RealTalkNY caught up with Jermaine Dupri at a book signing for, “Young, Rich & Dangerous,” in Harlem. The Hip Hop Mogul, worth 60 million, has decided to share his life story via a new book. The book, “recounts the thrilling journey of Dupri’s early prodigal success, but it also offers a roadmap for thousands who dream of making it big in the boardroom or on the Billboard 100, and reveals the candid truth of what really happens behind the music.”

Jermaine talks about his inspirations for the book and what you can learn from reading the book. He also talks about the new Jay-Z album, “American Gangster,” which he produced two tracks for. Janet Jackson was even in the building, but they were being strict and I only got a few shots of her even though I was right next to her.

Pictures, A press release on the book and an excerpt from chapter 1 are below…

YOUNG, RICH, AND DANGEROUS

My Life in Music

Jermaine Dupri with Samantha Marshall

The platinum prodigy of the music world, and the wizard behind many of today’s bestselling artists, Jermaine Dupri went on the road with the New York Fresh Fest-the first national Hip Hop music tour-as an opening act dancer when he was only twelve years old. It gave him a taste for a lifestyle and a glimpse at his own talent, and changed his life forever.

The Fresh Fest hit 50 cities in three months, with performers like Whodini, The Fat Boys, Run DMC, Grandmaster Flash, and Kurtis Blow. They’d slam into town, rehearse or give interviews, grab some food, perform, party, and start all over again the next day. The audience adored him as a child; he was hooked. More importantly, his early ability to please a crowd primed him to see the raw material of stardom in others. He was only16 when he discovered the child rap duo Kris Kross, and just 20 when he started his own independent record label. Today, as the president of Island Records Urban Music, Dupri is the youngest of three hip-hop moguls holding executive positions at large labels. YOUNG, RICH, AND DANGEROUS: My Life in Music (Atria Books; October 2007; $24.95) by Jermaine Dupri with Samantha Marshall recounts the thrilling journey of Dupri’s early prodigal success, but it also offers a roadmap for thousands who dream of making it big in the boardroom or on the Billboard 100, and reveals the candid truth of what really happens behind the music.

In 1990, still in his teens, Dupri discovered Chris Kelly and Chris Smith in the Greenbriar Mall, shopping for sneakers. “What struck me about the Chrises was the way their personality came through. . . It was like those kids were waiting to be discovered ever since they became friends in the first grade. I saw something in them that I could bring out with some hard work and imagination.” Dupri explains how he built that first album from scratch. He describes how the duo all but moved in with Dupri and his mother, how he persuaded them to braid their hair and wear their clothes backwards, creating their image, and how he wrote, produced and recorded all the mu sic on a secondhand four-track recorder. He invented kiddie rap, and he was rewarded with incredible success, proving that his instincts couldn’t have been more on target. Kris Kross started a trend in America that went beyond the music, and placed Dupri’s feet on the road to power.

Following that first album, EMI signed him as a songwriter and Columbia Records wrote him a check for $1 million to scout and produce new acts. It was the birth of So So Def Productions. It was also one of the original relationships between a major label and an independent hip hop label.

Later Dupri would team up with such superstars as Mariah Carey, the girls from TLC, Lil’ Bow Wow, Elton John, Bobby Brown, Usher and others. But YOUNG, RICH, AND DANGEROUS shares stories that illustrate the price as well as the glory of success - the scary time an overly ambitious musician rear-ended him in order to get him to accept his demo tape; the backlash he’s suffered from critics skeptical of his artists’ continuing fame; the tough competition within the industry to stay fresh with what’s new on the streets. Dupri presents the close-up faces of stars of the industry (”Usher loves real hard. I’ve seen him in the studio where he’s so into a girl he can’t even record,”) and relates his own personal history - the birth of his daughter, and story of getting to know a crush from his childhood who is now the love of his life: Janet Jackson.

With never-before-seen photographs from studios, parties, and awards shows, YOUNG, RICH, AND DANGEROUS presents not only the exhilarating step-by-step moves of someone who has risen to the top of this remarkable business, but uniquely, someone who still remembers what matters most: the discovery and the process and the music. Some of the most exciting moments of this Grammy-winner’s life are presented, along with invaluable wisdom for those wanting to follow in an idolmaker’s path.  As his close friend Teddy Riley writes in the Foreward, “This book YOUNG, RICH, AND DANGEROUS is truly a gift. Only someone like Jermaine, who knows it because he lives it, is in a position to deliver such necessary and relevant insights.”

