by Gucci Mane
•
Toward the end of my stay at Talbott I was granted another two-day break and I needed it. It was crunch time for my album and there was work to be done.
I had an unfinished record called “Bad Bad Bad.” This was a song Fatboi produced and we were waiting on a feature from Keyshia Cole, who had already signed up to sing the hook.
Coach and I booked a flight to Houston to meet up with Keyshia and finish “Bad Bad Bad.” Talbott didn’t permit travel so this was a risky move, but it was one I felt I had to make.
Coach and I boarded a flight to Houston. We were forty-five minutes from our destination when the boom of thunder shook us out of our seats. Moments later the strike of lightning pierced the black sky. That’s when I saw it: a tornado ripping its way through the night. The plane shook as the pilot announced that we were flying through a severe storm. We were told to brace for turbulence.
I turned around to find passengers in prayer, flight attendants included. The storm bellowed as I heard muted crying. I looked at Coach. We didn’t exchange any words but I knew we were thinking the same thing. Maybe this was it. We bowed our heads and all I could think of was my son.
I know what you’re thinking. What son? Truth is I didn’t know him all that well either. I’d only learned I had a child a year before. He was already ten months old. A girl I used to see had a baby and people were saying it looked like me. I hadn’t even known she was pregnant. I reached out and asked her if it was mine. She was unsure. I took a blood test and sure enough, I was the father of a little boy.
The circumstances under which I’d learned I was a father weren’t ideal—almost a year after his birth, to a woman I wasn’t in a relationship with or in love with. Still, I was happy. I’d always loved children.
I hadn’t been able to embrace my new role as a father. Between getting sent back to jail, my career being busier than ever, and the drugs, I hadn’t been in my son’s life as much as I should have. But in that moment, with the plane shaking, he was all I could think about.
The storm wasn’t letting up but I found peace knowing that if this was it, I wouldn’t be leaving my boy empty-handed. I’d made enough to give him a start, enough to give him a chance to follow whatever it was he wanted to do with his life, without having to take the same risks that his father did.
With clenched fists, we were relieved to hear we’d soon make an emergency landing in Houston. But this airport only housed American Airlines. Our Delta flight couldn’t deplane here. The pilot announced we were to wait until the storm passed, at which point he’d bring us to our original destination. How long that would take, he didn’t know. For me time was of the essence. Coach and I demanded to be let off the plane. After an argument with the crew, they gave in. We exited out of the rear of the plane, where we took a car service to the studio to wrap up “Bad Bad Bad” with Keyshia.
I kept the whole story of our flight a secret after we returned to Atlanta the next day. I could have been rearrested for traveling without a permit. Even though I’d never speak about it again, the dramatic experience stuck with me. I really thought it was over.
•
My time at Talbott was nearing an end, but I needed the staff there to do me one last favor. The BET Hip Hop Awards were approaching and I was being given the opportunity to perform three times that night. I’d do “Pretty Girls” with Wale, “Gucci Bandana” with Soulja Boy and Shawty Lo, and then I’d have my own set where I’d bring out Plies for “Wasted” and Mario for “Break Up.” This was a big look. I needed to attend this.
“This is my career,” I explained. “I have to be there.”
As they’d been throughout the ninety-day program, the staff at Talbott was accommodating and cool, especially after I told them I would record a public service announcement that would air during the broadcast. Not only would this get me the green light to attend, but it would be an asset when I appeared in front of the judge, a court date that was now looming.
“Yo, it’s ya boy Gucci. I want y’all to know that I do make party records and it’s all fun, but on a serious note I’m taking my own sobriety very seriously and it’s for real. That’s coming from ya boy Gucci. Be safe.”
Truthfully I hadn’t absorbed much of what they’d been teaching me at Talbott. I’d gone to rehab to avoid going to jail and I wasn’t leaving a changed man. I was excited to have some fun again. But I did feel good about my time there. Aside from the late-night excursions, I’d held up my end of the bargain and stayed sober the whole time. And I’d made a great album. I deserved to have that moment at the BET Hip Hop Awards. And what a moment it was.
