I've always said Puffy Combs was the devil ("Puffy Combs"-that sounds like a hair care product for chicks with bad perms). I've noticed lately that many people share my sentiment, ver batim. It's got to be more than coincidence that 2 of his flagship artists left his camp only to become religious zealots, one is dead, others have never been seen on the face of the Earth again (Craig Mack is not the type of nigga you'd walk past without noticing), one is still in Jail, one is fresh out of Prison, & the rest just dissipated into music irrelevance (including Bad Boy Records as a crew, a label & a motherfuckin' staff). & I'm not buying into any of that conspiracy theory rhetoric about "The Oath" & secret society propaganda, as if he sacrificed their respective lives to buy his baby momma a brand new car. But, I will buy into the possibility that dude, if not the Devil incarnate, is at least higher up on the totem pole of those who signed away their souls to become rich & famous beyond one's wildest dreams.
Seriously, I never understood exactly what dude's talent was. I do think he has an uncanny ability to hypnotize (no pun intended) people into buying his bullshit, though. By that theory, he would have been phenomenal at whatever profession he chose. Not to bring up Craig Mack again, but Puff convinced millions of people to look past what appeared to be a Halloween mask & focus on Mack's music. Tell me Craig Mack didn't scare one of your kids, nieces, pets, etc., & I'll call you a liar. That's "air conditioner in Alaska" salesmanship right there. I'll give him credit for having an "ear" for what sounds good, & having the gumption to make people his contractual worker bees. He even had clauses in his contracts where his own artists had to pay him to do cameos in videos & perform on their own songs. Unknowingly, said artists thought that Puff was showing them love by bullying his way onto their singles, when in actuality, he was padding his pockets. Genius.
Notorious B.I.G was growing hip to Puff's shady ways, but similar to Tupac, by the time enough wisdom was accrued to fight the proverbial power that was, his life was cut short. Some say Puff may have had something to do with it, & it's believable if only I thought Puff was as street smart as he is chattel savvy.
Now, he has a new opponent to face. Rapper Shyne, just released from an almost 10 year prison term, that he received as a result of showing Puff the kind of love that should never leave the streets. He attempted to kill another man. It's understandable, because Shyne's back story reads like an after school special, & when Puff sold him his diamond-encrusted bullshit, it had a chapter in it called "Love You Like A Little Brother". Puff apparently did, & Shyne bought it. So much so that Shyne jeopardized his bright, limitless future just to make sure that a particular guy would never disrespect Puff again. Well, the guy didn't die, & Shyne was arrested, along with Puffy.
Puff was never charged with any felonies, while Shyne was. On the advice of his equally as jackassed legal counsel, Puff even made sure the two had seperate lawyers for the trial. When it was all said & done, a free Puff disappeared back into the star-studded fog from which he emerged the day Foxy Brown introduced the two.
Which brings us to Shyne's release date last week, a day Puff probably thought about hard & often. How could he not? I know I have friends in the Pen right now, who I haven't written in months, & I know when these dudes come home, they'll have a bone to pick with me just because I didn't send them semi-nude pics from King magazine. I can't imagine what Puff may be thinking about. But, as only the Devil could do it, Shyne's freedom has taken a turn for the unusual, as he's being deported to Belize for improper citizenship. Something similar happened to Slick Rick after he tried to kill his cousin, back in the early 90's. They shipped him off to England, if only temporarily.
If Puff is smart, the effort he should've put into his little homie's legal trouble ten years ago, will come now. Undoubtedly Shyne has a bone to pick with Combs, but nothing quells deep-rooted disdain than a timely rescue, free of charge. Shyne's not the same young, street hood he was 10 years ago, but hey, I'm still mad that my son ate the big piece of chicken last Tuesday. So, I know Shyne is a bit miffed. &, if Puff doesn't take this opportunity to help Shyne now, like he should've then, he deserves every bit of Tupac-esque anger & hatred that will be coming his way. & we all know it's coming, it's just a matter of how & when. Internet clamor suggests that Shyne should beat the mink off of him, but that would surely be backwards hustling. I've even heard that, with the right legal team, Shyne can sue Puff for damages. But I say, dedicate an entire record to Puff's business dealings & lack of manhood when it comes to life in general. An audio tell-all book, if you will. Not only would Shyne sell some records (because face it, niggas love to hear about how much of a douche nozzle this jerk is), but he could vent his frustration in a way that wouldn't send him back to the stockade for a decade. If he does nothing at all but go back to Belize, fry up some plantain, & bone all the natives, he still wins because he handled his situation like a man, according to the No Snitch act of 2000.