Chapter 1

Fresh Azimiz

Back in the old days, 15 years ago, Atlanta’s music scene wasn’t in Atlanta at all. It was about an hour’s drive north of the city in a suburb called Alpharetta.

A mostly white, affluent neighborhood in Fulton County, Georgia, ain’t exactly what you’d expect of a mecca for all urban artists, producers, and musicians coming up in the South. But it was there, deep inside the Alpharetta Country Club, on an estate surrounded by golf courses and lawn ornaments, where Antonio “L.A.” Reid bought his McMansion and set up studios for LaFace Records, the label he started with Arista and his partner, Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds.

That crib was crazy. Besides the house where L.A. lived with his then wife Pebbles and their kids, the compound had another huge building housing everything a music guy could want: recording and mixing studios, a dance rehearsal room, a hair salon, and a kitchen with a full-time professional chef to fix a lil’ snack for the artists and studio engineers between sessions. L.A. designed the whole thing to be a place where he could develop artists from scratch. Their moves, their image, their voice training all went down inside those walls.

On any given day or night the driveway would be deep with Benzes, Bentleys, Beemers, Rolls-Royces, and Porsches. TLC, Goodie Mob, Anita Baker, Whitney Houston, and Bobby Brown were just a few of the artists who passed through those doors. One day I was there waiting to mix a record and Toni Braxton was laying down vocals with L.A. in the next studio, Dallas Austin was in the kitchen waiting on some lunch, Babyface was at the piano composing a song, and Chilli and T-Boz from TLC were downstairs getting their hair fixed by Pebbles.

Back then, I never had any direct dealings with L.A. or Babyface myself. But like anyone in the ATL, I was well aware of who they were. Those two brought some real star power to a scene that was always being overlooked by the music industry in favor of New York or the West Coast. The fact that they were on our doorstep was creating some buzz.

They were the idolmakers of their day. Babyface was the guy who wrote hit songs for Whitney Houston, Aretha Franklin, Gladys Knight, and just about every other great female singer at the time. L.A. was the guy who signed all the talent.

Most kids hoping to make it in the industry beat a path straight to L.A.’s door. When I made TLC’s demo tape they took it first to Pebbles. Anyone with aspirations and a shred of talent made the trek to Alpharetta. Usher auditioned there when he was 13. He walked in, introduced himself as LaFace’s “next big star” and told L.A. he was gonna own that house some day. A few years and a couple of Grammys later, he did.

But I wasn’t one of those kids. As far as I was concerned, I already had my shine on. It was 1992 and I was fresh off my success with Kris Kross. I was 19 and I’d just seen my first big check for $1 million. My act’s single, “Jump” was dominating the charts. It stayed number one on the Billboard 100 for eight whole weeks. No one had seen a kiddie sensation like that in rap music before.

There hadn’t been a faster selling single in 15 years. My two stars, Chris Kelly and Chris Smith, were all over the TV, appearing on The Oprah Winfrey Show, In Living Color, The Tonight Show, and dominating the videoplay on MTV and BET. In all, we sold eight million copies of that first album, Totally Krossed Out. As far as I was concerned, my career was already on fire.

Me and my best friend Eddie Weathers had a lot of celebrating to do. We were popping tags all over the place. After years making do with the sales rack at JCPenney we were flying up to New York and Chicago for spending sprees, buying ourselves diamond chains and gold watches. I was heading straight into my young, fly, and flashy days.

I bought my mom a shiny, new blue BMW convertible and the salesman talked me into buying another Beemer for myself. Meanwhile, I was shopping around for a nice big ranch house so we could move out of our tiny place in College Park.

I only went to L.A.’s place in Alpharetta because I needed to use his fancy hi-tech mixing equipment to finish up some production work for TLC. I was still working from my little bedroom on Judy Lane and relying on some cheap Radio Shack equipment. There weren’t too many state-of-the-art studios around Atlanta at the time.

I never even spoke to L.A. or Babyface except to say “hey.” They couldn’t have been more than 30, but to me they seemed old, like those Motown dudes who were more into soul and R&B. They’d both been in bands in the eighties, and their music credentials were real, but with L.A. especially I felt the generation gap. He always seemed like he is now: slick, polished, and corporate. I didn’t think they were up on what was happening in the hip-hop movement. I respected them, but I reckoned they didn’t have a whole lotta relevance to a young buck like me.

