Decoded. Part 2

Boxing is a glorious sport to watch and boxers are incredible, heroic athletes, but it's also, to be honest, a stupid game to play. Even the winners can end up with crippling brain damage. In a lot of ways, hustling is the same. But you learn something special from playing the most difficult games, the games where winning is close to impossible and losing is catastrophic: You learn how to compete as if your life depended on it. That's the lesson I brought with me to the so-called "legitimate" world.

A LITTLE BIT OF EVERYTHING, THE NEW IMPROVED RUSSELL.

When I was moving off the streets and tried to envision what winning looked like, it was Russell Simmons. Russell was a star, the one who created the model for the hip-hop mogul that so many people-Andre Harrell, Puffy, even Suge Knight-went on to follow.

People in the record business had always made a lot of money. Not the artists, who kept dying broke, but the execs. Still, regular fans had no idea who they were. Russell changed that. His brand as an executive mattered not just within the industry, but among people in the street. And with Def Jam he created one of the most powerful brands in the history of American entertainment.

Russell also made being a CEO seem like a better deal than being an artist. He was living the life like crazy, f.u.c.king with models, riding in Bentleys with his sneakers sticking out the windows, and never once rapped a single bar. His gift was curating a whole lifestyle-music, fas.h.i.+on, comedy, film-and then selling it. He didn't just create the hip-hop business model, he changed the business style of a whole generation of Americans.

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The whole vibe of start-up companies in Silicon Valley with twenty-five-year-old CEOs wearing sh.e.l.ltoes is Russell's Def Jam style filtered through different industries. The business ideal for a whole generation went from growing up and wearing a suit every day to never growing up and wearing sneakers to the boardroom.

Even as a teenager, I understood what Russell was on to. He'd discovered a way to work in the legit world but to live the dream of the hustler: independence, wealth, and success outside of the mainstream's rules. Coming from the life I was coming from, this was a better story than just being a rapper, especially based on what I now knew about how rappers got jerked.

I first met Russell when Dame, Biggs, and I were negotiating for a label deal for Roc-A-Fella after Reasonable Doubt Reasonable Doubt dropped. I remember sitting across the table from him and Lyor Cohen in disbelief that we were negotiating a seven-figure deal with the greatest label in rap history. But I was also feeling a dilemma: I was looking at Russell and thinking, dropped. I remember sitting across the table from him and Lyor Cohen in disbelief that we were negotiating a seven-figure deal with the greatest label in rap history. But I was also feeling a dilemma: I was looking at Russell and thinking, I want to be this n.i.g.g.a, not his artist. I want to be this n.i.g.g.a, not his artist. (In the end, we made a deal with Def Jam that kept us in control of Roc-A-Fella, instead of my just signing up as a solo artist.) (In the end, we made a deal with Def Jam that kept us in control of Roc-A-Fella, instead of my just signing up as a solo artist.) Russell would become a valuable informal mentor for us. He wasn't a gangster by any stretch, but he'd put in his time hustling, selling fake cocaine to college kids in the Village, that sort of thing. He reminded me of a lot of street dudes I'd known: He had a great memory, kept figures in his head, and was a quick judge of character. He also had tremendous integrity and confidence. He knew that the key to success was believing in the quality of your own product enough to make people do business with you on your terms. He knew that great product was the ultimate advantage in compet.i.tion, not how big your office building is or how deep your pockets are or who you know. In the end it came down to having a great product and the hustle to move it, which was something I learned working the block. Russell was an evangelist for hip-hop. He knew the culture's power and was never shy about leveraging it and making sure that it was the people who were creating the culture who got rich off of it.

That idea was at the heart of Rocawear, the clothing company we founded. In the late nineties I was wearing a lot of clothes from Iceberg, the European sportswear designer. After a while, I'd look out into the audience after my concerts and see hundreds of people rocking Iceberg knits. So it became clear to us that we were directly influencing their sales. Dame set up a meeting with Iceberg and we tried to strike an endors.e.m.e.nt deal. I don't even think my second alb.u.m was out-and my first alb.u.m hadn't exactly set the world on fire in terms of sales-and the executives at Iceberg looked at us like we were speaking a foreign language. They offered us free clothes, but we wanted millions and the use of their private jet; we walked out of their offices realizing we had to do it ourselves.

In the beginning it was laughable, since we had no idea what we were doing. We had sewing machines up in our office, but not professional ones that can do twelve kinds of st.i.tches; we had the big black ones that old ladies use. We had people sewing s.h.i.+rts that took three weeks each. We actually thought we were going to make the clothes ourselves in our own little sewing shop. Eventually, we got some advice from Russell and did the necessary research, got some partners, and launched Rocawear properly. Once we committed to the fas.h.i.+on industry, we were committed to doing it right. We didn't want a vanity label. We wanted the top slot. I'm lucky that Iceberg didn't give us the bulls.h.i.+t we asked for in the first place, an endors.e.m.e.nt contract that would've run out a long time ago, because we might not have ever started a company that's poised to bring in a billion dollars a year in revenue.

I'M A HUSTLER HOMIE, YOU'RE A CUSTOMER CRONY The spirit of the Iceberg response was replayed years later with another company. From the first time I rapped the line you like Dom, maybe this Cristal will change your life you like Dom, maybe this Cristal will change your life on my first alb.u.m, hip-hop has raised the profile of Cristal. No one denies that. But we were unpaid endorsers of the brand-which we thought was okay, because it was a two-way street. We used their brand as a signifier of luxury and they got free advertising and credibility every time we mentioned it. We were trading cache. But they didn't see it that way. on my first alb.u.m, hip-hop has raised the profile of Cristal. No one denies that. But we were unpaid endorsers of the brand-which we thought was okay, because it was a two-way street. We used their brand as a signifier of luxury and they got free advertising and credibility every time we mentioned it. We were trading cache. But they didn't see it that way.

