by Ja Rule
It only took a year for my man DMX to accuse me of sounding like him. In 2000, he wrote a diss joint called “Do You,” which insinuated that I was copying his style. Truth is, the only similarity between us is that we both had gruff voices—but that was the only similarity. I’m nothing like him.
Word of the beef between us spread quickly throughout the hip-hop community, but to be honest, I was too busy working on my second album to care. Making music was my dream and I was in it to win it.
During this period I went through a transformation. People were saying that I acted like Pac and sounded like X. Here is when I realized that I’m me. I’m an artist and had to express myself as an artist, and do me. My whole sound was kind of different. My first album was street because that’s all I knew up to that point. But after the first album, I was living success.
When I presented my second album, Rule 3:36, to Def Jam, they learned the hard way that I was going to push the envelope.
When I refused to do my second album over, Def Jam pushed back and I pushed even harder. At first they were only going to release the single “Between Me and You” with no video or anything and see how it would move. Me and Gotti wasn’t having none of that. We had just sold a gang of records; how could they not give me a proper release? Eventually they caved and gave me the kind of rollout I had earned—video budget, radio spend, street team. It proved my instincts had been right. Rule 3:36 came out and went triple platinum, 3 million records, sold nearly 300,000 the first week. You couldn’t tell me nothing.
Ja Rule and Murder Inc. were slaying the radio. Our joints added the instrumentation of R&B and the sensuality of female vocals and put them over dope rap tracks. The combination made every hot joint even hotter.
As Murder Inc. continued to grow, we came to realize that we had crossed an invisible line. By switching up the same ol’ formula for hip-hop and adding these other elements, we’d gone outside of the boundary lines. The underground fans didn’t like it. The critics criticized. The bloggers blogged. The fighters fought. And rappers wrote diss records about us. They were all trying to hit us where it hurt most—our commitment to the authenticity of the music and our manhood. While that was happening, the larger population was eating us up. Inside the business there was lots of scrutiny, outside, lots of love.
The beef inside the hip-hop community was everywhere. The barbs flew across the radio airwaves while the Internet broke the dam of public opinion. Every day there were hundreds of never-ending anonymous comments that fueled the fires.
LIKE I SAID, me and DMX came up together. When my music started to blow up as large as his, I believe that’s the moment that people started getting in X’s ear. They were provoking him by saying shit like, “That little homie is trying to steal your shit” or “He’s trying to be like you.” Those comments triggered him. Actually, I think it was really Lyor who was provoking us to compete against each other, he’d say to me, “J’s in the studio working.” He’d say to X, Ya know Ja’s album just went number one.” I don’t think he meant any malice; he just wanted us to create new music and bring in more money.
When I look back on it, I realize that I had become a red flag not just for X, but for several others. It’s like hustling on a block and here comes a new guy who is coming up after you. He may be the guy to kill you or your business.
All of this stuff, the tension between artists, is very personal. We’re mostly from the same area. We have similar dreams and similar skill sets. We’re competing against each other, while also using the other for inspiration. When it looks like someone may overshadow us, our ego gets in the way and the disrespect begins. We are fighters and survivors. We can’t take disrespect. We have zero tolerance.
The next time I see 50 is in Atlanta.
In 2000, I got a call to do a show. The opening act was to be 50 Cent. The promoter who booked us didn’t know that 50 had some issues with me. When I pulled up to the hotel, I was surprised to see my man Uncle Chaz. He had started managing 50 Cent. Chaz asked if I’d talk to 50 to squash any beef that was brewing. I agreed to it. A few minutes later 50 pulls up. We get to talking. He’s copping more pleas: “It’s nothing personal. It’s just me trying to get out there. The record’s already out there, it’s not going anywhere. Nothing we can do about it.” I don’t know why, but that set me off. I started screaming on him. Calling him a bitch ass nigga. With every album he tries to beef with someone to get people to start talking about him and to create a buzz for his album. I wish he would stop trying to use gimmicks and concentrate on the music.