My last covert escape out of Talbott had been a trip to the airport, where I’d met my jeweler. I had him design all this jewelry for me that I wanted to unveil at the award show. The canary diamonds Arm & Hammer baking soda box chain, the Atlanta Falcons helmet chain, the Atlanta Hawks jersey chain, the big Brick Squad circle chain, the square Brick Squad chain, the iced-out whisk chain—we’re talking hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry, and that was just the chains. We won’t even get into the bracelets, watches, or pinky rings. Talbott had sent a chaperone to accompany me to the event and she couldn’t believe it when she saw me putting it all on. Where had all this stuff been? I’d kept it hidden in my backpack ever since my rendezvous with my jeweler.
But the 2009 BET Hip Hop Awards was more than an opportunity to stunt. It was a culmination and validation of years of hard work I’d put in. Trap House’s success had been marred by the murder charge. Back to the Trap House had flopped. I had to go to jail right as my mixtape run began to pay off. But I’d kept at it. I’d stayed persistent and now I was here. One month away from the release of The State vs. Radric Davis. This album would be the one. I knew it. Every time I hit the stage that night I could feel my impact in the Atlanta Civic Center. It wasn’t the pyrotechnics. It was me.
And these folks cheering me on didn’t even know what I had planned. I’d just dropped The Burrprint mixtape with Drama a day before and I was about to drop three mixtapes at once the following week. The Cold War series. GUCCIMERICA with DJ Drama, Great Brrritain with DJ Scream, and BRRRUSSIA with DJ Holiday. I felt unstoppable.
A month later I checked out of Talbott after completing the program in full. The next day a judge sentenced me to serve another year in Fulton County Jail.
Xvi
* * *
BALL TILL YA FALL
I started smoking weed again immediately after being sent back to Fulton County. I was livid. I’d gone to rehab. I’d done that corny PSA. I couldn’t believe it was all for nothing. What a waste of my time. This was even worse than when they sent me to jail over the community service bullshit.
To make matters worse, the “truce” with Jeezy proved to be short-lived. I should have known better. Our plan to swap songs fell apart after I got locked up. Jeezy never did his verse for “Heavy” and Warner Bros. moved forward promoting the song without him. Jeezy had sent me the files for “Trap or Die 2,” but when I recorded a verse and put it out, he tried to act like it wasn’t a real collaboration. He pitched it like I’d just taken it upon myself to remix his song.
In December 2009, right before The State vs. Radric Davis came out, DJ Drama had me call into his Hot 107.9 radio show from jail when Jeezy was in the studio. Drama set it up as if Jeezy and I were just now speaking for the first time in years, but that shit was so fake. The conversation was chopped up and edited and the whole thing sounded forced. The only reason I did it was that I was looking to find a way to drum up excitement for my album from behind bars. The reality was that Jeezy and I had already made up and fallen out again over the songs before that call happened.
I’m getting a little ahead of myself, but I saw Jeezy at a club after that stint in Fulton County. I knew the situation with the songs hadn’t worked out, but I still thought we reached an understanding that our beef was behind us. So I said what up. He was so uncomfortable seeing me.
&n
bsp; “We just can’t do it right here in front of everybody,” he whispered. “Not right now.”
In a way I understood it. Jeezy was in the club with twenty of his goons. I imagine he’d probably been saying “Fuck Gucci” for so many years that he didn’t want to appear cool with me in front of them. A chump move, but I got it. That was the last time Jeezy and I ever spoke.
Still, I respected that he sat down with me at Houston’s that day. Man-to-man. One-on-one. To be honest I never thought he’d have the guts to face me like that.
•
The State vs. Radric Davis was the success we’d hoped for. I’d finally hit the sweet spot: a project that was that next level—bigger than the mixtapes—but still me. It had the A-list features—Usher, Wayne, Cam’ron, Mike Epps—on the interludes, but it still had my core four horsemen—Zay, Shawty Redd, Fatboi, and Drumma Boy—producing the bulk of the beats.
