My Voice: A Memoir (20 page)

JADAKISS:
B.I.G. dead. Shyne in jail.

ANGIE (after silence on the other end):
Wow, wow, wow. He’s gone . . .

The next day the whole city was talking about it, and when Puff wanted to come up to the show on his own, I advised that he wait a few days for things to simmer down. But he pushed. “Nah, I want to come up there today.”

Ugh. “Okay.”

His first matter of business was to come for me, insinuating that I was pitting artists against each other in interviews. But I didn’t back down. And you could hear the hostility, too, like he’s not fucking with me and I’m not fucking with him. Ultimately, I let him have his say—
and
the Lox got their publishing back. And that to me felt like I’d done my part in resolving their issues.

By that point in my career, I had developed my voice and built a platform. And I realized that day that sometimes the right thing to do is to pick a side. Because ultimately, if you can use your voice to make a difference in someone else’s life, that is what you leave behind.
I didn’t want to let being impartial get in the way of doing right in the culture. Yes, as a radio host I try to be fair to everybody, but I also care about the people and I care about what’s right. The Lox getting their publishing back was right. It’s not just about The Lox specifically. It also sends a message to the industry and up-and-coming rappers to be mindful of their business practices. And I was proud to be part of that conversation.

Eventually everything smoothed out between Puff and The Lox. And years later things would get smoothed out between me and Puff. I’ve gotten less judgmental as I’ve gotten older and, being fair, the reality is that I don’t know why he handled things like he did. And I have
no
idea how I would have handled things if put in similar circumstances.

•   •   •

T
he year 2007 was about to go down as the worst year in the music industry. CD sales dropped. Labels were consolidating, jobs were cut. iTunes was putting music retail stores out of business. And small artists were struggling to stay alive. Kanye West and 50 Cent were the exception to that when each sold nearly one million copies on their first week out. From that position, 50 Cent came on my show criticizing indie label Koch, calling it the graveyard for artists. He managed to offend a lot of people, including Cam’ron and Styles P from The Lox. Both called into the show that day and got a little heated. Off-air, 50 and I argued about whether or not he was a bully.

When I say “argue,” I use that word loosely. There’s something about sparring with smart people that I enjoy, even if our perspectives are different. I’ve gotten that from all those years of trying to get to the point during interviews.

I like to get to the point quickly. I hate small talk. It makes me want to punch myself in the face, repeatedly. Radio has only magnified that impatience. As Ebro and I used to say, “In radio there’s no foreplay. You gotta get right to the fucking.”

The problem for me was that for all my growth in this period, I had become more impatient than ever. Just ask any of my assistants and members of my teams who I mentored. “Don’t write a three-paragraph e-mail to me when it should only take one sentence . . .” It makes me crazy! On the upside, because I was tough and exacting, those who could handle it have gone on to thrive—like Monse and then TJ, my friend Tracey’s little cousin who started as my assistant as a kid and would go on to be an engineer for Beats Radio, and my producer Drewski—all who would have my back throughout these later years at Hot. I used to call these guys my other sons. Because as tough and impatient as I could be, there was nothing I wouldn’t do for anyone on my team and they all knew it.

As I evolved I began to feel less guilty about running a tight ship. It was necessary. As much fun as we were having, this was a job. We needed to be efficient and productive and at the top of our game. So almost daily I would be kicking someone out of the studio who didn’t belong there. I tried to teach everyone who worked with me about boundaries. My friend Adrienne Bailon says that’s one of the most important things she’s learned from me, that people will take advantage of you if you don’t set boundaries. I met Adrienne when she was thirteen and in a group called 3LW. She has so much personality and I just felt a connection with her immediately. She’s somebody I wanted to look after, and I always have. To this day she calls me her big sister.

I began to see that I had some life experiences worth sharing with others and I found confidence in that. I was now seasoned. I had been in the game a long time. I’d seen a lot, and I had great relationships that
I valued. I tried to show up for people whenever I could. I never wanted to disappoint anyone, and I often found myself saying yes to too much. I probably needed some boundaries my damn self in this area.

There were appearances and social events that were part of doing what I do, and sometimes, even if I was tired or had too much on my plate, there were certain people I made sure I showed up for.

Like the time that Fabolous was having his thirtieth birthday party. Fab and I had known each other for years and he often showed up for me. He was having a great year with his new album
From Nothin’ to Somethin’,
and the party was packed with so many people I knew that every time I tried to leave, somebody else pulled me over.

As the night got later, I could feel almost a dizzying exhaustion starting to set in, along with my impatience to get home. For the last time, I announced to whoever, “I gotta fuckin go!” and walked out with Pecas making sure I got to my Range Rover. I climbed in and started on the twenty-minute drive home to my apartment.

About a block away from pulling into my complex, I start to fall asleep at the wheel, and in that split second, I jolt myself back and slam on the brakes. Only instead of hitting the brakes, I slam the gas so hard that it slaps me into a parked car. I crash so hard into the parked car that as it flies up and over the curb—whoosh!—my Range Rover skids into a massive metal gate as everything is literally crushed around me. It’s like I’ve woken up in a metal coffin with a car caved in everywhere around me, except for my little space where I’m sitting.

For a second I think
This is it; this is the end
. Death. Then I black out again, and when I come back, I see spinning police lights and hear sirens and I’m standing barefoot in the street with glass all around me. Just standing there.
How?
I’m in this tiny little gold lamé dress that barely covers my ass.
Where are my shoes?
Somehow in the crash, I must have lost my shoes.

