Part 21 (1/2)

You have to understand that rappers don't really want to be part of the music industry. I'm not exactly sure why, but they are sort of removed from the whole thing. I'm generalizing, of course, but the average rapper really doesn't want to know how the business works- they just want fame and the money and the women. They see a video with Jay-Z driving down the street in a Lexus. They hear Puffy Combs on the radio every three minutes. They have a perception of this great lifestyle where you're famous and everybody loves you and you can f.u.c.k any woman and that's what they want.

But it really isn't like that at all. To get to a level of Puffy is so much work. And it's money. You have to have somebody behind you dumping tons of money into your project. To get that you have to learn how to manipulate the industry. And most rappers don't ever even start to learn-most don't even read their contract. I mean, the average rapper-if I have to lump everybody in a stereotype-the average rapper does not like to read. They don't want to do work that involves anything other than making beats or writing rhymes. So, the business part, they don't care about, especially when they are just starting out.

And this is a terrible thing because, for the most part, the music industry just sees rappers as a ”bunch of dumb n.i.g.g.e.rs.” You can tell by the deals that they offer. The record companies front-load all their deals, which means they dangle money in your face. They say, ”Here's a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” But they don't talk about what you're going to get down the road. Which is usually nothing or less than nothing. They are basically saying, ”Okay, these guys are disposable. We'll get them to sign for a BMW or a bunch of sneakers, and a little bit of cash. We'll make a G.o.dzillion dollars and when they are not making money any more-f.u.c.k 'em.”

Just look at the points in some of these contracts. A good deal would be somewhere between twelve and fifteen points, which means you get twelve or fifteen percent of the net retail selling price-after you pay back your advance-which when you think really about it really sucks-but you want to be a star and that's the status quo. But with rappers, I've seen contracts go as low as six points. Ice Cube gave Cam six points and he signed it.

There are just so many problems with these contracts. Like, Naughty By Nature gets eighteen points; Scarface gets thirteen. Why is Scarface at thirteen points and Naughty By Nature at eighteen? I bet if I pull the statistics on them they sell about the same amount of units. Why is that? It's because Scarface and Naughty By Nature don't talk, but I talk to both of them and then I bring information back to both of them. I tell Scarface that they are getting eighteen. I tell them that he's getting thirteen. That's my job. My job is to educate them. What they do with that information is on them. I can't make them renegotiate their contracts. I can refer them to attorneys and accountants who can. But Scarface never will renegotiate because he feels that Little Jay, his label, is working in his best interest. He doesn't have a clue. He doesn't realize it's about Jay getting rich, not Scarface getting rich. And Scarface doesn't care because whenever he needs money he goes to Jay and gets money, Jay just gives it to him, and Jay gives it to him because it's all recoupable. Jay just takes it all back out of Scarface's sales.

So what the Rap Coalition does, essentially, is we try to pull people out of bad deals and introduce people to attorneys and accountants. We've got offices in New York and Chicago and next year we'll be opening one in Los Angeles. We've had some real successes. I got Twisted a phenomenal contract-fifty points. He owns half his masters, he owns half of everything. And he has complete creative control. They wanted him that badly and it was the price they were willing to pay. So that was great.

We also have a series of educational programs-for rappers and for the public. We work a lot with the Nation of Islam and, you know, when I first went to Farrakhan's house, I was ecstatic. To me, that was a symbol of success that I had achieved a level of recognition of what I do. It's pretty cool to be at a meeting at the minister's house and you're the only white person there, and he points that out. I was there for the Rap Summit. It was fascinating. We discussed that the lyrical content needs to change, that the black-on-black crime that exists in the lyrics is dead, it has to go away now. There has been a movement against that for about two years-a huge backlash against gangsta rap. Of course, it hasn't gone away. It's still there because the buying public buys it. And, sad to say, that's the bottom line.

I have two opinions about the lyrics-a personal opinion and a professional opinion. Professionally, it is my job to support rap artists. Rap artists can do no wrong. When I'm out in public and somebody says, ”Twisted's lyrics are wrong because he degrades black women and he talks about black-on-black crime,” I will defend him to the umpteenth degree. It's his First Amendment right to express whatever he wants, blah-blah-blah. He's chronicling what he sees in his area of Chicago, and if you don't like his lyrical content, change the problems of the ghetto in Chicago. That's my professional opinion.