A journalist at The Economist The Economist asked Frederic Rouzaud, the managing director of the company that makes Cristal: "Do you think your brand is hurt by its a.s.sociation with the 'bling lifestyle'?" This was Rouzaud's reply: "That's a good question, but what can we do? We can't forbid people from buying it." He also said that he looked on the a.s.sociation between Cristal and hip-hop with "curiosity and serenity." asked Frederic Rouzaud, the managing director of the company that makes Cristal: "Do you think your brand is hurt by its a.s.sociation with the 'bling lifestyle'?" This was Rouzaud's reply: "That's a good question, but what can we do? We can't forbid people from buying it." He also said that he looked on the a.s.sociation between Cristal and hip-hop with "curiosity and serenity." The Economist The Economist printed the quote under the heading UNWELCOME ATTENTION. printed the quote under the heading UNWELCOME ATTENTION.

That was like a slap in the face. You can argue all you want about Rouzaud's statements and try to justify them or whatever, but the tone is clear. When asked about an influential segment of his market, his response was, essentially, well, we can't stop them from drinking it. That was it for me. I released a statement saying that I would never drink Cristal or promote it in any way or serve it at my clubs ever again. I felt like this was the bulls.h.i.+t I'd been dealing with forever, this kind of offhanded, patronizing disrespect for the culture of hip-hop.

Why not just say thank you and keep it moving? You would think the person who runs the company would be most interested in selling his product, not in criticizing-or accepting criticisms-of the people buying it.

The whole situation is probably most interesting for what it says about compet.i.tion, and the way power can s.h.i.+ft without people's being aware of it. It's like in chess, when you've already set up your endgame and your opponent doesn't even realize it. What a lot of people-including, obviously, The Economist, The Economist, Cristal, and Iceberg-think is that rappers define themselves by dropping the names of luxury brands. They can't believe that it might actually work the other way around. Cristal, and Iceberg-think is that rappers define themselves by dropping the names of luxury brands. They can't believe that it might actually work the other way around.

Everything that hip-hop touches is transformed by the encounter, especially things like language and brands, which leave themselves open to constant redefinition. With language, rappers have raided the dictionary and written in new entries to every definition-words with one or two meanings now have twelve. The same thing happens with brands-Cristal meant one thing, but hip-hop gave its definition some new entries. The same goes for other brands: Timberland and Courvoisier, Versace and Maybach. We gave those brands a narrative, which is one of the reasons anyone buys anything: to own not just a product, but to become part of a story.

Cristal, before hip-hop, had a nice story attached to it: It was a quality, premium, luxury brand known to connoisseurs. But hip-hop gave it a deeper meaning. Suddenly, Cristal didn't just signify the good life, but the good life laced with hip-hop's values: subversive, self-made, audacious, even a little dangerous. The word itself-Cristal-took on a new dimension. It wasn't just a premium champagne anymore-it was a prop in an exciting story, a portal into a whole world. Just by drinking it, we infused their product with our story, an ingredient that they could never bottle on their own.

Biggs first put me on to Cristal in the early days of Roc-A-Fella. We were drinking it in the video for "In My Lifetime" in 1994. We didn't have a record deal yet, but back then we'd show up at clubs in Lexuses and buy bottles of Cristal, while most people in the clubs were buying Moet. It was symbolic of our whole game-it was the next s.h.i.+t. It told people that we were elevating our game, not by throwing on a bigger chain, but by showing more refined, and even slightly obscure, taste. We weren't going to stick to whatever everyone else was drinking or what everyone expected us to drink. We were going to impose our sense of what was hot on the world around us.

When people all over started drinking Cristal at clubs-when Cristal became a household name among young consumers-it wasn't because of anything Cristal had done. It was because of what we'd done. If Cristal had understood this dynamic, they never would've been so dismissive. The truth is, we didn't need them to tolerate us with "curiosity and serenity." In fact, we didn't need them at all.

IS THIS WHAT SUCCESS IS ALL ABOUT?.

There's a knee-jerk fear in America that someone-especially someone young and black-is coming to take your s.h.i.+t, f.u.c.k up your brand, destroy the quality of your life, tarnish the things you love. But in hip-hop, despite all the brand shout-outs, the truth is, we don't want your s.h.i.+t. We came out of the generation of black people who finally got the point: No one's going to help us. So we went for self, for family, for block, for crew-which sounds selfish; it's one of the criticisms hustlers and rappers both get, that we're hypercapitalists, concerned only with the bottom line and enriching ourselves. But it's just a rational response to the reality we faced. No one was going to help us. Not even our fathers stuck around. People who looked just like us were gunning for us. Weakness and dependence made you a mark, like a dope fiend. Success could only mean self-sufficiency, being a boss, not a dependent. The compet.i.tion wasn't about greed-or not just about greed. It was about survival.

There are times when it gets exhausting, this focus on constant compet.i.tion. There are times when it gets boring, especially these days when people use beef as a marketing plan. There's something heroic about the winning boxer standing at the center of the ring alone with his opponent sprawled at his feet, roaring "What's my name?" like Ali. But it's tough never being able to let your guard down.

When I described the landscape of hip-hop to Bono that night-a perpetual battlefield with new armies constantly joining in-he just shook his head. It's brutal, but if you step back from it, it's beautiful, too. What you're looking at is a culture of people so in love with life that they can't stop fighting for it-people who've seen death up close, literal death, but also the kind of dormancy and stagnation that kills your spirit. They've seen it all around them and they don't want any part of that s.h.i.+t, not at all. They want to live like they want to live-they want to impose themselves on the world through their art, with their voices. This impulse is what saved us. It's what saved me.