“His second official album differentiates itself with excellent production, especially the rumbling beats of Bangladesh and Drumma Boy, and with guests such as Lil Wayne and Usher. But the star is Gucci, with his deep grab bag of rhymes that aim at funny bones. It’s a winning combination: a heavy ego and a light touch.”
—Rolling Stone
“The State vs. Radric Davis has proved the rapper’s case beyond a reasonable doubt. So when rap fans ask if he is now a bankable hip-hop star, let the record show that Gucci Mane is guilty as charged.”
—XXL
“The LP has an energy rare to major-label rap efforts. Like Wayne’s Tha Carter II, it translates Gucci’s mixtape triumphs into something more digestible and immediate.”
—Pitchfork
Despite the piss-poor timing of getting locked up right before my album’s release, we were prepared for that scenario. We’d already shot music videos with director Mr. Boomtown for “Lemonade,” “Heavy,” “I Think I Love Her,” “Photoshoot,” “Bingo,” “Wasted,” and “Worst Enemy.” Those were in the bank and ready to roll out at our convenience. XXL wanted me on the cover of their February issue. A year earlier I’d been on there alongside OJ, Shawty Lo, and Soulja Boy, but this time around they were giving me my first solo cover. Behind bars or not, I was the shit.
There was one thing I hadn’t planned for: my newfound popularity with these white hipster kids. Todd had been telling me I had this alternative fan base. “Lemonade” had especially connected with them. My songs were getting remixed by EDM DJs who played huge music festivals around the world.
I liked EDM. The big beats, the lights at the shows, the way the crowd responded. It was a world away from the hood-ass clubs in Decatur I was used to, but I liked that my music was touching different audiences. That was cool to me.
One of the DJs who was championing my music was Diplo. Apparently he was big in this scene. He’d been nominated for a Grammy for his work on M.I.A.’s song “Paper Planes.” Hoping to further solidify my place in this world, Todd and Coach sent Diplo my a capellas from the Cold War tapes. He recruited a whole gang of DJs and made Free Gucci, a mixtape with EDM remixes of the best songs from the trilogy. It took off.
Meanwhile, my shooter-turned-rapper and right-hand man Waka had stepped up in my absence and made a name for himself just like OJ had a year prior. Only this time Waka was carrying the torch for 1017. I’d given Waka his rap name, Waka Flocka Flame, and he took after me by going hard with the mixtapes. But Waka got himself hot with his own sound, his own songs, and his own crew of producers. It wasn’t like what happened with “Make tha Trap Say Aye.” “O Let’s Do It” kicked everything off for Waka. He followed that up with “Hard in Da Paint.” I couldn’t have been prouder of him. The boy was going in.
After serving six months of my one-year sentence I was released from Fulton County. It was shortly after midnight, May 12, 2010. Outside I was greeted by friends, family, fans, and the media. I approached the reporters with Duke, Holiday, Shawty Lo, and Todd and read a statement.
First and foremost, I would like to thank my legal counsel, Dwight Thomas and Michael Holmes, for the excellent representation, as well as my label Asylum and Warner Bros. Records for sticking with me through my situation and helping me through my time behind bars.
Most importantly, I want to thank all of my fans for their support while I have been away. Your letters and words of encouragement helped me make it through. None of my success would be possible without you.
I have made some mistakes in my life and have hurt a lot of people who care about me. I will work very hard to get past that. Those mistakes have brought me to where I’m at today and they will not be repeated. These past few months have been a difficult time, but fortunately I have learned a great deal from my experience. I was able to do a great deal of soul-searching. I’m coming out with a new attitude toward life.
Unfortunately, my incarceration came at a pivotal part of my career. Just as my first major-label album was dropping I was forced to miss what should have been one of the proudest moments of my life. This is something I will make sure never happens again. My time in jail was trying, but I grew from it and am now stronger and a better person. I want to continue on a positive track and truly focus on being a role model to my fans and to my community. I’m looking toward the future with a newfound respect and appreciation for the law and a strong dedication to my music and career. With that in mind, I have already begun to make positive strides toward the future. I have launched a new label, 1017 Brick Squad Records, in affiliation with Asylum/Warner Bros. Records and I’m working with a new team. I’m looking forward to getting back to business and start making hits. I am extremely excited about my new album, The Appeal, which will be dropping at the end of the summer.