But then I have my personal opinion and there I have a problem with Twisted's lyrical content, and he knows it. I've sat down with him and said, ”You know what? This s.h.i.+t is dead-you have got a slave mentality. You're a lost soul and it's really pathetic.” So that's Wendy's opinion. But I would never voice that publicly. As the Rap Coalition founder, it is my job to protect and support him.

My family doesn't get what I'm doing. I grew up in wealthy, white, Jewish suburban Philadelphia, in a family that wasn't wealthy, wasn't Jewish. My dad worked for the post office and my mother was a homemaker. We lived on, I'm guessing, twenty-five grand a year. But the neighborhood itself was all wealthy Jewish doctors, lawyers, dentists, psychologists. My parents moved there because the schools were good. I guess they figured we may not have lots of money, but our kids are going to being f.u.c.king educated. So I grew up an outsider and I've always been comfortable with being the oddball out. So it's not weird for me to be a white girl in a sea of black folk.

My exposure to black people as a kid was one busload that was bused in from the poorer area on the edge of Philadelphia to my high school-so my access to people of color was very limited. But growing up in that environment and then working in this one, I've realized that black people are just like me. There are different circ.u.mstances and different situations because of the whole oppression thing going on and the whole economic thing going on, but fundamentally folk ain't all that different. And black people are so attractive to me because they have excelled in the face of all this adversity that has been cast upon them for five hundred years. And to me that's so f.u.c.king amazing. I mean, to watch a kid in Compton like Eazy-E, who lived in a shack that had cold water, excel and become the president of a record label-that's d.a.m.n impressive no matter how you slice it.

My family doesn't understand, though. My father understands more than my mom does. His att.i.tude is do whatever makes you happy. My mom just doesn't get it at all. She accepts me; she's seen the articles in the New York Times and Time magazine. She knows, ”Okay, people on the national level have recognized my daughter, so whatever she's doing, she must be pretty good at it.” But she doesn't understand why I'm doing it. She does not understand black folk at all. She is a victim of watching the news and thinks that black people are slow and that black men are all criminals. I've tried to educate her on reality and it's just the old dog/ new trick. She's like, ”You're white so why are you doing this?”

And you know, that's the first question everyone always asks: ”Why is a white person doing this?” And I understand that question. I think there is a problem with a white person running a black organization, but I know my motives and I know my agenda, so if somebody has to do it and it's not a black person, I'm glad it's me. On the flip side, there are a lot of places that my skin color gets me into. I mean, someone from Atlantic Records is much more comfortable negotiating a deal with me than they would be with someone who doesn't look like them. That's just a human nature kind of attribute. It's wrong, but it is a reality. You're dealt a certain hand in life and you play that hand.

I'm a Pisces, so I don't like the

business parts.

MC.

Medusa.

My name is Medusa-I just give you that. And I'm the MC for my own band, Feline Science. I always say this- if you could imagine Sly Stone, the LaBelles, and KRS-One all rolled into one, in a female, that is my music.

Medusa comes from-there were these West African brothers I knew, they used to tell their own folktales to one another. So I'm overhearing these stories, and they told about Medusa, who was like one of five sisters. All of them had special gifts, and hers was the gift to shape-s.h.i.+ft and to speak truth and be powerful with it. And it wasn't that she had snakelike hair, but she had these locks-like, a grip of braids. But if that was unfamiliar to you, you would probably call it snakes for hair, you know? So for her, her power was in her snakelike hair.

And there was a king in a nearby land who sent a group of people out to get her head, so that the king could have the power of her hair. But when they finally caught her and beheaded her, it didn't have any power at all. It actually cursed that kingdom when they took back the head. I thought that was pretty strong, you know? So I took that, that's where it came from.

As far as like, a lot of people are familiar with the story of Medusa and they say, ”Yeah, she speaks truth. She has power behind the words.” Most people respect it. And when they ask, ”Why Medusa? She was so ugly!” It gives me an opportunity to share some knowledge with them.

I'm not a rapper. I'm an MC. It's like the difference between hip hop and rap. You know, hip hop I always break down as: ”Human beings harboring opinions in regards to politics and propaganda.” Rap would be: ”Reincarnated att.i.tudes of your pimping past.” So you're rapping, ”Say baby, what's up?” That's some rapping. When it's hip hop, you know, there are issues that you're dealing with. And they're probably a little more detrimental to the politician, to the propaganda of it all. We're speaking to more conscious-oriented people. That would be the difference.

