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 Shyne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shyne. Show all posts
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Man Down! Man Down!
Remember how shocked people were when rapper Chi Ali killed some kid in 2001? Even if one hadn't gotten wind of this young MC (no Bust A Move), it was still pretty awesome that this quasi-famous teenage rapper had grown up & taken a man's life. [See the beginning of the movie "Strapped" for a loose re-enactment.] Before the crime, he aligned himself with the Native Tongues crew, & by all early-90's Hip Hop standards, he was destined for greatness. That fantasy world finally came crashing to the asphalt when, later that same year, he was featured on an episode of America's Most Wanted for Murder. When the smoke finally cleared, he was sentenced to 14 years behind bars.
So far this year alone, there have been two high-profile cases involving rappers & their involvement with a crime that resulted in murder.
Corey Miller, formally known as C-Murder & brother to Master P, was sentenced last month to life, plus 10 years, for the 2002 killing of a 16 year old young man during a club parking lot scuffle. True or not, witness accounts say he reached into a small crowd & fired his weapon into the boy as he laid on the pavement. This verdict came on the heels of him beating an attempted murder case in another Louisiana parrish. C-Murder, in-fucking-deed. Ironically, Miller has a tattoo of his brother Kevin's face on his arm, who was senselessly killed many years prior. Now, somebody will be getting this dead boy's face on their body, no doubt.
Jim Jones/Dip Set affiliate Max B. was sentenced to 75 years on Sept. 3, for his role in a 2006 robbery that left a man dead. His supposed girlfriend-turn-witness spilled her guts about the plan he reportedly devised, in an effort to save her own ass. Though he didn't pull the proverbial trigger, he might as well had, according to the jury pool who found him guilty of conspiracy. Many fans & supporters believe that his lawyer was reckless & naïve, speaking to magazines & tweeting in regards to the case prematurely, but that doesn't alter the fact that he was an accomplice to a crime that ended in one less human being walking the face of the planet.
Maybe the weeds getting better, or times are getting worse, but cats are blindly intent on keepin' it real these days. I remember when rappers got tossed out of shows, or under buses. Under the jail though, is beyond me.
Honorable mentions to MC Slick Rick, for trying to shoot & kill his cousin in 1991, which for the most part spelled doom for his career. When he was released from prison after roughly 5 years, many popular rap dudes tried to pull him on to their projects, but times had changed from the rap scene he was running years prior. The world wasn't ready for a criminapper to be all over it's respective TV screens. Oddly enough, if that had've been today, it would've launched his recording career into the stratosphere & made "Slick Rick" a household name. In a good way. Also, rapper Shyne, who under the tuteledge of the omnipotent Sean "P. Diddy" Combs, found himself in the middle of a club, busting his .40 caliber at some of Diddy's "friends" in 1999. He was convicted of attempted murder & handed a 10 year sentence before Diddy turned his back & walked away without serving any time for his involvement, including an ensuing car chase with actress/then girlfriend Jennifer Lopez in the vehicle. Shyne is to be released later this year.
In Hip Hop, we're at a crossroad; on one side, there's these criminal minds who truly believe in what the speak. Manifest destiny per se. On the other side is the victim. Often, the victim is cut from the same cloth as the victor, yet find themselves on the bad end of the bargain. It's impossible to root for one, while we mourn for the other one. It's that complex balance of the universe that makes the world go 'round, but that doesn't make it okay. I guess it does make it okay, until our father, uncle, brother, best friend is killed for the sole reason of "keepin' it real", whatever the fuck that means nowadays.
Now's the part where I'm supposed to urge my more influential brothers & sisters to WAKE UP! & RISE!, but that empty, Spike Lee movie rhetoric falls on deaf ears. It's not a Black thing, because if it were, our collective pride wouldn't allow us to hunt & destroy one another like so much sport. & I refuse to blame "the White Man", because I can't remember the last time I looked over my shoulder for a White man as I walked home from the weed spot. It's a people thing, & their insipid lack of natural love for one another. I understand people make mistakes, but a mistake repeated is a purposeful act. If we don't take responsibility for ourselves, then other's will. & if we learned anything from 'Amistad' or 'Roots', it's that the last thing we want is other motherfuckers in charge of "our" lives.
