Ask your kid sis; Ja Rule ain’t no sucka, so he don’t need a bodyguard. Shame. A coupla diesel-lookin’ cats might have stopped him getting all his ice took by some thugged-out English kids when he decided to walk from a show at Po Na Na, a club in Hammersmith, London, to the nearby afterparty a little while back.
Why didn’t he report it to the po-pos? Well, he was kinda embarrassed about the whole thing, so we’re told. “But he could have claimed in on insurance, couldn’t he?”. We hear ya. But he didn’t. At least we know that, wack records aside, Ja ain’t tryin’ to scam nobody. That certainly puts him ahead of a certain East Coast crew that were mysteriously relieved of an expensive quantity of (hired) jewellery on the set of a video shoot not too long ago. Thing is, their records don’t suck. Much.
This one has to stay blind like Stevie, but there’s a certain r&b star who’s currently trying to re-open diplomatic relations with the band that made him famous. Whilst he’s finally admitting that some of the rumors about his sexual preferences were true, “He’s found the right bitch now!” Well, that’s good news, huh? If only that were the full extent of his problems.
Seems our boy is desperate to be seen as a “serious” creative force a la R. Kelly, and has been on the hunt for a musical collaborator with more than thongs on his mind. The resulting frustration at not finding one appears to have led to a) seeking solace in ‘closing-scene-of-“Scarface”‘ quantities of Bolivian marching powder; b) three changes of management in nine months; c) serious paranoia (especially about trained pigeons with miniature cameras attached to their chests, if his neighbors can be believed); d) a desire to empty a clip or two at parked cars; e) a delusional belief that he could command the police not to arrest him. He’s currently out on bail with no court date set. This didn’t stop him, though, from braving Hurricane Isabel and driving, immediately after the hearing, through 80mph winds to the house of a five-times-arrested-but-only-twice-convicted coke dealer. Some (but not many) of these details may appear in the Baltimore Sun over the coming months – how many depends, of course, on the verdict.
You heard the rumor that Ashanti ghosted J-Lo’s vocals on her last album, right? Well, how about soul legend Betty Wright ghosting them on J-Lo’s first album? You di’int know? Our source has even seen the $1000 boots that Betty got as a thank-you present.
If you want a gal just like the gal that married dear old Dad, then Christina Aguilera might not be your first choice. She has a pretty unusual relationship with her pops, too — he’s her unofficial trim coordinator. If you’re curious about the type of guy Xtina goes for, you might be interested to hear about the time she showed up for the recording of a TV show on a European promotional jaunt, and was overheard loudly demanding that her assistant get her “some black cock, NOW!!”.
I’m guessing that by now you all have seen R. Kelly compare himself to Osama bin Laden (no word yet on whether this means he will become the big bossalini of the incredibly gay Dipset, who took to calling themselves “The Taliban” post-9/11 because they feared there weren’t quite skewing hard enough toward “stupid enough to have a negative IQ”). But what the piece isn’t revealing, thanks to an army of high-priced lawyers, is that the preternaturally horny “crooner” may have more in common with Osama than he thinks. It seems that the Patriot Act, aka the Reversal of Freedoms Act, means Kelly isn’t in the clear with regard to his predeliction for pissing on underage girls. But a paralegal-cum-honorary Gossiping Bitch has smuggled out the info: The federales don’t take too kindly to multimillionaire, sexually deviant R&B singers comparing themselves to international terrorists and are seizing this opportunity to implement the Patriot Act in order to rifle through everything Kelly owns—including stuff they didn’t have a warrant to search the first time around. This time around, I don’t think Kelly’s appeals for a hug should be directed at heaven, but rather his jailhouse buddies who are into having sex and ain’t into makin’ love.
Li’l Kim is broke again. I know that’s not exactly shocking insider gossip, but there’s a valuable lesson to be learned here: Record labels don’t like being treated like banks with unlimited capital to loan. Especially when said capital is spent on nothing but hair weaves, pussy wax, and clothes by designers said diminutive rapper can’t even pronounce. In other Li’l Kim news, 50 Cent is now dissing her on the radio because apparently Kim’s all pissed that there won’t be a video for “Magic Stick,” her collabo with Fiddy. Kim, Kim, Kim…untalented costars aren’t allowed to call the shots. You don’t let Li’l Smithers, uh, I mean Li’l Cease tell you what to do, right?
Psssst: Christina Aguilera gave Black Rob the clap. Pass it on. The gossip, I mean, not the clap.
Mush Records, the people who got unlistenable art-fag rap a solid distribution network, are apparently seriously concerned about the upcoming EP by low man on the Anticon totem pole, pedestrian. Obviously, being the low man on the Anticon totem pole is like being the most inbred person in West Virginia, only not quite as glamorous. The brain trust over at Mush is just now figuring this out, as even the most dedicated Anticon fans are none too eager to pick up a pedestrian solo EP (this is not even mentioning the debacle that is ol’ peddi crack’s forthcoming solo full-length on Anticon Records). This after they gave the formerly-dreadlocked honky a sizeable advance and recording budget, most of which he blew on in-studio poetry readings, his Anticon LP, and an Al Jolson-inspired video. Way to think outside the box, Mush.
The rumors of Jay-Z’s planned departure from Roc-a-Fella, and the rap game altogether, are indeed true. But Jigga isn’t going out without settling the score with his former allies. It seems there is some major bad blood between your boy and the sinking ship that is The Roc. He recently inked a deal with St. Martin’s Press to publish a tell-all autobiography (forget about the upcoming The Black Book, which Jay had little to do with). The book, scheduled for a November 2004 release, will trace his beginnings as a crack dealing hood (if he says so) to his rise to prominence in the hip-hop world. One chapter, entitled “The Never-ending Quest to Put Another Man On”, will cover the rap career of Memphis Bleek. That’s only the tip of the ice medallionberg—over the years, Jay reportedly has maintained a lengthy enemies list, Nixon stylee, of various industry cats he has residual beef with who will all get served as well. Word on the low is that Jay’s writing career won’t end there—he’s in negotiations to ghostwrite a chapter for a similarly themed Dr. Dre autobio also set for a late 2004 release.