60 Songs That Explain the '90s - “I’ll Be Missing You”—Puff Daddy and the Family

Episode Date: November 15, 2023

Rob looks back at the “SADNESS” mixtape that he put together in 1996 before turning to the tragic passing of the Notorious B.I.G., and mogul Puff Daddy’s transition from executive producer in the background to full-blown artist honoring Biggie (01:48). Stay tuned to hear guest Sowmya Krishnamurthy share her experience as Puff Daddy’s assistant and much more (58:15) Host: Rob Harvilla Guest: Sowmya Krishnamurthy Producers: Jonathan Kermah and Justin Sayles Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

What would you do if everyone said they heard your trailer a hundred times? You'd probably make a new one. I'm Justin Sales, the host of The Wedding Scammer, the ringer's first ever true crime pod. We've been hunting a con man for a few weeks now, and our hunt is coming to an end. Schemes, Heartbreak, How to Put On a Wire. We've covered all this and more, but there are still a few surprises left. Binge the Wedding Scammer wherever you get your podcasts. Hello. So a quick announcement, disclaimer, trigger warning type deal here. This episode is about Sean Combs, is about Puff Daddy's song, I'll Be Missing You. This episode went up on Wednesday, November 15th. The next day, news broke that the R&B singer Cassie is suing Sean Combs. And the lawsuit includes graphic accounts of rape and abuse. The detail.

are harrowing. Sean Combs vehemently denies these things occurred. This lawsuit and the public conversation around this lawsuit are, of course, just beginning. But I do feel compelled to acknowledge it here. This episode, which was written, recorded, and published before all this news broke, this episode is about a lot of different people and a lot of different things, many of them quite personal to me. But at its foundation, this episode does aspire to be a sympathetic, and celebratory portrayal of Puff,

a public figure who is now the center of a lawsuit that includes accounts of extremely awful and upsetting behavior. That dissonance, I'm still wrapping my head around that dissonance myself, but for the moment, I think the right move is just to acknowledge it and to make clear that this episode,

the monologue and the interview both, this episode entirely predates the news of that lawsuit. And my hope, anyway, is that this episode can stand alone and apart from, what's happening now. We'll see. For now, I just wanted you to know. Thanks for hearing me out. One other quick announcement, which is that we will not be doing an episode the week of Thanksgiving.

There will be no episode on Wednesday, November 22nd, but we will return the following week on Wednesday, November 29th. We'll see you soon. So I got this tape, right? This blank cassette mix tape that I made in 1996. And on the case, I just wrote sadness. That's how the sadness tape starts with Pearl Jam's immortality. In 1996, my senior year of high school, a few months before I turned 18, a close friend of mine died in a car accident. Four kids died in a car accident. accident. Two girls from my high school, two boys from the next town over. The day before,

I'd gone skiing. I was an indifferent skier in terms of both physical ability and, you know, lifestyle. But my friends, including this friend, had roped me into ski club in Ohio, which is not terribly glamorous. But so that day, some of us, but not her, had driven out to this ski resort in New York State, which was super glamorous by comparison. We're in New York. We're in New York. York, or maybe just Pennsylvania, but probably New York, and I'm bumbling down this dorky beginner ski hill, but compared to Ohio's paltry, mountain-free situation, this dorky ski hill just stretches on forever as I bumble down it. And I have this vivid mental image of me, sitting alone on a ski lift at a glamorous, probably New York ski resort at dusk, and I'm slowly ascending, and it's

snowing and these great big beautiful glistening Disney snowflakes are billowing all around me. And I'm going to get the phone call in like 12 hours, right? And so this is it. This is the twilight of my innocence, my ignorance, my teenage bliss. There's before this moment and there is after. And every single element of this vivid mental image is probably false. I'm probably not alone on the ski lift. it's probably not dusk, it's probably not snowing.

I probably don't have an actual concrete memory of this day at all. It's all retroactive. It's all projection. And also, even in context, this is all wild teenage melodrama, right? I will be a pallbearer at this girl's funeral, but I am not her best friend. I am not her little sister. I am not her father. Among the many terrible baffling new feelings I will grapple with over the next few months,

there's this anxiety I have over how much sadness I am entitled to, right? This fear that my grief is overblown and self-serving and almost offensive somehow, in a stolen valor sort of way. But this wild teenage melodrama is mine, and it is still mine, and I can still hear it with alarming clarity, in the guitar solo to Pearl Jam's Immortality. Yeah, I just listened to the whole sadness tape, front to back, 94 minutes, for the first time in like 25 years.

And it was a lot. On side A, I wrote the names of the two girls, and on side B, I wrote the day they died. The sight of my wonky teenage handwriting is freaking me out a little bit. This is a lot. A lot of the songs in this tape, I got nothing to start. say about in this particular context. Nope.

They're miniature black holes. It's too terrible. It's too personal. It's too close. It's too much. You know how it goes. Nope. That's the second song on the sadness tape. That's ironic by Alanis Morissette. And nope. I sat here.

I listened to the whole tape. I wrote down every song as it came up. I idly wondered which songs I taped off the radio and which were off my CDs. I gritted my teeth through the worst moments, the black holes. And among the songs I'm willing to talk about in this context, the bearable moments that really got to me, the closest I got to safely re-inhabiting my wild teenage melodrama, the most soothing, painful, nostalgic jolts tended to be guitar solos. That's Nutshell by Allison Chains from 1994. Jara Flies is the best Alice in Chains album. I figured I'd lay in the mood with a few takes. You know, what else?

Who else got to me? Bob Mold got to me. You know Bob Mold, Guitar God, and co-founder of punk rock, college rock, Midwestern rock giants, Husker Doe, who broke up and then Bob spent most of the 90s leading a new super ferocious power pop band called Sugar. Bob's guitar solo on Sugar's Explode and Makeup got to me. That's on the Sugar album. file under easy listening from 1994.

File under easy listening is the best sugar album and in fact the best record Bob Mold has ever made because sugar are better than Husker do. There's a take. Why are you booing me? I'm right. At one point on side A, there's like two minutes of silence because I screwed up and recorded two minutes of dead air. It's not real. It's not an authentic mixtape if there aren't several minutes of accidental silence because

you screwed up and erased half a song. right the flaws are what give the tape personality but so there's two minutes of nothing and then the music abruptly kicks back in right here awesome i could have lied by the red hot chili peppers from 1991 blood sugar sex magic is the best forget it that doesn't even qualify as a take i suspect that at the time i found making this tape to be more cathartic than listening to it i do remember sitting in my bedroom listening to this tape many times during those next few months. But those memories are not as distinct as, you know, other memories. I can see myself at the funeral home for the wake.

I can actually see myself in a restaurant eating ice cream. I can see myself at Friendlies, if you're familiar, sitting with my parents immediately before the wake and I'm eating a Reese's peanut butter cup ice cream Sunday and I'm having basically a meltdown. My parents are sitting at CrossFit. me in the booth and I'm like, I can't do this. I can't. And I can see myself at the cemetery and I can see myself in my high school newspaper office sifting through all the photographs of these two girls that we collected and scanned in for our tribute package. But maybe I don't

need to see any more than that. The false ski lift memory is probably designed to replace all that. I accidentally erased a lot of those other gnarlier memories while I was committing the fake ski lift to memory. The fake ski lift is a strategic stretch of dead air, but some gnarliness still creeps into seemingly innocuous parts of seemingly innocuous songs. I hear the opening harmonica riff to slow emotion replay by The The The That's the band name. The The, it's a great band name. And I get just the vaguest sense of all the awfulness I've managed to forget. And surprisingly, the vocals, the lyrics, the words don't matter often on the sadness tape until they really painfully do. Just this one part of slow emotion replay really does.

