"How about stopping here for today?" Max walked over, patted his shoulder, and comforted him. "Feelings cannot be forced. Everyone has different feelings at different stages of life. Just like I can never find the creative passion of being 18. When I recorded a new album for Britney, she could never find the feeling of the blonde sweetheart in a school uniform in ...Baby One More Time."
"Give me some time; there are too many trivial matters recently." Leon said.
He agreed with Max to restart the recording of Blinding Lights next week.
On the way back, Phil, who witnessed the entire recording process, asked in a playful tone: "Did the recording go wrong?"
"My brain has been very chaotic recently, but I can't say why."
"Let me tell you, young man, you are losing yourself. Every newcomer who becomes popular quickly faces this problem, just like Eminem wrote in Lose Yourself."
"Lost?"
Leon was stunned for a moment. He had clearly obtained everything he wanted relying on the cheat and bottomless hype, and had been walking on the correct path of accumulating wealth. He didn't know where "lost" came from.
But the story Phil told was also true. In the rap circle after the millennium, no one could compare with Eminem.
Even Leon's fame today is slightly inferior compared to him.
However, it was at this time that Eminem's problems with alcoholism and drug use became more and more serious, once reaching the point of needing hospitalization.
He mocked himself as an "American Psycho" many times in exclusive interviews.
Phil opened the car window, lit a cigarette, and posed as an expert. "Since your debut in July last year, you got everything now in just over a year. Wealth, fame, bitches... No one can do it like you, but you are losing passion. Trust me, no one knows what it feels like to be lost better than me."
"Having nothing makes people see no direction; having everything is the same."
This time Leon rarely did not refute the old geezer. A person who suddenly gains huge wealth and power will indeed get lost.
But he understood clearly in his heart that desire is his oil, fuel, and motive force.
It must continue to expand and never stop!
"Your old friend JAY-Z faces the same problem." Phil smiled and said, "That ngga has walked the path you walked long ago. He is now more like an entertainment businessman than a singer. More than 90% of his works now are garbage... If back in the 90s, the moment you chose to betray Roc, you were destined to die on the street."
Hearing the old geezer comparing him with JAY-Z, Leon obviously showed an unhappy expression and ended the topic here.
At nine o'clock the next morning, he took Bonnie, Phil, and King Von to board the flight to the Windy City, Chicago.
This city, famous for skyscrapers and gang thugs, is a key town in his new album promotion plan and the core of the Great Lakes industrial zone.
To maximize the promotional effect of this trip, he brought King Von along by the way. Chicago is his hometown.
Although the The Rap of America schedule has not yet completely ended, King Von has accumulated huge popularity relying on constantly causing trouble in the show, fierce lyrics, and persona.
In the live broadcast of the finals in October, even without Leon vote-rigging for him, winning the championship is a certainty.
"You have to keep a low profile in Chicago. It's more chaotic than Iraq there. Every punk hanging out on the street wants to make an issue of you to get a chance to be famous." Phil reminded.
"We don't call Chicago Chicago anymore; we call it Chiraq. This is not an exaggeration at all." King Von let out a sharp laugh like a monkey.
Neither of them exaggerated.
JAY-Z sang in his song Murder to Excellence: "Wherever I go, I can feel the pain of my hometown. 314 soldiers died in Iraq, 509 died in Chicago."
The number mentioned here is from 2008.
Now 22.8 people per 100,000 in Chicago are murdered, a dimension-reduction strike against New York and Los Angeles, which also have frequent gang activities.
There are more than 60 large and medium-sized gangs, more than 700 factions or branches, and more than 100,000 active gang members on 600 square kilometers of land.
While the total number of yakuza members in Japan is only 80,000.
"I think this has nothing to do with me. I have no beef with Chicago rap. Besides, this is just a normal commercial performance." Leon said casually.
His intersection with Chicago musicians, besides King Von, is Kanye, and Kanye seems to have nothing to do with the word "gangsta."
"Don't take it lightly. Do you know BD (Black Disciples) and GD (Gangster Disciples)?" Phil said.
"Have some impression, but I'm not interested in these nggas whose pockets are cleaner than their faces."
After his street reputation grew, he received hundreds of provocative private messages on Blue Bird every day.
Young street rappers clamored and provoked, seeking to get Leon's response in this way to achieve the purpose of gaining followers.
Many of these private messages came from Chicago, claiming to be members of BD or GD.
The content of the private messages was similar: "Street Jesus, dare you come to Chicago and face me? I'll wait for you in the South Side of Chicago, Gang gang (I'm real society)..."
He couldn't be bothered to reply to this trash talk, or even glance at it.
"I know you're not interested in these damn street trash, but do you remember Duane Davis?"
Hearing this name, Leon pricked up his ears and sat up straight.
This gang big shot who called the wind and rain in the New York underground was once Diddy's number one gunman. Massive evidence indicates that he was the executor who shot Tupac in 1997.
To some extent, he was also Diddy's biggest reliance for running rampant in Harlem.
"What does Duane have to do with Chicago?" Leon was puzzled.
According to rumors, Duane hung out on the streets of New York as early as the time of drug lord Frank Lucas, when he was only 17 years old.
Phil asked the stewardess for half a glass of whiskey and explained with a smile: "I definitely know more about that guy than you. Although he was employed by Diddy, in the 90s, Diddy had to call him big brother wherever he went. That guy played with many female rappers and didn't live like a street gang member at all."
According to Phil's description, Duane's hometown is not New York, but Chicago.
His entire family are members of GD. In his adolescence, because of a conflict with a Mexican gang, he shot a rival gang member and fled to his cousin's house in New York, then contacted drug lord Frank.
Became a henchman in Frank's group.
