Music is my first name

Back in my "I wanna work for a record company" days, I was fortunate enough to meet Cam'ron. He was nice. He breezed into Epic's video production department with his posse, hit on the other intern (who I'd just like to mention was totally not as cute as me), talked to one of the executives, and left.

Why am I writing this? Because there is a great article in, you guessed it, The NY times today. Here are some choice paragraphs from Kelefa Sanneh's The Reesey-Piecey Man Cometh (and Rhymeith):

In 1998, years before it became obvious that he was one of hip-hop's most appealing surrealists, Cam'ron was just another aspiring star, content to hold down the world's most glamorous job: New York rapper....

The process was simple: a couple of hit records, a couple of memorable videos, and suddenly you were richer than God and nearly as omnipresent. It was a time when even the most extravagant hip-hop boasts could pass for predictions: O.K., maybe you didn't actually own an island, but you were so close.

This gilded age didn't deliver on its promises. New York rappers discovered that music-industry success was nearly as demeaning as failure: it's hard to look cool when you're working overtime to satisfy radio stations and club D.J.'s, and it's hard to maintain your king-of-the-world image when you're being outsold by boy bands.

Ahhh, the joy of show business.