Oof, that's a lot. That's quite literal. That's right on the cusp of nope. For posterity, what are you? the nopest moments on the sadness tape. If I'm ever feeling nostalgic and I want to dip into this for a while, but avoid any super gnarliness, what's the roughest stretch emotionally? I don't think this track list is ingeniously constructed or anything in terms of narrative flow, but the super gnarliness does seem to all be crammed right at the end of Side B. The super gnarliest ramps up starting right

here on Caroline by Concrete Blonde. Nope. And here too. even now, if I think too hard about it all, the anxiety sneaks back in a little bit. The fear that I overdid it then, grief-wise, and I'm still overdoing it now. And moreover, my grief back then manifested itself primarily as an act of curation. I made a mixtape. I put a bunch of sad songs with cool guitar solos on a mixtape. I wrote her name. I wrote both their names on a mixtape.

I wrote the date on the other side of the mixtape. I wrote sadness on the case of the mixtape. And now I'm talking about the mixtape. It can't help but feel performative. Even in the depths of my teenage solitude, was I performing? Who was I performing to back then? Am I performing now? Why am I talking at all about songs I don't want to talk about?

And what do I mean when I say for posterity? Posterity for whom? What is the point? What is the utility now in telling you that a song called sister by a band called The Nixon's is the hardest, the gnarliest, the most painful, the most grief choked, the nopest moment of all. Nope, nope, nope. There is no rap music on the sadness tape.

All right? I am sorry about that. The sadness tape consists entirely of crunchy guitar-based alternative rock music. I wish I could tell you that Pete Rock and C.L. They reminisce over you is on this shit, but you're going to have to settle for something's always wrong by Toad the Wet Sprocket. It's not that I listen to Zero Rap or R&B or Pop or Metal in high school, but I was not at 17, the omnivorous, valiantly open-minded, super cool,

all-genre fluent Oracle of comprehensive radness who is speaking to you now. You smell me? Back then I was more of a specialist. and my specialty just happened to be crunchy guitar-based alternative rock music. It was the 90s. Music tastes were tribal. All right?

Yeah. Pick a side. I picked the side with the Scottish rock band Delamitri on it. The guys who did that song, Roll to me with the singing baby. This isn't that song. This song is called Tell Her This. This line is once again right at the precipice of

Nope. Tell her from this high terrain, I am ready now. Nope. I'm upgrading that to full Nope. The accordion pushes that past the threshold of Nope. Another crucial component to any authentic mixtape is when you mistime it and the tape runs out before the last song ends. It's very important.

I got within like 10 seconds of timing it right, but I didn't quite get it right. And then the tape ends. Click. Cut short. The song's already fading out. It's too bad. Almost timed it right. But I like it better that way.

I dig the imperfections. I am well aware that I am focusing on pointless, granular details of the sadness tape as a defense mechanism. I am aware that the song that got cut off at the end there is called Winona by less ferocious but equally awesome power pop God. Matthew Sweet. And the idea of me making a ceremonial grief mixtape and ending it by accidentally cutting off a song about a guy who's sad that he's not dating Winona Ryder. That's very funny to me. I don't know for a fact that Winona is about Winona Ryder, but if you put out a sad love song called Winona in 1991

and it's not about that Winona, the CD needs to include notarized proof of some kind that it's not that Winona. What am I doing here? I think what I'm doing here, I think I'm attempting to jolt myself into a state of heightened compassion, heightened sympathy. I am trying to filter out as much noise, as much goofy context as possible. Before I talk about the guy, there's a great many ways to look at the guy, to hear the guy, to talk about the guy. Many of them quite glib and derisive, if not outright, contemptuous. He's polarizing.

He's hilarious, but he's only like semi-intentionally hilarious. He's a lot. He's a different kind of a lot. But my friend died, and I couldn't think of anything else to do with myself, so I made a tape. And maybe it really is just that simple, that when his friend died, so did he. My name is Rob Harvilla. This is the 109th episode of 60 Songs That Explained the 90s, and this week we are discussing, I'll be missing you. by Puff Daddy and the family from his 1997 album, No Way Out.

I'll be missing you, of course, is dedicated to the memory of Christopher Wallace, aka the notorious B.I.G. The marquee attraction on Puff Daddy's infamous label, Bad Boy Records, but also Puff Daddy's close friend, who'd been shot and killed on March 9, 1997. So, Puff Daddy, aka Sean John, Combs, who started out as Puffy, then Puff Daddy, then later he changed it to P. Diddy, then just Diddy. And most recently in 2022, he officially changed his middle name to Love. So now it's Sean Love Combs.

They maybe just love sometimes. I don't feel like I know him well enough personally to call him love. Let's just figure out what to call him as we go. He's a lot. You want to know historically my single dominant image of this person? The first thing I think of when I hear any of his names? It's the Chappelle Show sketch for my 2004 about making the band with Dave Chappelle as Puff. And he keeps yelling, I'm shutting down the studio and making them walk to Queens to get him a sugar cookie. It's amazing. My favorite part, though, is when Dave, as Puff, is sitting on a couch and his two giant bodyguards pick up either end of the couch and carry him out of the room. That's what I think of first, when I think of Sean Love Combs.

All right, the only way I open the studio up now, y'all got walk up town to the Bronx and get breast milk from a Cambodian immigrant. Just trying to lighten the mood. So I am trying very hard today to replace my single dominant image of this person with something more important and empathetic. Though I may find this challenging, no one combines opulence and silliness quite like this guy. Our good friend John Caramanica, pop critic of the New York Times, John hung out with Puff for a feature. that came out in September. They hung out in a sauna and also a cold plunge tank

and Puff talked about getting heavy into psychedelic toad venom. That's funny. All of that is funny. Puff is a lot of different kinds of a lot. But I liked this one line of Johns. He says, I'll be missing you.

The song that put Puff in the spotlight is a permanent entry in the pantheon of American melancholy. Right alongside, he stopped loving her today and all too well end quote that's a good line presumably John means the original

all too well not the 10 minute Taylor's version 10 minutes is too long there's nothing wrong with having an editor trust me on this terrible outro I am trying to focus it doesn't sound like it but I am trying I am wondering if I can train myself to hear I'll be missing you

solely is an expression of American melancholy And better yet, I want to hear this song as one solitary person's expression of private melancholy for another solitary person. And then, yes, as a secondary concern, the song that emerged from this one solitary person's private melancholy also just so happened to help our grieving friend redefine rap music, redefine R&B, redefine the collision of R&B and rap music, redefine the whole point of sampling, redefine America, redefine opulence, and in due time, redefine America's relationship with psychedelic toad venom. In the New York Times, Puff says, quote, I'm a big old hippie. I had a little bit of ego left in me. And when I did toad, I officially had an ego death. End quote.

That's how cool people say it. They just say, I did toad. Then he says, it's a journey you don't even remember. The best way to describe it is it's just like an open. of a whole different portal without you seeing it open end quote i don't know what that means but when he does toad he's got an ambulance waiting outside his house just in case excuse me focus focus when it's real feeling's hard to conceal can't imagine all the pain i feel give anything to hear half your breath i know you're still living your life after death

Let's focus. The line, give anything to hear half your breath is quite striking there as an image, as a sentiment, as a declaration. Sometimes that line is clunky to me. Sometimes that line is unbearably lovely and heartbreaking to me. Or maybe it's always all of it. Sean John Combs, born in Harlem, raised in Mount Vernon. His father, Melvin Earl Combs, was shot and killed when Sean was only two years old. Sean, in a 2013 video for his media company, Revolt TV, Sean says,

My father was a hustler. He was a drug dealer. He was a hustler. So I learned early in life that there was only two ways out of that. Dead or in jail. Sean also says, they say, you know, you can't miss something that you never had. But that's only a little ways, right. End quote.

