, the little pistol homeboy's dad whipped out, Marvin Gaye soul spinning on the turntable. The look on the kid's face when his pop started blazing. You can't fake that kind of emotional truth. You might say, "Well, it I had no idea whether or not the Hughes brothers had lived the life they described-or, to be honest, if anyone did-but when I saw the opening scene, I immediately believed the story was real. It was because of the details, the way the smoke filled that red-lit room, the little pistol homeboy's dad whipped out, Marvin Gaye soul spinning on the turntable. The look on the kid's face when his pop started blazing. You can't fake that kind of emotional truth. You might say, "Well, it was was a fictional story, and those weren't real people, they were actors." But the film was executed in a way that made it real-everybody, the writers, the actors, the set designers, tapped into something true. a fictional story, and those weren't real people, they were actors." But the film was executed in a way that made it real-everybody, the writers, the actors, the set designers, tapped into something true.
Big's records were like that. They could be about the most outrageous things-hijacking a subway, pulling off an armed heist, robbing one of the New York Knicks-but he'd ground them in details that made them feel completely real, even when you knew he was just fucking with you. Like he begins his song "Warning" with completely humble, relatable details-now I'm yawning, wipe the cold out my eye-so that from the beginning you trust him. But then he builds it, takes you along step by step, till you don't even realize when you've left reality and entered a ferocious fantasy of threats and revenge-c4 to your door no beef no more, nigga. And even there, he doesn't just say, I'll blow up your house. He specifies the explosive by its technical name. He gets the details right-the homey ones and the fantastical ones-and gets the emotion right, too, which is that familiar feeling of And even there, he doesn't just say, I'll blow up your house. He specifies the explosive by its technical name. He gets the details right-the homey ones and the fantastical ones-and gets the emotion right, too, which is that familiar feeling of I can't believe this shit, but I really wish a nigga would. I can't believe this shit, but I really wish a nigga would. We've all been there at some point, although probably without the dynamite. It all stays real, whether he's kind of shaking his head in sad disbelief in the chorus- We've all been there at some point, although probably without the dynamite. It all stays real, whether he's kind of shaking his head in sad disbelief in the chorus-damn, niggas want to stick me for my papers-or on some next-level violent braggadocio-got the rottweilers by the door, and I feed 'em gunpowder. And then you get to the end and he suddenly catches himself in the middle of his crazy, escalating threats and becomes regular-guy Big again: And then you get to the end and he suddenly catches himself in the middle of his crazy, escalating threats and becomes regular-guy Big again: Hold on, I hear somebody coming. Hold on, I hear somebody coming. Which starts the story again. Which starts the story again.
When Big got into it with Tupac, some hip-hop journalists were like, Hey, isn't this the same nigga who said c4 at your door? Why hasn't he planted a bomb in Pac's house yet? Hey, isn't this the same nigga who said c4 at your door? Why hasn't he planted a bomb in Pac's house yet? which is just the kind of dumb shit that rap always gets subjected to. Not to say there wasn't real beef there, lethal beef, maybe, but which is just the kind of dumb shit that rap always gets subjected to. Not to say there wasn't real beef there, lethal beef, maybe, but Entertainment Weekly Entertainment Weekly isn't outraged that Matt Damon isn't really assassinating rogue CIA agents between movies. It goes to show that even when he was narrating a fantasy with all the crazy, blood-rushing violence of a Tarantino flick packed into three minutes, Big was real enough that some people thought he was just describing a day in his life. isn't outraged that Matt Damon isn't really assassinating rogue CIA agents between movies. It goes to show that even when he was narrating a fantasy with all the crazy, blood-rushing violence of a Tarantino flick packed into three minutes, Big was real enough that some people thought he was just describing a day in his life.
Even some of our greatest MCs sometimes strayed away from their own emotional truth. You'll hear a conscious MC do an ignorant joint and you'll feel a little sick because it's so wrong. Or a classic party starter like MC Hammer suddenly becomes a gangsta and you go, Really? Please don't. You don't have to! Really? Please don't. You don't have to! When I was the CEO at Def Jam, one of my initial signings was the Roots. When I sat down with ?uestlove to talk about their new album, I told him, "Don't try to give me a hot radio single. That's not who you are. Worry about making a great album, from the first cut to the last, a great Roots album." You can't fake whatever the current trend is if it's not you, because it might work for a second, but it's a house of sand. When I was the CEO at Def Jam, one of my initial signings was the Roots. When I sat down with ?uestlove to talk about their new album, I told him, "Don't try to give me a hot radio single. That's not who you are. Worry about making a great album, from the first cut to the last, a great Roots album." You can't fake whatever the current trend is if it's not you, because it might work for a second, but it's a house of sand.