I don't sc.r.a.p with every comer these days. I've got so many people coming at me that I'd never do anything else. I'm not just competing on records and I'm not just competing with rappers anymore. I look at things a little differently than I used to. The compet.i.tion isn't always zero sum like it was on the streets of Trenton; I've discovered that there really is such a thing as a win-win situation. And sometimes, I'm only competing with myself, to be a better artist and businessman. To be a better person with a broader vision. But it's still that old sense of compet.i.tion that motivates me. I'm still that n.i.g.g.a on the corner seven nights straight, trying to get back the money I lost. I'm still the kid who'd fight to be able to walk through a park in Trenton, the MC who'd battle anyone in a project courtyard or back room. This is what the streets have done for us, for me: They've given us our drive; they've made us stronger. Through hip-hop we found a way to redeem those lessons, and use them to change the world.

1[The gang leader's] hourly wage was $66...the foot soldiers earned just $3.30 an hour. In other words, a crack gang works pretty much like the standard capitalist enterprise: you have to be near the top of the pyramid to make a big wage...so if crack dealing is the most dangerous job in America, and if the salary is only $3.30 an hour, why on earth would anyone take the job?" -Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner, -Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner, Freakonomics Freakonomics[image]

Jean-Michel Basquiat was from Brooklyn, like me, although he spent most of his brief adult life in Soho, where he started off living in the streets as a graffiti artist who called himself SAMO. He later became a celebrity in the downtown scene in New York in the seventies and eighties. He was hanging with Madonna before she was famous and collaborated with Andy Warhol. He came onto the scene with a crew of graffiti writers but didn't want to be boxed in with that movement, so when the graffiti scene died, he didn't die with it. He moved in a white art world but flooded his art with black images, att.i.tude, and icons. He wanted to be the most famous artist in the world. He was hip-hop when hip-hop was still in its cradle: If you look at the video for Blondie's "Rapture," the first rap song (using the word rap loosely) to play on MTV, you see Basquiat, young, skinny, standing in front of a set of turntables while Debbie Harry struts by. He played Spoonie Gee records at gallery openings. On the night he died-he was twenty-seven-Basquiat had been planning to see a Run-DMC show. When people asked him what his art was about, he'd hit them with the same three words: "Royalty, heroism, and the streets."

When he died, in 1988, I'm not sure I knew who he was, even though he was a Brooklyn kid like me and not that much older. He was deep in a world that I really didn't have much to do with-I was making money out of state and rhyming in Brooklyn, not hanging out with Andy Warhol at the Mudd Club. New York has a thousand universes in it that don't always connect, but we do all walk the same streets, hear the same sirens, ride the same subways, see the same headlines in the Post, Post, read the same writing on the walls. That shared landscape gets inside of all of us and, in some small way, unites us, makes us think we know each other even when we don't. read the same writing on the walls. That shared landscape gets inside of all of us and, in some small way, unites us, makes us think we know each other even when we don't.

Basquiat got his wish. He's probably among the most famous artists in the world, two decades after his death. I own a few of his paintings. He's known today, to some degree, as a painter that hip-hop seems to embrace. Part of that comes from his technique, which feels like hip-hop in the way it combined different traditions and techniques to create something new. He brought together elements of street art and European old masters. He combined painting and writing. He combined icons from Christianity and Santeria and voodoo. He turned boxers and jazz musicians into kings with golden crowns. And on top of all that mixing and matching he added his own genius, which transformed the work into something completely fresh and original. The paintings don't just sit on my walls, they move like crazy.

LIGHTS IS BLINDING.

Basquiat's work often deals with fame and success: the story of what happens when you actually get the thing you'd die for. One Basquiat print I own is called Charles the First Charles the First-it's about Charlie Parker, the jazz pioneer who died young of a heroin overdose, like Basquiat. In the corner of the painting are the words, MOST YOUNG YOUNG KINGS GET THIER HEAD CUT OFF. KINGS GET THIER HEAD CUT OFF.

Like a lot of the art Basquiat created, that line has layers of meaning. The head could mean the literal head on your shoulders or it could be referring to your other head-to castration. I read it as a statement about what happens when you achieve a certain position. You become a target. People want to take your head, your crown, your t.i.tle. They want to emasculate you, make you compromise or sacrifice in a way that no man, or woman, should. And you resist it until one day your alb.u.ms aren't moving and the shows aren't filling up and it seems like the game might have moved on without you. Then you start to change, you do whatever you need to do to get back into that spotlight. And that's when you're walking dead. One way or another, they get you.

The cliche is, be careful what you wish for, because you might get it. Nearly every rapper who's made it big-or has even been modestly successful-has had to deal with getting one of his heads chopped. Rappers like Pun, Big L, Ol' Dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Pimp C, among many, many others, have literally lost their lives just when they were about to peak. Rappers at the top of their game have been locked up, sometimes for long bids. The stories you hear can really make it seem like success can be a curse: rappers who've been dangled over balconies for their publis.h.i.+ng money, driven out of their hometowns, f.u.c.ked up by drugs, sued by their own families, betrayed by their best friends, sold out by their crews. There are rappers who blow up and blow through whole fortunes, squander every opportunity, and before you know it end up back on the block. The crazy thing is, we don't even question it anymore. We take it for granted.

I remember when Hammer was the biggest star in the world, in the eighties. There were a lot of people who clowned him because of the big pants and the dancing, like he was the rapper from Disney World. But Hammer was from East Oakland. Even when he was spinning around with his pants billowing all around him, you could see in his eyes that this was still a n.i.g.g.a from the hood. So when he was in Forbes Forbes magazine with eight figures after his name, big pants and all, I was impressed. It was a huge moment for hip-hop. For a black rapper to make that kind of transition into the mainstream-and to get that kind of money-was unprecedented. A few years later, Hammer was filing for bankruptcy. Today when you see stars rise and fall like that, you just think, "Yep, he f.u.c.ked it up." But with Hammer, it was the first time we'd seen that kind of fast movement from the bottom to the top and back again. It's no dis to Hammer to say that it was shocking to watch it happen. I'm sure he was as shocked as anyone. magazine with eight figures after his name, big pants and all, I was impressed. It was a huge moment for hip-hop. For a black rapper to make that kind of transition into the mainstream-and to get that kind of money-was unprecedented. A few years later, Hammer was filing for bankruptcy. Today when you see stars rise and fall like that, you just think, "Yep, he f.u.c.ked it up." But with Hammer, it was the first time we'd seen that kind of fast movement from the bottom to the top and back again. It's no dis to Hammer to say that it was shocking to watch it happen. I'm sure he was as shocked as anyone.

