> Just cuz I'm from the CPT, punk police are afraid of me
> A young nigga on a warpath
> And when I'm finished, it's gonna be a bloodbath
> Of cops, dyin in LA
In front of the camera, Kendrick rapped N.W.A's infamous banned track Fuck tha Police while doing the Crip Walk.
Curly hair, sunglasses, baseball cap, short stature, oversized jersey...
Under the stylist's packaging, Kendrick's portrayal of Eazy-E seemed to come alive.
Leon excitedly nudged James Wan beside him with his elbow. "Look at this ngga, he's basically possessed by the spirit of Eazy-E!"
James Wan was too busy to pay attention to Leon. He was directing the camera crew with various hand gestures and shouts.
For shooting a movie, the director is the brain, the head of state, and the cinematographer is his executioner.
Although the script Leon provided was precise down to every scene, every expression, and even the dialogue of every passerby character, the director still played a decisive role in the final effect of the film.
Different directors have different camera languages and personal styles. Even with the exact same plot and dialogue, different people will produce different effects.
The first shot ended with a long take of the five N.W.A members walking on the streets of Compton. James Wan was obviously very satisfied with this; there wasn't a single NG from start to finish.
"How was it, Bro? Was my performance awesome!" Kendrick, acting in a movie for the first time, was very excited, dancing around like a monkey.
"Very good. Maybe you have a brighter future as an actor than as a singer. You'll leave all those old nggas like Denzel Washington and Morgan Freeman behind." Leon curled his lips and said with a smile.
"Fxxk bro, I feel like you're making fun of me." Kendrick rolled his eyes at Leon. "I actually want to ask you, what exactly happened on Broadway a few days ago?"
"Legends about you are all over the streets."
"Do you know what those young rappers call you?"
"They say you are the Al Capone of the entertainment circle. That is just too cool!"
The Al Capone of the music industry?
Hearing this nickname, Leon himself couldn't help but grin.
Sure enough, nggas have more imagination when it comes to nicknames. This could be seen from Robinson's string of titles comparable to the Queen of England's.
Kendrick continued, "Maybe you can give me some help, let me find the feeling of a real gangster."
"No need. You're playing Eazy-E. Gangsta rappers don't equal real gangsters." Leon paused for two seconds and continued, "If you really need help in this regard, you can go ask your boss Robinson. Isn't he a ready-made ruthless gangster?"
Although N.W.A is known as the originator of gangsta rap, and Eazy-E had experience as a drug dealer in his early years...
The model of selling drugs while making albums to fund a dream wasn't uncommon in the rap circle.
Both Dre and Eazy-E went to high school, which in Compton of that era made them practically intellectuals.
The two chatted from the movie all the way to the Grammy Awards. Two days later, Kendrick would also appear at the awards ceremony.
"Fxxk, if it weren't for Boss Dre demanding that I must attend, I wouldn't want to participate in this dirty awards ceremony at all. It's full of shameless under-the-table operations!" Kendrick kept flashing gang signs while ranting non-stop.
There was only one reason for his anger: he wasn't nominated for any awards, while his nemesis Drake was nominated for Best Rap Album of the Year.
The two had similar starting points and ages, but Drake was obviously half a step ahead now.
"What do those old farts on the committee know about rap music? Melodic rap combining R&B and rap is the stupidest music!"
"Can you believe it? Quincy Jones, that old guy who played jazz all his life, actually participated in drafting the nominations for rap music this year?"
"This is simply too stupid!"
Hearing this name, Leon instantly perked up.
Previously, he had tried various channels to find a way to approach Quincy Jones, but all ended with no results.
His health was deteriorating, he spent most of his time in a wheelchair, and his cognitive abilities were declining.
Except for attending orgies in a wheelchair and pretending to give speeches at various African-themed charity dinners, he seemed to have disappeared from the entertainment circle without any news.
"You mean, Jones will also attend this year's Grammy Awards?" Leon asked tentatively.
"Of course. That old bastard has craved the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award for so many years but never got it... This time, being included in the committee list, he will definitely attend to leave a good impression on the officials."
"Very good..."
According to Leon's plan, as long as he could contact Jones, the process of acquiring Vibe magazine shouldn't be too complicated.
This magazine was once offered $30 million by Time Warner in the 90s, but the greedy Jones didn't let go.