The audience difference as far as hip hop and rap is only based on the performers that are hired or whatever. I've done shows with Dazz and Snoop Dogg and all that, and they'll be like really hardcore heads up in there, who are strictly down for gangsta rap. But when I speak my thing, they're loving it, and when I get offstage, you know, the hardest of the hard brothers will step to me on the sly and say, ”Umm, excuse me, sister? I really like what you're doing out there.” You know what I mean? When typically, they would be with their homeboy and there might be a sister walking by with a little micromini on, and they're like, ”Hey! Come here and let me talk to you a minute!” And they don't respond, and all of a sudden, ”Aw! b.i.t.c.h!”

Whereas I can walk by and they have a certain respect and they look at me and they say, ”How you doing, sister?” It's a whole 'nother att.i.tude. I think it's all in how you touch their hearts and souls and minds. Like anybody who's introduced to something new that actually touches your soul and enhances your spirit and makes you think about yourself and your family, they're with it. They with it. Because people of color, especially, have such a compa.s.sion that it's undeniable. We try to block it, we try to put on our hard sh.e.l.l, but deep down, our heart is real tender. So I go for that. I'm going for the tender s.p.a.ce.

I'm writing for me first. Me. And then the community. Children. And then I start thinking about the audience. As far as message is concerned, I strive for something that is healing for the generation gaps, the gender gaps, and for women in particular because a lot of the music that is out right now can be very damaging and detrimental to women, you know? Like do I want you saying ”Ho”? Is it necessary to say it like that? You could say, ”motherf.u.c.ker.” I might say, ”fathersucker.” You know what I mean? It's a little easier to tolerate, you know what I mean? And a lot of women lash out about it instead of giving it like a velvet hammer approach. You know what I mean? Like you can be hardcore about your feelings, but are you trying to reach a conclusion? Are you trying to give a direction with your answer? Or are you just trying to talk s.h.i.+t? So I'm trying to give a direction for women. With knowledge that I kick in the music.

It used to be, I had a different group, and my songs were somewhat esoteric. Mystical. Where's the point? You know what I mean? That was a young me. ”Diva's Den, won't you come inside / Magic carpet, you want to ride / Exotic rhythms we bring to you / Diva's love is true to you.”

That song was just mystical, floaty. My partner back in the day, Koko, and I-we had a group called SIN, Strength in Numbers. It was cool-head-wraps and long G.o.ddess gowns, and spoken word and this soft sultry style. We'd have crystals and ankhs on the stage and it was real mystical, you know? We were doing it way before Erykah Badu was in the game. And it was dope to grasp the attention of people, but at the same time it just wasn't like driving. It didn't make you sit there and really think.

Now, I feel like my sound is exactly where I'm at. Definitely who I am. It's something that everybody can grasp. ”Put in Work” is one I wrote recently. It makes you want to stand up and take hold of your life. ”Put your fist in the air / Hand over your heart no matter how much it hurts / Do it with pride / And let's walk side by side / Put in work.” You know what I'm saying?

MC-as it's been said over and over-means ”Move the Crowd.” You know what I mean? So how am I going to entice them to be motivated to move? You gotta entice them with the rhythm and the beat and the motion and the colors that they're seeing and the hook that can really stick to them. But you gotta do it with the words, too. The words gotta move as well.

So ”Put in Work,” that's like, ”Aw yeah!” And when I do it, you know, the whole crowd puts their fists in the air and their hands on their hearts like, yeah! ”Forget about the lies and let's walk side by side.” You know what I mean? That's just something that we need to get to. You know? It's real and it's tangible.

My goal when I perform is for people to leave looking at themselves and each other and their lives different. And for them to be so excited that they'll definitely come back for more. Yeah, that's what I want to do. And it takes all I've got to do it.

When I'm getting ready to perform, I need to kind of stay in my own world so that I can keep my energy pretty concentrated. With all of my chi and all of my chakras. So when I get out there, I explode it and give it all I got. So I'm not as open as I typically am when I'm not performing, you know what I mean? A lot of people meet me and go, ”Wow, I thought you'd be like kind of hardcore and you seem so serious and so duh-duh-duh. But really you're really nice and I really like you.” You know? Oh, well, that's cool. Or someone says like, ”Just the other night I tried to approach you and give you a card before one of your shows. And you just kind of really blew me off, and you know I was really trying to talk to you.” And I'm like, ”Yeah, you probably caught me in my mode of concentration and really trying to center my energy. Just get me after the show next time, you know what I mean?” It's difficult sometimes. But when I perform, the energy, the crowd, it's all worth it. You know what I mean?