And of course, two of the greatest rappers to ever do it were both murdered in their prime. The not-so-funny s.h.i.+t is that Pac and Biggie were perfectly safe before they started rapping; they weren't being hunted by killers until they got into music. Biggie was on the streets before he started releasing music, but he never had squads of shooters (or the Feds) coming after him until he was famous. And Pac wasn't even heavy in the street. It wasn't till he was a rapper that he started getting shot at, locked up, stalked by the cops-and eventually murdered.

I was reminded of this when I recorded "Moment of Clarity" with Eminem for The Black Alb.u.m. The Black Alb.u.m. It was 2003 and he was on top of the music world-three major multiplatinum alb.u.ms, twenty million sold, a number one film with It was 2003 and he was on top of the music world-three major multiplatinum alb.u.ms, twenty million sold, a number one film with 8 Mile, 8 Mile, and on and on. He was probably the biggest star in the world. When we met at the studio, I reached over to give him a pound, and when we b.u.mped, I could feel that he had on a bulletproof vest. Here was Eminem, someone who was doing the thing he loved and succeeding at it probably beyond his wildest dreams, and he had to wear a bulletproof vest. and on and on. He was probably the biggest star in the world. When we met at the studio, I reached over to give him a pound, and when we b.u.mped, I could feel that he had on a bulletproof vest. Here was Eminem, someone who was doing the thing he loved and succeeding at it probably beyond his wildest dreams, and he had to wear a bulletproof vest. To the studio. To the studio. He should've been on a boat somewhere enjoying himself without a care in the world, not worrying about getting shot up on his way to work. He should've been on a boat somewhere enjoying himself without a care in the world, not worrying about getting shot up on his way to work.

It's easy to take shots at performers when they seem to self-destruct. But there's another way to look at it. When you reach that top level, there's suddenly so much to deal with on all fronts-you have old friends and distant family who are suddenly close, people who feel like they should be getting rich from your success. You have a target on your back from other people-rappers, hustlers, angry cops-who feel like your success should be theirs. You have to deal with lawyers and accountants, and you have to be able to trust these people you're just meeting with everything you have. There's just more of everything. Women, money, "friends," piles of whatever your vice is. There's enough of whatever you love to kill you. That kind of sudden change can destabilize even the most grounded personality. And that's when you lose yourself-like the Eminem song says, superstardom's close to a post-mortem. superstardom's close to a post-mortem.

IT'S STRONGER THAN HEROIN I was lucky in a lot of ways to have a body of life experiences already under my belt before I had to deal with a serious level of success. I'd made friends and lost them, made money and lost it and made it back. I'd watched people blow up in both games-music and hustling-and then watched them f.u.c.k it up and fall back to earth, hard. I was prepared. All that happened to me in music over the first years of my career mirrored a lot of what I'd seen before, just on a larger scale. Eventually the scale got so large that the comparisons stopped making sense or being as useful, but I'm lucky to have a lot of the same friends and family with me that I had when I was recording my first alb.u.m, people who keep me grounded. I'm also lucky never to have needed the approval of the gatekeepers in the industry because from the start we came into the game as entrepreneurs. That gave me the freedom to just be myself, which is the secret to any long-term success, but that's hard to see when you're young and desperate just to get put on.

When Basquiat painted Charles the First Charles the First he was only twenty-two. People always wanted to stick Basquiat in some camp or another, to paste on some label that would be stable and make it easy to treat him like a commodity. But he was elusive. His eye was always on a bigger picture, not whatever corner people tried to frame him in. But mostly his eye was probably on himself, on using his art to get what he wanted, to say what he wanted, to communicate his truth. Basquiat shook any easy definition. He wasn't afraid of wanting to succeed, to get rich, to be famous. But just because you want the s.h.i.+t doesn't mean you can handle it. he was only twenty-two. People always wanted to stick Basquiat in some camp or another, to paste on some label that would be stable and make it easy to treat him like a commodity. But he was elusive. His eye was always on a bigger picture, not whatever corner people tried to frame him in. But mostly his eye was probably on himself, on using his art to get what he wanted, to say what he wanted, to communicate his truth. Basquiat shook any easy definition. He wasn't afraid of wanting to succeed, to get rich, to be famous. But just because you want the s.h.i.+t doesn't mean you can handle it.

One critic said about Basquiat that the boys in his paintings didn't grow up to be men, they grew up to be corpses, skeletons, and ghosts. Maybe that's the curse of being young, black, and gifted in America-and if you add sudden success to that, it only makes it more likely that you'll succ.u.mb, like Basquiat did in a loft not far from the one I live in now, a loft filled with his art. But I don't think so. I don't accept that falling is inevitable- I think there's a way to avoid it, a way to win, to get success and its spoils, and get away with it without losing your soul or your life or both. I'm trying to rewrite the old script, but Basquiat's painting sits on my wall like a warning.

MOST KINGS.