I remember in the 1980s, when rock music started losing ground, which created a lane for hip-hop to become the dominant pop music. Once MTV launched, rock started to change. Style started trumping substance, which culminated in the rise of the big hair bands. There were probably some great hair bands-I wouldn't really know-but I do know that most of them were terrible; even they'll admit that now. And what's worse is that the thing that made rock great, its rawness, whether it was Little Richard screaming at the top of his lungs or the Clash smashing their guitars, disappeared in all that hairspray. It was pure decadence. It crippled rock for a long time. I wasn't mad, because rap was more than ready to step in.
A couple years ago when Auto-Tune started to really blow up in black music, I got the sinking feeling that I'd seen this story before. There were people who used Auto-Tune technology cleverly, to make great pop music, the kind of music that gives you a sudden sugar high and then disappears without a trace. Kanye made a great, original Auto-Tune album, 808s & Heartbreak, 808s & Heartbreak, which was entirely his own sound. Kanye's a genuine talent, so he did it right. But then rappers across the board started fucking with it. It was disturbing. It felt almost like a conspiracy. Instead of aspiring to explore their humanity-their brains and hearts and guts-these rappers were aspiring to which was entirely his own sound. Kanye's a genuine talent, so he did it right. But then rappers across the board started fucking with it. It was disturbing. It felt almost like a conspiracy. Instead of aspiring to explore their humanity-their brains and hearts and guts-these rappers were aspiring to sound like machines. sound like machines. And it worked for some rappers; they made quick money with it. But they were cashing in at the expense of a whole culture that had been built over two decades by people like Rakim and Kane, by legends like Big and Tupac. And in the end, these Auto-Tune rappers were going to fuck up everybody's money; I also saw developments in indie rock that made me think they were ready to take rap's mantle, because they were experimenting with different paths to that same authentic, raw place that rap used to inhabit. And it worked for some rappers; they made quick money with it. But they were cashing in at the expense of a whole culture that had been built over two decades by people like Rakim and Kane, by legends like Big and Tupac. And in the end, these Auto-Tune rappers were going to fuck up everybody's money; I also saw developments in indie rock that made me think they were ready to take rap's mantle, because they were experimenting with different paths to that same authentic, raw place that rap used to inhabit.
So I recorded a song called "D.O.A. (Death of Auto-Tune)." It wasn't because I was trying to destroy the career of anyone in particular. I wanted to kill Auto-Tune like Kurt Cobain killed the hair bands. It's not a game. Musical genres have been known to die, mostly because they lose their signature and their vitality, and let other genres steal their fire. Where's disco? Where's the blues, for that matter?
What's hip-hop's greatness? It's a cliche, but its greatness is that it keeps it real, in the most complicated sense of reality. And that realness lives in the voice of the MC. That will never change.
IN MY LIFETIME, NIGGA, THAT WAS ME FIRST.
To get "In My Lifetime" out there, we negotiated a single deal with Payday that guaranteed wider distribution than we'd been able to get on our own. Once we secured that deal, we rented an office in the financial district, on John Street, around the corner from the World Trade Center. In our minds, we were staying close to the money, to Wall Street. Our girls, who to this day still work with me on some level, were holding us down. Tiny, funny-ass Chaka Pilgrim, who's like my little sister, was in the office, complaining about the mice and the dirty watercoolers. Dara and Omoyole McIntosh started our fan club, Fan Fam, before we even had any fans. Our office felt more like an apartment, with a big-screen TV, a leather couch, and dice games jumping off in the corner. We didn't have desks, computers, air-conditioning, or any of the shit we really needed; we had a business plan, but we were still wild, rough around the edges. When Chaka and Omye would go to leave the office at noon, Ty and I would be like, "Where ya'll going?" and Chaka's smart ass would be like, "Hello? We're going to lunch-ever heard of it? People with real jobs in offices go on them." I started ordering food in, like, "Sit your little ass down."
There was so much love back then; everyone who started out with the Roc believed in us and wanted to see us win.