Unruly (16 page)

 

*

August 1, 2012

Damn, time flies when you're having fun, HA. I'm almost done with this bullshit, 5 months and 20 days to the door. Can't wait to tell these punk ass COs to kiss my ass. At least I can say I accomplished a few things while I was here. For 1 I got my mother fuckin weight up. I came in like 160 and right now I'm 185 all muscle. It wasn't easy but I'm happy I put in the work. A lot of niggas came in and get fat. I wouldn't be able to look at myself if I did that. I haven't drank, smoked or fucked in almost 2 years. Shit I might be able to walk on water right now, LOL. At 36 I am in the best shape of my life. I also got my GED, finally. I thought it would make me feel good to get my diploma but it made me feel like an asshole that I didn't have one already. It didn't make me feel stupid 'cause I still had to study, take the test and pass. But it did make me realize just how many young Black men don't have High School Diplomas. They say that the average education in prison is 8th grade. That means the average man in prison is not even capable of passing the test. Case in point, when I took the pretest there was at least 30 guys who took it with me, but only 5 of them that actually passed and was able to take the GED. What's crazy is a lot of these young dudes look up to me and aspire to have some of the things that I've acquired in my life. But here I am in the same place as them taking the same fucking test. So what that I passed. Does it make me any smarter? Any better? To be honest I'm probably the dumbest nigga in the room 'cause I should be setting a better example, not only for them, but for my sons and my daughter. It's funny how prison has a way of solving that age old mystery of the tale of three stories . . . the one you're telling, the one they're telling, AND THE TRUTH!

 

*

THIRTEEN

The Mirror

THE PROBLEM WITH BEING FAMOUS IS THAT THERE ARE TOO
many strings attached. Fans want you to do the things that you've always done over and over again. That's also what the labels want. Hip-hop doesn't like change.

Funny thing is that I never strived to be famous as much as I wanted to be
creative
. I really couldn't fathom the power that art could have over people until I was clocking chart-topping records and winning awards.

 

I YEARNED TO DO
a more artistic and far-reaching album. I had recorded a set of new songs that were a surprising departure from my usual stuff. I called it
The Mirror
and presented it to Motown. The songs from
The Mirror
didn't have a lot of guest performers on it because I wanted it to be about me and what I'd been through and how it changed me. I called it
The Mirror
because when you're standing in front of a mirror, all you see is you. Of course, the first singles weren't well received by radio, because they were different than they were accustomed to hearing from me.

Eventually, I ended up virtually giving the
The Mirror
away as a free download. I was no longer worried about the money, I just wanted to do something creative and give my die-hard fans a gift, after all we'd been through.
The Mirror
was ambitious but it was surprisingly well received by those who got it. People had tripped that I had R&B singers on my songs before. This time, I was the one who was singing! I took chances without being worried about the fans' reception, reviews or the record sales. I started
The Mirror
with a Gregorian chant. On the track “Father Forgive Me,” I sampled the Beatles' classic hit “Eleanor Rigby,” over which I sang the chorus. On “The Mirror,” I reflected on my life, and on “Sing a Prayer 4 Me,” I prayed for strength. I must admit that there were some hot street songs, too, like “Enemy of the State” and “Sunset,” but overall there was a slightly different feel to the album, a certain new awareness. It showed that I'd been through some things and was becoming wiser than I had ever been. Wise enough to know that art was all that mattered.

This album proved to me that I am indeed an artist. I drew on everything, including travel, to put this album together. I had traveled a lot over the years. I had been to Europe and the Middle East; I even went to the Brazilian favelas and a war zone, in Kuwait, to perform for the 2001 USO tour with J. Lo and Kid Rock. I was able to bring Aisha to the USO tour in Iraq in 2009. We both learned a lot about the world, just by standing on foreign soil. On one occasion, we stayed in one of Saddam Hussein's hunting lodges, where everything in the place was gilded in gold and silver.

I heard and saw everything around me in a new way. Middle Eastern music layered its sounds differently than what I was used to. I was really feeling their unique vocal styles, exotic instruments and language. Sensuality and spirituality rang out in every note. Just by hearing it, my music would never be the same again.

It's amazing what exposure does to a closed mind. When you travel and see different parts of the world, your eyes are opened to a whole new way of seeing. Leaving America showed me that people all over the world love hip-hop because there are so many more poor people in the world than rich. Hip-hop is the universal sound of oppression.

I couldn't understand what the international music was saying but it sounded
fresh
. We couldn't imitate it, but we
felt
it. That's what art does. It forces us to connect the dots between our inside and the outside.

 

ONE OF THE MOST ENLIGHTENING EXPERIENCES
I had was performing at the favelas in Brazil with Fat Joe in 2008. When we accepted the show, to be honest, I didn't know what I was getting myself into. For me, it was just another show in an “unsavory” neighborhood. It didn't seem dangerous to me until I told people that I was going and all they could do was warn me about how dangerous it was.