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You Still Have that Stigma on You. (2:58) Inspired by Basquiat, my chariots of fire/ Everybody took shots. .h.i.t my body up I'm tired/ Build me up, break me down, to build me up again/ They like Hov we need you back so we can kill your a.s.s again/ Hov got flow though he's no Big and Pac but he's close/ How I'm supposed to win they got me fighting ghosts... How I'm supposed to win they got me fighting ghosts...1/ Same sword they knight you they gonna good night you with Same sword they knight you they gonna good night you with2/ s.h.i.+t that's only half if they like you/ That ain't he even the half what they might do/ Don't believe me ask Michael Don't believe me ask Michael3/ See Martin, see Malcolm/ You see Biggie, see Pac, see success and its outcome/ See Jesus, see Judas/ See Caesar, see Brutus See Caesar, see Brutus4/ See success is like suicide/ Suicide, it's a suicide Suicide, it's a suicide5/ If you succeed prepare to be crucified/ Hmm, media meddles, n.i.g.g.as sue you, you settle/ Every step you take they remind you, you ghetto/ So it's tough being Bobby Brown/ To be Bobby then, you gotta be Bobby now To be Bobby then, you gotta be Bobby now6/ Now the question is, is to have had and lost Now the question is, is to have had and lost/ Better than not having at all Better than not having at all7/ Everybody want to be the king till shots ring Everybody want to be the king till shots ring8/ You laying on the balcony with holes in your dream/ Or you Malcolm Xed out getting distracted by screams/ Everybody get your hands off my jeans Everybody get your hands off my jeans9/ Everybody look at you strange, say you changed/ Uh, like you work that hard to stay the same/ Uh, game stayed the same, the name changed/ So it's best for those to not overdose on being famous/ Most kings get driven so insane/ That they try to hit the same vein that Kurt Cobain did That they try to hit the same vein that Kurt Cobain did10/ So dangerous, so no strangers invited to the inner sanctum of your chambers/ Load chambers, the enemy's approaching so raise Load chambers, the enemy's approaching so raise/ your drawbridge your drawbridge11 and drown him in the moat/ The spirit I'm evoking is of those who've been awoken/ By shots from those who was most close to them/ They won't stop till you a ghost to em/ But real kings don't die, they become martyrs, let's toast to em/ King Arthur put a robe to em like James Brown/ Know the show ain't over till Rome's ruined/ Till the republic is overthrowed, till my loyal subjects is over Hov/ Long live the king. Know the reign won't stop and drown him in the moat/ The spirit I'm evoking is of those who've been awoken/ By shots from those who was most close to them/ They won't stop till you a ghost to em/ But real kings don't die, they become martyrs, let's toast to em/ King Arthur put a robe to em like James Brown/ Know the show ain't over till Rome's ruined/ Till the republic is overthrowed, till my loyal subjects is over Hov/ Long live the king. Know the reign won't stop

SUCCESS / FEATURING NAS.

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A World with Amnesia Won't Forget Your Name. (1:23) [Jay-Z] I got these n.i.g.g.as breezy, don't worry about it / Let that b.i.t.c.h breathe! / I used to give a f.u.c.k, now I give a f.u.c.k less / What do I think of success / It sucks too much stress It sucks too much stress1 / I guess I blew up quick, cause friends I grew up with / / I guess I blew up quick, cause friends I grew up with / See me as a premie, See me as a premie,2 but I'm not and my nut's big / I don't know what the fuss is / My career is ill.u.s.trious / My rep is impeccable / I'm not to be f.u.c.ked with, with s.h.i.+t / Let that b.i.t.c.h breathe! / I'm way too important to be talking about extorting / Asking me for a portion is like asking me for a coffin / Broad daylight I off ya on switch / Ya not too bright, goodnight, long kiss, / Bye-bye, my reply, blah-blah / Blast burner then pa.s.s burner, to Ty-Ty / but I'm not and my nut's big / I don't know what the fuss is / My career is ill.u.s.trious / My rep is impeccable / I'm not to be f.u.c.ked with, with s.h.i.+t / Let that b.i.t.c.h breathe! / I'm way too important to be talking about extorting / Asking me for a portion is like asking me for a coffin / Broad daylight I off ya on switch / Ya not too bright, goodnight, long kiss, / Bye-bye, my reply, blah-blah / Blast burner then pa.s.s burner, to Ty-Ty / Finish my breakfast, Finish my breakfast,3 why? / I got an appet.i.te for destruction and you're a small fry / Now where was I / Let that b.i.t.c.h breathe! / I used to give a s.h.i.+t, now I don't give a s.h.i.+t more / Truth be told, I had more fun when I was p.i.s.s poor / I'm p.i.s.sed off, is this what success all about / A bunch of n.i.g.g.as acting like b.i.t.c.hes with big mouths / All this stress, all I got is this big house / Couple cars, I don't bring half of them s.h.i.+ts out / All this Ace of Spade I drank, just to p.i.s.s out / I mean I like the taste, could have saved myself six hours / How many times can I go to Mr. Chow's, Tao's, n.o.bu / why? / I got an appet.i.te for destruction and you're a small fry / Now where was I / Let that b.i.t.c.h breathe! / I used to give a s.h.i.+t, now I don't give a s.h.i.+t more / Truth be told, I had more fun when I was p.i.s.s poor / I'm p.i.s.sed off, is this what success all about / A bunch of n.i.g.g.as acting like b.i.t.c.hes with big mouths / All this stress, all I got is this big house / Couple cars, I don't bring half of them s.h.i.+ts out / All this Ace of Spade I drank, just to p.i.s.s out / I mean I like the taste, could have saved myself six hours / How many times can I go to Mr. Chow's, Tao's, n.o.bu / Hold up, let me move my bowels Hold up, let me move my bowels4 / I'll s.h.i.+t on y'all n.i.g.g.as, OG tell these boys / [ / I'll s.h.i.+t on y'all n.i.g.g.as, OG tell these boys / [Juan] Y'all ain't got s.h.i.+t on my n.i.g.g.a / [Jay-Z] / I got watches I ain't seen in months / Apartment at the Trump I only slept in once / n.i.g.g.a said Hova was over, such dummies / Even if I fell I land on a bunch of money / Y'all ain't got nothing for me / Nas, let that b.i.t.c.h breathe!

RENEGADE1 / FEATURING EMINEM / FEATURING EMINEM.