His famous I'm shutting down the studio grumpiness came early. in 1998, Sean told Jet Magazine, quote, whenever I got mad as a kid, I used to always huff and puff. I had a temper. That's why my friend started calling me Puffy. End quote. He studied business at Howard University, but dropped out his sophomore year. He eventually scored an internship.

One of the more famous internships in American cultural history, no offense to any cool internships you personally may have had, Puffy gets an internship with New York City's fabled uptown. Records, founded in 1986 by fabled record executive Andrei Harell to redefine the collision of hip hop and R&B. At Uptown Records, Puffy starts developing his own artists and scheming his own schemes. While at Uptown, Puffy also once again experiences profound tragedy, and this time tragedy he bears some responsibility for. He helps throw a party in 1991 at City College in New York, a charity basketball game, also featuring Heavy D.

But the event is catastrophically oversold, and nine people are killed in a stampede. No criminal charges are ever filed, but Sean does testify as part of a 1998 civil lawsuit against City College. And per the New York Times, outside the courtroom afterwards, Sean says, quote, City College is something I deal with every day of my life. But the things that I deal with can in no way measure up to the pain that the families deal. with. I just pray for the families and pray for the children who lost their lives every day. End quote. He's a lot. He has always been a lot. But he perseveres. And in 1991, his public assent is just beginning. When did you first hear this person? This person first introduced to the wider world

as puffy. Did you first hear him as a polarizing, aspiring superstar rapper? Did you first hear him earlier on as a murmuring voice deep in the mix behind another less polarizing, legit superstar rapper? Or did you hear him earlier still as just a drum loop? Already a super popular drum loop, if you want the truth, that he used as the opening salvo in his quest to redefine rap, R&B, and the collision of rap and R&B? Hold on to your pants. We're playing some Joe to see. Shout out Isaac Lee. This song is called Come and Talk to Me. by the R&B Quartet Jodacy, two pairs of brothers from North Carolina who joined forces to become the four horniest dudes you ever even heard of in your life. Come and Talk to Me appears on the first Jodicey album, Forever My Lady, released on Uptown Records in 1991.

But ah, this is the Puff Daddy remix. Recently I had a minor health scare. I'm totally fine now. It's fine. But in times of great personal stress, the various thoughts and concerns and more importantly, the various songs playing in my head simultaneously at any given moment, everything consolidates into one like 10 second loop that I fixate on for hours and hours. Right. And that happened to be the loop recently. My brain radically simplifies and kicks into safe mode.

And then I get to spend 48 hours staring at various ceilings going, you look so sexy, you really turned me on. It was cool, actually. I dug the dissonance of it. This is Puff's formal musical debut, his first remix. Canonically, I suppose,

here is where Puff Daddy invents. The remix. Talking to GQ Magazine in 2014, Sean says, quote, I got an opportunity one night when Teddy Riley didn't show up to the studio. Teddy Riley, the super producer, an artist who invented,

Bennett New Jack Swing, a radical late 80s collision of hip hop and R&B. Sean goes on, he says, Teddy had a session at Chung King, this famous studio downtown. So I said, I'm just going to utilize this time. I had this idea, which was influenced by the mixtapes of Brucey B and Kid Capri. They would blend hip-hop beats with R&B acapellas. I took one of Jodacy's Acapellas and put an EPMD beat underneath it. and it was the first record I produced

Come and talk to me the remix. End quote. He is referring to a beat from Super Rad Rap Duo EPMD's 1988 Jam. You're a customer. And here is what Sean did with that beat. This is what

it sounds like when Sean Combs utilizes his time. I've been watching for so very long to be some Now, both of these Jodice remix beats are quite familiar to even a casual hip-hop fan in 1991. That first beat, the you look so sexy beat, the one that goes,

I had a lot of time to practice that. You know that beat. You know that beat even if you think you don't. The accurate but deeply uncool way to describe that beat is to say that it's a drum loop from the 1970s. funk classic impeached the president by the honey drippers, a song that by 1991 had already been sampled by M.C. Sean, Boogie Down Productions, Audio 2, NWA, Eric B. and Rock Kim, DJ, Jazzy Jeff, and the Fresh Prince, Cool C, nice and smooth, L.L. Cool J., Public Enemy, and Big Daddy Kane. Accurate, but hopelessly uncool. Have I heard this beat before? Is this loop overly familiar?

Is this remix original? These are the wrong, cool. questions. This is the wrong framework. The only framework. The only question is, does it sound good? Talking to GQ in 2014, this was all for an oral history of Puff's bad boy records. The critic and author and TV producer, Cheo Coker, says, blending an R&B record with a hip-hop beat seems so elementary. It seems like peanut butter and jelly. But when you're the first to figure out, P.B&J tastes good together. It's going to propel your career. And that's what Puffy did. End quote.

He invented the sandwich. You ever think of it that way? If it sounds good, use it. If it sounded good before, use it again. And maybe it'll sound better. Hey, here's a cool phrase I just thought of. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Puffo's his whole career to his supernatural ability to not fix things that ain't broke.

What he invented, really, was the revolutionary concept that inventing something is a waste of time. Or, or, perhaps you first heard this person as a hectoring voice on a woman's answering machine. Ooh, rad. Here we have the way too long intro skit to What's the 411. The 1992 debut album, released on Uptown Records, from Mary J. Blige, the queen of hip-hop soul. And there, on Mary's answering machine, We have Puff already implicitly threatening to shut down the studio.

Puff is the executive producer of what's the 4111. And sometimes that title, executive producer, sounds like bullshit to me. I get sandwich artist vibes from executive producer, if you take my meaning. It sounds like inflated music industry speak. It sounds like executive producer means a man who happened to be doing something else entirely with other people. in another part of the building where other people were making this record. But let's give Puff this one. Mary J. Blyge is the best, as we have established in this venue multiple times.

But throughout What's the 4-1-1, I do imagine that I can hear Puffy making his hip-hop and R&B sandwiches. He's legitimately both an executive producer and a sandwich artist. Peanut Butter and Jelly. What a concept. That song's called Changes. I've been going through, and Puff is both an executive producer and actual co-producer of that one, and Mary J. Blige, as previously established, is the best. The next year, 1993, Mary puts out a whole-ass remix album called What's the 411 remix? And this is going to sound like an insult, but I swear to you that it is not an insult. When I say that this, right here, this is my favorite

mode, my favorite iteration of the artist soon to be globally known as Puff Daddy. I like Puff Daddy best as a mumbler, a murmur. I like him barely audible. I like him just barely understandable. Mur, mu, yeah, it's the Mour, Mour, Mour, Bad boy, I love it. I mean it. I do. Not an insult. He is a fantastic subliminal audio phenomenon. He is a white noise machine that also spits out gold bars. He's like Flav A Flav, but also literally the opposite of Flav of Flav. He's the hype man who deliberately puts you to sleep just so the star attraction can bombastically wake your ass back up. In volleyball, professional volleyball, what do they call the person who specializes in setting the ball?

just going boop so somebody else can spike it. Do players specialize in that in setting? Do the players who specialize in setting have a cool sounding name? Don't answer any of those questions. And please don't make me look it up. The ringer, sports and pop culture. Puff Daddy, how would you explain this talent of yours? Very well. July 1993, Puff gets fired from Uptown Records.

He gets fired by his beloved mentor, Uptown Records founder and music biz luminary, Andre Harell, who will later say in a 2017 documentary called Can't Stop, won't stop, a bad boy story. Andre says, quote, I fired Puff only to make him rich.

End quote. He's not even joking. I've seen that movie. I forgot that I watched that movie. Can't Stop, won't Stop, a bad boy story. It's a documentary about a bad boy reunion show, and it's like 40% puff yelling at people. It's just tremendous.

