Clay and Jason Geter, the other top dog at Grand Hustle, offered me a fifty-fifty partnership. They would foot the bill for producing and promoting my music and then we’d split the profits. But they weren’t offering any money up front.
Clay wanted me to meet T.I. He brought me to the video shoot for Slim Thug’s song “3 Kings” that T.I. and Bun B were featured on. T.I. was locked up in Fulton County for a probation violation on a drug conviction at the time, but he was in a work release program where he was allowed to record and conduct business during the daytime.
This was the old T.I., gold grill in his mouth and iced-out chains around his neck. He and I clicked and over the next few weeks were regularly in touch. But I ended up declining Grand Hustle’s offer. They needed an answer and I needed more time to think things through. The success of “Black Tee” and “So Icy” was happening so fast and even I wasn’t sure of what I was looking for in a record deal. I think he ended up signing Young Dro instead.
But Grand Hustle wasn’t the only one who wanted to sign me. I was hotter than fish grease. One night, while I was performing at a club, I met a member of another local rap group called the 404 Soldierz. He was a producer and wanted to get me on some of his beats.
Later that week I got a call asking if we could meet up, because there was someone he wanted me to meet. I pulled up to the parking lot of the West End Mall. That’s when I met Jacob York.
Jacob was the son of Dwight York, also known as Malachi York, the founder of the infamous Nuwaubian Nation, a cult religious group that built a compound in Putnam County, Georgia. I’d heard of Malachi, who had recently pleaded guilty to 116 counts of child molestation, but I wasn’t familiar with Jacob, who was telling me that he had been in the music industry for a long time. He said he had been instrumental in brokering the careers of the Notorious B.I.G., Lil’ Kim, Cam’ron, Pastor Troy, and a bunch of other artists from the South. His reputation had earned him his nickname “the Chancellor.” Most of this turned out to be true but at first I found it all hard to believe.
Jacob backed up his talk when he flew me to New York City to meet with the majors. He had us up at the W Hotel on Lexington Avenue and 49th Street. As soon as we checked in he told me he wanted me to meet Cam’ron, who was about to pull up to the hotel.
This was dope. Me and Zay were big fans of Cam’ron and the whole Dipset movement. Cam wasn’t just one of my favorite New York rappers, he was one of my favorite rappers period. Plus Jacob had shown me a photo of Cam’s latest purchase—a royal-blue Lamborghini—so I was I excited to see both of them.
“He’s really just riding around the hood in that Lambo by himself?” I asked Jacob.
“Well, this ain’t exactly the hood, Gucci.” Jacob laughed. “This is Manhattan, but yeah, he’s coming by himself.”
To my surprise Cam pulled up to the W in a Toyota Camry. At least the shit was new. He’d just bought it for his mother and was taking it out for a test drive. He wasn’t decked out in some bright pink fur like I’d expected him to be either. He was dressed regular. Meanwhile I was wearing a North Carolina blue mink coat and my recently acquired forty-thousand-dollar “So Icy” chain.
We chopped it up and I liked Cam. He was humble and I could tell he had some street in him too. He was for real. He wished me luck on my trip to the labels and we parted ways.
Jacob and I did the rounds over the next two days and met with all the majors—Bruce Carbone at Universal, Kedar Massenburg at Motown, Craig Kallman at Atlantic, Lyor Cohen at Warner Bros. But I wasn’t impressed with what they had to offer and frankly, none of them seemed all that impressed with me. My network inside the industry was minimal and I had barely traveled outside of Georgia. They all had the same script; they could put me in movies or get me on tour with so-and-so rapper. What I was interested in was money and being the head of my own label with their financial backing. I wasn’t hearing that anyone wanted to give me that.
There was one person who did. Todd Moscowitz. Todd had just been named president of Asylum Records, the storied label founded by the legendary David Geffen. Asylum built its reputation on classic rock but had reinvented itself by specializing in hip-hop and R & B. Todd had signed a bunch of artists from Houston, a hotbed of talent at the time. So he, more than any of the other label heads, seemed to be genuinely excited about music coming out of the South.
But I didn’t know what to make of this guy. Here was this white Jewish dude from New York City with a Mohawk basically telling me he wanted to write me a blank check. Somehow he got Lyor and Kevin Liles on board, and even the pioneering exec Chris Lighty was in the mix. Todd wanted me bad.
But his enthusiasm scared me off. I had trust issues from my dealings in the streets and I was coming from a group where our worst nightmare was getting fucked over in a deal. Todd telling me he’d give me whatever I wanted was just too brazen. So Jacob and I headed back to Atlanta without a deal. I didn’t know what to make of these labels, but my trip to New York had opened my eyes, giving me a sense of my worth in the larger industry.
Jacob wasn’t sold on doing a deal with the majors anymore either. He didn’t feel they understood the southern rap scene and was concerned that I’d be mismanaged as an artist under a New York–based label. So when we got back to Atlanta, Jacob set up a meeting with a small, local independent label named Big Cat Recordings.
Big Cat was Marlon Rowe. This man was fat as hell, well over three hundred pounds. He was a friend of Jacob’s from New York but was from Kingston, Jamaica, and had spent a good portion of his life in Fort Lauderdale. As funny-looking as this dude was, I quickly gathered he was no dummy and I sensed he’d been in the streets prior to the music game.
Cat was a street dude and a millionaire but he wasn’t the type to tell you all about it. He flew under the radar. Reserved and quiet, but a very smart, savvy independent businessman.
Like Grand Hustle, Cat wanted to do a fifty-fifty partnership, except that he offered money up front to reimburse me for all I’d spent investing in my career to date, which was a lot.
Doo Dirty, Red, and the rest of the Zone 6 Clique weren’t pleased with the idea of me signing with Big Cat. By no means were we broke, and the buzz from “So Icy” was getting bigger by the day. Why not just wait it out? But I saw things differently.
Unlike Doo Dirty, Cat had real experience putting out albums, and Big Cat Records was way more legit than Z6C. His other artists were bullshit but he had an office, studio, radio contacts, DJs in pocket, and a whole promotional street team. Plus Jacob would be involved and Jacob had a track record. I knew at this stage I was better positioned to make it if I partnered with these guys.