Against the backdrop of the decline in the magazine industry, even with a price tag of $10 million seeking acquisition, no one was interested now.
The only difficulty in acquiring Vibe magazine now was the price. Even for a dying company, Jones wouldn't let go easily.
He was a vampire who could strip clothes off a dead person. When MJ was alive, he made a fortune by selling MJ's privacy.
After MJ passed away, he could still extract huge profits from MJ's annual album sales and synchronization royalties.
---
Two days later, Staples Center, Los Angeles.
Leon and the female generals of Apocalypse Music rode in a stretch Lincoln, moving slowly towards the red carpet surrounded by cameras.
"This year is a small year for the Grammys. There isn't a situation where a superstar dominates like Beyoncé did last year," Phil said, staring at the messages on his phone.
"That's because Miss Adele's album release time didn't align with the Grammys," Ariana reminded from the side.
Adele's divine album 21 was officially released in January, just missing the application deadline for this year's Grammy Awards.
If it weren't for this, Adele sweeping the Grammys was basically a consensus in the entertainment circle.
The stretch Lincoln stopped in front of the red carpet. Standing in front of the Apocalypse Music group was Rihanna; almost half of the cameras in the venue were focused on this diva.
However, Leon's appearance took away at least half of the entertainment reporters' firepower. The heat of the recent Broadway Majestic Theatre incident was just too high.
Whenever a highly controversial event occurred, he could always come up with something new immediately; there seemed to be no empty window period.
"Mr. Leon! Can you talk about the Majestic Theatre incident? How do you view the violent accusations against you on the internet?"
"Why didn't you wear a trench coat today?"
"The three ladies behind you are simply perfect. Who do you think is the most beautiful tonight?"
The questions thrown by reporters were harder to deal with one by one. Leon didn't answer any of them, responding with a smile.
"Stay away from me! You're about to step on my dress!" Rihanna turned around with a frown and a look of disgust.
"What? Are you kidding me?" Leon looked puzzled.
Although this Black girl wore a huge floor-length dress to grab attention, Leon was a full half-meter away from her.
Was she picking a fight?
Leon understood in his heart; this was probably because she was unhappy about having the reporters' spotlight stolen.
"Sure enough, just like the media revealed, you are a rude guy," Rihanna cursed in a low voice, then walked straight into the venue with a stinky face.
Although Phil had begged Leon countless times in the car not to have conflicts with anyone on the highly anticipated Grammy night...
Why was this woman so mean to him?
Leon thought for a while with his head down before realizing it.
He caught up and whispered a sentence in Rihanna's ear. The little diva instantly broke her defense, her face changing suddenly.
Seeing Leon's smug smile, Robbie couldn't help asking, "What did you say to Rihanna?"
"Nothing, I just told her I really like her work." Leon spread his hands and continued, "It's unforgivable for Chris to whip her ass with a belt, and I taught that scumbag a lesson for her..."
"Chris crawled at my feet begging for mercy, like a frightened bxxch."
Robbie shook her head helplessly. "No wonder Rihanna hates you so much..."
Recently, rumors of Rihanna and Chris Brown getting back together were rampant in the circle. This was the umpteenth time they had gotten back together.
Just as Phil often said, bitches and scumbags can never completely cut ties!
After the awards ceremony officially began, Leon was absent-minded, searching the venue for Quincy Jones like hunting prey.
Although he didn't even see Jones's shadow, he spotted his "sister-in-law" Beyoncé.
She sat in the most prominent position in the first row near the main stage.
When their eyes met, Beyoncé suddenly winked at him.
Blonde hair, red lips, alluring black stockings.
Making such a flirtatious move in front of so many people scared Leon quite a bit; Beyoncé and her husband Jay-Z were sitting right next to each other.
At this year's Grammys, the long-silent Jay-Z finally exploded.
He was nominated for two rap awards with the song Empire State of Mind.
The influence of this song even completely exceeded the scope of the Grammys. The melody of Empire State of Mind could be heard in every corner of New York.
It had become the de facto anthem of New York City.
After the opening performance, it was soon time for the Best New Artist award.
"Here it comes, here it comes... Perk up and get ready to welcome your moment of glory!" Phil stared intently at the stage.
"Honey, this glory must belong to you!" Robbie held Leon's arm tightly, light in her eyes.