He yells, you have to fix your energy at one of his employees. He yells, y'all play in this shit like we are wedding band or something at his pissed off backing band. He yells, those lights are cheap as fuck the first time he sees the stage because, as he explains, and I quote, I like Godlight, end quote. Oh my God, that's amazing. And mostly he's not even yelling, right? he's murmuring, which is worse.

You suck. Which is more impactful, the murmuring. In GQ, an Uptown record staff member named Sybil Penix says, quote, I was Puffy's assistant and Andre's go-to person to keep track of Puffy and his craziness. Many days, we would have a planned meeting, and Puffy could not be found. When he finally arrived, he'd just lie on the conference table and perform antics. to get everyone's blood to rise. He thrived on drama.

End quote. We all know that guy. We've all worked with that guy. So that guy finally lies down on too many conference tables and gets fired. But by then, that guy has already met this guy. I'm blowing up like you thought I would. Call a Crip, same number, same hood. It's all good.

And if you don't know, that's right straight to juicy here we have the notorious b ig from his 1994 debut album ready to die justifiably hailed by practically everybody as one of the greatest if not the single greatest hip-hop album of all time we did a juicy episode like 30 years ago that's an exaggeration the biggest songs the gravest tragedies the most beloved and revered artists intimidate me quite a bit on this show in this format, the sheer scale of these people, the towering height and terrible density of their pedestals, their thrones, the ferocity of our deification. My impulse, with a song as colossal as juicy, is to zoom in, to drill down, to get granular. So here, maybe that

means zooming in on Puffy, murmuring in the background. It's all good, it's all good. Puffy gives Biggie plenty of space. You can't say he's attempting to hog or even approach the spotlight. But Puffy is there, always. And encouraging and maybe even soothing presence. While Biggie casually does amazing shit. You remember when Michael Jordan scored 69 points in one game in 1990? Most points Jordan never scored in a single game his whole career.

Pop culture and sports. He did that in Ohio. The Chicago Bulls were playing the Cleveland Cavaliers. Forget that part. Jordan scores 69 points. Stacey King is also on the Bulls. He's a rookie that year. And Stacey King gets into the game and scores one point.

He hits one free throw. And after the game, talking to reporters, Stacey King's joking around and he says, I will always remember this as the night that Michael Jordan and I combined to score 70 points. That's a great quote. I remember thinking that was a great quote at the time. I want you to try to focus here. And listen carefully as Puffy hits one free throw.

We used to fuss when the landlord dissed us. No heat. Wonder why Christmas missed us. Birthdays was the worst days. Now we sip champagne when we thirst days. But you can't do it, right? Puffy's in there somewhere, but you can't focus on Puffy at all, because Biggie scores 69 points in 10 seconds.

The barrage of S's there. Man, landlord distus Christmas missed us. Unbelievable. But of course, Puffy's true contribution here is not vocal. Sean Puffy Combs is the executive producer of Ready to Die. That's legit. This record sounds phenomenal and cohesive. And yes, even cinematic, even when Biggie's not doing incredible shit.

I will accept executive producer in this instance as well. And also, Ready to Die is the first release on Puffy's new label, Bad Boy Records. Puffy is instrumental. Puffy is dominant behind the scenes. But that only makes it funnier to me, but also more poignant to me,

how superfluous all his muttering is on the early records themselves. He absolutely doesn't need to be there, but I'm still glad he's there. And if you don't know, now you know. Juicy is a triumphant song about how biggie is rich now. But what deepens the triumph is how much of the song he spends, reminiscing about how broke he used to be. Now we sip champagne when we thirsty doesn't hit nearly as hard

if it's not preceded by birthdays was the worst days. So it's a little vapid. Yes, absolutely. Puffy back there murmuring money, hose and clothes. But it's a little less vapid if you think of it as Biggie still agonizing over his past and Puffy reassuring

him of what's waiting for him in the present. Also, we got the R&B trio Total also signed a bad boy record singing the hook there. That hook and also pretty much the whole entire rest of the song is of course a brazenly direct lift

of the 1983 M2Me hit Juicy fruit. Okay, so they changed some of the words for juicy. That's a good call. And here, perhaps, for some of us, here's the single most obnoxious thing about Sean Combs, the audacious obviousness and totality of his samples. In that GQ article, the great producer Easy MoB, who produced a bunch of ready to die, he laments that he didn't produce juicy also because he thought it was so easy that it was almost offensive.

Quote, Juicy was the song I didn't want to do. Puffy asked me first. He said, Yo, Mo, loop up that juicy fruit joint by M2Me for me. And I just looked at him like, you serious, man?

If you were just looping, you weren't really working. End quote. If you were just looping, you weren't really working. This idea in early hip-hop of a sample ideally being transformative,

subversive, unrecognizable, or if it's recognizable, it at least makes you hear an old song in a completely new way. This is not necessarily Puffy's approach to producing, executive or otherwise. Puffy's approach is to loop up a song he likes. You got a problem with that? In 1998, Puffy told Rolling Stone, quote, there's a misconception that I have this big record collection. It's not a plan like, let me take all these records from the 70s and 80s. Greatest hits off the TV. Sample them and have somebody wrap on them. It's not easy to use a hit record and make it become a hit that sells 2 million copies.

Try it. Be my guest. Go sample. What's a big record I could sample? And the Rolling Stone interviewer says, what about Cindy Lopper? And Puffy goes, hold on. That is one of the samples I want to use. I can't tell you which song, though.

Let me pick another. Michael Jackson. Take any old big Michael Jackson record. Sample it. See if it'd be a hit. Take anybody. A Phil Collins record. I mean, I may do it, but it's an art form.

End quote. I don't believe Puffy has ever sampled Cindy Lopper or Phil Collins, actually, but I'd love to be wrong about that. Because I'd love to hear either of those. This guy is not trying to impress you. Okay? with the obscurity, with the galaxy-brained fanciness of his sampling. He ain't got time for that shit. Just looping is working when he does it or when he tells somebody else to do it.

And meanwhile, suddenly Bad Boy Records is the hottest label in pop music, and he's got a whole lot more murmuring to do. I see the gimmicks, the whack lyrics, the shit is depressing, pathetic. authentic. Please forget it. You're mad because my style you're admiring. Don't be mad. UPS is hiring. That's Biggie, once again, on the

colossal and beloved remix to Craig Mack's Flava in your ear. Craig Mac being Bad Boy's other marquee rapper in 94, Craig Mac's throne is not as huge and daunting, but he's cool. That's puffy. Once again, murmuring behind Biggie. The way does

also give us one, woo. I've been listening to Early Bad Boy for the last few days. Craig Mac, 112 total. And what I'm listening for is the unmistakable sound of Puff shooting one free throw. Is it apparent to everyone immediately from 1994 to early 1997? That biggie aside, Puffy is a bigger star than any of the other bad boy artists he's trying to mold into stars. Maybe it wasn't obvious back then. But it's obvious now, because now, listening to his early stable, I'm hanging on his every word, even when the only words he says are like Bad Boy 95 Recognize. That's Puffy murmuring in the background behind the R&B trio total on their

1995 debut single, Can't You See? But he's about done murmuring in the background, my friends. Because what happens as Bad Boy ascends, but the guy running Bad Boy ascends higher and faster, what happens is that puffy gets louder he gets louder he gets louder but I thought I told you that we won't stop but he says more stuff

he uses more words not like a ton more words and he tends to repeat the words he uses but I thought I told you that we won't stop is nine words dude which percentage wise is a substantial increase in words.