My focus is going in and out. First, I’m sitting back in my car, seeing myself standing there barefoot in the street. Then I’m turning to see two cops walking toward me, one of them saying, “Stay where you are. Don’t move.” When I blink, I’m looking at the two officers putting me in their car. In the next moment I’m seated in the backseat and looking back at me in my crashed car.

None of it connected. At one point one of the cops said, “Stop moving.” The other asked, “Are you okay?”

“I am,” I told them. Which was ridiculous. I was not. They asked if I’d been drinking, and though I’d had one drink earlier in the night, I explained it had been a long day and I was exhausted and had fallen asleep.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” the cop asked.

“Yeah,” I said, pointing across the street. “I live right there.”

“I don’t know,” one of them questioned. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m fine.”

They did not give me a Breathalyzer test. They did not take me to the hospital to check me for a concussion or brain trauma. They just assessed that the Range Rover was totaled, so they insisted on driving me across the street to my house.

As I recalled it the next day, my out-of-body experience continued as they ran my license and had me sit in the car. That was when I was again somewhere else looking down on me. I’m sitting in the cop car and I suddenly can see myself in the car with the cops.

As soon as I got into my place, sent the sitter home, checked in on my sleeping child, and stumbled into my bedroom, I collapsed and went to sleep. Thank God I woke up! And I realized I wasn’t fine at all; I was in bad shape.
Holy shit!
Right after the accident, I hadn’t been able to process what happened. I thought I had just crashed and that was it. I didn’t realize until the next day,
Wait a minute. I crashed and then the
cops were there already. How could that have happened?
I had passed out, totally unconscious, and didn’t even know it.
Wait. That doesn’t make sense—for the cops to fucking let me go home?

My mind was all scrambled and my leg was fucked up. I went to the hospital and got cleared—thank God again—but then I had to hobble to the Hair & Beauty Expo later that day. Still not totally sure what all had happened, I sent Fab a picture of the crashed car with a text:
Yo, this happened on the way home.

Are you okay?

Yeah.

Really, Fab? Well, that’s how you know it was a hell of a party!

Yeah, a hell of a party. He almost killed me.

Not exactly, but over the next few days, as all the pieces came together, I had that full-on feeling of,
Wow, that was almost it
. That was the closest I ever felt to death. It wasn’t like the fire, when I could have died. Or other close calls where I could have died. I was actually out the door and there. But somehow I got pulled back. For some reason I was spared.

This was the time when I felt death and valued the warning—don’t forget this moment. The part of almost dying that terrified me most was
the thought of not being on this earth for my son. After that night I resolved never again to drive tired. If it’s been a long day, I’ll stay at a friend’s rather than drive home. And if I hit the road and start to get tired, I’ll find somewhere safe and pull over to close my eyes.

Just being more careful may have also helped me to develop more patience in general. Or maybe not.

•   •   •

T
he last highlight of 2007 that I can’t forget to mention was getting to interview Senator Barack Obama. Earlier in the year, in the midst of Uelo’s funeral, I received the announcement that Obama was going to run for president. I wanted to jump for joy, literally. I was overwhelmed with excitement, and I screamed out to my mom from across the funeral parlor, “He’s running!” She was thrilled and whispered back, “That’s great, honey.”

Then came his call to the station as the primary season took off, and I was out of my mind with excitement. This was crazy.
Is this happening? Am I for real chopping it up with Barack Obama?
He was so gracious, so generous, telling me how cool it was to be on the air with the Voice of New York. And he was just himself and down to earth, admitting to me, “I’m old-school and generally I’m more of a jazz guy. But having said that, I’m current enough that on my iPod I got a little bit of Jay Z, a little bit of Beyoncé.”

In the months that followed, slowly but surely there was a change of heart for a lot of friends and family who had said that Americans would never elect a black president. People got past their fears, and even the most skeptical became supporters. The hip-hop community soon came out strong to support him. A turning point was Will.I.Am’s “Yes We Can” video. Again, it was music connecting to the moment, bringing in so many voices we hadn’t heard together before.

There were so many exciting moments that led up to the day of the election in November 2008. The momentum was real and powerful. I’ll never forget the morning of election day, when I was driving in to work and I turned on the radio to Power 105.1, where Ed Lover was now on the air in the afternoons starting an hour before my show. People had been pitting us against each other, although, as I like to remind Ed, I was killing him in the ratings. Still, I would routinely listen to his show as I drove in to work, just to check out the competition. That day I tuned in to hear him say, “Oh my gosh, you’re never going to believe who I’ve got in the building.” There was a beat before he said who it was. And then to my complete and utter horror, he says—OPRAH WINFREY!
Holy shit, fuck, my life is ruined! I no longer want to live!
My ultimate dream interview of life and she was on Ed’s show, in the same time slot, talking about this historic election and how much she cared about it. She was so good and so gracious and funny, but of course she was—it’s
her
, the Almighty Mother Oprah.

I could barely breathe. How did this happen? How had Ed gotten this interview? Everybody who knew me understood that this was not an easy loss for me.

During my breaks, all I could do was tune in to Ed’s show and listen. Even though I had my own show to do, I couldn’t focus. Besides, the whole city was listening to Ed that day. Oprah had recently received a lot of criticism from the hip-hop community after being super critical about it and distancing herself from the culture, something I had been dying to interview her about. I’d had the conversation so many times already in my head. But there she was, having the conversation with my competition.