“This is my career,” I explained. “I have to be there.”
As they’d been throughout the ninety-day program, the staff at Talbott was accommodating and cool, especially after I told them I would record a public service announcement that would air during the broadcast. Not only would this get me the green light to attend, but it would be an asset when I appeared in front of the judge, a court date that was now looming.
“Yo, it’s ya boy Gucci. I want y’all to know that I do make party records and it’s all fun, but on a serious note I’m taking my own sobriety very seriously and it’s for real. That’s coming from ya boy Gucci. Be safe.”
Truthfully I hadn’t absorbed much of what they’d been teaching me at Talbott. I’d gone to rehab to avoid going to jail and I wasn’t leaving a changed man. I was excited to have some fun again. But I did feel good about my time there. Aside from the late-night excursions, I’d held up my end of the bargain and stayed sober the whole time. And I’d made a great album. I deserved to have that moment at the BET Hip Hop Awards. And what a moment it was.
My last covert escape out of Talbott had been a trip to the airport, where I’d met my jeweler. I had him design all this jewelry for me that I wanted to unveil at the award show. The canary diamonds Arm & Hammer baking soda box chain, the Atlanta Falcons helmet chain, the Atlanta Hawks jersey chain, the big Brick Squad circle chain, the square Brick Squad chain, the iced-out whisk chain—we’re talking hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry, and that was just the chains. We won’t even get into the bracelets, watches, or pinky rings. Talbott had sent a chaperone to accompany me to the event and she couldn’t believe it when she saw me putting it all on. Where had all this stuff been? I’d kept it hidden in my backpack ever since my rendezvous with my jeweler.
But the 2009 BET Hip Hop Awards was more than an opportunity to stunt. It was a culmination and validation of years of hard work I’d put in. Trap House’s success had been marred by the murder charge. Back to the Trap House had flopped. I had to go to jail right as my mixtape run began to pay off. But I’d kept at it. I’d stayed persistent and now I was here. One month away from the release of The State vs. Radric Davis. This album would be the one. I knew it. Every time I hit the stage that night I could feel my impact in the Atlanta Civic Center. It wasn’t the pyrotechnics. It was me.
And these folks cheering me on didn’t even know what I had planned. I’d just dropped The Burrprint mixtape with Drama a day before and I was about to drop three mixtapes at once the following week. The Cold War series. GUCCIMERICA with DJ Drama, Great Brrritain with DJ Scream, and BRRRUSSIA with DJ Holiday. I felt unstoppable.
A month later I checked out of Talbott after completing the program in full. The next day a judge sentenced me to serve another year in Fulton County Jail.
Xvi
* * *
BALL TILL YA FALL
I started smoking weed again immediately after being sent back to Fulton County. I was livid. I’d gone to rehab. I’d done that corny PSA. I couldn’t believe it was all for nothing. What a waste of my time. This was even worse than when they sent me to jail over the community service bullshit.
To make matters worse, the “truce” with Jeezy proved to be short-lived. I should have known better. Our plan to swap songs fell apart after I got locked up. Jeezy never did his verse for “Heavy” and Warner Bros. moved forward promoting the song without him. Jeezy had sent me the files for “Trap or Die 2,” but when I recorded a verse and put it out, he tried to act like it wasn’t a real collaboration. He pitched it like I’d just taken it upon myself to remix his song.
In December 2009, right before The State vs. Radric Davis came out, DJ Drama had me call into his Hot 107.9 radio show from jail when Jeezy was in the studio. Drama set it up as if Jeezy and I were just now speaking for the first time in years, but that shit was so fake. The conversation was chopped up and edited and the whole thing sounded forced. The only reason I did it was that I was looking to find a way to drum up excitement for my album from behind bars. The reality was that Jeezy and I had already made up and fallen out again over the songs before that call happened.
I’m getting a little ahead of myself, but I saw Jeezy at a club after that stint in Fulton County. I knew the situation with the songs hadn’t worked out, but I still thought we reached an understanding that our beef was behind us. So I said what up. He was so uncomfortable seeing me.
“We just can’t do it right here in front of everybody,” he whispered. “Not right now.”
In a way I understood it. Jeezy was in the club with twenty of his goons. I imagine he’d probably been saying “Fuck Gucci” for so many years that he didn’t want to appear cool with me in front of them. A chump move, but I got it. That was the last time Jeezy and I ever spoke.
Still, I respected that he sat down with me at Houston’s that day. Man-to-man. One-on-one. To be honest I never thought he’d have the guts to face me like that.
?
The State vs. Radric Davis was the success we’d hoped for. I’d finally hit the sweet spot: a project that was that next level—bigger than the mixtapes—but still me. It had the A-list features—Usher, Wayne, Cam’ron, Mike Epps—on the interludes, but it still had my core four horsemen—Zay, Shawty Redd, Fatboi, and Drumma Boy—producing the bulk of the beats.
“His second official album differentiates itself with excellent production, especially the rumbling beats of Bangladesh and Drumma Boy, and with guests such as Lil Wayne and Usher. But the star is Gucci, with his deep grab bag of rhymes that aim at funny bones. It’s a winning combination: a heavy ego and a light touch.”
—Rolling Stone
“The State vs. Radric Davis has proved the rapper’s case beyond a reasonable doubt. So when rap fans ask if he is now a bankable hip-hop star, let the record show that Gucci Mane is guilty as charged.”
—XXL
“The LP has an energy rare to major-label rap efforts. Like Wayne’s Tha Carter II, it translates Gucci’s mixtape triumphs into something more digestible and immediate.”
—Pitchfork