by Ronin Ro
When Run saw Ad Rock again at an industry party, Run and Jay had already submitted the new, rock-driven version of Crown Royal to Arista. Run had been so busy with guests, tracks, meetings, and D.M.C. that he’d forgotten to call Ad to say they were using the track he’d produced.
Ad naturally asked about the instrumental.
“Oh, man, the song is great and we started working on it and we got Fred Durst to rap on it,” he remembered Run saying.
Ad then told the Beasties’ manager, “Make this as impersonal as possible but call their manager, and get me off the record. They can have the track. I just don’t want to be down with it.” He claimed he had nothing against Fred Durst personally but still told his manager, “I just don’t want to be down with that.”
Their October 1999 release date came and went. Arista couldn’t yet release Crown Royal, as the label had yet to persuade Kid Rock’s and Limp Bizkit’s labels to grant permission for use of their vocals on their singles. And singer Steve Miller had yet to grant permission for use of “Take the Money and Run.” As a result, Arista executives asked Run and Jay to return to the studio to record music for a single. They wanted to put something out soon, and preferred something with rock or even R & B to draw a wider audience than they imagined a duet with Nas, Fat Joe, or any other rap guest star could attract. But then Jay ran into Fred Durst on an airplane flight. He informed Durst that his manager wouldn’t let them include Durst’s performance on a single. Durst, a longtime Run-D.M.C. fan, was outraged, and responded, “I’m the vice president of Interscope. I’m doing the song.”
Chapter 28
Endgame
During winter 2000, in New Jersey, D.M.C. worked on his solo album. With producer Davy D, who had helped produce Tougher Than Leather, D recorded his version of Bad Company’s 1975 hit “Feel Like Makin’ Love” and rapped, “I like Sheryl Crow or Sarah McLachlan. You like them? I listen to them often.” He rapped about the Cold Crush Brothers on his demo “Micro Man,” set to the Rolling Stones’ “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” and a quick old-school beat. “Rollin’ on the Rhythm” had a woman singing to the tune of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Proud Mary”: “Turntables keep on turning; Crowd gonna keep on yearning; Rollin’ on a rhythm.” “What’s Wrong with the World Today?” described high school students bringing guns to school, while “Come Together” talked about saving the environment and the whales.
D was also busy completing a memoir. Run had recently landed a book deal but wanted only to write about religion and life lessons, so he hadn’t included D. “I was doing ‘words of wisdom,’” Run said of the daily religious e-mail he still sends out to family, friends, and associates.
D felt they should have done a book together, but worked with a cowriter, Bruce Haring, to tell his own story and offer advice about respect and responsibility. D also used a few pages of his book to announce he no longer wanted to record with Run-D.M.C. “I think D didn’t want to be part of the group anymore because he felt Joe didn’t want him in the group,” Tracy Miller said.
For information to include in early chapters about his childhood, D called his parents. He asked his mother, Bannah, about his birth—when and at what time. She told D she’d have to call him back.
When she did, she asked D, “Don’t you remember you were adopted?”
He was taken aback.
She said D had been told when he was five years old, but he didn’t remember this. D listened to her say his biological mother was sixteen when she’d given him up, and she hailed from the Dominican Republic.
D.M.C. hung up the telephone. “Damn,” he thought, “what else is gonna happen in my life?”
He couldn’t get it out of his mind.
Confusion turned to rage. He told people he felt like getting a gun and killing a few specific individuals. Run figured he was going through “some type of depression,” the same thing he had experienced. “But I love him to death,” he added.
At home, D sat in his chair and thought, “I want to kill motherfuckers.” But he knew he wouldn’t, so he thought, “All right, I don’t really want to harm anybody. Let me just take this gun and put it to my own head.” And then, “Nah, I don’t want to do that. Let me just drink myself to death.”
If Jay and Run talked about Crown Royal in his presence when they met to perform the occasional show, he’d reiterate how fucked up it was that people ignored his complaints. “But if a motherfucker went and got a gun, then people would listen.” It was D’s perception that his bandmates kept saying, “Aw, D, you ain’t rhyming no more. Your voice is gone. Nobody likes what you’re writing about.” And he kept thinking about a gun, a gun, a gun: “Maybe he was going nuts,” said Run. “This guy probably went through some stuff.”
