Tupac: greatest rapper live

PAC's POV:

The first thing Eazy-E did when he got serious about the label was rent out an entire studio for the whole month. It wasn't a small place either. It was spacious, loaded with equipment, and just felt like a real studio—something that could make real music. At first, I thought it was a bit much, but I quickly learned that it was just the kind of commitment we needed. We were gonna be working on some serious projects, and Eazy-E wasn't playing around.

Every day when I walked into the studio, Dre would already be there, hands on the board, making beats. He was in his zone, headphones on, and just working like a machine. There were times when Dre didn't even leave the studio to sleep. I'd walk in and see him in the same position, sometimes hunched over his gear or behind the mixing desk, locked in for hours at a time. If you didn't see him, it was like he didn't even exist outside the studio.

As for me, I started to realize I had an unofficial role in all of this—being the cook. Eazy had asked me to bring food for Dre mainly, but word spread fast, and soon everyone in the crew was asking for a plate. So, I became the unofficial chef of the studio, and you know what? It wasn't too bad. At first, I thought I was just bringing lunch and snacks for Dre, but after a while, it seemed like the whole studio crew was eating what I cooked.

"Yo Pac, you got some of that good stuff today?" That was the usual greeting I got from Yella, Dre, or anyone else who showed up for the sessions. And I didn't mind. I had no problem feeding the crew, and it gave me a chance to break the ice with everyone.

But food wasn't the only thing that kept us entertained. The studio was like a second home. We'd be there making music, cracking jokes, or just hanging out, smoking, and doing the usual stuff. But when it came time to get down to business, Dre made sure we stayed focused. We weren't just there to mess around; there was work to do.

Dre would come out of the studio, headset still on, and give us instructions. "Yo, Pac, Yella, get in here. We gotta lay some tracks down." Or sometimes, he'd just say, "I need some fresh ideas from y'all. Let's see what you got."

At first, I wasn't even sure what kind of project we were working on. But it all started to fall into place when we began our first big project: Boyz-n-the-Hood. I was the one who wrote the song, and the concept was personal to me. It was about the streets I came from, the life I knew, and the struggles that came with it. The song wasn't just a party track; it was about the reality of growing up in a rough area.

The thing about the song is that it wasn't just a rap track to be recorded. It was a statement, a piece of art, and a chance for us to be heard. I poured everything I had into the lyrics, but it wasn't just about the words. The music had to match the intensity of the message. And that's where Dre came in. He was the one who turned those words into something that could shake up the world.

Dre, working his magic on the board, made sure the beat fit the vibe I was going for. The music had to speak just as loudly as the lyrics. Dre had this ability to take raw energy and put it into a track, shaping it into something new. The way he worked, the way he brought the sounds together—it was something special. You could feel it in your chest.

The original plan was for a local group to record the track. Eazy was talking to some people, trying to find someone who could fit the sound, but there was one problem—they didn't get it. They didn't understand the meaning behind Boyz-n-the-Hood.

I remember the first time they walked into the studio to record it. We were all hyped, thinking this was going to be the start of something big. But as soon as the group started listening to the track, it became clear that they didn't understand the message. They didn't get what we were trying to say about Compton, the streets, or the struggle. They just thought it was another song. And that pissed Eazy off.

Eazy wasn't one to back down, and he wasn't about to let anyone disrespect the track. I could see the frustration building up inside him. He was already on edge, and when the group started making jokes about the meaning of the song, that was it. I saw him storm to the locker where we kept some of the gear, pull out one of the guns, and I knew things were about to get serious.

"Yo, what the hell are you guys talking about? This is our story, not some joke!" Eazy shouted, his face red with anger. He pointed the gun in the air, not aiming at anyone specifically, but just as a warning that he meant business. Everyone froze. No one knew what was coming next.

But Dre, being the cool-headed professional he was, stepped in and took control of the situation. He didn't flinch or get scared. He just walked over to Eazy, slowly, calmly, and said, "Yo, Eazy, chill. We don't need this. You know this is about the music, not the drama." Dre's voice was steady, like he had done this a million times before. And in a way, he had.

Dre managed to calm Eazy down, and the two guys from the group were shown the door. They left quietly, realizing they'd crossed a line they shouldn't have. Eazy put the gun away and let out a deep breath. He was pissed, but I think he realized it wasn't worth letting the moment escalate any further. But you could feel the tension in the air. That group had disrespected something important to us, and Eazy wasn't going to let that slide.

Later, Jerry Heller showed up to offer his thoughts. "Eazy, you gotta understand, if you want to make money, you need a popular group to record this track," Jerry said. His words felt like he was more concerned about the business side of things than the music itself. He didn't seem to care about the message or the integrity of the song; he just wanted the cash. It didn't sit right with me, and I could tell Eazy felt the same.

