I’m like, ‘really?’ And walk down to Dave’s office in search of Ray. I get there and see Ray sitting on Dave’s sofa so I walk over and stand right over him. I start yelling at him and he pops up off the couch like he wants to do something. Now Ray is only five feet tall in Timbs and two pairs of socks, so the whole thing looks ridiculous. Dave is looking nervous and by now other people have made it back to Dave’s office to see where this will all end up. Ray and I square off for about ten very tense seconds and then sensing that he’s not ready to throw a punch, I give him a few more “fuck you, nigga"s and then start walking out of Dave’s office. On the way out I can hear Ray screaming my name, calling me all kinds of bitches and motherfuckers, but he’s only saying this shit as I’m walking away, so I’ve got his number.

Understanding that shit is about to get really out of control, we try to once again to appeal to Dave to do something about his friends. Ray has upped the ante by stating that if his next album doesn’t get 4 mics he will start “puttin’ niggas in bodybags.” He has made threats towards Carter and Rob. Ray and I have squared off. This is probably not going to end well. Now he’s talking about the review of his next album and what we had better do for him. I’m like, what review? Another one of my rules was that if an artist made any threats towards a staff member (and it was beginning to happen more and more as The Source became more critical and less industry friendly), we would simply not cover them. End of story. Ray knew this, and by making his threats he also knew that his name would never be mentioned in the magazine so long as I was there.

Dave had only just been able to secure RSO a new deal at RCA records. It wasn’t a deal for a full LP, but rather a five or six song EP (I was the one who suggested that Dave shop RSO as an EP) . Full-page ads began to appear in the magazine promoting the upcoming release. The pressure was on and nether side was willing to back down.

During a discussion of these events with James and Dave, I told Dave that I think it would be best if Ray were banned from coming into the office. Dave looked at me and sneered, “Who the fuck are you?” I was like, ‘word?’ And Dave Mays — the man who put me on and showed me the ropes; the guy with whom I stood with shoulder to shoulder when drama threatened to jump off; the man who I defended at the expense of my professional reputation when a host of Black music executives told me not to trust him – slowly died before my eyes. Continued on page 12 »