GIRLWRITERSRULE

Cover: For the love of the GAME
Feb 20. 2006

By: Linda Day



The scene is set. The club is Snatch, a popular LA hotspot for the expressive trendsetter. The star is GAME. He’s not yet famous but the flailing freestyler is positioning himself for mega glory. He’s got all the trappings of a mainstream rap star; the chain with his moniker, the super flashy car and a trail of believers that predict he’ll blow through the roof like lighter fluid on a dynamite stick. But he’s humble and entwines himself in the party crowd like a red eyed predator with an agenda. He’s smart enough to know that too much arrogance will ruin him but silent humor sits in his lungs because these peers will soon be fans.



Another LA hotspot…the summer of ’03. Its Derek Fischer’s birthday party and even he has the nerve to get on stage and try to rap. Los Angeles is filled with the haves and have nots, the wish I could’s and the I know so and so’s. The still not yet famous wonder child known to some as Chuck Taylor gets on stage and is snubbed by the crowd. Even D. Fischer gets more love. But The GAME is still calm. He doesn’t need praise from half slizzered Hollywood Hills wannabes who would probably shoot a round of applause at Kevin Federline if he took the mic.



Enter ’04 when Dre makes it his personal business to sign GAME to Aftermath. He gives 50 charge over the young newcomer and replaces his pre fame jewels with a G-Unit pendant. He’s thrown on a couple of tracks and in the “In The Club” video. GAME falls back in the shadows and his rise seems moderate. 50 somehow thinks the street disciple formally known as Jayceon Taylor will sit in his kindergarten class forever. Not quite. His catapult to infinity stardom was something destined in the heavens. Not even a ridiculously platinum rap icon can stop what was made to be. Label mates seem comfortable with cameos and solo albums that wouldn’t make it but for a double sided quarters ad lib. But not this one; he’s revolutionary and will risk his future for what he believes in…the right to say what the fuck he feels.



Unlike the east, the pacific coast doesn’t rely heavily on the circulation of Mixtapes to break its artists. In fact, LA is somewhat biased in that almost all radio play is Doctor Dre, Snoop Dog, Tupac and whatever other Cali newcomer the disc jockey takes a liking to. Every now and then an easterner may slip through the cracks and get five minutes of fame, but for the most part, its nothing but California love. But when Game’s Mixtape began circulating the region (he was solely Chuck Taylor then) the fanfare bubbled because he was a west coast rapper with an east coast sound. Some even went so far as to compare him to Biggie stating that Chuck had the same brash unapologetic delivery as the late great veteran. But everyone was still skeptical…had the west been out of the light for too long?



Pick up any magazine, 20 cover stories on the growing history of the projected legend. You’ll read the headlines of his premier beginnings in Compton, the American City of God. Media glorified shootouts, drug deals and urban thrills that recount the unpleasantries of his childhood. Blood red affiliations and foster homes mixed with a mother, father and 2 brothers, all bangers, a woman’s name tattooed on his left leg and the only thing that would change his life; a 2 year old boy named Harlem. In a two faced sort of way, those stories have made and undermined him. Struggle equals strength and being a Gangsta rapper means bad pub. All in out, whether you know him as Jayceon Taylor, Chuck Taylor or The GAME, if you know him, you know that he bulldozed his way into this business and it would take army of millions to hold him back.



Fast forward to ’06. Second album, a new twist on his notoriety and a major motion pic (Waist Deep) to his credit, the Hip Hop poetic is offering the bizness something new, something fresh, something historic. “I brought the West Coast back…what you do?” He boasts. And deservingly, if nothing else, the industry has no choice but to honor him with reviving the California coast from its long standing musical drought. And not only did he freeze frame the feeling from ’92 when Dre hit the airwaves with The Chronic, he paid homage to the legends before he did it. How could you not love him?



February 15, 2006 2 a.m. The Hit Factory in Miami, Florida. Fat Joe sits across from GAME. GAME has taken on a traditional city of angels look. Barely bald head, goatee, baggy jeans and a black and white plaid button up. Not the kind he vowed never to wear in “Big Dreams” but an ese type polo that screams brown pride. “I’m not doing bandanas anymore.” He says later. “I’m doing something new this time.”



It’s the most highly anticipated release of the year. The album is mature and a good portion of the records are strictly westcoast. Super producer Scott Storch offers tracks that make Joe say, “I don’t know how you do it but they should give you a parade in Compton!” Jayceon tries to hide the fact that he’s proud of the magic that’s being made in the studio (“That’s crazy, that’s crazy…” Joe keeps saying.”) but GAME is extraordinarily confident, “What’s he gonna do without 50...” he mocks. “Fuck 50, its still G UNOT!” It’s as if this feud between the two super figures is symbolic of GAME saying fuck the system, fuck the world, fuck everyone that said he would be nothing.



Game’s decision to take the big boy spat to a level that prompted Curtis Jackson to move on with his life, has rap revelers wondering why he wont just let it go. “50 thinks he made me. But what people don’t understand is I’ve been doing this, I had money before this music shit, I would have done this regardless. He wanted to try and tell me I couldn’t be cool with niggas I was cool with before I signed with him. I’m a grown man and no other man can tell me who I can and can’t talk to or do songs with.”



GAME’s entourage has slimmed out and any need to be on the scene has been modified. No All-Star, no Super Bowl, no Source Awards, no video chicks, no groupies, no industry shit. 5 a.m. and the album review is over. Fat Joe and the crew gather up to leave. “Don’t forget how BlackWallStreet stomped on the terror squad at the Rucker.” GAME laughs and turns to the remaining crowd in the studio. “We won the championship this summer in New York. We were losing at first so I called all my guys in the NBA, Paul Pierce, Baron Davis, all the cats from L.A. and we smashed on them…but I don’t want speak about the Rucker.” He shouts at Joe through the door. Its this kind of victory that helps him stick and move through testy situations and gives him the confidence to tell anyone to blow smoke. “I’m a cold shoulder guy.” He offers. “I’ve never had a problem telling anyone to fuck off.”



In the past it may have looked like the proud Compton native invited the continuous controversy that questioned the future of his career. The audience was half divided between those who thought he was a natural born shit disturber and those who chose to stay loyal while his life and trials highlighted news, magazines and the Internet. Between beefs, beat downs and empty lawsuits GAME never apologized for being an individual. And oh, faithful hip hop followers, isn’t this what makes the art exceptional? Isn’t there a rebel rapper in all of us? Maybe that’s what disgusts the seculars…



“I just speak what’s on my mind, I tell it like it is and if you don’t like it, I cant do anything about that.” Chuck says in a humble tone. “I am accountable to my son, that’s it, that’s all.”