As Run and Jay continued to record a few final songs for Crown Royal at Arista’s request (for possible use on a single), and as D’s depression deepened, D.M.C. told Run, “Yeah, man, see what’s gonna happen tomorrow, I’m gonna pull my gun out and kill all y’all.”
Run said, “D, don’t kill me, man. I got five kids and they love me. I’m not ready to leave.”
D said he was joking. “I was very upset; it’s human. I had to learn to fucking express my emotions. If I had done shit differently during Tougher Than Leather and Back from Hell, shit could probably have been different. I was just sitting there going through the motions. And I wasn’t about to do it again.”
D.M.C. stopped coming to Run-D.M.C. shows, where the group still performed their classics to make the occasional dollar. “When we in Texas this nigga’s in New York,” said their friend Runny Ray. “He didn’t like the album they did without him. Having other niggas rap his part. That’s supposed to be D.M.C. but it’s ‘Run’s nephew’ or somebody. Bringing all these niggas in: Jay’s nephew Boe Skaggz, Randy, all them niggas. D was like, ‘Man, fuck that shit; you bringing them in? I ain’t coming to no more shows.’”
Learning he was adopted changed the tone of D’s material even more. No more lighthearted raps about female celebrities. Instead, new lyrics discussed such things as a child abandoned at birth in a hospital: “Facing doom in a tomb ’cause the kid is alone / but somebody came along and they took the kid home.” He evoked the Cold Crush Brothers by setting this particular new lyric to Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s in the Cradle,” and was so happy with his remake that he wanted to play it for Jay and Run.
Since Arista had rescheduled the release date of Crown Royal for March 6, 2001, because of continued delays with guest artists’ labels granting permission to use vocals on singles, Run and Jay were still recording songs to replace those Arista couldn’t release as singles. D thought they could use some of his new material.
He stopped by the studio with fifty completed songs on demo tapes, and played Run and Jay numbers that used emotional riffs by Neil Young (“Old Man”), Pink Floyd (“Us and Them”), and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young (“Ohio”). D felt they weren’t any different from “Mary Mary” or “Down with the King.” But Run begged to differ. “I didn’t understand it but that’s okay,” Run said. “You don’t have to understand stuff to like it. He was doing different music. He was listening to John Lennon and stuff. I don’t know what he was doing.”
Jay didn’t know what to make of it either. “At the beginning, it was me, Run, and D, but D’s voice is messed up,” Jay explained. Run was still competing in his lyrics (“battling motherfuckers, shorties, anyone come into the studio”), and D was initially “cooperative, but the shit we did didn’t sound right so D was like, ‘Nah, let’s put some other shit on there.’” D.M.C. liked what they were doing, Jay claimed, “but he hadn’t been listening to hip-hop. He was listening to soft-rock stuff.”
Run and Jay had no interest in this soft-rock material D seemed to prefer. “I didn’t really care,” D.M.C. said. “It wasn’t about them. It sounded good to me and to everybody except them because they were keeping me in a mold. Like ‘If you can’t do what the new cats are doing then what you’re doing is
old.’ Instead of just letting me do what I can do.”
Run and Jay responded to D’s demo with confusion but then agreed to include “Cadillac Cars” on Crown Royal. But just as quickly, D claimed they changed their minds, saying, “This isn’t gonna work. This is fake.”
“It wasn’t regular D stuff. Period,” Run felt. “It was different.” It was also, he told D, inappropriate for Run-D.M.C. “Maybe it was a rejection,” Run added. “It wasn’t acceptable toward what we usually did. I guess when he gave some stuff, and I rejected it, he was hurt, period.”
That was that until Arista decided Run-D.M.C.’s song “Rock Show,” with Third Eye Blind’s Stephan Jenkins, would be Crown Royal’s first single. D was at home when Run-D.M.C.’s road manager, Erik Blam, called to say, “D, next week, we’re doing a video.”
Angry about Run and Jay’s refusal to include “Cadillac Cars” on the album, D informed Erik he would take no part. When Erik asked why, D replied, “ ’Cause I’m not on the record.”
Run didn’t call him. D figured he didn’t want to have yet another argument. But word reached him that Run had said, “D’s fucking up again. He’s fucking up again.” D.M.C. thought this would be the end of it.