It's deeper than rap, but we might as well find a point to start from. Better late than never, Word to Dr. Rev. MLK, jr.
So far this year alone, there have been two high-profile cases involving rappers & their involvement with a crime that resulted in murder.
Corey Miller, formally known as C-Murder & brother to Master P, was sentenced last month to life, plus 10 years, for the 2002 killing of a 16 year old young man during a club parking lot scuffle. True or not, witness accounts say he reached into a small crowd & fired his weapon into the boy as he laid on the pavement. This verdict came on the heels of him beating an attempted murder case in another Louisiana parrish. C-Murder, in-fucking-deed. Ironically, Miller has a tattoo of his brother Kevin's face on his arm, who was senselessly killed many years prior. Now, somebody will be getting this dead boy's face on their body, no doubt.
Jim Jones/Dip Set affiliate Max B. was sentenced to 75 years on Sept. 3, for his role in a 2006 robbery that left a man dead. His supposed girlfriend-turn-witness spilled her guts about the plan he reportedly devised, in an effort to save her own ass. Though he didn't pull the proverbial trigger, he might as well had, according to the jury pool who found him guilty of conspiracy. Many fans & supporters believe that his lawyer was reckless & naïve, speaking to magazines & tweeting in regards to the case prematurely, but that doesn't alter the fact that he was an accomplice to a crime that ended in one less human being walking the face of the planet.
Maybe the weeds getting better, or times are getting worse, but cats are blindly intent on keepin' it real these days. I remember when rappers got tossed out of shows, or under buses. Under the jail though, is beyond me.
Honorable mentions to MC Slick Rick, for trying to shoot & kill his cousin in 1991, which for the most part spelled doom for his career. When he was released from prison after roughly 5 years, many popular rap dudes tried to pull him on to their projects, but times had changed from the rap scene he was running years prior. The world wasn't ready for a criminapper to be all over it's respective TV screens. Oddly enough, if that had've been today, it would've launched his recording career into the stratosphere & made "Slick Rick" a household name. In a good way. Also, rapper Shyne, who under the tuteledge of the omnipotent Sean "P. Diddy" Combs, found himself in the middle of a club, busting his .40 caliber at some of Diddy's "friends" in 1999. He was convicted of attempted murder & handed a 10 year sentence before Diddy turned his back & walked away without serving any time for his involvement, including an ensuing car chase with actress/then girlfriend Jennifer Lopez in the vehicle. Shyne is to be released later this year.
In Hip Hop, we're at a crossroad; on one side, there's these criminal minds who truly believe in what the speak. Manifest destiny per se. On the other side is the victim. Often, the victim is cut from the same cloth as the victor, yet find themselves on the bad end of the bargain. It's impossible to root for one, while we mourn for the other one. It's that complex balance of the universe that makes the world go 'round, but that doesn't make it okay. I guess it does make it okay, until our father, uncle, brother, best friend is killed for the sole reason of "keepin' it real", whatever the fuck that means nowadays.
Now's the part where I'm supposed to urge my more influential brothers & sisters to WAKE UP! & RISE!, but that empty, Spike Lee movie rhetoric falls on deaf ears. It's not a Black thing, because if it were, our collective pride wouldn't allow us to hunt & destroy one another like so much sport. & I refuse to blame "the White Man", because I can't remember the last time I looked over my shoulder for a White man as I walked home from the weed spot. It's a people thing, & their insipid lack of natural love for one another. I understand people make mistakes, but a mistake repeated is a purposeful act. If we don't take responsibility for ourselves, then other's will. & if we learned anything from 'Amistad' or 'Roots', it's that the last thing we want is other motherfuckers in charge of "our" lives.