These Brazilian favelas sat on a hill high above Rio de Janeiro. The favelas are totally unpoliced ghettos.
Everyone
is armed. There are no formal police because even they felt that it was too dangerous to go up there. Even the hardcore rappers in America declined the invitation. Only a rare few artists have taken the trip. I was the first in the hip-hop community. The only others to have made this trip are Madonna, Michael Jackson and Mos Def.

The sweeping views of the city below would never suggest the poverty, the danger and the anarchy that exist in this secluded area. In the favelas the crowded streets are lined with people of all ages who contribute to the system in one of four industries: cocaine, heroin, guns or human trafficking. It's a community where those things are the mainstay of the economy, because those are the things we do when we have no education.

The people are living in crumbling shantytowns, barely habitable, their homes held up only by shoddy sheets of aluminum that only cover the roof or patch up holes in the walls. They can't afford both. They walk long distances for water to drink and to bathe. Through the dusty crowded streets, two- and three-year-old barefoot children run naked and alone. What struck me most was not the poverty or the danger but the warmth of the people in the favelas. They made me feel at home and welcome. It made me reexamine the hood that I'd built my whole career rebuking. No matter how bad the projects may be in America, there's typically running water, electricity, food and a secure roof. That simple truth was life-changing.

 

*

October 21, 2012

Damn today is wifey's Birthday. I wish I was there to be with her, but I'm stuck in this shithole. I never realized how much these days meant to me until now. Someone I love so much and I can't see her, touch her, all because I fucked up. I know she feels the same way but love becomes somewhat of your enemy in here. I called her to wish her a Happy Birthday and to tell her that I love her but not being there hurts. Right now we would probably be in another country somewhere having a great time with each other, getting drunk like we were kids back in High School. This place makes me bitter and angry, that's why I say love becomes your enemy. 'Cause every time I think about the good times I should be sharing with my wife it breaks my heart to know that this freedom has been taken away from me. I try not to think about it, but it's all I think about. Sitting in this cell looking at the pics I have up of all of us and our beautiful family reminds me of all the good times we've shared over the years, the hard times too. But I honestly can't say bad times, our love has grown over the years and we're slowly but surely becoming best friends. We've been together so long I couldn't see myself with any other woman. She is my first, my last, my everything.

SOUL MATES!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY

JEFF HEARTS AISHA

LOL . . . XOXOXOXO

 

*

FOURTEEN

Sober

I WASN'T EXPECTING THAT SHIT IN A MILLION YEARS. THE WAY
they arrested me was
bullshit
. I made a surprise appearance at a Lil Wayne show at the Beacon Theater in New York. I've known Lil Wayne since he was twelve years old. He and I collaborated on “Uh-Ohhh!!” for
The Mirror
. I had been laying low, so when he called me and asked me to come down to do a surprise performance with him, I was happy to do it. When he called me to the stage, the crowd went wild. I was feeling good about the show, happy that some people knew “The Mirror,” and liked it.

After the show, I got into my Maybach, drove half a block and the cops pulled me over for speeding. First of all, you
can't
speed in a Maybach. It's a $400,000 car, which is half limo, half tank. It weighs about
nine trillion
pounds. It
ain't
made for racing. Secondly, they claimed it was a “routine stop”—except there were two undercovers, two undercover cars and six or seven officers there to make the arrest. Then they searched the car and found a gun in a side compartment.

Only four words would explain who they were: The Hip-Hop Task Force, the secret intelligence group that the NYPD formed in 2003. The
Village Voice
did a story on it. It's a group that was actually created for the sole purpose of keeping its eye on hip-hop artists and their entourages.

I wasn't even driving the damned car. My driver, Muhammad, RIP, was. I was in the back of the car, so the whole idea of a speeding violation for me doesn't even add up. Lil Wayne got arrested that same night on the same charge. He did
eight months
for that shit. Damned cops! They must have gotten mad medals for that shit, nabbing two rappers in one night.

The next morning after my arrest, I felt like an asshole. I have kids and I had gotten arrested, again. I tried to protect them as much as I could by never speaking about my legal problems in front of them. For a couple of years, I'd been buying time and doing everything I could to delay the inevitable. But, my time had come. I couldn't put it off anymore.

 

TAX EVASION WAS ANOTHER MISTAKE
I made. Although the papers called it tax evasion, the official charge was Failure to File, which is a little different. I did pay taxes but just not enough. Where I come from, my Moms and grandparents were never fully educated on financial matters. The little bit of money my Moms ever had, she spent. And how could they educate me about something they didn't have?

