Mother Teresa didn't have one. Jesus Christ didn't have one - although he did commission a load of illiterate, mumbling fishermen, ex-prostitutes and general losers. But I'd say he's done pretty well and, despite some misrepresentation by certain bodies, still seems to be ahead of the game by any standards. Still the Devil has to buy his - as does anyone with a lie to cover. I'm doing myself out of a job here but it's the truth; I never trust anyone who needs a publicist. Your character should do the talking.
From January until September 1995, I was listening to the best hip hop the US had to offer. I'd travel, listen to all the mixtapes, I didn't care which city it came from. The ones that caught the true hip hop essence, I hassled until they gave me an interview. I interviewed over the phone or in the studio, transcribed my shorthand, wrote up the feature, printed it. In the first five months, I did over 56. But there were several that stuck out. The best interviews, artists who were saying something deep about themselves, their culture, the time they were living in and their loyalties. They were Tha Dogg Pound, Dru Ha!'s hustle, Black Moon, Smif n Wessun and Tha Goodie M.O.B. These were my weightiest features and I sent the first copy off to my penpal in Clinton Correctional: Tupac - along with his fan mail, news from Death Row, what artists were doing what, my own mess, poems, photocopies from Frederick Douglass' memoir and The Bible. Still, I'd process everything so that anything I knew, Pac knew. And, due to the position I was in at that time: running a cutting edge hip hop culture magazine for the hottest most renegade record label in the US, that was some game. What I didn't know until much later was that Pac used what he had to get what he wanted. He had his whole plan and strategy sorted before he left that cell, hit the road running with the clock on. Unfortunately, by May, Suge pulled me off and my big box of material was put on hold while he moved me into his office for record production and publicity. I was gutted - all my hard work for nothing. People would think the interviews were just a scam. No Deathrow Uncut magazine. The only one who put my hard work to work was Pac. He used it to build his game and maximise his shortest commodity: time.
So over the past seventeen years, I have watched in amazement as certain people have acted like they were some sort of chosen special person because they worked with Tupac. Lawsuits and litigation, busting his own mother. Despite the fact they have nothing else on their resume apart from 'I knew/worked with Tupac', they still claim some sort of ownership of him. Like they deserved to work with him. Yet actually the people Pac really invested in were the small people. Check them out and you will see his real impact: ask his make-up artist, the guy who delivered his food, the artists, the smaller rappers..these are the ones Pac gave his real game to. You check them out and they are all flourishing, not bragging. There is no one who gave Tupac his shine or added anything to him; all of us were just little average people whom he called to adventure to ride with him - our response is what would later define us. He chose whoever was around and willing to work with him, he was democracy in action. He'd put his own family and friends into positions of power, he'd give an amateur a break of phenomenal degree - just so they would remember they could do or be anything if they put their mind to it. His mantra: Never Ignorant Getting Goals Accomplished.
But seems as if people have short memories. Or never knew him or his heart. Those who have tried to capitalise off his name and legacy, spent decades in greedy lawsuits until they actually believe the lies they pay their lawyers to concoct. Ownership! No one owns Pac. I know people feel they got an exclusive on him but you are the least ones. And you best stop the litigating and do the right thing because one thing is for sure: you will never prosper, never be successful, neither you nor your children, until you do the right thing by Pac. Pay it back. Hand it over. Being known by Pac doesn't make you special - it gave you an obligation. You've done jack-all in the past two decades with the real treasures so step off and hand it over. The films, the music, the programs, the business...where are they? What's your excuse? He never promised you he'd be around. He just gave you the job to do.
You're just robbers, thieves and lazy vultures. No friends of Tupac. And yes - I do have some nerve.