It's deeper than rap, but we might as well find a point to start from. Better late than never, Word to Dr. Rev. MLK, jr.
Monday, June 1, 2009
HATE!: The American Pastime
I dislike Sean John Combs as much as the next guy.
Maybe a little less than Shyne, & a little more than Andre Harrell, nevertheless, mine runs pretty deep.
Would I go as far as to say I "hate" him? Not at all. I've never met him, & outside of wasting some precious life moments of mine with his horrid lyrics, he's never done anything to me personally.
But, from what I gathered, quite a few people Hate Diddy. I'm not sure why, because in order for me to prescribe someone such a strong emotion, I'd have to love them first. He's by no means my favorite artist, or fashion designer, & for that matter, his cologne isn't even all that good, & I regard him as one of the greatest Douche Nozzles of my generation, but hate isn't a word I'd associate him with.
However, his twitter phenomena has become an "I Hate Diddy" campaign. What he once modestly viewed as adoring fans & followers, have become cyber-stalkers, eThugs & mad rappers, hell bent on hurting the man's million-dollar feelings. Puh-lease. We're talking about the one-time spokesperson for Proactive. He let the world see razor bumps, & bad skin from Cassie's P.O.V. We're talking about a guy who publicly admitted he doesn't "write rhymes, [he] writes checks". We're talking about a guy who has dozens of songs aimed at his humility, & even a couple of books. I'm positive this isn't his first experience with "no love", but this one's gotten him riled up something fierce. So much so that he launched his own anti-movement, entitled "Give A Hater A Hug", as if he's the bigger man. Which, I guess is a good idea, although I doubt that physical contact will persuade any detractors to think otherwise. Maybe if he called it "Give A Hater $100", then folks would have a reason to stall him out. Spread the love around, per se.
Now, only followers that signed on as friends (or however twitting works) can have mutual correspondence with Puff. As if.Here's a little tip [||]; sign on as a friend/follower, then you can get back to the ridicule session. But, don't tell anybody. It's our secret.
A logical mind has to wonder, sometimes at least, what makes a "hater" tick? Any of us who frequent cyberspace knows of the abundance of such a creature. They're in every chat room, on all the message boards, littering the pages with endless insults, unnecessary comments & pointless banter in reference to their target's personal lives. Is it because, deep down, they admire the obvious success? If the "hater" could trade places with the "hatee", he would do so in a second. Yet, he tears down their God-given talent at every chance, & the more their target is defended by the "public", the more the jealously engulfs them. It's funny. I'm a fan of some artist's now just because it ruins the Hater's Day parade(s) for other people. Pissing in their cereal, if you will.
To not like an artist for their skill, or lack there of, is completely understandable, but to start playing the dozens with a guy who's way too busy to respond to you is idiotic. Almost like arguing with an imaginary friend for the whole world to see (or in this case, read). Maybe it makes them feel like they're part of the celebrity's lives, like one of their anonymous darts will bother said artist enough that they'll get a shout out on the album. Yeah, I bet Puffy's itching to tell "MochaMacMan666" why he chooses to rap about money, cars & gratuitous sex.
My wife & I went out last weekend with a few of her friends. They all got dolled up to go to this party, but my wife was the only one with an escort. She looked pretty good, & the other girls looked nice as well, but her & I were matching & we dressed like there was a point to be proved. That following Monday, on their way to work, one of the girls who were with us made it a point to mention, out of the clear blue, that she didn't like my wife's dress that she wore. No Dice. My wife was the best dressed (no favoritism) lady in the room. This chick, on the other hand, was rocking one of those Saturday night club/Sunday morning church joints. "Hope I get some tonight"-wear. My wife just shrugged it off & went on about her day. I knew the broad was mad that, not only was she alone before we went, but she danced alone (numerous times), & ended up buying herself a drink before going home. Alone. That's hate.