Shyne's still young, & Hip Hop loves a rehabilitated convict with a story to tell, so I'm sure he'll be okay. Puff, on the other hand, has an unavoidable debt to settle with Satan.
Karma's a bitch & God is her father.Be careful, Puffy. It's cold outside.
Showing posts with label Puffy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Puffy. Show all posts
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Dead Rappers=Dead Presidents
It's weird how fiscal (someone else's) death can be in the entertainment biz.
Without some blowhole murdering Tupac Shakur, how successful would Master P* have been? He literally based the first half of his rap career on dedicating just about every one of his mediocre songs to Pac's memory. The second half was spent pimping out his family members & giving out record deals like so much free cheese. It's still unclear to me if the two ever even met. Yet, Percy Miller shouted him out intently, & often, like the two had been college room mates. Or prison cell mates. & P wasn't the only dude to benefit from a posthumous Pac. There was actually a time in (west coast & down south) Hip Hop when even the slightest indication of Tupac influence meant guaranteed success. If he IS in a grave, he's rolled over no less than 500 times by now.
Take rapper Fat Joe*. A relatively obscure hip hopper from the Bronx, NY in the mid-90's. If it weren't for my insatiable love of the culture, I wouldn't have known who he was either. He had a couple of bland records that were met by unexcited praise, but the smartest thing he ever did was introduce the world to the super-lyrical MC Big Pun. Pun took the rap world by storm, only to die from a heart attack a couple of years later. From this untimely death was born fame for Joe, who began every song with some sort of short rant about the man he dubbed his "twin". Though Joe never possessed the skill of Pun, as long as he could convince folks that Pun's ghost was somewhere in the room, he had our attention for the moment.
I won't even go in on Puffy & Notorious BIG*.
Now, to the list of parasites, we can add an unknown rap cat named Charles Hamilton. First glance at his name would indicate that he's a figure skater, or some type of child backgammon protege. No Dice. He's best compared to that strange guy who always talks in mumbles & never matches his clothes, purposely. Regardless of failing thus far to become a hip-hop-household name, he continues to attempt to brainwash the masses into thinking he's offering above average rap records, when they are merely clear cries for help. He even got punched in the face by some girl he put in a song. One would think she would be grateful for her 5 minutes of fame. Instead, she kicked his ass for being so homotional. Even that attack on his manhood wasn't enough to deter him from douchebaggery.
His next album was to be Executive Produced by a producer by the name of J-Dilla*, who passed away about 2 years ago from Lupus. Even though he was an underground artist, Dilla had produced hit records for a large amount of notable artists. For the most part, he just starting getting the respect his craft deserved when his life ended.
Nonetheless, he's dead now, & in some odd attempt at homage, Charles decided to make Dilla executive producer on his next album. Problem is, they've never worked together, met, or shared any type of mutual friendship (stalker!). As strange as that may be, Hamilton said that he did so in an effort to see to it that Dilla's family benefits from a percentage of every album sold. Which, really wouldn't be strange at all if he didn't plan on releasing the album on the 'Net for free download. What first appeared a genuine effort on his part to contribute to a dead man's family quickly evolved into a marketing scheme implosion, further cementing Hamilton's legacy of being a f%cking jerk.
When idiocy outweighs musical output, something's not working in your favor. This is the stuff that true douches are made of.
Call me old-fashioned, but in my day, if one wanted to help out another, we simply took them whatever we thought they needed. May even have called & asked first if it was cool for us to even extend our hand to them. A good sign if someone is an asshole is assuming that whatever they decide to do for us will be good enough. If Hamilton didn't have the money currently available to manifest his good intentions, he could've organized a fundraiser for Dilla's loved ones. Folks love giving for a cause. It's the homeless people that they refuse to help. If properly orchestrated, he could have raised tens of thousands of bucks to give them. Hell, at this point, a tattoo of J-Dilla on his back would have been better received by the public.
According to Charles' blog, the politics of the music game made it virtually impossible to put Dilla's stamp on his brand. No Dice. It was probably more like Dilla's mom caught wind of this bum ass clown & shooed him away like bees at a barbecue. So, to save face, he blamed it on a bunch of people who don't really exist.
