WW: Okay, okay.
SK: So, I gave him an incredible superstar deal.
WW: Right.
SK: But as usual, people gonna look at me because I’m from the ghetto—
WW: Mmm-hmm.
SK: —that I’m doing a bad deal with him.
WW: Yeah.
SK: And since these other guys is not from the ghetto, they’re doing—
WW: The white people.
SK: Yeah. It’s a difference. Plain as day. You know, majority of slave mentalities think that white people’s ice is colder than black people’s ice—
WW: Right.
In 2000, while still serving time for probation violation, according to a published report, he donated twenty-one thousand dollars to rebuild a Sacramento, California, playground for children from low-income families. Suge helped replace a jungle gym with carousels, swings, and monkey bars that had been destroyed by vandals who set it on fire.
He was quoted as saying: “I saw a report about it on local TV. A playground is the only safe place for kids to play, and then somebody comes along and destroys it. A senseless crime that hurts little kids. I called Death Row Records in Los Angeles, told them to find out the cost to rebuild the playground, and cut a check to cover it.”
Such is the dichotomy that is Suge Knight. He is a man with an enormous capacity to do good things. He is also a man with a very dark side as well.
In a published report following the acquittal of Puffy of those gun and bribery charges stemming from the shooting at Club New York in 1999, Suge is quoted as saying: “They don’t send a nigga who’s wearing shiny suits and hanging out with Martha Stewart to jail. Who is he a threat to? He’s just acting a fool. I’m the nigga people are afraid of.”
And he ain’t lied yet.
And Suge doesn’t bite his tongue in regards to Puffy. He made no bones about his disdain for the way Puffy let Shyne take the full rap for that Club New York shooting:
WW: So, the rumor has it that you’re in New York because you’re trying to get Shyne the way you got Tupac. Is there any truth to that? Which, by the way, would be a brilliant plan. I mean, it would free the man from jail light years before he would actually get out.
SK: Actually, I would bail the guy out. I would do what I can to get that guy out. He don’t necessarily have to be an artist on Tha Row, but I would do it because I think that was like one of the worst things that could happen to anybody. That’s when I had a little, little, little, little respect, very little respect for Puffy. The little respect was ’cause he’s black. After what he did to Shyne—
WW: He snitched. Right?
SK: He’s a rat. I do not like rats. I do not like snitches. I think a rat is the lowest that you can get.
WW: Yeah.
SK: I think any snitches or rats are in the way. I think they should either be the ones not living and let somebody else live who wanna make a difference, or they should be the ones locked up and let the ones who try to do somethingoutta prison. The thing about it is that what Puffy did was very, very wrong. That broke all rules. But, more importantly, if that was my artist—
WW: Mmm-hmm.
SK: —and they was gonna give him ten years, knowing that the judge, they really want me, and he had this old Hollywood-ass lawyer, he had Johnnie Cochran—
WW: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
SK: I’da went to Johnnie and said, “Look, they trying to give him ten years, they really want me, tell ’em we’ll do a deal. I’ll do a year, Shyne do a year, and we’ll walk.”
WW: Okay.
SK: And I think they woulda went for it. They woulda went for it.
WW: You know, Suge, not for nothing, that is a pretty damn good plan right there.
SK: They woulda went for it. And I woulda did a year for my artist. I woulda did two years or even three, but he coulda got away with doing a year. They coulda did a year apiece.
WW: So have you put any money in Shyne’s commissary and have you been to visit him?
SK: I haven’t been to visit him. I mean, they ain’t gonna let me go visit him. I am on parole. . . .
WW: Oh, that’s right. (Laughs.)
SK: (Chuckles.) You know? But I sent the word out there and you know, if he wanna holla, he’ll holla at me and I’ll holla back. You know? And as far as putting money on his books, that’s nothing. I’m trying to get the boy a lawyer to get him up outta there for he can have a career.
WW: Wow.
