An exclusive pre-jail interview with rapper Shyne

Hand Jive

Right before the interview starts, one of the Bad Boy reps gives me the ground rules: Don’t talk about the trial, don’t talk about any crime-related issues, don’t talk about any “beefs” the artist has with anyone. “If any of these topics come up, the interview will be terminated.”

It reminds me of comedian D.L. Hughley’s bit about his mother taking him to the supermarket and serving up the rules before they enter. “Don’t look at shit, don’t touch shit and you ain’t getting shit!”

I sit in the hotel lobby for about 20 minutes before the rep lays down the law in preparation for my interview with Jamal Barrow, better known as rapper Shyne.

This is last September, and the performer and his crew are making the rounds promoting his debut album. Now, with Shyne getting sent up the river for 10 years earlier this month for inciting mayhem at a New York nightclub in 1999, perhaps it’s the perfect time to pull my interview with the accused out of the vaults.
You’ve probably heard the story: Sean “Puff the Magic Dragon” Combs and members of his entourage go into a club. Shots are fired. Three people are injured. Puffy and then-girlfriend Jennifer Lopez get arrested. Puff Daddy then goes to trial, along with his bodyguard and Shyne, for weapons and bribery charges.

Apparently Shyne is to blame for all this Bad Boy bad luck. During the trial, he admitted he was the one who pulled a gun in the air and busted the caps.

But I can’t talk about any of that at the interview. I am there to talk to him about his album, his beginnings, his plans for the future–and maybe all that other stuff I can’t mention might slip out.

Shyne sits down on a couch while I plant myself on a chair next to him. Before the interview starts, he takes out his platinum teeth. (He says he doesn’t want to present too much of a bling-bling image.)

We talk first about his influences. He mentions old-school MCs Kool G Rap and Rakim. Then we go into how he hooked up with Bad Boy Entertainment. According to Shyne, he was quite the hot commodity. “They joined a team of people that were trying to get at me,” he said.

Shyne joined the Bad Boy team in 1997, performing on tunes and remixes for labelmates Total, 112 and P.Diddy before jumping on the chance to do some solo work.

As with most rappers, Shyne grew up looking for inspiration in the streets–in his case, Brooklyn. “I mean, you know, I was, you know, in the streets, you know, trying to find a place in the world,” he says. Then, he remembers, “I just got shot, and, you know, that was just the last straw for my moms.”

Shot? Did he just something about getting shot? Hey, he mentioned it, not me.

He talks about being introverted, which works in his favor since it gives him more time to write rhymes and refine his technique. He got his break rapping outside a barber shop for this guy. The guy was Foxy Brown’s manager. That’s when the buzz started.

But we have to get back to the whole shooting thing, since he mentioned it and all. (The rule-giving rep, who is on his cell phone a few feet away, gives me the first of what will be many “don’t make me cut your ass off” stares.)

Shyne simply says, “I had some problems with some people, and it resulted with me getting shot.” He points at the ol’ war wound on his chest. He doesn’t delve deeper into why he got shot or who shot him–but hey, at least he mentioned it. We’re almost getting to the good stuff.
For those of you who actually went out and bought Shyne’s album, Shyne –which was certified gold, so a few of y’all must have it–it’s obvious that Shyne’s vocal flow is eerily reminiscent of another Bad Boy MC, Notorious B.I.G. When I mention this to him, he gets a little snitty. “Hey man, I don’t hear that no more,” he says, probably referring to the many journalists who’ve mentioned this to him before.

“You know, people have heard the Bad Boy single and they’ve heard my album. And contrary to you, they realize that Shyne is Shyne. Despite how heavy my tone may be, the same nigga that’s talking to you now is the same nigga that’s on that record.”

I’m still trying to find that groove, the one where the interview subject stops being defensive and becomes himself. I ask him if Puffy was hands-on during production of his album. He says he picked only a couple beats and the rest was all him. I ask him what kind of producer the Puff Man was. He says Puff respected his choices, adding, “If I ain’t feelin’ it, I ain’t feelin’ it.”
As I go on with the questioning, I notice Shyne slowly taking his right hand and shoving it down his pants. Although his hand doesn’t move, he keeps it down there for quite some time.

I don’t say anything to him about his hand being down his pants during the interview, although I do make motions with my eyes that he really shouldn’t do that shit in front of an interviewer. He doesn’t respond and continues with the interview.

Oddly enough, I begin to notice a shift in Shyne’s attitude just minutes after he shoves his hand down his pants. The confrontational tone becomes conversational. He talks about growing up in Brooklyn, the hardships, what it meant for him to make this album–the good stuff. (“I looked at it like I had a story to tell, you understand–everybody been trying to tell my story for the past four years.”)

Although he says nothing of substance about his legal troubles, he does mention them now and again. I wouldn’t say it ever gets to the point where the interview becomes two laid-back brothas (in the case of Shyne, very laid-back) shooting the shit, but the man does become comfortable enough to drop his hard-as-stone facade.

“I’m the same nigga that got shot,” he says, defiantly. “I’m the same nigga that’s going to court. The same nigga that be out in them streets holding it down.”

He then goes into his plans for the future, which, needless to say, do not involve heading to the big house. “I got more music to make, more videos to shoot, more performances to do, and if people don’t appreciate me for me now, sooner or later, they will.”

When the interview is over, he shakes my hand with the hand he shoved down his pants.