Then one day they threw a party. After a couple of drinks I clocked L.A. and Babyface sitting by themselves. They were on the patio off the recording room, where the studio engineers went out for smoke breaks. I decided to sit down and join them. My newfound success made me feel bold enough to take my place at their table, and I was curious to get to know the other players in Atlanta’s budding music scene.

We talked for a bit about the business. L.A. threw me a few polite questions about how it was going with Kris Kross. I was proud of the fact that my act was still killing the charts and I guess I let them know, figuring they’d share in my excitement. I didn’t mean to sound boastful, but I guess they saw me as a cocky lil’ dude.

That whole time Babyface didn’t say a word, but there must’ve been something about my swagger that bugged him. When he finally opened his mouth he cut me to the bone:

“Good for you that you’ve got your little song,” he said. “But one hit doesn’t count for much. You gotta have three or four hits before you can really call yourself a success.”

That hurt my feelings. I didn’t know what to say, so I slumped in my chair for a second. I thought to myself, “Hell, I haven’t seen either of y’all coming out with no number one hits lately.”

Plenty of people assumed I was just some nobody who got lucky, but my success with Kris Kross was no overnight fluke. I’d been working toward it for years, making mixtapes since I was 12; producing another group, Silk Tymes Leather, when I was 14; and struggling for almost two years to get attention from a record label that would help me break Chris and Chris. A lil’ nod instead of a slap from my elders would have been nice.

Then I thought about it some more, “Maybe Babyface has a point. I gotta keep pushing myself if I want to truly be somebody in this business. I can’t stop now.”

I had two choices. I could have said, “To hell with it. I’m still just a kid and I’m gonna have fun on this ride while it lasts.” I could have enjoyed my moment for what it was. I could have spent all the money from my check until it was gone, which I was already halfway to doing, and been content to live out my days as a one-hit wonder. Or I could decide that the life I really wanted would be all about me getting my grind on and slaving for the next hit, and the hit after that, and the hit after that. I guess it really wasn’t a choice. I couldn’t stop because I’d always want more.

Babyface’s tough words were the best things that anyone could have said to me back then. They stuck with me so hard that I even programmed that philosophy into my pager. To this day, anyone who ever gets a message from me sees this tagline:

“When you win one time they call you a champion, when you win four times they call you a dynasty, when you win 21 times they call you So So Def!”

Yeah, that’s right. Today I have more than 20 top hits and they keep coming. I should put one of those signs up like they have at McDonald’s that says, “Over one billion served.”

Because of guys like me, the music scene moved south on the Interstate to take over the heart of the ATL. To let people know we’re here, I pay $8,000 a month for a big Day-Glo yellow sign by the I-85 that says, atlanta, home of so so def recordings. I was inspired by Berry Gordy’s Motown billboard in Detroit that says, welcome to motor city, home of hitsville u.s.a. But maybe I should add a digital counter to keep track of all of those charts I’m slaying!

Not that I intend to rest on past success. I have to keep it turned on to keep turning out the hits. I wrote this poem three years ago to remind myself what it takes to win:

One that neva sleeps,

One that keeps his ear on the streets,

One that sets trends without tryin’

And all the time, no matter what, they shinin’.

One that looks and listens closer

Than other niggas.

Big, but constantly thinking of ways to get bigger.

One that’s looked at to come thru in the clutch,

Highly talked about, but don’t give a fuck.

Whether he plays ball, works in Corporate America,

Sings or produces,

If this person was to shut down shop

All hell would break loose!

Motivated by younger people,

That wanna be in his shoes,

Knowing how to do nothin’ else but win,

But ain’t scared to lose,

Cause a loss every once in a while,

Is what makes you turn it on,

And do what you do, but be twice as strong,

The best is a person that’s out

To do shit that ain’t neva been done,

This is my definition.

Don’t know about you,

But I’m one.

I put those words on a plaque and stuck it on the wall of my studio for everyone to see. I’m not saying I’m the best, but I strive to be. There are plenty of producers, like Quincy Jones, who’ve had more hits than me. That’s why I keep running. I’m a beast in the game who won’t quit until everyone else is beat.

This entry was posted on Friday, October 19th, 2007 at 12:28 am and is filed under Exclusives, Interviews, Videos.