Rage started to bubble up in my stomach. Although my intentions were to talk, I couldn’t help myself, I just started screaming on him.
50 tried to swing on me, but I dipped, then I hit him with the baby Louisville Slugger. Bam! I dropped the bat. I pulled the shirt over his head. I started catching him, left, right, uppercut. Then O comes and picks up the bat and starts cracking him over the head. Black Child joins in and hits him, too. We were fucking him up and none of his people did anything. The OGs, BJ and Uncle Chaz broke it up.
The funny thing about that Atlanta shit is that when my crew started smashing him, 50’s crew ran inside the hotel and got on the elevator. I was still heated. I took the ashtray stand from outside and brought it into the hotel lobby, hoping to crack it over anybody’s head that was in my way. As the elevator door closed, I threw the ashtray stand. The staff called the police. My last words to him were, “Nigga you better not show up tonight. Or you will die.”
We had done enough that day. The crew and I bounced and did our show, without an opening act. No one knew who the fuck 50 was at that time, so no one missed him.
By the time I got back to New York, I heard that 50 had woven a ridiculous fictional tale about the Atlanta incident. He deserved another ass whooping just for that.
On March 20, I got a call from a friend who happened to be hanging out at the Hit Factory studio in New York City. “Guess who’s in the studio tonight?” she asked. I thanked her for the tip. I knew what I had to do. My man Merc, he had broken his foot. I took his crutch to use as a weapon. I was headed upstairs, because I happened to be at the Hit Factory that night, too. My crew followed me. We paid 50 Cent a visit. He was still talking, rhyming and talking too much shit with his silly mouth. That incident in Atlanta showed me that the beef had just begun. I was getting mad.
Not knowing which studio suite 50 was in, we went from door to door until we found him. I opened the door and 50 was in a small recording studio. He was inches from me. He looked at me like he had seen a ghost.
He said, “Yo, let’s talk.”
“You been talking enough.” BAM! I pushed my way into the studio. I hit him with the crutch. We proceeded to whip his ass. I was putting in my work. 50 was crunched in the corner. I slammed the big Tannoy speaker down on him.
While he’s getting his ass beat, I heard him say, “Get the gun.”
“Get your gun, nigga,” I replied.
At that moment, Black started poking niggas with a knife, and 50 got stabbed. After blood was shed, we got out of there.
I had had it with 50 Cent. I wanted to hurt his ass. He needed to be silenced. I needed to show him who he was playing with. I felt that I had to defend what I’d worked so hard for, for all those years. I was defending my reputation and my art. I wasn’t going to let someone come in and desecrate my music with those ridiculous diss records and stories. I was wearing my emotions on my sleeve. We all were. The rap shit was the first thing I had ever owned. It was something that I created and could claim as my own. It meant everything to me. I was young and reckless and didn’t give a fuck. Every attack felt personal.
When I feel the tightening of my skin and the quickening pace of my heartbeat, it always leads to severe bodily harm for others. When provoked, there is no turning me off. That’s what Moms used to say about my father.
In 2000, 50 Cent was still considered an underground artist with his leaked diss joints and unreleased
Columbia Records album. He had a deal with Columbia Records but he was dropped before they could put the record out because of all the shit that he started.
In 50’s mind the only way to get at me was to make records dissing me. I wasn’t really worried about retaliating with diss records. I was making hits, so small-time disses that couldn’t be played on the radio were not my concern. While he was dissing me, I was smashing the world with my success.
50 Cent’s beef with me was no regular beef. It had been building for years. 50 was a crazed man on a mission to destroy me, specifically, as well as everything I had.
Preme and Chaz had seen enough. They were the OG’s in the neighborhood. They called a meeting. Preme was to bring me to the meeting. Chaz was to get 50 there. We all agreed to the meeting, or so I thought. We met at Chaz’s Blackhand studio. The three of us were alone, waiting on 50. Chaz was mad that 50 was late. He called 50 several times and 50 didn’t pick up. Finally, he picks up.
Chaz says, “Where the fuck you at?” He was angry.