That song is called Only You, the 1996 debut single from the bad boy R&B group 112, who peak in the early 2000s. We can argue politely, respectfully, about the exact number of words you'd prefer to hear from Puffy on a song on which Puffy appears. Perhaps nine words is enough. Perhaps nine words is already too many. though if you're in the nine words as too many camp you're not going to have such a swell time going forward but on a strict chronological timeline there is one more triumphant and yet terribly bittersweet instance of deferential muttering left to go here we have spliced free at your cherry m3 bang every mc easily take this here we have hypnotized here we have hypnotized

the lead single from the notorious BIG's second album, Life After Death. Hypnotize is released on March 4th, 1997. The video features Puffy and Biggie on a speedboat being chased by three helicopters. In early May, hypnotize will hit number one on Billboard's Hot 100 singles chart. Biggie's first number one. By then, Biggie will be gone. Biggie is shot and killed on March 9, 1997. five days after this song comes out and just two weeks before the life after death record comes out life after death hits number one too it is awfully tempting to accidentally hit record at this point and accidentally tape over the immediate aftermath of biggie's death to erase all the awfulness personally for puff but also you know culturally globally the shock the disbelief the pain the anger the dazed collective

mourning, the despair, the sadness. There is before this moment, and there is after. So let's accidentally tape over three months. Whoops, now it's July 1997. World Meat Puff Daddy solo artist. Yo, the sun don't shine forever, but as long as it's here, then we might as well shine together. Better now than never.

Business before pleasure. Pete Ditty and the fam, who you know, do it better. And now their roles are reversed. Puff in the foreground, Biggie in the background. Now Biggie is a soothing presence for Puff. Or I hope he is anyway. This song is called Victory and it is ridiculous. The pompousness of it.

The teenage feeling melodrama of it. The rocky of it. In an emotional vacuum, victory is absurd. It's like every Drake album playing simultaneous. Calm down, sir, but we are not in an emotional vacuum. We are, in fact, in a terrible and overwhelming emotional state. We are grieving. We are still, we are forever mourning collectively the guy in the background.

And we know how much the guy in the background meant, personally, to the guy in the foreground. And that's the story of how a song, this ridiculous, can also sometimes make me tear up a little bit. Hug me, baby, I'm a make you love me, baby. Hug me, baby, I'm a make you love me, baby. A little clunky, but also a little heartbreaking. That line.

So I am fascinated, truly, by the reign of Puff Daddy solo artist, the dawn of the shiny suit era, the twilight of the if you're just looping you're not really working era who's that on the radio is that diana ross is that david bowie is that grandmaster flash is that cool in the gang no it's puff daddy looping the bejesus out of all those people don't fix it if it ain't broke can anyone think of a less cliched way to put it perchance yeah do maize got the ladies do puff drive mercedes Take hits from the 80s, but do it sound so crazy? Ah, yes, there is Puff Daddy himself on Mace's Feel So Good,

Mace's debut single from his own 1997 bad boy debut album, Harlem World. I really like Mace. Mace is hilarious. He's still hilarious. Look up Mace, he going to jail if you get a second. Take hits from the 80s, but do it sound so crazy? the clunkiness, the dorkiness of that rhyme is part of the taunting, maddening genius

of that philosophy, right? I am fascinated, truly, by Puff Daddy's dominance from the late 90s onward, but I can't move on from where that solo dominance starts. I hear this song, and it stops me cold.

Seems like yesterday we used to rock the show. I laced the track, you locked the flow. So far from... I suppose it's all a matter of what you hear exactly, what you primarily hear. What or who is in the foreground of I'll be missing you, and what or who is in the background? Maybe you just hear every breath you take, right? By the police, the hit from the 80s, the brazenly direct lift of the police's monster 1983 hit every breath you take that apparently earns Sting, frontman for the police,

Sting apparently earns $730,000 a year in royalties from this song, and that's not even him playing guitar. That's what Celebritynetworth.com says in any event. But yeah, maybe all you can hear is 1983. That's valid. Or maybe you're locked in on Puff Daddy, solo artist, higher in the mix than ever, using more words than ever. He's not trying to convince anybody he's on Biggie's level as a rapper.

He's not really even trying to convince anybody. He's on an average rapper's level as a rapper. That's not the point. The point is that he's still murmuring, but now he's murmuring in the spotlight because somebody has to be in the spotlight. And all Puff can do now, standing in the spotlight, is grieve for his friend who should be in the spotlight instead.

Life ain't always what it seem to be. Words can express. What you mean to me? Even though you're gone, we still a team. Through your family, I'll fill your dreams. Does it matter that Puff Daddy didn't write any of this? Does it matter that Puff Daddy didn't write these words?

He didn't write his own verses. Sauce Money, the Brooklyn rapper and early JZ associate, Sauce Money wrote Puff's verses on I'll be missing you. I don't know. Does it matter to whom and does it matter how? Maybe it matters. Remember when Puff Daddy rapped, Don't worry if I write rhymes.

I write checks. That's obnoxious. Do you think he wrote that line? Okay, let's say it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that Puff Daddy didn't write the words he's rapping on I'll be missing you. It obviously doesn't invalidate the sentiment. Let's leave it at that.

Because for me, listening to this song in real time in 1997, only a year or so after my own personal experience with sudden overwhelming grief, I don't. only heard one thing, one person. To this day, I hear this person, and suddenly the whole rest of the song goes absolutely silent. Faith Evans, singing, I miss you, just devastates me. Every time. Faith Evans, bad boy star, R&B, Luminary, and Biggie's wife. You don't get much of puffy murmuring in the background on the first Faith Evans record from 1995, just called Faith. And I always took Puffy's relative silence as a sign of respect. And it's a sign of respect here, too, that he lets her steal this song with three words.

Don't make me listen to Faith Evans sing. I miss you again. Please. Oh, man. Faith Evans singing somebody tell me why is not any easier to hear. Faith Evans singing a little piece of the gospel standard, I'll fly away. One good morning when this love is over. That's not any easier to hear.

A permanent entry in the pantheon of American melancholy. A eulogy for Biggie that doubles as a coronation for Puffy. A hit from the 80s hijacked a soundtrack one of the darkest moments of the 90s. I'll be missing you as a number one song also. Puff Daddy is a pop star now. He is also a grieving solitary human who lost it. friend and made a tape. Maybe you can't ever only hear this song that way. There's no such thing as an emotional vacuum, but no such thing as a cultural vacuum either. This song represents a lot of different

things to a lot of different people. It's just a loop. It's just a looped up hit from the 80s. And maybe it's true. Maybe if you're only looping, you're not really working. Except over that loop, everyone is grieving, privately, but also super publicly. And grieving is the hardest work any of us will ever do. That's 112 there, harmonizing, nicely understated. Good job, 112. And then Puff Daddy dances in the I'll be missing you video. He dances in a non-shiny suit on a deserted city street with at least three independent plumes of smoke billowing out of the ground and then it starts raining and now he's dancing in the rain okay we never even talked about the dancing yet another candidate for the single most polarizing aspect of this person all the dancing any artist out there that want to be an artist

and want to stay a star you don't have to worry about the executive producer trying to be all in the videos all on the record dancing somebody said that once about Puffy, I forget who and I forget where. It's probably not important. And so it's 1997. And this song is the biggest song in America. And I'm 19 now. And I know something about grief now.

Or I have a sense now of what's horrible and unknowable about grief. And even so, at the time, I watched the I'll be missing you video on MTV. And I think, Puff's doing an awful lot of dancing. I thought he'd do less dancing. in this particular circumstance. But I just watch him dance because maybe his friend died and he couldn't think of anything else to do.