Suge is back in jail for violating probation stemming from the beating of a parking lot attendant. He’s away now, but he will be back. Dudes like Suge don’t just go away . . . silently. He’ll be back. Whether he will be putting out good music or terrorizing the game when he’s out is the question. But he will be back.
I look forward to Suge coming back. Hip-hop needs Suge because in hip-hop you almost have to take it—take whatever it is that you want—or you’re not going to get it. And there are so many snakes in the game that the game needs someone whose foot is big enough to stomp on the heads of the snakes, or least let the snakes know that the foot is out there. He balances the game.
In an industry full of devils, you need to have one devil that even the other devils fear. You need one person whom people can turn to. That people are scared of Suge—and make no mistake, even the biggest names and the so-called baddest people in hip-hop are afraid of Suge—is a good thing.
But with that fear comes responsibility.
CHAPTER
3
What Happened to Hip-Hop?
I remember when hip-hop traded in its African medallions and gold chains for Glocks and a gangsta mentality. It was in the early 1990s, and I didn’t like it at all. I went from going to appearances at clubs where everyone was raising their glasses in glee as they sang along with Naughty by Nature’s “Hip Hop Hooray” to making sure I had security at all times and constantly watching the exit doors to be certain that I could get out in a hurry just in case. I would even see that if we parked in a lot, it would not be the one closest to the venue, because in a fast getaway I didn’t want to be where the crowd was. Hip-hop turned dangerous in the mid 1990s for no particular reason.
In many ways, I guess, hip-hop was mirroring society at the time. People were getting shot and stabbed for simply stepping on someone’s new sneakers by accident. Crack and drug dealing in neighborhoods made drive-bys and other violence one more thing to worry about. But I expected more out of hip-hop. It not only was the voice for what was happening, but the hip-hop that I grew up with, in many ways, shaped what would happen. It was the Pied Piper for social change.
But gangsta rap, which took the place of the consciousness of acts like Public Enemy, A Tribe Called Quest, KRS-One, and the fun of De La Soul, Heavy D & the Boyz, and Digital Underground, and the sassiness of Salt-N-Pepa, seemed to become the dominant voice—or at least the voice that the record labels were putting out the money for.
There was more rapping about guns and drugs and less rapping about things that would make you think.
It was funny to watch Tupac Shakur, who many people forget was down with that Humpty dude with the big nose and all of the Digital Underground shenanigans, go from a fun-loving little guy from New York to this West Coast gangsta rapper. When did all of that happen? Didn’t he start off rapping about how he got around?
I remember when the only battles in rap took place on the airwaves and on records. I actually remember getting all caught up in the Roxanne Shante-versus-the-world drama in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Remember Roxanne Shante and all of those battles with everyone from UTFO to JJ Fad to the Real Roxanne to Sparky Dee? Those battles were silly and fun. No one got hurt— except for a few feelings—and it energized rap in a way where people paid attention.
Even serious rappers like LL Cool J were known to get into a few scuffles. He had it out with Kool Moe Dee (whatever happened to him?), Ice-T (whose rap career fell off so much that he had to focus his energies on acting), and Canibus (who has seemingly fall
en completely off the face of the earth and must be in a witness protection program somewhere).
And after nearly twenty years in the game, LL Cool J is still standing. And I dare someone to come after him and try to verbally battle him even today. He has vanquished all in his path and he did it on his records—not in the streets, not with violence. He kept the beefing where it belonged—on the songs. And LL’s battles are among the most memorable. Note to young rappers looking to make a name for themselves by going after vets: Make sure the vet doesn’t have real lyrical skills. That’s why, in my opinion, LL is the GOAT.
But somewhere in hip-hop, beefs became real and guns and the threat of violence became real. And I’m not quite sure when it turned or how. I don’t believe there was an East Coast versus West Coast thing that led to it. I think it was more personal than that. And I do believe that Suge and Puffy and the nastiness between the two were at the crux of the mess that developed.