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On Collaboration. (3:08) Motherf.u.c.kers- / say that I'm foolish I only talk about jewels (bling bling) / Do you fools listen to music or do you just skim through it? Do you fools listen to music or do you just skim through it?2 / See I'm influenced by the ghetto you ruined / That same dude you gave nothin, I made somethin doin / what I do through and through and / / See I'm influenced by the ghetto you ruined / That same dude you gave nothin, I made somethin doin / what I do through and through and / I give you the news with a twist it's just his ghetto point of view I give you the news with a twist it's just his ghetto point of view3 / The renegade; you been afraid / I penetrate pop culture, bring 'em a lot closer to the block where they / pop toasters, and they live with they moms / / The renegade; you been afraid / I penetrate pop culture, bring 'em a lot closer to the block where they / pop toasters, and they live with they moms / Got dropped roasters, from botched robberies n.i.g.g.az crouched over Got dropped roasters, from botched robberies n.i.g.g.az crouched over4 / Mommy's knocked up cause she wasn't watched over / / Mommy's knocked up cause she wasn't watched over / Knocked down by some clown when child support knocked Knocked down by some clown when child support knocked5 / / No he's not around-now how that sound to ya, jot it down No he's not around-now how that sound to ya, jot it down6 / I bring it through the ghetto without ridin 'round / hidin down duckin strays from frustrated youths stuck in they ways / Just read a magazine that f.u.c.ked up my day / How you rate music that thugs with nothin relate to it? / / I bring it through the ghetto without ridin 'round / hidin down duckin strays from frustrated youths stuck in they ways / Just read a magazine that f.u.c.ked up my day / How you rate music that thugs with nothin relate to it? / I help them see they way through it-not you I help them see they way through it-not you7 / Can't step in my pants, can't walk in my shoes / / Can't step in my pants, can't walk in my shoes / Bet everything you worth; you lose your tie and your s.h.i.+rt Bet everything you worth; you lose your tie and your s.h.i.+rt8 / / I had to hustle, my back to the wall, ashy knuckles I had to hustle, my back to the wall, ashy knuckles9 / Pockets filled with a lot of lint, not a cent / Gotta vent, lot of innocent lives lost on the project bench / Whatchu hollerin? Gotta pay rent, bring dollars in / By the bodega, iron under my coat, feelin braver / / Pockets filled with a lot of lint, not a cent / Gotta vent, lot of innocent lives lost on the project bench / Whatchu hollerin? Gotta pay rent, bring dollars in / By the bodega, iron under my coat, feelin braver / Do-rag wrappin my waves up, pockets full of hope Do-rag wrappin my waves up, pockets full of hope10 / / Do not step to me-I'm awkward, I box lefty Do not step to me-I'm awkward, I box lefty11 often / often / My pops left me an orphan, my momma wasn't home My pops left me an orphan, my momma wasn't home / Could not stress to me I wasn't grown; 'specially on nights / / Could not stress to me I wasn't grown; 'specially on nights / I brought somethin home to quiet the stomach rumblings I brought somethin home to quiet the stomach rumblings12 / My demeanor-thirty years my senior / / My demeanor-thirty years my senior / My childhood didn't mean much, My childhood didn't mean much,13 only raising green up / only raising green up / Raisin' my fingers to critics; raisin' my head to the sky Raisin' my fingers to critics; raisin' my head to the sky14 / / BIG I did it-multi before I die (n.i.g.g.a) BIG I did it-multi before I die (n.i.g.g.a)15 / No lie, just know I chose my own fate / / No lie, just know I chose my own fate / I drove by the fork in the road and went straight I drove by the fork in the road and went straight16

CAN I LIVE?.