My first experience with money came from hustling. We were all young and didn't know what to do with all that cash that was flowing in like water. When we got paid from drug sales, we just spent what we wanted and kept the rest in shoeboxes. It was not any real money. Drug money and hustle money is always temporary money. It flows right through your hands. Maybe a street hustler can pay some small bills and get some gold teeth, new sneakers, but only a few, at the very top, can get a new house or something that increases in value, as opposed to decreases in value.

When I started to really make money with music, for a while there, I still didn't know what to do with it. There were days that I would spend $100,000 in one day, knowing that I would make it again the next day at the next show. We spent all of our lives calling it “paper,” which says something.

 

I'D BEEN BACK AND FORTH
to court for years disputing the charges, paying fines and consulting with my lawyer about a plea bargain. There were
multiple
charges. I had been fighting hard to stay free but the time had come. I almost didn't have the heart to tell Moms that I was going to turn myself in but she needed to hear it from me. It was going to be all over the national news. I had put my family through so much already.

I was supposed to report to the jail in April, but I got two months to get my affairs in order. On June 8, 2011, I dragged myself and my family to report to prison. I dreaded the long drive into Manhattan. I dreaded the thought of leaving my family. There was not a dry eye in the car, as I drove us to the courthouse in Manhattan.

Always the joker, I said, “I'm going to turn myself in today but what we should really do is turn this car around and go to the airport and flee the country!”

No one laughed. They just smiled while tears rolled down everybody's faces, except for mine. I was finally being faced with the truth of who I was and what I had been doing.

 

THE JAIL SENTENCE STARTED
with several brief stays at different facilities and then there was a formal sentencing where I would see my family again, in the courtroom.

My Moms and Ish were both crying at the federal sentencing proceedings. They were crying because they both knew what I knew, that I could get between thirty-six and sixty more months that would run
consecutively
. The moment of truth was upon us. As the proceedings started everything went silent for me. The court officer and the court reporter were moving in slow motion. Time had stopped. All I could hear were my own thoughts bumping up against each other inside my head.
I'm letting everyone down
.
My family. My friends
.
My fans.

Stacey Richman, my lawyer, was up there doing the best she could for me. She was telling the judge of all of my accomplishments, including my travel to Kuwait for the USO tour to perform for the troops and being nominated for a Grammy Award.

The judge was unmoved.

I could faintly hear Stacey reciting a list of my charitable work, including nonviolence work that I did for local youth. The judge interrupted Stacey. “How ironic that the young man is an advocate for the very same thing that he is going to prison for.” I had to say something on my own behalf, although that was not what Stacey and I had planned.

I almost felt like I had jinxed myself playing all those jail roles in movies like
Half Past Dead
,
Assault on Precinct 13
, and
Furnace
. The words “you reap what you sow” were running through my head.

The judge was speaking but I couldn't quite tune in to what she was saying.

Suddenly the words “high school graduation”
popped into my head. I don't know if the judge said it or Ish whispered it into my ear from across the room, but my body suddenly went numb.

The judge said, “Mr. Atkins, are you okay?”

I must have stumbled forward. “Yes, your honor, I'm okay.”

Finally, a tear rolled down my left cheek. I knew for sure with the thirty-six months pending, I would not be home for Brittney's high school graduation. My hurt turned to rage and I could feel my skin tightening and my heart racing inside my chest. I was angry with myself.

“Mr. Atkins, would you like to say anything on your own behalf?” the judge said, dutifully.

“Yes, your honor.” Stacey furrowed her brow. I looked away.

“You may stand and speak, Mr. Atkins,” the judge said.

When I was face-to-face with her, at that moment, I realized that whatever I said better be
good.
I was looking at possibly thirty-six months, which would destroy me. It could go either way.

I'm sure that the judge had heard plenty of sob stories from rich rappers trying to wiggle their way out of doing their full sentence. I was no different from them, but what I had to say to her was different to me because it was the first time I had ever begged.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

“Mr. Atkins, we are waiting,” the judge said, impatiently.

I was shaken as I felt the impenetrable shell that had always protected me fall away from my body, freeing me to be humble.

“Your honor, the thought of missing my daughter's high school graduation is worse than any prison sentence you could give me.”

“You've had all the chances that the law can possibly allow, Mr. Atkins. I see that from your rap sheet,” she said, peering over her glasses. “You've been in the system since you were sixteen years old.
Nearly two decades
.”

“Your honor, my fate is in your hands and you don't know anything about me, except for what you see on that rap sheet. I'd like to tell you a little bit about who I really am.”

“Mr. Atkins, we don't have all day.”

“Your honor, I bet you didn't know that I've been with the same woman since junior high school. My wife's name is Aisha Atkins. She's here with me today. We have three incredible children, Brittney, Jeffrey Jr. and Jordan. My daughter is going to college in the fall after she graduates.”