“I’m not coming. It’s a setup. Ya’ll is going to try and kill me,” 50 said.
Chaz was offended. He let 50 know that if Chaz told him to come somewhere, he was safe. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. No one was trying to kill him.
“I’m not coming. I don’t trust ya’ll. I don’t feel safe,” said 50.
Chaz hung up the phone.
I laughed, thinking 50’s a real clown. “This is a waste of my time.” I was out.
Shortly after that, 50 recorded the infamous record “Ghetto Qu’ran.”
When I heard about “Ghetto Qu’ran,” I couldn’t believe the detail with which he snitched on Preme. Even I took that shit personally. The underground started to talk about 50 negatively. Muthafuckas realized that he should be avoided at all costs.
The word was out, 50 Cent is a snitch. “Ghetto Qu’ran” was to have serious repercussions. 50 Cent was in danger. When Preme heard about “Ghetto Qu’ran,” the message was sent to every record producer and DJ throughout America not to play 50’s shit and not to even fuck with him. The streets obeyed. At one point, 50 Cent couldn’t even find a recording studio anywhere that would let him record in their facility.
During those early days 50 Cent was still trying to get on and having some trouble because of the ban. He was known as being combative and ruthless with nothing to lose. In many of his joints, the message was always the same, “fuck you” or “fuck it.” That was all he ever had to say. He was all about disrespect. That’s what I didn’t like about him.
50 didn’t get the warning. He came after me in joint after joint. I heard that he was constantly talking smack about us and mentioning me in his songs every chance he got. 50 Cent really overdid it with the diss records.
Two months after the Hit Factory beatdown, 50 Cent went to visit his grandmother and was shot nine times outside of her house. 50 Cent filed a restraining order. He conveniently told the Feds that he feared for his life. While he was in the hospital, the police were working on him to give them information.
The Feds were back on the case, probing him about who he thought shot him. The Feds probably told him that he shouldn’t go back on the streets without protection. When they asked him who he thought had shot him, it would make sense that 50 would have said, “Ja Rule, Irv Gotti and Murder Inc.” I’m sure they told him, “We can help you get these guys.”
50’s in the hospital following my success. During this time, my album Rule 3:36 is taking off. I’m touring the world. The sales reached 4 million, worldwide.
50 was healing for close to a year or more with all types of tubes and IVs pumping steroids into his body after taking all of those bullets. 50 Cent ended up being picked up by Eminem and his label, Shady Records, under Dr. Dre. This was significant because 50 Cent was from the East Coast and he was joining a West Coast crew. They made another diss record about me, but since The Inc. was under federal indictment, there was nothing that I could say. His debut album, which he must have been planning in his hospital bed, was called Get Rich or Die Tryin’, which is what he set out to do, at all costs.
From my perspective, the Feds worked their magic on 50 during this period. Although he says he “refused to cooperate with them,” he secretly led them through his recordings for the answers they were looking for. It was already in the Feds’ mind that Murder Inc. was behind all of this, and that McGriff had indeed funded Murder Inc. in exchange for making it seem that he had a legitimate career in music. I don’t know where they would get that from. Preme’s involvement in the Murder Inc. film Crime Partners was documented evidence that he was becoming legitimate. He had given two million dollars to fund the movie. That’s what the money-laundering charges were based on. But Murder Inc. never gave Preme the money. At that point, the Feds believed they had a case that included drug money and an attempted murder, which could finally support a legitimate case with the district attorney.
50 Cent then hired a twenty-four-hour security brigade which included a core team of six men, several who had been former secret service. The price tag for that security was $50,000 a week.
THE BEEF WAS IMPACTING everything in hip-hop on the East Coast. Chris Lighty, RIP, had been Lyor Cohen’s man for many years. Lighty was a former rapper turned executive who got in with Lyor and headed up Violator Records under Def Jam. He managed Busta Rhymes, Mobb Deep and Noreaga. During that period, Violator was so hot that no one could touch Chris Lighty. Lighty was also 50 Cent’s manager. Chris Lighty had held the position with Lyor and with Def Jam that Irv Gotti was gaining on. In other words, Irv was quickly gaining stature.
