Ronin Ro Searches Through The Rubble Of Death Row Records.
By Tom Danehy
Have Gun Will Travel: The Spectacular Rise and Violent Fall
of Death Row Records, Ronin Ro (Doubleday). Cloth, $23.95.
DID MARION "SUGE" Knight, the self-made record
company executive and full-time thug, hold Vanilla Ice off a balcony
by his ankles until the pathetic white rapper signed over his
royalties? Maybe. Even if that didn't happen, it probably should
have.
But if it did happen (and it almost certainly did), it fits perfectly
in the modus operandi of Knight, the former football player who
used threats, intimidation, and actual violence to carve out a
lucrative rap-music empire in the late 1980s and early '90s. And
it would also be a clear sign of the arrogance and disregard for
basic human decency which ended up costing Knight his empire,
and earning him the prison sentence he's currently serving.
Suge (as in "sugar") Knight is just one of the, shall
we say, colorful characters in Ronin Ro's scandalously engaging
look at Death Row Records and the entire rap music scene. The
West Coast label was built on the hubris of Knight, and the talent
and street credibility of a stable of artists which included producer
Dr. Dre, singer Michel'le, and rap stars Snoop Doggy Dogg and
Tupac Shakur. And when it all fell apart, it did so in a big,
ugly, public way.
The fact that an entire book can be written on one label in a
business known for its shady dealing says a lot about just how
wrong things were at Death Row. On par, some dreams came true,
others were dashed, and all the while money disappeared by the
tens of millions. Same old, same old. What's fascinating at Death
Row is that criminality and excess were the norms, the goals,
the very raisons d'être.
The form of rap music itself is built on a type of theft: Snippets
of older songs are more often than not used as background beats
or entire choruses of rap songs. And when the original artists
complain, this thievery is given the euphemistic name "sampling,"
and the challenges are dubbed attacks on street art. It's all
very crooked, but in a musical world where hardly anything is
original anymore, it's also very lucrative. Add to that the importance
of "credibility" among rap artists (criminal records
and gang affiliations would seem to be career boosts), and it's
easy to see how the atmosphere of fear and violence was allowed
to grow behind a corporate facade.
In a way, Knight was as unlikely a mogul as he was a criminal.
Raised in a middle-class neighborhood by a hard-working father
and a church-going mother, Knight was a decent student and a good
athlete. Even as the gang influence began creeping into his neighborhood,
his prowess on the football field earned him a free pass through
the petty and deadly rivalries of the Crips and Bloods, L.A.'s
two most notorious black street gangs.
Eventually, Knight would earn a football scholarship to UNLV
and would even play for the Los Angeles Rams for a while. But
while at UNLV, he became fascinated with the fast times and easy
money in the entertainment business, deciding that was the life
for him.
He began working as a bodyguard for rappers and then quickly
used extortion and strong-arm tactics to work his way up the ladder.
He cut into the talent stable at Ruthless Records, which had been
built on the stunning success of the multi-platinum-selling Straight
Outta Compton by NWA (Niggas With Attitude).
When NWA broke up, Knight sided with producer/writer Dr. Dre.
It was a wise choice, as Dre would go on to produce dozens of
hit records for Death Row, including Doggy Style, by Snoop.
But eventually even Dre tired of the nonsense at Death Row and
moved on. By that time, Knight was pushing his biggest coup--the
signing of the charismatic Tupac Shakur.
It was with Shakur that Knight hoped to break through to the
stratosphere of the industry. Instead, Knight will be best remembered
for the ignominy of being the guy sitting next to Shakur when
the rapper caught six bullets. (Knight--ahem--miraculously escaped
unscathed. His current nine-year sentence is for parole violations
which took place earlier that very night.)
Death Row now lies in shambles, Knight's in the clink, and the
buzzards are picking over what's left of Shakur's estate. The
whole, sad story seems so unnecessary.
Ro's prose is nothing special, but he makes up for it with meticulous
investigation and enthusiastic reporting. He's put together a
jaw-dropping look at a recent social movement at which no one
previously has dared look too closely. (Knight was well known
for having firearms in plain sight whenever he was being interviewed,
which may explain the dearth of critical articles on the thug.)
Rap music isn't for everyone. It has a built-in urban audience
and a ready-made set of critics. But it also has an odd appeal
for an army of middle-class kids for whom listening to the vulgar
and provocative lyrics provides a safe rebellion and maybe a convenient
"screw you" or two for the folks.
This insightful look into the rap phenomenon offers clear proof
that a house divided against itself cannot stand. Rap is full
of petty pissing matches: rapper against rapper, label against
label, coast against coast. But even in a world full of paranoia,
hatred and violence, it's still hard to imagine how one man could
build something so big and powerful, and do so going completely
unchallenged until it was far too late.
|