All members of Apocalypse Music held their breath, waiting for the moment the answer was revealed.
The host quickly finished reading the nomination list.
The exciting moment was about to arrive.
"The winner of Best New Artist is..."
"Esperanza Spalding!"
A Latina woman with an afro stood up and waved to the audience.
Huge boos resounded through the Staples Center.
"WTF? Who is this Caribbean bxxch?"
"What works does she have? How come I've never heard of her?"
"Which old guy on the committee is she a pet for?"
Doubts were everywhere for a moment. The reporter deliberately cut the camera to Leon.
Surrounded by beauties, he shook his head repeatedly in helplessness.
"Fxxk, these bastards on the committee are really losing their minds more and more. They'd rather give the award to a jazz musician who can't sell a few records than give it to you."
The more Phil thought about it, the angrier he got.
Jazz, which was incredibly glorious in the last century, was now absolutely a marginal track in the current record market.
In a highly capitalized market, sales meant everything. Spalding's album last year barely sold 10,000 copies, not even a fraction of Leon's.
Euphemistically called "Limited Edition."
The award that everyone expected was lost. Leon leaned back in his seat, looking like he had lost the will to live.
But when the award presenter came on stage, his eyes instantly lit up.
The old man who came on stage in a wheelchair to present the award was none other than the legendary figure in jazz history, Quincy Jones.
Boos erupted again at the scene. Discerning people knew what was going on.
Jones, as a member of this Grammy committee and a soul figure of jazz, gave this tasteless award to fellow jazz musician Spalding through various under-the-table operations.
To get this award, Spalding must have undertaken quite a few "hardware softening projects" on Old Jones's wheelchair in private.
"Next is my turn..." Robbie put her palms together, waiting for the guest to announce the result with incomparable excitement.
"The winner of Best Dance Recording of the Year is... Margot Robbie, 'Faded'!"
The drumbeats of Faded sounded in the background music, and Robbie jumped up excitedly.
The whole audience stood up to cheer for her; she deserved this award.
This Australian girl who transformed from an actor to a singer launched a global hit single in just a few months.
After hugging her mother, Robbie thought of Leon immediately, but when she looked at the empty seat, she was dumbfounded.
"Honey!"
"Leon!"
"Bastard! Where the hell did you go!"
Robbie didn't have time to think too much; the presenter was still waiting for her on stage with the trophy.
She dragged her long dress and waved to the crowd, took the trophy, and gave her acceptance speech.
"I want to thank my mom, thank my agent Maggie, thank all the staff at Apocalypse Music..."
"And of course, the most important..."
Speaking of this, Robbie suddenly got stuck. Standing on the main stage, she had a very good view and spotted Leon's whereabouts at a glance.
In a corner of the venue, a man and a woman were sneaking together, their hands occasionally making small movements.
"This outfit suits you very well today; you are the focus of the whole venue." Leon leaned against the wall and flattered Beyoncé.
"Really? I still feel it's too conservative and not eye-catching enough." Beyoncé smiled. "But the protagonist of this year's Grammys isn't me."
Robbie, far away on the stage, certainly couldn't hear the conversation between the two; she could only see their ambiguous and intimate behavior.
Robbie lost control of her emotions, her throat went dry.
A burst of anger rose up her windpipe.
She screamed into the microphone at the top of her lungs: "LEON!!!"
The guests in the audience were startled by the sudden high pitch, including Leon.
In usual vocal training, Robbie had never produced such a high pitch in the C5 range.
The award presenter froze on the spot, not knowing what to do. The guests stretched their necks one after another, eager to know what drama would happen next.
Thinking of the situation that might appear next, Leon panicked instantly.
He winked frantically at Robbie from a distance, making hand gestures.
Although he craved traffic, he never thought it would be in this way.
Historically, there had never been a couple exploding into a tearing-each-other-apart battle during a live broadcast of a Grammy acceptance moment.
After Leon repeatedly mouthed "calm down" and frantically made "stop" gestures, Robbie swallowed the "F-word" that was about to burst out.
The whole audience held their breath, wanting to see what farce would happen next.
Robbie took a deep breath, held it for a full half-minute, and vented all the pent-up resentment.
She yelled into the microphone a sentence that no melon-eating masses expected—
"I LOVE YOU, BASTARD!"