Over the course of 2010, 1017 Brick Squad Records will be releasing albums from my artist Waka Flocka Flame, as well as my group Brick Squad, which features Waka, OJ da Juiceman, and myself. In July we’ll be heading out on a nationwide tour, hitting venues around the country and continuing the movement.
Finally, a lot of things happened while I was away. I’m back to address these things. The rap game is in need of substance right now, and I’m here for the streets right on time. I can’t wait to show the world why I feel that now that I’m free, ironically, I’m the most-wanted man in Georgia. I’m hungry for success and ready to compete, so may the competition begin. I set out five years ago to be the number one rapper in hip-hop and today that journey continues, with an even sharper focus. I challenge all artists to put out the best music they ever made this summer. I will accept nothing less than victory and I still want worthy opponents. So everyone who was there for me, thanks for y’all’s support. Holla.
•
Of that entire statement, only the last part spoke to where my mind was at when I walked out of jail that night. The humble talk was for the lawyers, the cameras, Todd, whomever. In reality I was feeling myself more than ever. I was keenly aware of how my career and the artists signed to me had only grown stronger during my time away. “A newfound respect and appreciation for the law”? Give me a break. I was the hottest thing smokin’. No one could tell me shit anymore.
•
I kept up my usual routine: straight from jail to the studio. After a welcome-home dinner I was back at Patchwerk, where Drumma Boy had a batch of beats on a thumb drive waiting for me. He loaded them up. Two beats in and it was back to business. I stepped in the booth and proceeded to freestyle “Normal.”
Hit the mall, spend 30 like that shit normal
Me and my broad nothin’ but Gucci, Louis, Ferragamo
Drop racks, get it back
Call the shit Karma
Fuck models when I want
All your hoes normal
Blowin’ Kush
What you smokin’ smellin’ really normal
Ask me if I wanna hit it
I don’t really wanna
Pulled up, old school, paint Willy Wonka
Guts all white, but the rims abnormal
Backseat of my Rolls in
my silk pajamas
Hoppin’ out in house shoes like the shit normal
Change my jewelry every day, ’cause it’s the summer
If yo bitch want my number
Chill it’s really normal
The reaction to “Normal” in the studio was like when I did “First Day Out.” I hadn’t lost a step.
As I was knocking out the second verse to “Normal,” Drumma Boy went over to Patchwerk’s Studio B to work with Waka. That’s when they made “No Hands” with Wale and Roscoe Dash, a record that would surpass the heights of “O Let’s Do It” and “Hard in Da Paint” and take Waka from up-and-coming prospect to outright star. The song was such an obvious smash that as soon as they finished recording it there was a dispute over ownership. Folks from Interscope were at Patchwerk with Roscoe and they wanted to snatch it for his album. Lucky for Waka, Todd was there too, and he got back to his roots as a lawyer and won the power struggle. I wasn’t there for any of that. I was still in Studio A, chewing up Drumma’s beats.
The next day I got back up with Boomtown to kick off another run of music video shoots.
Back in March, while I was still locked up, my team released a mixtape called Burrrprint (2) for sale on iTunes, made up mostly of songs I’d made with Drumma Boy prior to getting locked up. That project sold like twenty thousand copies in its first week with little promotion, and a few of the joints off it had taken off. So I’d made sure Boomtown was ready to shoot videos as soon as I got home. We had five on deck. I already had the perfect video vixen lined up.
Keyshia Dior. I’d first seen her in Timbaland and Drake’s “Say Something” video not long after I went back to Fulton County. Then I came across her again in XXL’s Eye Candy. She was the new chick in the industry and I had to meet her. I had my assistant Amina book her as soon as we locked in the dates with Boomtown.