And so I watch him dance on the stage of memory. I watch him reach out and pray to a deaf, dumb, blind God who never explains. I watch him sail away and look back and wave goodbye. We are thrilled to be joined today by Somae Krishna-Murthy, music journalist and author of the wonderful new book, Fashion Killer,

how hip-hop revolutionized high fashion. So, Amia, thank you so much for being here. Thank you for having me. I'm thrilled. Do I understand correctly that you worked for Bad Boy Records? That is true. I know the streets have been talking. So my first music industry internship was I was in the street team promo department

at Bad Boy Records. Now, for a little bit of backstory, street teams, now I'm taking you a little bit before, you know, social media, is the people who would be standing outside of the clubs, the parties with things like posters,

they would have snipes all over the, all over New York City. You would see it pretty much everywhere. This was sort of like grassroots promotion. And I worked there. And like typical, Bad Boy, I had very interesting hours where I think I started my internship around 6 p.m. and probably ended around midnight every day and then after we would go out to like parties or go

the club. So it was an insane time. It was my first experience living in New York. I had always wanted to work at Bad Boy. So it was like this dream come true. And then a few years later, as I mentioned in my book, I very inadvertently applied for a job at Bad Boy. I go there. thinking that I'm going to be applying for like an assistant or maybe maybe a coordinator, fingers crossed. And little did I know I was actually interviewing to be Sean Puffy Combs's assistant. So I'm sitting there in the room. He walks in with my resume, asked me maybe about two questions. And I don't even remember what I said, but it must have been enough to impress him because he let me hang out for a while in his office and basically moonlight as his fifth assistant or something for some time.

So yes, I have a lot of very fond bad boy memories. This is a lot to unpack right now. Where, okay, when did you, when were you on the street team? Let's start there. So this was in probably around 05-ish. So it's so funny because I remember so clearly our school, I was at the University of Michigan. We had just gotten Facebook. We were one of the first schools to get it.

And explaining to the street team guys, there's this thing called Facebook and Maybe we should do promo on social media, and they just dismissed us. Like, yeah, okay, that's cute. Now, we're going to go out with our posters and our snipes, and that's what we're going to do. And fast forward all these years later, so much of what a street team does has been turned into digital and social media. No, I was going to say, you were on a street team when street team meant team standing in the street. That was when the street was an actual physical location. Yeah.

it was a different time. But it was so crazy. I mean, just to be in that office where there's music always playing, people kind of coming in and leaving with, you know, people still had vinyl back then. So crates of vinyl would come in. And it was just so exciting for a kid who grew up in Kalamazoo, Michigan, watching people like Puffy and Mace and Biggie and just being so immersed in that bad boy lifestyle to be able to actually have some small contribution to that movement. I mean, it was incredible.

So what you're telling me is you were in a room and Sean Puffy Combs was in the room and he was interviewing you. You were in a job interview situation in which the interviewer was Puff Daddy. I think I would have died. I would have just died, I think. I'm impressed that you survived that experience, first of all. I mean, what's so interesting is I, ever since I was a kid, probably about 13 years old, I knew I wanted to work in the music business. And one of the reasons why was Puff. So imagine from 13s, I don't know, maybe it was about 21 at the time following his career,

his moves, every time there was an interview he did, I would buy the magazine. I still have a stack of like old magazines would just puff in them somewhere in my childhood home. and just knowing everything about this man. And I think, again, that the universe works in mysterious ways, but I think it was better that I didn't know I was going to interview for him, because I would have just bugged out. I agree. You know, imagine me walking in, just, you know, wearing my, like, sort of nine to five office clothes.

I was working at William Morris Endeavor at the time. And I see this room full of people. Someone flew in from L.A. Somebody's dressed like, you know, they should be a model. And I'm looking around thinking, you guys so excited about? It's just an assistant job. Now, they're probably looking at me thinking, you are way too chill. So I think the fact that I didn't know what I was walking into, but it really was like a scene out of a show. I mean, his chief of staff at the time walks into the room.

There's probably like, you know, 10, 15 people waiting to be interviewed. She just looks at me, points to me, you come with me. Like, for no reason, you know, like I didn't, I don't know why, But she, you know, then we went to this like side room and Puff walks in with my resume. And the first question he wanted to know was who I'd worked for at Bad Boy. So I told him, you know, I worked with Press and Henrock and them. Okay, cool, cool, cool. So what would they say about you? I'm like, you know, I'm a hard worker.

I really, you know, put my head down, do the work, blah, blah, blah. He's like, oh, cool. He asked me maybe one or two more questions. And that was it. He just nodded to his chief of staff. And she's like, all right, cool. So you're going to come in tomorrow after your day job. and just be here indefinitely until we decide what to do with you.

Crazy, right? That's crazy. Did he ask you, like, what do you think your worst quality is? You know, so you could say, oh, I'm a perfectionist. Like, I want to know what Puff Daddy was like as an interviewer. Nah, he really wants, because I think what impressed him was I already had worked there before. Sure, sure. He really wanted to know who his colleagues, his friends, people he trusts.

Like, what would they say about you? And it's funny. It really kind of goes back to this idea. of having a good work reputation and, you know, my internship, there were highs and lows, but at the end, they really knew that I was there to work, I was serious, and that really differentiated me from the other intern. So I think to be able to know that I had the cosine from people he respected, that meant something to him. Now, obviously, I came in, graduated from the University of Michigan Business School, had already interned at CNN, an American Express.

and I was working at William Morris in the mailroom program. So I had the pedigree and all of that. But it is quite interesting that for him, what mattered the most is sort of what people he respects, what do they say about you. So it kind of goes to this idea of reputation and in many ways brand building and our personal brands. At that point, at 21, 22, I didn't really put all of that together. But I do think it matters sort of, you know, having, putting your best foot forward because you never know who's watching and you never know who's talking. Right. Okay. So growing up, you had followed

him. You bought every magazine that had an interview. What drew you to him? To me, Puff really represented somebody who was successful, but very much on his own terms. You have to remember, he founded Bad Boy when he was about 23 years old back in 93, and he really represented this new era of young executives. These are young black and brown executives who are working in hip hop. They're having fun. They're making a lot of money. And they get to be their own boss. So that just resonated with me, even at a very young age, knowing, okay, that's what I want. For some reason, the compass is pulling me towards New York. And I just knew, you know, at a young age that I'm going to move to New York. I'm going to work in the music business. And again, bad boy was on my list. It was like bad boy.

Rockefeller Def Jam. I mean, there were like a handful of brands that I just knew. I'm not only going to be a fan, but I'm going to be a colleague with these people. And again, I can't explain it. It makes no sense. I have no industry connections. You know, on paper, none of the odds were in my favor, but I just had this knowing. And for some reason, it was just, you know, it was puff. And he really inspired me and motivated me. So to come into this game and for him to be one of the first people to work for was was incredible. Of course, every ditty story, like every parody of him is about how hard he works and how demanding he is, how he's a tyrant. You know, in your experience, did he live up to that myth? Like, what were the lows like when you're at this internship? I mean, this

was the time where he was publicly telling everybody that he slept four hours. Right. And I believe him. I really think he's one of those people that embodied his can't stop, won't stop mantra. And it's so interesting because it sparks something in you. So you got to remember from nine to six or ten, yeah, nine to six, I'm at William Morris, which is again, very high pressure, high stress, then to leave there. And basically, I'm working for free. I wasn't getting paid at bad boy. But to just go there and be there as long as you were needed to be.

and you could be doing anything. Maybe you're pouring some shots of Sirach because he's coming to the office. He has guests coming. Maybe it's lighting the candles that he likes or, you know, updating a spreadsheet. But it's just this idea that he's here until 12 a.m. 1 a.m. What's your excuse?

And I really think that that mentality of working really hard is something that he embodied and the people around him also. It's funny. I oftentimes talk to people now in the industry, and they sort of lament this new generation. They don't work the way we work. Zoomers. And I think we just had like, yeah, we just had like a really different mindset. You know, we believed in the brand.

