(Apparently the judge that ruled on that action had his own opinions about Shyne.)
Shyne was released to the public in late 2000 and ultimately sold more than five hundred thousand copies, but he has yet to reap the rewards of any of his royalties, thanks to that Son of Sam law that prevents him from profiting from his crimes while incarcerated. Ultimately, in 2001 Puffy's legal team helped him get off the hook, and Puff (allegedly) (yeah, right) left Shyne Po to rot in prison, a sentence which he is still serving as of this writing (although I understand he's getting out soon). Released on bail, he attempted to turn the focus away from his court date by promoting Shyne, but this effort ultimately fell on deaf ears, not because folks weren't curious about the album, but because everyone wanted to know more about the case, since two of entertainment's biggest stars (relatively speaking) were involved. Unfortunately, Shyne soon found himself in the middle of a media circus, trying to protect his boss and mentor (and his then-girlfriend, Jennifer Lopez) in a nightclub shooting that he alleges was in self-defense.
After a few cameos on some R&B tracks (and a feature on Puff Daddy's "Reverse", a bizarre collaborative effort that also featured contributions from the likes of Redman, Cee-Lo of Goodie Mob (and Gnarls Barkley), Busta Rhymes, and Sauce Money, of all people), he recorded his debut album, the simply stated Shyne, for release in 2000. Much was made of the fact that Shyne sounded exactly like Biggie Smalls, and Sean Combs, to my knowledge, never really disputed the fact: he opted to let the music speak for itself. left Bad Boy CEO Puff Daddy without his biggest selling artist (and his closest tie to the streets), and while he tried to fill the gap by releasing albums by the likes of Black Rob, Ma$e, and himself, he ultimately caved and signed Jamal "Shyne" Barrow, a young rapper from Brooklyn by way of Belize. On the other end of the spectrum, the loss of The Notorious B.I.G. This comes off as straight overkill, considering that 2Pac releases a new album every six months, but that's the rap business, kids! Not only was it bad enough that 2Pac's unreleased tracks from the vaults (most of which feature him seemingly repeating the same sentiments in different combinations) were being pimped out by his own mother (I hope all that money is funding fucking college scholarships or something), Suge Knight, the then-head of Death Row Records, tried to capitalize on the loss of its most controversial artist by signing some guy named The Realest, a straight-up Pac clone that makes a living playing his hero at bat mitzfahs. It's no wonder that record label executives tried to pimp these deceased artists for as long as possible. But when it comes to hip hop, it's especially puzzling, since the acts almost always sound more like a label creation and less like an actual artist trying to work.Īfter the untimely deaths of Tupac Shakur and Christopher Wallace, hip hop mourned its loss by elevating the status of these two decent rappers to that of fucking gods among mortal men. Hollywood does this often as well, and as a filmmaker and film goer, my intelligence isn't insulted any less. One of the many things that upset me regarding our chosen genre is its insistence on repeating history instead of actively aiming for something new.
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