In mid-January 2001, two days before the shoot, Run, Jay, and Erik Blam flew to Los Angeles to meet with Arista and the video’s director. When Arista asked about D, Run (D claimed) assured everyone, “D’s gonna be here, D’s gonna be here.”
“And every time Run would tell Arista D’s gonna be here,” D said, “Run would turn to Erik that evening and say, ‘Is D coming?’ Erik would say, ‘I don’t know, Joe.’” As the two days wore on, Arista would also ask Erik if D was coming. “Erik would say, ‘Yeah, yeah.’”
On the eve of the shoot, Run decided to call D.M.C. himself. “He tried to get a little mean with me,” D claimed.
“But I gave you publishing on records on the album that you ain’t even get down on!” Run said.
“But I let y’all put my name on the album,” D answered. “Remember the whole issue was that you could have made a ‘Run’ album.”
“Yeah but…”
“That was only right. I’m not gonna stand there and be involved in something I had no creative…I would have probably did it if you had let me write some fucking music and been involved in the creation.”
Run handed their manager the telephone. “Here, Erik, you talk to him.”
D then told their manager, “Erik, you know me. You know where I stand.”
Erik couldn’t justify D’s current behavior, though. “Erik was like, ‘This motherfucker’s buggin’ out. He got a fucking old-ass band in there making Beatles records.’” He didn’t understand D’s new music and couldn’t understand why D would hurt the group like this.
Run then grabbed the phone again. “Yo, the shit is tomorrow, we looking stupid,” he said. “It was back and forth,” D recalled, “and Run started cursing me out. Then Jay got involved, snatching the phone from Run, but before he could say anything to me, I heard Run and Jay arguing in the background. ‘Fuck that! D’s a sucker!’ And Run was like, ‘Motherfuck D! Fucking with my shit!’ while Jay was like, ‘Calm down, calm down.’”
When Jay finally got on the phone, he said calmly, “D, do you have a problem with Run?”
“No, there’s no real problem!”
“D, there is a problem,” he said.
“What problem!”
“D, we’re here in L.A. and you’re at home.”
“That’s true.”
“D. Just come do the video?”
“Nah, Jay, you know what’s going on.”
“D, I know that. But I got you, man. Whatever happens, you’re gonna come work for my company. I’m making records. You’re gonna do my groups and I got my studio, you’ll be in there, you’ll write, you’re gonna be like Dr. Dre’s man D.O.C. You’re gonna be like that for me. You fucking down for life!”
“I know, Jay, but nah. I just want to go make my music, just do what I can do. See, people are looking at what I can’t do and what they want me to do but nobody’s taking me for what I can do, and that’s the most important thing.”
“D, I understand all of that. But, D, can you come be in the video? Just do it for me.”
This plea touched D. He liked Jay. With a sigh, D said, “All right, Jay. I’ll be on a plane in the morning.”
“D, will you be on the plane at 9:00 in the morning?” Jay asked.
“I’ll be on a plane in the morning,” he answered.
D then heard Jay tell Erik: He’s coming. Surprised, Erik exclaimed, “What? He’s coming?” Then Erik got on the phone: “D, I’m gonna book this ticket now! Don’t—”
D told him not to worry. Book the ticket. He’d be there.
In early February 2001, Arista finally released Run-D.M.C.’s first single, “Rock Show,” but reviews ranged from respectful to dismissive. Since the rest of Crown Royal was composed of similar collaborations, label employees sensed the album would flop. Fans then learned that D’s vocals were barely present on the album and objected. Validating D’s feelings all throughout the making of Crown Royal, influential New York radio DJ Funkmaster Flex cornered D at an industry event to joke, “Motherfucker! Y’all don’t need to get with nobody! Just make a fucking album, put it out, and don’t care what it do! Y’all fucking Run-D.M.C.! Niggas want to be like y’all!”
Many friends were also saddened to see that D had been excluded. “Them niggas was fucked up,” Runny Ray felt. “They doing shit and don’t even call him. How can you do that without your man? And I wasn’t mad at D when he was mad and not doing shows. You done brought your nephew in, Jay’s cousin, Randy on there rapping. That was weak. That’s why it didn’t fucking sell.”