We believed in working hard. You come in before your boss comes in. You don't leave till after they leave. So even now, sometimes I have to reframe my mind when I hear somebody say, yeah, I got to take some time off or I need like a mental health break. And I really do respect sort of having boundaries because I don't think my generation had any. So I really do respect people who are able to advocate for themselves and look after their own health. But I came up at a time when none of that mattered.

At the end of the day, if you don't want this job, there's literally a room full of people who will take it from you. So you got this opportunity. What are you going to do with it? And again, I come from a small town. So if this doesn't work out, I have to go home. I don't have a plan B. I don't have money to fall back on. Like, you got this one opportunity, so what are you going to do with it?

So even now, as an author or as a journalist, as an on-air host, I have a work ethic that I really think sometimes probably ruffle some feathers of people around me because they don't understand. Like, I came up under Puff. I came up under hip-hop guys. Like, there's no such thing as no. So it's funny to me when somebody's like, yeah, you know, we emailed and we didn't hear back. Well, did you call them? Did you text them? Did you DM them?

Do you go to their house? Do you send flowers? Like, it's this idea that you don't say no. And to me, that's something that I'll, the positive attributes of that, I'm always going to hold close because like when it's something that I'm really passionate about, you will never outwork me, like ever. And when it comes to resourcefulness and perseverance and no matter how many times you fail, you know, one thing about Puff, he's tried a lot of things.

He has. Some of them have been successful. Some of them not so successful. But every time he's on the field, he puts everything out there. He leaves it on the field. You can't fault, yeah, you can't fault nobody for that. And I do think that that's something, the positive attributes of that we can all take of, you should go after anything that you want.

It doesn't matter if you, you know, if you win or lose, the fact that you try, you put yourself out there, that you're even just a gladiator in the arena, I think, says everything. Yeah. In your book, you call Puff Hip Hop's Greatest Showman. And I think I agree with you, but I wonder, like, what exactly do you mean by that? It's funny, but Puff is always what I would say, P.T. Barton, like, he's the guy at the center of the ring, the ringleader, and it's all about the pomp and circumstance and drama. And that's always who. he's been. We have to remember, he's not a rapper in the traditional sense. This is the guy who famously said, don't worry if I write rhymes, I write checks. So there, so there you go. Off the rip, he's telling

you, I am not a traditional rapper. He's not even a traditional producer. When he's in the studio, people have spoken, he has sort of this, this magic about him. He can just hear a track and say, wait, all right, you need to put this person on that track. Or I don't like the way you sang that. sing it differently. Again, not someone who comes from a classically trained musical background. He's not an instrumentalist. He just knows what feels right, what looks right. It's all about this idea of sort of aesthetics and vibe and swag. I know now we throw those words around pretty willy-nilly, but I do think he's somebody who was able to pull from his sort of creative vision, his aesthetic background and also just this idea of I want to make things hot, I want to make it fly,

pulling all of that energy together and everything that he does, it's elevated. Whether it be an artist doing a record, whether it's the music video, he's the guy that mermaids are going to be swimming in the living room and they're going to be driving a car in reverse for hypnotize. Or on the fashion side, his Sean John shows truly were a spectacle. And now we see celebrities front row at every show, but his really were one of those things you would mark your calendar. Because you might see Tommy Hill figures over there, Anna Wintour's there, Jay-Z's there, and he's really thinking about what is the soundtrack, how does it smell, what is sort of the whole sensory experience. Of course, the clothes are going to look amazing. The models are going to be hot, but it is this idea of taking luxury and ethos and aspects.

the things he really learned coming up under Andre Harrell and that whole ghetto fabulous aesthetic and then influencing it and putting it through that funnel of hip hop. Yeah. When you were talking, I was thinking of Rick Rubin, you know, who swears up and down that he doesn't know music, he doesn't read music. Like he just organizes the vibes, you know, he's more like a therapist than he is a producer. And that sounds very similar to how you're describing Puff. I see a real connection between the two of them.

Yeah, and of course, there's always a place for different types of creatives. I think someone who comes from an instrumental background can read music and notate. That's a certain type of a person. And I think there is also someone who just has that gut. They can't explain it, but they just know something feels right and sounds right or it doesn't sound right. Sometimes that can be probably frustrating for those on the receiving end trying to decipher what exactly they mean, I'm sure. But, yeah, what do you mean by make it 10% hotter? I can do 9%, but I can't get that 10%.

10% is a lot more hot, yeah. But I do think that he is that person who he just knew at a very young age. And I think being born in Harlem, growing up in Mount Vernon, this is the guy who was, you know, a backup dancer showing up in like a Stacey Ladassau music video. Then he's working for Andre Harrell and being able to. really mold the careers of people like Mary J. Blige, Jodice, and The Notorious BIG before going into Bad Boy. But I think one thing about Puff, we also have to remember is he's had a lot of tragedy, a lot of losses in his time as well. He was fired from Uptown Records because he basically was acting like the king of the castle. And Andre Heral says, no, no, I'm the king. So you can go on your

merry way. And there were other tragedies. whether it be the passing of the notorious BIG, a lot of things in his personal life. So I think, you know, when it comes to Puff, there's also this resilience as a survivor. No matter what happens, he always sort of continues to persevere and move forward. Yeah. So I'd love to talk with you about the shiny suit era, you know, which to start off, I think is a reaction to tragedy. It's a reaction to Biggie's death. Do you think people were more receptive, you know, to Puff and Mace and Bad Boy as a whole in that moment because they wanted something more escapist and triumphant from rap music,

you know, in the aftermath. We have to remember after Biggie passed, we're talking about 97 and the year before Pock had passed. And hip hop was just in a really dark space. Imagine two of the biggest superstars of the genre being tragically murdered. And there was unsolved. And there was unsolved. And there was still a lot of sort of coastal friction. Some artist didn't feel safe. Like as a New York artist, can I go out to L.A. and vice versa.

It was just a really dark time. And prior to Biggie passing, Puff was going to release his solo album. It was originally going to be called Hell Up in Harlem. And Biggie was supposed to sort of be like this executive producer, manager type role. I think it was like a little joke they had between them, right? Like, okay, you helmed my career.

I'm going to helm your career. Switch rolls, right, yeah. Yeah, switch rolls. And if anybody remembers, they can't nobody hold me down video. Biggie, it has a cameo in that. So it really felt like it was going to be like this fun project for them. So just put yourself in puff shoes.

His best friend has been murdered and he was there, right? He was in the other car. And now you're dealing with that sort of personal heartache, but also from a business perspective, this is your marquee artist who has been been, you know, tragically taken away from us, what do you do? And I think, you know, he probably spent some time in meditation and prayer and all these things and realize at the end of the day, we have to move on. And we have to do it for big, for his family, but also the other artists on this label, whether it be Mace or Black Rob or The Locks or Faith Evans, 112, there's other people

who depend on me. So I think he really sort of put that bad boy logo on his back, released his album as a Puff Daddy and the Family Project. And a large part of it is a tribute to Biggie. And the aesthetics around that time did reflect this shift. Instead of it being morning, because there was morning with I'll be missing you, we'll always love Big Papa, those kind of tracks. It did turn into, all right, now we have to celebrate. We have to celebrate. We have to celebrate. celebrate his life. We have to celebrate our lives being here moving forward. So I do think that the shiny suits were a response to that. And people were ready to party and to be happy again. And you see that with a lot of artists who knew Biggie, even somebody like Jay-Z, you know, around

this time, you even see him sort of veering. He didn't go full shiny suit, but he did wear some colorful clothes in the Sunshine video, which I know is still very polarizing. And it just made sense that New York was ready to be happy again. And I think hip hop was ready to heal. Yeah. I've always think about the shiny suit era from like a music critic perspective. You know, but I was wondering your perspective from the fashion side, like what it meant as an actual fashion statement, like where the idea of a shiny suit came from and what did it represent beyond, you know, being triumphant and looking as luxurious as possible. You know, it's interesting.