Eazy wasn't having it, though. He looked at Jerry, and without missing a beat, he said, "You know what, Jerry? Screw that. I'm gonna do what I want with this." And with that, Jerry realized there was no more convincing Eazy to compromise. He threw his hands up in defeat and said, "Fine, Eazy. Do what you want. I'm out."

From Jerry's perspective, I think he had given up on us. He realized he wasn't going to be able to control this group the way he thought he could. But Eazy wasn't in it for the money. He was in it to create something real, something that meant something to the people in the streets, to everyone who had lived what we were rapping about.

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Back in the Studio

After the whole incident with the group, Dre had a new idea. He wanted Eazy to record Boyz-n-the-Hood himself. Now, let me tell you, Eazy was not down for this at first. He had no interest in being the one to spit the verses. He was the label owner, not a rapper. He didn't think he had what it took to get in the booth. But Dre wouldn't back down. He kept pushing Eazy, telling him it was his song and he needed to record it.

"You wrote this, Eazy," Dre said, "and you're the one who has to bring it to life. Get in the booth."

At first, Eazy resisted. "Nah, man. You got this. I'll just handle the business."

But Dre kept on him. "You wrote the track. You have to lay it down. You got this."

And eventually, Eazy caved. "Alright, alright. But don't expect me to be no rapper, Dre."

Eazy stepped into the booth, and the first couple of hours were rough. I'm talking bad. Eazy was struggling to get through the first verse, and it was painful to watch. It wasn't that Eazy couldn't rap—it was just that he didn't have the flow yet. He hadn't been in the booth long enough to develop that confidence.

Me and Yella were sitting outside the booth, cracking jokes, trying to keep things light. We didn't want to add to the pressure, but it was clear that Eazy was frustrated. "Yo, this ain't working," he said after the first hour. "I don't think I can do this."

Dre, calm as always, stepped in. "You got this, Eazy. Just keep going. You're almost there."

But after two hours, it was clear that this wasn't going to be a quick thing. Eazy was struggling, and Dre knew it. He turned to us and said, "Alright, y'all, go outside for a bit. Let me work with him."

So, Yella and I went outside, leaving Dre to work his magic with Eazy.

The next morning, I showed up with food again, as usual. When I walked into the studio, I could hear Eazy rapping. He was still on the first verse, but this time, it sounded better. Dre had worked with him, teaching him how to flow, how to approach the lines, and how to make it his own. Eazy was still figuring it out, but it was clear that something had clicked.

I left the food, knowing this wasn't going to be finished in a day. I had a feeling that it might take weeks for Eazy to really get it down. But

Dre was patient. He knew what Eazy needed, and he wasn't going to rush him. He understood that this was more than just a track—it was Eazy's chance to make his mark, his way. So Dre kept working with him, offering advice, giving him the space to figure it out.

The next day when I came back, Eazy was on the second verse. I could already hear the difference. There was more confidence in his voice. He wasn't just reciting words; he was feeling the lyrics. I could see how Dre was helping him, guiding him into his own rhythm. It wasn't just about the technical aspects of rapping—it was about the soul of the song, the heart behind it.

I stayed outside for a while, letting them do their thing. But by the time I returned later that evening, things had changed. I walked into the studio, and there they were—Eazy, Dre, and the whole crew—sitting around, nodding their heads to the beat.

"Yo, Pac, come here. We done with it," Dre said, grinning.

I couldn't believe it. I walked into the booth, and Eazy was leaning back in his chair, looking exhausted but proud. Dre was standing next to him, giving him a pat on the back. I didn't expect it to be finished yet. But when they played the track, I was shocked.

The song sounded incredible. I mean, it wasn't just good—it was great. I had written the track, and Dre had worked his magic with the beat, but hearing Eazy on the mic—it was something else. He'd found his voice. He wasn't just the label guy anymore; he was a rapper. He was owning that track. And that's when I realized something—Dr. Dre wasn't just a producer; he was a mentor. He brought out the best in people, even when they didn't see it in themselves.

The way Dre had worked with Eazy, guiding him through the process, showing him the ropes—he wasn't just making music; he was helping to shape Eazy as an artist. And it wasn't just about the music—it was about the belief Dre had in Eazy, pushing him to be something more.

I remember sitting there, listening to the finished track, and realizing how far we'd come. From the beginning, when Eazy didn't think he could even rap, to this moment—when he was spitting the lyrics like he'd been doing it his whole life. Dre had helped Eazy unlock that potential, and now it was all on tape.

"That's it," Dre said, giving me a nod. "That's the sound."

I smiled, still amazed at how fast everything had come together. "Yo, I didn't think it was gonna be like this, but damn, this is hard."

Eazy, still catching his breath, looked up and said, "Yeah, man. I didn't think I could do it either, but Dre pulled it out of me."

Dre gave a small chuckle. "I knew you had it in you."

Author

Merry Christmas to everybody who supporting the story. Just support me by commenting and motivating me to write more chapter.

End