Even the names of record labels began to tell the tale. We went from Def Jam and Rhino Records and Uptown and Tommy Boy to Bad Boy, Death Row, and later Murder Inc. The record label heads, who were once these white men from corporate America, became thugs from the street. They brought their street mentality and their street rules to the game and changed it—for the worst.
Tupac versus Biggie. I don’t even understand this beef. I don’t think these men, if left on their own and not sucked into someone else’s nastiness, would have even had a problem with each other. They were friends. But a lot of “he said, he said” and lies and innuendoes eventually led to the murder of them both. How sad.
I got a telephone call from Los Angeles in the middle of the night. The caller said Biggie had just been shot outside of a club. He was in L.A. for the Soul Train Music Awards. This was before it hit the news outlets. I had been invited to the awards show, as I am every year, but I didn’t go that year.
The death of Biggie affected me because it was very close. Biggie was New York. And Biggie didn’t seem to be really a part of that whole gangsta movement, but somehow he was caught up in the game and he lost his life. He wasn’t like Tupac, who seemed to be almost looking for trouble and who had been in fights and been shot before.
Somehow Biggie ended up dead, and I can’t really explain why. And it had an impact on me—professionally and personally. That was a light-bulb moment for me.
It let me know that the danger in the game was real. No longer could I simply go to these events, go to the after-parties, and not give a second thought to my safety. In fact, it changed a lot of what I do. While invited to major events in hip-hop, I rarely attend. And if I do attend a Soul Train Award or Lady of Soul or Source Award show, I don’t go in. I do the red carpet and I’m out—no after-parties, no hanging out, nothing. I won’t even stay in the same hotel or even in the same part of town as the event planners and the eventgoers.
Mostly, I stay in New York and receive feeds from others. I tell my moles, “You go and call me and let me know what you see.” Between that and listeners who frequent these events, I get my information just fine. I don’t have to be in the piece to be in the know. I get reports from all different perspectives.
I even have hotel workers who are informants to things going down. By the way, some hotel and airport workers have opened my eyes to a whole new hustle in the hip-hop game. You have read about how rappers like Ludacris and Lil’ Kim have been ripped off big time when traveling. Well, there is a whole game out there to rip off rappers, and it has become too easy. People who work in these industries know when an event is popping off. They know who all is going to be there too. If they work inside of the hotel, they know the room and they have the key and they know these stars travel heavy—with all of their cash and jewels and expensive gear. They know they will find the best Versace, the Cartier bracelets, the alligator shoes, the Gucci, the Louis, the ice, and the platinum. Because if you’re a star in hip-hop, you cannot afford to be seen without your finest shit (unless you’re a dirty backpacker and don’t care about material things).
So people at the airports know these stars are traveling and they know they can’t carry on everything. So luggage is mysteriously missing along with its contents. In the hotels, they also know because many of these stars don’t keep their things in the hotel safe. And many are plotted on and set up for weeks in advance. I’m getting my information straight from people who work in the hotels. There are maids and other hotel workers who look forward to these awards shows and Hollywood premieres— it’s like a second job for them. And the payoff can be big.
And traveling from one coast to another is also the best time to get got physically. People know, if you’re coming from the East Coast to an award show in Los Angeles, that you aren’t traveling with a gun—unless you have people in Los Angeles looking out. For the most part, if you have some beef with someone, going to an award show makes you somewhat of a sitting duck. Security didn’t save Biggie.
Word has it that everybody is vulnerable these days. This has less to do with hip-hop and more to do with the state of where we are as a country right now. The state of thirst. Everybody wants to live the life. They see Queen Latifah giving her business partner a four-hundred-thousand-dollar Rolls-Royce Phantom for his birthday and Oprah giving one to Stevie Wonder just for performing at her fiftieth birthday party (of course, he’ll need a driver), and people want one too. They see this and they’ll do anything for it.
