“All white men is runnin this rap shit, Corporate forces runnin this rap shit, The Tall Israeli is runnin this rap shit” - Mos Def, “The Rape Over”

I haven’t written a post like this in a while. Not that I ran out of them, stories of my days as a record exec, but because they’re a beast to write. It would be so much easier to write about how Kanye spazzed out at the VMA’s or how Lil Mama is either the dumbest or smartest artist out today. Still, I’ve been sitting on this story for a while and figured it time for me to share it with you all. Please understand that the purpose of me dropping this one is not for anti-semitic types of purposes or for any types of inflaming racial sentiments. I’m just telling a story the way I lived it, the way I saw it. Other than that, any of ya’ll try to take it any other types of way, a pre-emptive “eff you” to you and yours, you sensitive basterds.

Lyor Cohen was already something of a legend when I started working in the business back in 1989. At Def Jam, I’d hear stories of how the Jew with the funny sounding name was someone not to be fucked with. Running RUSH Management, the now defunct artist management entity owned by Russell Simmons, it was well known that Cohen was the bad cop figure to Simmons’ homeboy good cop ways, the 6 foot, 6 inch tall artist manager was a force to be reckoned with. At the time, the RUSH offices were in a different building from Def Jam’s, so I would never catch Cohen’s antics first hand, but interns, fellow execs and artists all used to whisper in the hall about how Lyor would go in on artists’ falling out of line. Hustlers, dealers and thugs all spoke in hushed tones about how they had gotten bitched out by dude, and how they never wanted to face him in that manner ever again. Some said dude was insane, others, rabid. He was known to lose his gargantuan temper at the drop of a dime, an artist showing up late to an interview, or forgetting their raps on stage. He was also known to cuss an exec or lawyer out on whim. Being the lowest man on the team at the time, the chances of facing Cohen’s wrath was minimal. I also made it a point to stay out of his way. But every now and then, if I had to drop some documents off at the management office, I’d walk past Cohen’s office, peeking in, seeing him alone, rocking back and forth on a chair while chewing on a well worn and already chewed up towel, eyes sullen like a lost Frankenstein, rocking patiently in anticipation of letting loose on his next victim. Dude really chewed towels on the regular, he was that intense, that rabid. A true flesh and blood Golem putting mad work in the Hip Hop music industry.

As I found my way into my own law practice, Lyor’s rise in power and status was clear for all to see. Working more on the record side and being instrumental in taking Def Jam, an overblown production company and transforming into the Harvard University of Hip Hop labels, Cohen cleaned up real good to fit his mogul in the making image. More expensive suits, sporting a year round tan, converting his tall frame into a muscular giant, Cohen reigned supreme. Still, you’d hear whispers of his atomic outbursts leveled against anyone Cohen deemed next to be decimated for being an idiot, stupid, lazy, untrustworthy in his eyes. I once repped an exec that worked closely with Cohen during RUSH’s hey day. The reason Cohen ruled with an iron fist goes back to his family history, I was told. The rumor is that Cohen’s father was an O.G. mercenary and/ or arms dealer that was more than comfortable in the deadly environs of warring African countries, selling the latest state of the art munitions to the highest bidder, something like how that “Lord Of War” character made a living in that movie. I’m not at all verifying that story, but that’s what I heard. And it made sense to the narrative I have of Cohen. Especially with him being so comfortable, so respected in an industry filled with rival crews, beefing gun-toting rappers and uber-competitive executives, competing with each other in becoming the next Puff Daddy.

As Def Jam grew in stature, Cohen even ran the label like an arms dealer. Beholden to none, but encouraging a healthy inter-office competitive spirit amongst all the production companies/ lables housed under the Def Jam roof. Roc-a-fella, Murder Inc., Violator, etc. all going hard to dominate the charts, all looking for more over-head monies from the check writing Cohen. The first time I remember getting on Cohen’s radar was when I was doing a deal for my homie, client Clark Kent. Def Jam was committed to making noise with Slick Rick’s first post prison term album “The Art Of Storytelling” and they wanted a credible hit maker to oversee the project as well as being able to deliver some dope tracks of their own. Clark was slated as that guy, maybe because he had a stellar record of working with some of rap’s legends. Maybe it was also because Rick respected Clark’s resume, his pedigree. Before jail, Rick was known to be a loose cannon. He allegedly once threatened the Bomb Squad with bodily harm after they took his meh sounding debut album “The Adventures Of Slick Rick” and “secretly” mixed it behind his back (at the request of Def Jam) until it resulted in becoming that classic that is the final product we all know and have come to love. Back then, Rick was known to carry all types of fire power on account of how mentally imbalanced he was and off course, on GP.