Two weeks after Run-D.M.C. joined Third Eye Blind to shoot a video for “Rock Show,” Arista wanted to rush-release Run’s new cover of Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together” into stores as a single (to squash negative word of mouth about the upcoming album), and asked for a video.
Once again, they called D.M.C. D gave a listen to the song, heard Run say, “Yo, D, you know I love you, let’s stay together, man. You know you’re my homey,” and shook his head. “They thought it would touch my heart,” D laughed. “And I’m thinking, ‘These motherfuckers are funny! Now they’re gonna do a record that’s sentimental.’ So we went through that whole process again! ‘No, I’m not doing that. If it’s a record about “where’s D at,” it’s better if no one sees me.’ Then I talked to Jay and Erik and they said, ‘D, it’s good if you show up in the video ’cause it’ll at least help your shit.’ I said, ‘All right. I’ll go do the video, all right, cool, fuck it, I’ll do it.’”
There was talk of a third video during April 2001, the month Crown Royal officially arrived in stores, when Run told a reporter, “D.M.C. is directing our new video. It’s called ‘Take the Money and Run.’ We make our decisions together. That’s our secret.” But there would be no video for the song. Shortly after Run’s comment, Clive Davis was removed from his position at Arista and replaced by L. A. Reid. Plans for the clip were shelved. Critics continued to pan Crown Royal, and blamed Run for ruining the album by excluding D.M.C.
The group returned to playing small shows. D kept working on a solo album he now called Checks, Thugs, and Rock ’n’ Roll. Jay kept doing DJ gigs on the side for money, and on the road during the summer of 2001, Run, D, and Jay began repairing their fractured relationship and planned a new album. Now that he wasn’t busy dealing with tons of artists and with Arista, Run sat and really listened to D’s solo songs. “When I was doing Crown Royal I never took time to listen to what D was saying,” he told someone. “I should have put fucking some of D’s records on that album.”
In early 2002, with the Crown Royal debacle behind him, Run could return to feelings he had nursed early in 2001. Run wondered if he even wanted to record anymore. He was now working with Russell’s successful clothing company, Phat Farm. “Me and Russell creat
ed this sneaker,” Run said, and the final design for the Phat Classic inspired him to joke: “This thing looks like an Adidas, Russ.” Russell answered, “Let’s just do it,” and they quickly sold a million pairs. After that, Run thought, “You know what? I’ve said enough, I’ve created enough!” He was ready to say “forget music” and limit his involvement in the industry to working on solo material, producing talented newcomers, or appearing on select remixes. He’d focus mainly on his executive duties at Phat Farm. “ ’Cause it’s really huge,” he said. “This sneaker’s making so much money: it’s the hugest thing in my life.” He also had five kids to support.
However, promoters kept offering gigs, and Run realized he wasn’t quite ready to put Run-D.M.C. behind him. They were invited to set their handprints in cement on the Walk of Fame on Hollywood Boulevard outside of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. They made history by becoming the first rap group to do so (alongside other legendary inductees B. B. King, Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, Carl Perkins, the Godfather of Soul, James Brown, bluesman John Lee Hooker, and country singer Johnny Cash); but Run felt, “I don’t want to do it!” Someone close to him, possibly Russell, asked, “What the hell is the matter with you? We want to see you do this!”
So Run reunited with D.M.C. and Jay and went to the theater on Monday, February 25, 2002, to add their handprints to the famous sidewalk. A large crowd that included producer Jermaine Dupri, former Death Row rapper Snoop, and Run’s favorite, Jay-Z, cheered for them. “It was one of the biggest days of my life!” Jam Master Jay later said. “From me being the first DJ to put my hands in there, to being the first rap group to be recognized as rock-and-roll stars and putting our hands in RockWalk, it was a really huge thing!”
Run was just as elated. “That was an honor, an unbelievable honor!”
But despite the public show of unity, Jay and D noticed that Run felt estranged from the group. Close to a year after Crown Royal’s release and failure, Jay felt comfortable enough to tell D: “Run doesn’t fool me. I always know how Run is. Motherfucker was over my house every day during the Crown Royal record. Soon as we got the deal with Arista and everything was over with, nigga don’t call me anymore. I don’t see his ass no more. But while I was making it he was at my house everyday!” He added, “D, I understand how you feel ’cause Joe don’t fool me.”