They see on TV all of the reality shows and the MTV Cribses and the How I’m Livings on BET. Hell, even The Real World presents the life with those big-ass decked-out luxury houses that those kids stay in. That life is right there for people to grab, or so it seems. It’s out of reach for most. But they still thirst for it and are willing to do whatever they can to get it.
I have mixed feelings about the messages shows like Cribs and BET’s How I’m Living send. On one hand, I am pleased when I watch how some people are using their money today. Cribs is a wonderful introduction into our culture, because it is making our artists spend their money on the American dream—which is home ownership.
There was a time when we did not know how artists lived. So they could still live in the projects and have three Benzes and all the jewelry and a big knot of money in their pocket and own nothing—still renting.
With the invention of Cribs, home ownership and all of the accoutrements attached to a house are things everyone wants. It’s competition now with the artists. And I believe it helps young people in general aspire to something higher than just having the “iced-out” chains and the cars they see in videos. Now young people want home ownership too. They just have to figure out how to do it.
What Cribs doesn’t explain is the process of owning a home. It doesn’t take you through the mortgage process or having credit. They don’t tell you that if you purchase a home with cash, you have to pay the taxes every year—even the years you aren’t making money. It doesn’t explain that some of these homes are actually rented or owned by the record label—not the artist. A lot of these artists who seem to own a house don’t technically own a house. Suge Knight has been known to purchase houses in Death Row’s name for his artists. I was talking to Snoop Doggy Dogg and he told me that’s how it went down when he was on the label. All along you think you own something and you don’t own anything at all. When the recording career is over, they could walk away with absolutely nothing. It’s a shame that some of these artists are too stupid to question things like “Why am I not signing anything? Why haven’t I gone to a closing?”
Cribs would be doing these people a real service if it would devote a show to the process of obtaining some of these homes and boats and cars, etc. But they don’t. They just show all of the fabulousness of how people are living and they leave those who aren’t living that way wanting it. Wanting it all.
And this feeling goes beyond hip-hop and celebrity. This is about people in general. People want what they see other people have. But in hip-hop, there seems to be a deeper hunger,
a deeper thirst. Perhaps it is because many view the stars of the game as being no better than they are. These are regular people who got a break somehow. They come out of the same projects or from the same neighborhoods as many in the streets, and folks look at them and say, “Why them?” or “They are nothing special!” It’s that attitude, and the jealousy that accompanies it, that are extremely dangerous. And as a result, many in the game cannot travel back to their old neighborhood without the fear of being robbed or followed or worse.
Summer is probably one of the most dangerous times of year in the urban community, because that is when people are out and things are in your face—the drop-tops are visible, the cars are shining, the jewels are blinging. And people, who are just not even thinking about the dangers with their tops down, windows down, and rims spinning, are vulnerable. Folks see the nice cars, they see chrome spinning on rims, and they want to know how they can get it. And the easiest way is to simply take it. It makes the block very savage. People are very, very thirsty.
And what’s worse is to have a taste of that life and lose it. That thirst is even greater. After the Lost Boyz broke up and Mr. Cheeks went on to find solo success, the rest of the group was left out in the cold. But they had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle that was no longer there.
Ronald Blackwell, aka Spigg Nice, of the Lost Boyz, resorted to bank robbing. He did more than a dozen bank robberies all over New Jersey. He was finally caught, and in January of 2004 Spigg Nice was sentenced to thirty-seven years in a federal prison and was ordered to pay $994,478 in joint restitution. Damn, was it worth it? And in federal prison there is no parole, no time off for good behavior. He will be serving thirty-seven years.
The last time I saw Spigg Nice was at a party in 2002 in New York City. It was in the middle of winter. I remember him because he looked so fabulous. I knew he wasn’t making that Lost Boyz money, but he was sporting a full-length white mink coat, and had all the ice and platinum trimmings to go along with the mink. He looked like he was doing the damn thing. And I was wondering how he was keeping up. He had the diamonds, the haircut, the look.
The Wendy Williams Experience Page 5