We know death is the Holy Grail of marketing. & if you can't get a co-sign from a dead dude, its time to change careers.
If it's worth anything, Robert Louis Stevenson is my executive publisher. Shouts out to his mom.
-----
*-Google Alert
Without some blowhole murdering Tupac Shakur, how successful would Master P* have been? He literally based the first half of his rap career on dedicating just about every one of his mediocre songs to Pac's memory. The second half was spent pimping out his family members & giving out record deals like so much free cheese. It's still unclear to me if the two ever even met. Yet, Percy Miller shouted him out intently, & often, like the two had been college room mates. Or prison cell mates. & P wasn't the only dude to benefit from a posthumous Pac. There was actually a time in (west coast & down south) Hip Hop when even the slightest indication of Tupac influence meant guaranteed success. If he IS in a grave, he's rolled over no less than 500 times by now.
Take rapper Fat Joe*. A relatively obscure hip hopper from the Bronx, NY in the mid-90's. If it weren't for my insatiable love of the culture, I wouldn't have known who he was either. He had a couple of bland records that were met by unexcited praise, but the smartest thing he ever did was introduce the world to the super-lyrical MC Big Pun. Pun took the rap world by storm, only to die from a heart attack a couple of years later. From this untimely death was born fame for Joe, who began every song with some sort of short rant about the man he dubbed his "twin". Though Joe never possessed the skill of Pun, as long as he could convince folks that Pun's ghost was somewhere in the room, he had our attention for the moment.
I won't even go in on Puffy & Notorious BIG*.
Now, to the list of parasites, we can add an unknown rap cat named Charles Hamilton. First glance at his name would indicate that he's a figure skater, or some type of child backgammon protege. No Dice. He's best compared to that strange guy who always talks in mumbles & never matches his clothes, purposely. Regardless of failing thus far to become a hip-hop-household name, he continues to attempt to brainwash the masses into thinking he's offering above average rap records, when they are merely clear cries for help. He even got punched in the face by some girl he put in a song. One would think she would be grateful for her 5 minutes of fame. Instead, she kicked his ass for being so homotional. Even that attack on his manhood wasn't enough to deter him from douchebaggery.
His next album was to be Executive Produced by a producer by the name of J-Dilla*, who passed away about 2 years ago from Lupus. Even though he was an underground artist, Dilla had produced hit records for a large amount of notable artists. For the most part, he just starting getting the respect his craft deserved when his life ended.
Nonetheless, he's dead now, & in some odd attempt at homage, Charles decided to make Dilla executive producer on his next album. Problem is, they've never worked together, met, or shared any type of mutual friendship (stalker!). As strange as that may be, Hamilton said that he did so in an effort to see to it that Dilla's family benefits from a percentage of every album sold. Which, really wouldn't be strange at all if he didn't plan on releasing the album on the 'Net for free download. What first appeared a genuine effort on his part to contribute to a dead man's family quickly evolved into a marketing scheme implosion, further cementing Hamilton's legacy of being a f%cking jerk.
When idiocy outweighs musical output, something's not working in your favor. This is the stuff that true douches are made of.
Call me old-fashioned, but in my day, if one wanted to help out another, we simply took them whatever we thought they needed. May even have called & asked first if it was cool for us to even extend our hand to them. A good sign if someone is an asshole is assuming that whatever they decide to do for us will be good enough. If Hamilton didn't have the money currently available to manifest his good intentions, he could've organized a fundraiser for Dilla's loved ones. Folks love giving for a cause. It's the homeless people that they refuse to help. If properly orchestrated, he could have raised tens of thousands of bucks to give them. Hell, at this point, a tattoo of J-Dilla on his back would have been better received by the public.
According to Charles' blog, the politics of the music game made it virtually impossible to put Dilla's stamp on his brand. No Dice. It was probably more like Dilla's mom caught wind of this bum ass clown & shooed him away like bees at a barbecue. So, to save face, he blamed it on a bunch of people who don't really exist.
We know death is the Holy Grail of marketing. & if you can't get a co-sign from a dead dude, its time to change careers.
If it's worth anything, Robert Louis Stevenson is my executive publisher. Shouts out to his mom.
-----
*-Google Alert
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)