So, be warned peeps. They're even out to get us "normal" folks. Haterade was a popular drink, & it still is.
Maybe a little less than Shyne, & a little more than Andre Harrell, nevertheless, mine runs pretty deep.
Would I go as far as to say I "hate" him? Not at all. I've never met him, & outside of wasting some precious life moments of mine with his horrid lyrics, he's never done anything to me personally.
But, from what I gathered, quite a few people Hate Diddy. I'm not sure why, because in order for me to prescribe someone such a strong emotion, I'd have to love them first. He's by no means my favorite artist, or fashion designer, & for that matter, his cologne isn't even all that good, & I regard him as one of the greatest Douche Nozzles of my generation, but hate isn't a word I'd associate him with.
However, his twitter phenomena has become an "I Hate Diddy" campaign. What he once modestly viewed as adoring fans & followers, have become cyber-stalkers, eThugs & mad rappers, hell bent on hurting the man's million-dollar feelings. Puh-lease. We're talking about the one-time spokesperson for Proactive. He let the world see razor bumps, & bad skin from Cassie's P.O.V. We're talking about a guy who publicly admitted he doesn't "write rhymes, [he] writes checks". We're talking about a guy who has dozens of songs aimed at his humility, & even a couple of books. I'm positive this isn't his first experience with "no love", but this one's gotten him riled up something fierce. So much so that he launched his own anti-movement, entitled "Give A Hater A Hug", as if he's the bigger man. Which, I guess is a good idea, although I doubt that physical contact will persuade any detractors to think otherwise. Maybe if he called it "Give A Hater $100", then folks would have a reason to stall him out. Spread the love around, per se.
Now, only followers that signed on as friends (or however twitting works) can have mutual correspondence with Puff. As if.Here's a little tip [||]; sign on as a friend/follower, then you can get back to the ridicule session. But, don't tell anybody. It's our secret.
A logical mind has to wonder, sometimes at least, what makes a "hater" tick? Any of us who frequent cyberspace knows of the abundance of such a creature. They're in every chat room, on all the message boards, littering the pages with endless insults, unnecessary comments & pointless banter in reference to their target's personal lives. Is it because, deep down, they admire the obvious success? If the "hater" could trade places with the "hatee", he would do so in a second. Yet, he tears down their God-given talent at every chance, & the more their target is defended by the "public", the more the jealously engulfs them. It's funny. I'm a fan of some artist's now just because it ruins the Hater's Day parade(s) for other people. Pissing in their cereal, if you will.
To not like an artist for their skill, or lack there of, is completely understandable, but to start playing the dozens with a guy who's way too busy to respond to you is idiotic. Almost like arguing with an imaginary friend for the whole world to see (or in this case, read). Maybe it makes them feel like they're part of the celebrity's lives, like one of their anonymous darts will bother said artist enough that they'll get a shout out on the album. Yeah, I bet Puffy's itching to tell "MochaMacMan666" why he chooses to rap about money, cars & gratuitous sex.
My wife & I went out last weekend with a few of her friends. They all got dolled up to go to this party, but my wife was the only one with an escort. She looked pretty good, & the other girls looked nice as well, but her & I were matching & we dressed like there was a point to be proved. That following Monday, on their way to work, one of the girls who were with us made it a point to mention, out of the clear blue, that she didn't like my wife's dress that she wore. No Dice. My wife was the best dressed (no favoritism) lady in the room. This chick, on the other hand, was rocking one of those Saturday night club/Sunday morning church joints. "Hope I get some tonight"-wear. My wife just shrugged it off & went on about her day. I knew the broad was mad that, not only was she alone before we went, but she danced alone (numerous times), & ended up buying herself a drink before going home. Alone. That's hate.
So, be warned peeps. They're even out to get us "normal" folks. Haterade was a popular drink, & it still is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)