BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
WORDS: N. ALI EARLY

He’ll probably receive a lifetime achievement award sometime after his legacy has been well established and chances are his grandmother’s mantle will have been clear of accolades since the dawn of his storied career. As made as any man in hip hop, 50 Cent has been nominated for a mind boggling 14 Grammy’s, but never had the pleasure of seeing his favorite woman smile that proud smile.

In 2003, after disposing of his most obvious irritant, he took the reigns as the new kid on the block, selling upwards of 12 million copies with the release of Get Rich Or Die Tryin’. He won fans and celebrity for his trouble, but no trophies. No best artist of the year. Not the best song. Nothing.

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HOME OF THE BRAVE

It’s a good two months prior to the release for his eighth solo album, Category F5 and Carl “Twista” Mitchell is doing what he does best: making music. He is not, however, in some dolled up studio all the way West in Hollywood. Nor is he in one of the million music factory’s of New York, or even Atlanta. He’s at the Crib – literally.

Truth be told, Twista is one of two people that can operate under such conditions. The other happens to be one of music’s most genius talents, despite his controversial ties to underage women. Regardless, either of them has done much to blaze a trail for their successors and put the city of Chicago on the map in the process.

“Me and R. Kelly can do what we do from the Crib (Chicago),” Twista allows from the basement of his Chicago home. “We’re homebodies. We like to stay at home.”

With good reason, Twista can do him from his nest simply because the city of Chicago has accepted and even owned his success. Whether they’ve followed him from the past or currently stand at attention for his Twitter updates, he has a base that looks for him and to him, when others from the same streets don’t have the same luxury.

“Chicago got a whole lot of talent here,” he begins, pausing for emphasis. “As far as on the industry standpoint, we just don’t have it as much as other people have it. When you look at the top artists in the City, everybody moved except for me.”

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Depending on what part of town you’re in and how heavy the store’s emphasis is on urban media, you may or may not have access to the May issue of upscale magazine. In it, KREATIVE SOULS own N. Ali Early, penned a feature story that delves into Ciara’s trivial past couple of years.

We’re all but required to say it’s a good read, but would anyway, because it is. Hopefully you’ll find it in your local neighborhood and come to the same analysis.

If you can’t find it, try clicking on the images below and attempt to read it on your web browser (click twice for the full image –> we kept it as large as possible for the vision impaired!)

For the first time in a long time Mike Tyson seemed at peace with his life, himself, his place in society. He’d been out of the public eye, thankfully, as he was admittedly in his own way. Done with the Bunny Ranch, done with the excessive spending, he’d re-emerged in a documentary – Tyson -and was riding the success out with an appearance in the new movie, The Hangover.

And then it all went to shit… again, when his four year old daughter Exodus Tyson, while playing alone in a room on a treadmill, somehow found herself entangled in a chord which eventually acted as a noose and hanged her. We waited and prayed on our collective knees for precious Exodus Tyson to pull through, but He called her home a day after the incident.

I don’t care who you are. I don’t care how unstable society may perceive you to be. When you lose a loved one, your world turns upside down. Whether it’s an elderly family member or a childhood friend, if that relationship had ever been tested – and survived – your mind tends to escape you. And when your senses come back, your body seems to jump a few lengths at a time in an effort to keep you in mourning.

I can only imagine and hope that I never have to feel what Mike is feeling today. Broad as my shoulders are and as high as a tolerance I have for pain, I’m convinced I would lose it.

It goes without saying Mike Tyson is somewhere in the abyss. As tortured a soul as he has, it was inspiring to see him on Jimmy Kimmel, rationalizing how he crunched on Evander Holyfield’s ear and proudly disclosing that he’d finally figured things out. There he was taking ownership of his actions, accepting responsibility for himself and his family. No handlers, ho hangers on, just Mike. He’d come to terms with himself.

We’ll continue to pray for Mike and hope that he somehow grows stronger after this devastating, tragic loss. We’ll continue to pray for the people who might find some devilish way to suggest negligence and we’ll pray there is a silver lining somewhere that the Tyson’s can look toward for support.

R.I.P. Exodus

No one will ever in their right mind question Michael Jordan’s zest for the game, nor his knowledge as a player. However, when it comes to sizing up talent, he’s proven time and time again to be wrong, wrong and more wrong. No matter how many remote controls and water bottles he threw at the television while the Director of Basketball Operations with the Wizards, no one is ever going to forget HE was the one who endorsed and chose Kwame “Bum” Brown with the first pick of the 2001 draft.

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