Lyor and Lighty had a good relationship but it started to fall apart because Lyor’s allegiances were shifting towards Gotti, which felt like a personal rejection to Chris. Gotti became Lyor’s man, heralding in a new brigade of hip-hop artists that were maybe a little edgier than what had once been considered edgy. Gotti and Lyor were connected by their passion. They shared a vision of what could be if Gotti was put in the top position.
Russell Simmons even tried to call a meeting with Chris Lighty and Gotti to try to smooth over the beef, which was becoming a national scandal. Nothing happened, Gotti and Lighty just fought in front of Russell until he sent them both away.
On an even higher level, the music executive Doug Morris was running the whole thing from above. We were just puppets on his string. Morris was preparing to step down and eyes were on Jimmy Iovine or Lyor Cohen to take over Morris’ multimillion-dollar position. Who was going to get the top spot? Jimmy Iovine represented Dr. Dre, Eminem and 50 Cent. Lyor Cohen represented Ja Rule and Murder Inc., DMX and Jay-Z. The rumor was that it was taken care of in the corporate way. Someone fanned the fire that created our downfall. They did it all with just a couple of phone calls. No fights, no bullets, no harsh words.
Someone made calls to MTV and BET and then calls were made to us. “We love you guys at Murder Inc. but this year Eminem will be performing at the MTV Awards. The artists don’t feel safe with you in the building.”
It was official. Murder Inc. had been banned from the spotlight.
This beef was far more colossal than the petty feuds that were reported in the news about Murder Inc. This was about warring factions. There were millions of dollars and endless possibilities for the future of hip-hop at stake.
“HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM,” is what Irv had said to me when we first heard the horns of “In da Club.” The house that Irv and I had built was falling down. It was 2003. We both knew 50’s shit was hot. People were talking about it everywhere. We both knew it was going to be a major problem for Murder Inc. For years we had been crushing everything in sight, it had been like a Ja Rule holiday. Maybe it was time for someone else to get a shot, but not him, not 50. The beef between 50 and me was all over the news. Murder Inc. had been shut down, the Feds had seized our shit and discredited our company and my reputation was all fucked-up.
What the fuck? It was all happening so fa
st that I couldn’t even catch a brick as the walls of my life were coming down. I just had to brace myself. It was the cold, gritty water of hip-hop being thrown all over me. I was totally confused. 50 Cent was accusing me of something that he would eventually do on some of his own records, something that all the smart muthafuckas were doing. I changed the game for hip-hop, stretching its parameters, and now I was the laughingstock.
My reputation was more important than selling millions of albums. 50 had the Feds on my case. My music family was beginning to fall apart. And, my musical contributions were under attack. With my reputation being challenged, how was I supposed to get my shit back on track?
THERE HAD BEEN A LOT of backlash about the name Murder Inc. In an effort to calm things down, we took the “Murder” off of our name. I admit, to compensate, we used the word “murda” as much as we could in our joints. And based on what we were doing and what was in the media, it seemed like murder and violence were our sole activities. Truthfully, when I referenced “murda” in my joints, I was representing the label. It was like Diddy saying “bad boy” in all of his joints. The “Inc.” never had the same impact. We had been cut at the knees. After Def Jam dropped us, we had to try to salvage what was left of the company.
I didn’t have control over what was happening in my life—more accurately, control over what was happening to my career. I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to retaliate in some way. In response, I put out a full diss album, called Blood in My Eye. I took the name from a great book of the same name by George L. Jackson, a Black Panther who was murdered in prison at the hands of corrections officers. The book is famous for its brilliant analysis of the Black man’s experience. Jackson was murdered. He was trying to escape. The story of George Jackson reminded me of Tupac, never having a chance to rise to his greatest self. Although Blood in My Eye was not my greatest-selling album, it remains a pivotal part of my whole body of work. Creatively and emotionally it did what it needed to do for me. Be that as it may, the album was too late to make its point. The avalanche had already started.