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Can I Live? (1:22) Yeah, hah, yeah Roc-A-Fella / We invite you to something epic, y'all know? / Well we hustle out of a sense of hopelessness. Sort of a desperation. / Through that desperation, we 'come addicted, sorta like the fiends we accustomed to servin. / 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? What do you bring to the table?1 / While I'm watchin every n.i.g.g.a watchin me closely / / While I'm watchin every n.i.g.g.a watchin me closely / my s.h.i.+t is b.u.t.ter for the bread they wanna toast me my s.h.i.+t is b.u.t.ter for the bread they wanna toast me2 / I keep my head, both of them where they supposed to be / Hoes'll get you sidetracked then clap from close feet / I don't sleep, I'm tired, I feel wired like codeine, these days / / I keep my head, both of them where they supposed to be / Hoes'll get you sidetracked then clap from close feet / I don't sleep, I'm tired, I feel wired like codeine, these days / a brother gotta admire me from four fiends away a brother gotta admire me from four fiends away3 / My pain wish it was quick to see, from sellin 'caine / till brains was fried to a frica.s.see, can't lie. / At the time it never bothered me, at the bar / gettin my thug on properly, my squad and me / lack of respect for authority, laughin hard / Happy to be escapin poverty, however brief / I know this game got valleys and peaks, expectation / / My pain wish it was quick to see, from sellin 'caine / till brains was fried to a frica.s.see, can't lie. / At the time it never bothered me, at the bar / gettin my thug on properly, my squad and me / lack of respect for authority, laughin hard / Happy to be escapin poverty, however brief / I know this game got valleys and peaks, expectation / for dips, for precipitation we stack chips, hardly for dips, for precipitation we stack chips, hardly4 / The youth I used to be, soon to see a milli'n / No more Big Willie my game has grown prefer you call me William / Illin for revenues, Rayful Edmond like / / The youth I used to be, soon to see a milli'n / No more Big Willie my game has grown prefer you call me William / Illin for revenues, Rayful Edmond like / Channel 7 news, round seven jewels, head dead in the mic Channel 7 news, round seven jewels, head dead in the mic5 / Forgettin all I ever knew, convenient amnesia / I suggest you call my lawyer, I know the procedure / Lock my body can't trap my mind, easily / explain why we adapt to crime / / Forgettin all I ever knew, convenient amnesia / I suggest you call my lawyer, I know the procedure / Lock my body can't trap my mind, easily / explain why we adapt to crime / I'd rather die enormous than live dormant that's how we on it I'd rather die enormous than live dormant that's how we on it6 / Live at the main event, I bet a trip to Maui on it / / Live at the main event, I bet a trip to Maui on it / Presidential suites my residential for the weekend Presidential suites my residential for the weekend7 / Confidentially speakin in codes since I sense you peekin / The NSX rental, don't be fooled my game is mental / We both out of town dog, what you tryin to get into? / Viva, Las Vegas, see ya later at the c.r.a.p tables / meet me by the one that starts a G up / This way no fraud Willie's present gambling they re-up / And we can have a pleasant time, sippin margaritas / Ge-ge-geyeahhh, can I live? / Can I live? / / Confidentially speakin in codes since I sense you peekin / The NSX rental, don't be fooled my game is mental / We both out of town dog, what you tryin to get into? / Viva, Las Vegas, see ya later at the c.r.a.p tables / meet me by the one that starts a G up / This way no fraud Willie's present gambling they re-up / And we can have a pleasant time, sippin margaritas / Ge-ge-geyeahhh, can I live? / Can I live? / My mind is infested with sick thoughts that circle My mind is infested with sick thoughts that circle8 / like a Lexus, if driven wrong it's sure to hurt you / Dual level like duplexes, in unity my crew and me / commit atrocities like we got immunity / You guessed it, manifest it in tangible goods / Platinum Rolexed it we don't lease / / like a Lexus, if driven wrong it's sure to hurt you / Dual level like duplexes, in unity my crew and me / commit atrocities like we got immunity / You guessed it, manifest it in tangible goods / Platinum Rolexed it we don't lease / we buy the whole car, as you should we buy the whole car, as you should9 / my confederation, dead a nation, EXPLODE / on detonation, overload the mind of a said patient / When it boils to steam, it comes to it / we all fiends gotta do it, even righteous minds go through this / True this, streets school us to spend our money foolish / Bond with jewelers and watch for intruders / / my confederation, dead a nation, EXPLODE / on detonation, overload the mind of a said patient / When it boils to steam, it comes to it / we all fiends gotta do it, even righteous minds go through this / True this, streets school us to spend our money foolish / Bond with jewelers and watch for intruders / I stepped it up another level, meditated like a Buddhist I stepped it up another level, meditated like a Buddhist10 / Recruited lieutenants with ludicrous dreams of / gettin cream let's do this, it gets tedious / / Recruited lieutenants with ludicrous dreams of / gettin cream let's do this, it gets tedious / So I keep one eye open like C-B-S, So I keep one eye open like C-B-S,11 ya see me / stressed right. Can I live? / Can I live? / Can I live? Can I live? ya see me / stressed right. Can I live? / Can I live? / Can I live? Can I live?[image]

Back in the 1990s, before file-sharing became the real disrupter in the music industry, bootlegging was the worst threat. There is no a.n.a.logy between bootlegging and anything that happens in the streets, unless you count n.i.g.g.as going up in stash spots and straight robbing you. As an artist, you're in the position of having to guard your work from everyone. No one can answer you when you demand to know how your alb.u.m was leaked in the first place.

So you become paranoid. Is it the engineer in the studio, his a.s.sistant, the owner of the studio? Is it the label, the processing plant? I always had some sympathy for our die-hard fans, the ones who were just looking for a way to get their hands on records they couldn't otherwise afford. Back when it was really rampant, I always threw away a hundred thousand units in projections to bootlegging, knowing that bootleggers were so resourceful that they could never be completely beaten, no matter how careful you were. It's almost quaint to think about that now, since digital pirating accounts for many times as many copies as any bootlegger ever managed to get out on the streets. And back then, it was rare for the bootleg to dramatically beat the release date for the legit alb.u.m.

But when Vol. 3...Life and Times of S. Carter, Vol. 3...Life and Times of S. Carter, my fourth alb.u.m, hit the streets more than a month before the official release date, I was totally at a loss. This was really too much. I was flipping out on Def Jam staff, accusing people of having something to do with the bootleg copies on the street. I just couldn't believe how flagrant it was, and how much more damaging it could be than the usual low-level bootlegging. I wanted to know how my s.h.i.+t got out. my fourth alb.u.m, hit the streets more than a month before the official release date, I was totally at a loss. This was really too much. I was flipping out on Def Jam staff, accusing people of having something to do with the bootleg copies on the street. I just couldn't believe how flagrant it was, and how much more damaging it could be than the usual low-level bootlegging. I wanted to know how my s.h.i.+t got out.

People kept giving me the same name as the source of the bootlegging. It was someone I knew, someone I never would have suspected. One night I went to Q-Tip's solo alb.u.m release party and at some point in the night, I ran into the guy everyone's been telling me is behind the bootleg. So I approached him. When I told him what I suspected, to my surprise, he got real loud with me right there in the middle of the club. It was strange. We separated and I went over to the bar. I was sitting there like, "No the f.u.c.k this n.i.g.g.a did not..." I was talking to people, but I was really talking to myself out loud, just in a state of shock. Before I even realized what I was doing, I headed back over to him, but this time I was blacking out with anger. The next thing I knew, all h.e.l.l had broken loose in the club. That night the guy went straight to the police and I was charged with a.s.sault.

I went to the Trump Hotel on Central Park West and holed up, tracking coverage of the incident in the media. After a couple of days I called my lawyer and turned myself in at the precinct. That's when I realized how serious things were, not because they threw me in the Tombs, but because they started setting up a press conference. The district attorney had his publicist on the phone, the cop that was a.s.signed to do the perp walk with me was combing his hair and fixing his collar; it was a complete show for them. The hilarious thing, if any of this can be considered funny, is that the Rocawear bubble coat I was wearing when they paraded me in front of the cameras started flying off the shelves the last three weeks before Christmas.

AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT SHAWN COULD LOSE IT.

When I was holed up in the Trump Hotel, my entertainment lawyer, Michael Guido, came by and taught me an old college game he used to play, Guts. My whole crew learned how to play. It's a high-stakes game, and I like to watch how people react under the game's pressure. It's revealing. Guts is deceptively simple. You're dealt three cards. Aces and pairs are high. Once you're dealt your three cards, you have to decide whether or not to stay in. The best hand wins the pot, so it is essential to do a quick a.n.a.lysis, read your opponents, and, most importantly, be decisive. It's a game that rewards the kind of self-possession and clarity that quiets your fight-or-flight reflexes. Gambling like that makes you aware of how often your immediate emotional impulses are to do something really stupid because it feels good for a moment. Like what I did at the club that night.

There are some lines in "Streets Is Watching," a song off my second alb.u.m, that capture the situation. The song's first verse starts off: Look, if I shoot you, I'm brainless But if you shoot me, then you're famous-what's a n.i.g.g.a to do?

And the second starts: Now it's hard not to kill n.i.g.g.as It's like a full-time job not to kill n.i.g.g.as The streets can start to make you see the logic in violence. If a thing surrounds you and is targeted at you, it can start to seem regular. What may have once seemed like an extreme or unacceptable measure starts to seem like just another tool in your kit. Even after I left the streets, I was still under the kind of pressure that made me sometimes act without thinking. But when you slip and give in to that pressure, in an instant you can throw your whole life away. I had to learn to keep my mind still so I could think clearly and sometimes hold back even when my heart is telling me to go in.

On the other hand, you have to know when you need to step up and act, even when it might seem reckless to someone on the outside. Knowing the difference between recklessness and boldness is the whole art of gambling. But in the end you're just rolling the dice.

As distracting as my indictment had become, I knew that the next single off the alb.u.m, "Big Pimpin'," was a gem, even if it wasn't a conventional single by any stretch of the imagination. I asked UGK to get on the track with me because I was a huge fan of their music, even though a lot of my East Coast fans didn't really know who they were. I'd always loved Southern hip-hop, and UGK combined great Southern bounce with sneak-ily complex rhymes and delivery. And they were funny as h.e.l.l. Timbaland went wild on that track; he used pieces of North African music, horns that sounded d.a.m.n near like geese. It didn't sound like anything else on the radio at the time, but I knew it was time to double down.

I rallied the troops and I told my staff to get us on MTV's Making the Video, Making the Video, which hadn't been on a rap set before. I got Hype Williams to direct it. I'm notoriously tight with video budgets, but for "Big Pimpin'," I put out a million dollars. We headed to Trinidad for carnival, then booked a mansion in Miami, got the biggest yacht we could find, and hired hundreds of girls from the top agencies. We went Vegas with n.i.g.g.as on that one. But to me, it felt like a sure bet. When we released the single for "Big Pimpin'" in the first week of June 2000, it made up for the bootlegging, the indictment, everything. It was my biggest single up to that point. which hadn't been on a rap set before. I got Hype Williams to direct it. I'm notoriously tight with video budgets, but for "Big Pimpin'," I put out a million dollars. We headed to Trinidad for carnival, then booked a mansion in Miami, got the biggest yacht we could find, and hired hundreds of girls from the top agencies. We went Vegas with n.i.g.g.as on that one. But to me, it felt like a sure bet. When we released the single for "Big Pimpin'" in the first week of June 2000, it made up for the bootlegging, the indictment, everything. It was my biggest single up to that point.

WITH ENOUGH BAIL MONEY TO FREE A BIG w.i.l.l.y.

The contrast between the million-dollar extravagance of the "Big Pimpin'" video and the potential of being behind bars for years behind a mindless a.s.sault wasn't lost on me. Both were about losing control. "Big Pimpin'" is a song that I wrote in the middle of all the madness, a time when I might have been at my most paranoid and hedonistic. It's a song that seems to be about the purity of the hustler's thrill-pleasure cooked down to a crystal. The lyrics are aggressive; they're about getting high off that thrill, f.u.c.k sharing it or saving some for tomorrow. Break taboos, live without limitations, spend money like it'll never run out, f.u.c.k b.i.t.c.hes, and bounce, forget about catching feelings. Jump out the plane and don't think about how you're going to land. But there's a couplet at the end, I got so many grams if the man find out.i.t will land me in jail for life that shows that even when you're out of control, you know that it could end at any moment, which only makes you go harder. If the price is life, then you better get what you paid for. There's an equal and opposite relations.h.i.+p between balling and falling.

The winter before my case, Puff and Shyne caught a case behind that shoot-out at Club New York, and just as I was being indicted, their case was being prepared for trial. The way Puff and Shyne's trial unfolded was unreal. The district attorney's office spent a lot of money on prosecution and it went on for more than a month. Less than a block from where Puff and Shyne were being tried, the guys accused of bombing the World Trade Center in 1993 were on trial. There were barricades in front of their courthouse. It was a major trial, important to the city, the whole country, but no media were there. Meanwhile Puff's courthouse was swarming with cameras and reporters; the local papers were writing about what Puff's mother was wearing to court. It was un-f.u.c.king-real. Of course Shyne got convicted, but the D.A. had put on that spectacle to get Puff. When he walked I knew they'd be even more aggressive about getting a conviction in my case, making an example of me where they'd failed with Puff. So I settled and took probation. No way was I going to allow myself to be a sideshow for the state.

But more than that, I realized that I had a choice in life. There was no reason to put my life on the line, and the lives of everyone who depends on me, because of a momentary loss of control. It sometimes feels like complete disaster is always around the corner, waiting to trap us, so we have to live for the moment and f.u.c.k the rest. That kind of fatalism-this game I play ain't no way to fix it, it's inevitable-feels like realism, but the truth is that you can step back and not play someone else's game. I vowed to never allow myself to be in a situation like that again.

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