During our negotiations with Def Jam, they sicked their new-jack exec in training Todd Moscowitz on us. Todd is now known as the accomplished fellow that made Asylum Records the successful rap label under Warner Brothers and is currently the newly titled Executive Vice President of Warner. I like Todd. He’s a funny guy. Back then, not so much. Maybe it was the way he came off, a young Jewish exec who carried an air of entitlement and was quick to offer the shittiest of deals to whomever, whenever. On that deal, Moscowitz was trying to slide a crappy deal Clark’s way. We wasn’t having it, and at one point we were all in a Def Jam conference room, going point for point, head to head in trying to close a deal suitable for both sides. Lyor at the time, looked like he was training Todd, and often sat in on our negotiations. All through out the negotiations, Cohen was tough, but cool as all hell, Moscowitz was the one I had to keep my eye on, lest he weasel us into a deal we’d later regret. Still, knowing his history, his reputation, I felt like Lyor was always peeping Clark, peeping me, watching and figuring out what we were made of. I remember when we were close to closing, there was a point that both Clark and I would kill the deal if said point wasn’t given in our favor. It was a small point really, but I felt they were trying to get away with something they could have easily given us. With Clark, Cohen and Moscowitz all in conference, I told them all if we couldn’t have that point, then fuck it, just send Clark over some malt liquor, a used Cadillac and some “bitches” and we’d gladly sign by the X. They got my joke as to how I felt they were trying to play us, but it broke the tension, they acquiesced and Clark signed. As tough as Def Jam was playing, I felt the deal went smoother than I expected. Cohen not once raised his voice at us, at me. Not that I’m a punk, nor do I claim thugee, but based on his rep, I really didn’t want it with Lyor and was proud that I was skillful enough to close a deal without pissing anyone, especially him off.

Several months passed and I had forgotten about the Slick Rick deal. I was in my office having a very bad day. Because of Rick’s legal issues, Def Jam arranged for Slick to record in a state of the art recording studio located way upstate New York in the woods and what not. A lot of labels used the studio whenever their artists wanted to record away from the hustle and bustle of the city, but without having to travel that far away. Def Jam had already paid monies in booking the studio, plus making sure Rick and his “proper” supervision was present. I’m imagining they also had to pay for food and lodging. Labels pay a great deal of monies for the recording of records, or at least they used to. Problem was, even though Clark and I had gotten paid from closing the deal, Def Jam still owed Clark some more money before he stepped foot in the studio, way out in the woods of upstate New York, where Slick Rick and his “proper” supervision were already present. What I didn’t know, was that Def Jam hadn’t “yet” paid Clark. What I didn’t know also was that since they hadn’t yet paid Clark, he figured that he wouldn’t take that trip upstate to start recording with Slick and let Def Jam know at the last minute. And at around 4pm that day, when the powers that be at Def Jam found out that Clark was not going to show up, and that they had already spent monies, there would be hell to pay.

Like I said, I was already having a bad day when my receptionist patched Clark into my phone around 4:30 that afternoon. Having done mad deals with dude, I kinda knew most of his moods. When I picked up the phone, this time I sensed something out of the ordinary coming from him. I don’t want to say it was fear, I’m not trying to play dude like that, but it sure as hell sounded like that. “Yo Clark, whaddup?” I asked. He replied “Yo, you remember that Slick Rick deal? Well I’m supposed to be in the studio upstate now, but because they never paid me, I didn’t go. Uhm, I just got off the phone with Lyor and when he started going ape as to why I wasn’t there, well, I, I, I told him that since I didn’t get paid yet… YOU told me not to go to the studio. So, uh, I think he’s about to call you and give you the worst end of the business you’ve ever had, a real lynching my nigga to talk about this. When he calls and since you’re my lawyer, I need you to tell him how you basically stopped me from going. Cool? Okay. Peace my dude, have a good day, okay?” CLICK. What the fuck?!? Before I could even begin to comprehend the level of fucked I was, I heard my office phone ring again, I asked my assistant who it was. Naturally she said the two words I was most definitely hoping she wouldn’t: “It’s Lyor Cohen”.

FUCK. In that millisecond it took for Clark to pass on to me that feeling that I won’t for sure say was fear, I grabbed the phone. It was show time and if I was going to take an ass whupping, I’d rather it be dished while I was standing up. Trying to play shit off like I never had that prior convo with Clark, I was like “Hey Lyor, uh how’s it going buddy?” What I heard scared the shit out of me. In a low menacing tone, devoid of any feeling or humanity, he asked me in a slow monotone voice “Did. You. Tell. Clark. Not. To. Go. To. The. Studio?” Biting the bullet, I claimed it. “Yeah Lyor, about that, you know Clark never got paid but…” “YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I AM, THE THINGS I CAN DO, HOW YOU HAVE FUCKED ME, HOW MUCH MONEY I HAD TO SPEND, AND NOW HOW FUCKED YOU WILL BE YOU LITTLE…” was what he cut me off with, voice now going high, but scary as shit. Maybe because I was having a bad day, or how Clark had set me up, or how in just a few moments, I went from having a rosie career to being cussed out, threatened and verbally abused by the original T.I., I lost my shit “FUCK YOU, I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHO YOU ARE, YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!!!” Next thing I know, I’m slamming my phone against my desk, realizing I just blacked out. After a few more moments, realizing I was looking, sounding like a stark raving lunatic, I did my best to regain my composure, I calmed down enough to say “uh, Hello” into the now battered receiver. Nothing. Cohen had since hung up the phone. Dead. I was dead.dead.dead.  I immediately called back to Def Jam, to his office, desperate to quickly patch things up, maybe even apologize for the transgression I never committed. All I got from his assistant was how she was instructed not to patch me in to him. Ever. I was really a dead man walking.

PART 2 NEXT