The judge finally looked up from her paper. “Go on.”

“Your honor, I'm not the guy they portray me to be. I'm a good guy, a
family
man. Not a gangster. I'm just a normal guy who went through a bad time. I don't deserve to miss my daughter's high school graduation. I
can't
miss it.”

“Mr. Atkins, what makes you different than anyone else who's in your position?”

“Your honor, I never graduated from high school. I dropped out in the eleventh grade. That has been a shame that I carry with me to this day. My Moms, who you see behind me, has never gotten to attend a high school graduation except for her own. I'm her only child. My sister was stillborn in 1982. I have disappointed my mother and my family too many times. I worked so hard for years so my own children could stay on the right track. I was crazy before but I now
understand
how important education is. It's the least I can do for my children.”

“Go on,” the judge said, her gaze softening.

“I'm a young man who's had a lot of success but unfortunately, I didn't always seek out the right people in my life. Your honor, I admit that I've been irresponsible and a poor role model, but I'm not a bad guy. You see that I have a family that loves me and supports me, even here. The media is trying to paint me as an evil rapper. I'm not that person anymore. You know what I do every day? Father my three children and be a husband to my wife. I never had a father of my own, your honor.”

“Mr. Atkins, do you know how many performers I see with no fathers, children and wives? Have you said everything you needed to say?”

“No, your honor. I just want to say, we performers have an onstage persona and then we have who we really are, which is the side that no one ever sees. I've finally grown up over the last few years. I really want to break the cycle of undereducation, poverty and crime starting with myself . . . and my community. Like I said, my daughter will be attending college in the fall. That'll be the beginning. I
need
to see her graduate, your honor. My promise to Brittney eighteen years ago depends on it. Thank you for listening, your honor.”

“What did you promise your daughter?”

“That I would raise her, guide her and
save
her.”

 

THE JUDGE GAVE ME
twenty-six months to run concurrently with my twenty months with the State, in prison, and two months of house arrest. I had already spent April and May at home on house arrest where I wore a monitor on my ankle that tracked my movement. I had parole officers coming in and out of my house unannounced to take urine samples from me once a week, making sure that I was clean. I felt like a fool. Aisha was charged with the task of keeping me in the house at all times and she would be asked to do it again at the end of my twenty months, when I returned.

Two years in jail would mean a dramatic loss of income for my family. I had bought houses for my mother and my grandmother. I'd sent Ish's sister Antoinette to college. I even remember the time after my first album that I took my boys on a shopping spree and the tab was $500,000. I had been frivolous with money for too long. This was yet another wake-up call. I realized that I needed to get rid of things and habits that I no longer needed. My mother would have to move out of her house and come and live with us. I had bought her a large four-bedroom house for her to live in alone. My mother's sister Dawn and brother, Dennis, both needed a place to stay, so I ended up taking care of all of them in that house. I didn't mind, but I was going to prison and we had to make some significant changes. I'd have to get rid of the Maybach and we'd all have to watch the money more carefully. I knew it would work out, just as it had when Brittney was born. We never missed a meal or a mortgage payment. What mattered most was that I'd be home to see my baby girl graduate.

 

WHILE MY JAIL SENTENCE
was fast approaching, it was a dark and humbling period for me. It was the perfect time for me to make another creative album so I called in producer 7 Aurelius who had worked with me on
Pain Is Love
. I called the new album
PIL2,
Pain Is Love 2
. Over the years I'd learned how the fame game worked. I understood that fans' love strictly depended on my hits, not my
music.
With
PIL2
, I'd see who was really listening because it was strictly for people who really loved music, not just hip-hop heads.
PIL2
didn't have party songs. It was an album with meaning, as I continued to grapple with the truth of myself.

On this album, I worked with a group of artists such as Leah Siegal and Anita Louise. I also brought in a Korean singer named Somong and vocalist Jon Doe. All of the tracks were musical and harmonic, with rapping but also a lot of melodies and vocals. Each song had meaningful lyrics that pertained to all of the questions in my head about where I'd been and where I was going.

On the album, I tried to paint pictures with sounds and lyrics. I felt these new sounds and sights were forcing my true fans to grow with me. To think differently, to be different themselves and to trust.

As I sat in the studio making
PIL2
, the candles burned in the darkness as I watched the film
Exit Through the Gift Shop
over and over again. It's a “documentary” by street artist Banksy, about an eccentric character played by the real-life street artist Mr. Brainwash. Mr. Brainwash becomes obsessed with street art. The character goes on a mission to find the aloof Banksy. Once he meets him and other street artists, he decides to become a street artist himself. The film looks at art, asking the question, What is art, actually? Who decides art's value, the artist or the audience? What makes it art: The materials used? The venue that displays it? Or simply popular opinion? What makes art authentic? Is there any such thing as inauthentic art?