Because, you know, off stage, the daily grind, the working life, it's not so glorious. I'm just like most people. The days are work, work, work. Mornings is telephone time and setting up gigs and making sure packages get out and what have you. If I'm at home, I'll try to take out an hour or two hours to just write-anything. If it's just a thought. If it's something I'm mad about. If it's just something that pops into my mind, like some beats someone has given me or some music, it goes in here. And then after that I'm like on the streets doing my hustle. Taking packages here and there, going to studio sessions, vibing with friends, you know? Anything. Anything.

I'm a Pisces, so I don't like the business parts. You know, dealing with the organizing of the paperwork and all that-I can't stand that s.h.i.+t. I dislike trying to get the band together and pay for a rehearsal s.p.a.ce and worrying they don't show up on time. That's why I have an a.s.sistant. Or when there's figures to get together and papers to shuffle, that's why I have my business manager and my attorney.

Performances, whew! Performance is like, that's an all-day thing for me. Because you have to call people to tell them about the performance-and I have a huge phone list. And then make sure that everybody knows the color scheme-natural tones, black and white- so that everyone onstage is wearing more or less the same colors. You have to make sure everyone has a ride to get to the sound check. Then there's the sound check. And then there's getting ready after the sound check. And then there's being there early enough so you can see the other people perform, so you can support. It becomes a full day. Without a doubt.

I'm playing now at least three times a week, mostly in Los Angeles. I produce my music, also. And I do arranging, I do composing. I'm a producer for hire as well. I've done-like right now I'm working with Fishbone on their stuff. I'm doing some stuff with B-Real from Cypress Hill. I just came back from Atlanta where I was doing some stuff with Organized Noize. A crew called Mad Men. And things that have been on soundtracks like Gridlock'd. You know? I do as much as I can. If it's creative and it pops in my mind and I feel like I can achieve it, I do it.

I'm making a living, I'm paying the rent. But I need a label. I'm still looking to get signed. With all the energy right now, it's probably going to happen. I'm probably going to get signed. I've talked with the labels. Typically, the question is, ”Are you a singer or a rapper? Can we get some mainstream songs from you? You speak so seriously, do you have anything that's a little less threatening?”

Those aren't bad questions to ask. But why can't they see that it could be mainstream already? If you're into the music and you've dealt with artists and you've dealt with the business, how do you not see that my music can be mainstream? How is that? They should be able to go, ”You know what? We need to get this sister with such-and-such producer, like Dre or whoever.” I'm like, why don't you stretch your mind to grasp something like that? Instead you want me to come with something that's already mainstream? I'm like, ugh! But not for much longer, I hope.

Right now, to make money, I do different projects-I sell tapes, I do shows. So even if a show only pays five hundred dollars, I can sell another five hundred dollars' worth of tapes easy. And as many shows as I do, by the end of the month, trust me, I have my rent. I have a lot of blessings in my life. A lot of angels around me.

I get to meet new and wonderful people all the time. Typically I meet people that want to do new gigs. And yeah, there are definitely groupies. People call and just leave anonymous messages on the hotline. ”You're the s.h.i.+t! We love you! Ahhhh!” I get a lot of calls like that from different people.

I wish I could say that money was the s.h.i.+t. But right now, it's not. Money is just like my survival. You know what I mean? But so what? Because like the people, performing, when I'm up there, man, it's almost like no o.r.g.a.s.m that can compare to that. It's so incredible to feel that much love from so many different individuals-different walks of life. And then talking to them afterwards and really getting their response and seeing the truth and the honesty in their face. I feel like even when I do, like people say, ”Make it big,” I think I will always be the one to go out in the audience and like really feel people, you know what I mean? Because I've seen some like major m.u.t.h.af.u.c.kas that I really respect, and they'll finish performing and run offstage with this group of bodyguards, and you're like, ”I love you!” And they're not even looking at you or they'll push you away, or they're like, ”Get me out of here!” or that kind of att.i.tude. I'm like, ”d.a.m.n, man! These people love you, dude.” You know what I mean? Give them a little something.

That's success right there. That is success. The love. To be successful in a financial sense is something entirely different. I think success for me would be to reach the ma.s.ses with my message, and with the love that I have to give with my art. You know? That's success. Even if it doesn't make me whatever millions and billions that other people do-you know I would hope that follows suit-but if I could just reach them, that's success.

I did it because I loved it. And, in