So the original shiny suits came from stylist and costume designer June Ambrose. And she really did a lot of sort of iconic looks in hip hop. Another one a lot of people know is Missy Elliott and that big garbage bag suit in the rain music video. And I think it was this idea, again, of hip hop, of course, being fun, triumphant. But it does add an element, I think, of sort of costume and drama to it. So something like a shiny suit, of course, you're not going to wear that in your day to day. Although if you would, you might end up having a lot of fun. But it's this idea of, again, just bringing this element of, again, this sort of drama and going back to the idea of Puff as like the ringleader.

So I have the shiny suit and sort of like this superhero. So it really just sort of adds to that element. So I think, again, it just created this feeling like we're in a place of fun and freedom, and everything doesn't have to sort of be taken so seriously. Yeah. So you mentioned Sean John, you know, his fashion imprint, which is a huge part of this, I think. How would you summarize his fashion sense, his perspective, in terms of both the clothes he wore himself and the clothes he was selling through Sean John?

What Puff did with Sean John, which I think was really smart, was he made sure that it was a luxury fashion line, not simply a hip-hop line. So once we're getting into sort of the late 90s and especially the early aughts, there were so many rappers with clothing lines. And we see this following, whether it be someone like Russell Simmons with Fat Farm, and then later we're getting to everyone, from Eminem to Buster Rhymes and DMX all had clothing lines. I'm not sure where those lines are now, but I'm sure you can probably find them at some Bargings account retailer somewhere. Yeah.

And, you know, I think with Puff, he very early on knew, I don't want my line to only be relegated to people who are fans in my music. So even naming the line, Sean John, he's taking a page of other great American designers like Ralph Lauren or Tommy Hill figure. It's this idea that I want this line to stand separate. He could have easily called it bad boy clothing or puff daddy clothing, but he wanted to make sure that, no, no, this is separate.

And of course, there were sort of those classic pieces. I mean, who can forget the Sean John Valour suits. But he also invested in things like fur, denim, shirling. to me, I almost think of it as this is the guy who maybe he's in the boardroom during the day, then he's going out to like a club at night and he could be a mogul

or he could be a wannabe mogul. These were clothes that ostensibly puff would wear and I could see for the consumer it was a way to feel some part of his lifestyle. Most people wearing his clothes were not young multi-millionaire

moguls, but in their mind they could be and it was this idea of pulling in his aspirational lifestyle and bringing it to the consumer. What's also really interesting about Sean John was it garnered a lot of respect from the fashion industry. And it was him being the first African-American man to win the CFDA achievement award. I mean, that was huge for menswear. This idea that the fashion industry is viewing him as somebody that they respect, somebody that they see as an authority. And I think that also underscored its legacy compared to a lot of other brands that came out at that time.

He was the one who was getting love from the streets as well as from inside the fashion walls. Right. You've got me picturing Eminem's fashion line now. I have no familiarity with that. And I'm just not having a good time even trying to imagine what that's like. You were wearing some of the shady wear. Okay. You got me.

You got me. I got a closet full. a shady wear. I haven't pulled it. Is that what it was called? It was called shady wear? That's a good name, I guess. Yeah, it was, it was, it's interesting, right? It's this idea that I think now we would call it essentially merch, right? So I think his hardcore fans would probably wear something, you know, from Eminem. But when we look at it through sort of the lens of fashion, it's a little bit interesting, like who would have actually worn shady clothing? It's a good question.

What was your initial emotional reaction to I'll be missing you? It's sort of polarizing in a way some people are really moved by it. Other people find it, you know, a little cheesy, a little overwrought. Like, how did it get to you in real time? You know what's so interesting? I think the first time I heard that song and saw the music video was in India. So back when I was growing up, I would go to India in the summers every couple of years. And in the beginning, just for some backstory, this is before India had cable.

So I would basically watch sort of their version of BBC. And then for some reason, the playoffs would be on basketball. So I got really into basketball for a time in the 90s. Yeah, it was very strange. So fast forward, it's 97. And I remember being in India and they had gotten some. version of international MTV. I don't know if it came

where it came from, but they would play some version of Bollywood music and then intersperse a few American music videos and they were playing I'll be missing you. And I remember seeing the video,

you know, puffs on the motorcycle, he falls down and, you know, he's in a field and there's little kids and again, it's very dramatic and tons of your heartstrings. And again, for me, probably being, I don't know, like middle school, it was emotionally, it very much affected me,

where it felt like, wow, he's speaking from the heart and he lost his best friend. And you got to remember, fast forward, that song started getting played at a lot of sad functions, whether it be funerals or like memorials. So it sort of wormed its way, yeah, into the zeitgeist. But that song was inescapable. And the fact that I heard it for the first time in India, and then I came back to America, and it was everywhere. It was ubiquitous. It just shows you that influence even back then. What is the signature Puff or Bad Boy song for you? Is it I'll be missing you, or is there some other song you go to to sort of summarize his assent, you know, right there in the late 90s are thereabouts.

I definitely wouldn't say I'll be missing you because I'm pretty sure Sting has most of the publishing on that. He has pretty much all of it. That's true. Puff's not making a whole lot of money off it necessarily. Yeah. Yeah. I think between that record and the Juice World Record, Sting is like, I never have to work.

So thank you. Sting's doing all right. Yeah, he's doing all right. I think when it comes to definitive bad boy record, I'm going to say, it's a tough one there's two for Puff specifically is the lead artist all about the Benjamin's

because that record is it's just again him doing what he does best which is curation so it's got the locks it's got Biggie it's got Little Kim and arguably just a song stealing verse to this day

I can probably wrap that line for line and Puff is just sort of there again conducting all of the goings on. And just this idea, like, it's all about the Benjamin. So it's underscoring aspiration and wealth and luxury and all of that sort of coming together. So that will be one.

And then the converse of that, you know, when you get a lot of Benjamin's, the flip side of that is more money, more problems. So same thing. It's this idea of it's such a celebratory song, that great sample of Diana Ross. And same thing. Like Puff was able to, you got Puff. He's pulling in Mace, who's sort of the next up. And then of course, Biggie, who just every record he's on, he'll just sort of steal it in that

final verse. And that was, again, the music video where everything was so jubilant. They're wearing the shiny suits. They're playing golf. Like, again, growing up, we didn't really see black and brown people do this type of stuff. Like Puff was the person who introduced me to the Hamptons. I don't know what that was. Or places like Sardinia, like this, or Capri, like this is where he goes to vacation. That's right. And we thought like that was really fly. So same thing. Him playing golf was an homage to Tiger Woods. But it is this idea. Like you can't box us in. We're going to make the videos we want, the records we want and live the lifestyle we want. And again, there's just

something about that defiance that I think is, it makes sense that. It makes sense that it. it resonated so much with people because we didn't see someone who really did say, I had this sort of devil make-her attitude and you're either with me or get out of my way. And that's something that, you know, no matter how you feel about him, you got to give him props for that. Yeah. So, I mean, this has been fantastic. What a career you've had. Congratulations to you, just for everything in general. Thank you. Yes. Can't stop, won't stop. Although, you know, Unlike Puff, I definitely sleep more than four hours. I'm closer to 10 hours.

Okay, that sounds healthier. Thank you so much. Thank you. Thanks very much to our guest this week, Somia Krishna-Murthy. Thanks, as always to our producers, Jonathan Kerma and Justin Sales. Thanks to Chloe Clark for additional production help. And thanks very much to you for listening. And now, without further ado, I implore you to go listen to I'll be missing you by Puff Daddy and the family.

We'll see you soon.