"After Diddy was arrested, Duane disappeared without a trace immediately; no one could find him." Phil said, "Before the FBI officially issues a warrant for him, he will definitely try every means to make you suffer..."
Although Leon and Duane had never met, they had already had a confrontation on the street.
After Straight Outta Compton was released in June this year, Davis, who played Ice Cube, was shot on the street by Duane's men, losing a testicle.
In retaliation, Robinson directly summoned a group of younger brothers from Compton straight to New York and shot the gunman into a sieve in the apartment.
Now that Diddy is arrested, Duane directly lost his biggest source of income.
It is easy to guess that under JAY-Z's instigation, he must hate Leon to the bone.
After chatting about street stories, the plane soon landed at O'Hare International Airport.
"Let's go. What you are going to see next may be more difficult to deal with than street conflicts." Leon looked relaxed, completely ignoring Phil's advice.
In his opinion, "street persona" is just a way for him to hype topics. It is simply too stupid for a national top-stream and billionaire to insist on mixing with these gang members.
Leon covered his head with the hood of his black hoodie, and under the surround of assistants and bodyguards, quickly rushed out of the VIP passage.
The airport was already blocked by fanatical fans. As soon as he appeared, screams and cheers arose from all sides.
The huge sound wave seemed to lift the roof of the airport.
"OMG! Can't believe I saw him with my own eyes!"
"Leon, you are the best!"
"We love you!"
Fanatical female fans directly took off their pants, shook their black butts, and cheered, "Let's have a charming mixed-race baby! Our child will conquer the world!"
Phil laughed while watching. "These bitches are really crazy..."
Leon had no mind to deal with the old geezer. He was used to such scenes whether in Los Angeles or New York.
But Chicago fans seem particularly crazy. The whole city has a crazy temperament.
A huge banner was passed from the back of the crowd to the front and slowly unfolded. It was a black and white graffiti printed with Leon's bust.
In the graffiti, Leon held a cigar in his mouth, grinning ferociously, with a scar about ten centimeters long drawn on his left face.
Above the graffiti was written in bold text: "Welcome Al Capone back to Chicago!"
The shocking grand scene made Leon feel a bit dumbfounded. His first reaction was whether this was a water army hired by Tim, spending money and energy to create such a ridiculous grand scene.
"Please make way..."
The bodyguard team kept dissuading, separating a passage with their bodies, but was still impacted by the manic crowd swaying east and west.
Until Jorge shouted to the crowd: "Do you want to eat bullets, bitches! I'm not joking with you!"
With such a shout, the restless fans indeed quieted down a lot.
As for those fanatical fans, they seemed to have Stockholm Syndrome. After being cursed at, the burning light in their eyes became stronger. "What to do? That's why I love him so much..."
Leon secretly gave Jorge a thumbs up. "You really have a way, buddy."
"This is the Chicago way of saying hello!" Jorge grinned.
After dawdling for more than ten minutes, the team finally rushed out of the encirclement of pick-up fans. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief the moment they got into the commercial van.
"Honestly, after witnessing the scene just now, I won't be surprised no matter what happens in this city..."
Leon recalled the black girl who wanted to have a baby with him in his mind, still feeling lingering fear.
After witnessing the scene of Jorge shouting back the crowd in the airport and learning that the other party was also from Chicago, King Von suddenly opened his chatterbox and chatted endlessly.
"Damn Bro, I felt you were a real gang member long ago, but you never told me you were also from Chicago!"
Jorge sat in the passenger seat, crossed his arms, his tone cold. "To be precise, I come from Sinaloa, Mexico. Living in any city in America is wandering for me."
"That's not important, man. Have you killed anyone on the street? I've been defending my community with a Glock since I was 13!"
"Humph." Jorge snorted coldly. "I don't want to answer your question."
"Okay~ Every Mexican I know seems not to like talking too much." King Von spread his hands helplessly. "By the way, where did you hang out, man? I'm from O-Block; you should have heard of it."
Jorge shrugged, indicating no memory of that place.
In the 80s when he hung out on the street, O-Block was far less famous than today. It was famous for nggas too poor to afford food and unfinished buildings.
After a few seconds of silence, he announced his origin in a plain tone. "Latin Kings."
"Damn..."
King Von instantly seemed to be cast with a mute spell.
Although the Mexican gangs in Chicago were far less rampant after the new millennium than before, most people chose to go to California to find opportunities to make big money.
But he grew up listening to the stories of these Mexicans, still having lingering fears.
The big brothers in the community always educated young nggas like him, "Don't wander around Mexican territory if you have nothing to do!"
"I have retired from the gang for several years." Jorge suddenly turned his head and said with a smile: "I'm tired of that kind of life. Now I just want to earn more money and save up college tuition for my granddaughter."
He pointed to Leon and said: "When this guy no longer needs me, this old dog, I will move to Miami, lie in the sun and die quietly surrounded by Latin women's butts."
This was a rare confession from Jorge to an unfamiliar person. He saw the shadow of his youth in King Von.
Gang members either die on the street or rot in prison, joining the army of homeless people when released after serving their sentences.
Only very few can survive safely until retirement.
But the other party didn't seem to appreciate this kindness. King Von pouted and said: "This sounds like a deserter. I will never leave the homies of O-Block..."
The convoy stopped near Jackson Park in the South Side of Chicago. This is a landmark of Chicago, with significance equivalent to Central Park to New York.
The Museum of Science and Industry, symbolizing the city's former industrial glory, is located here.
The park was covered with signs of Anheuser-Busch InBev everywhere; they were the sponsors of this performance.
As an important bootlegging transfer base during the Prohibition era, Chicago's consumption of alcoholic beverages ranks among the top in major US cities.
There are more bars in the South Side than fast-food restaurants. Frustrated losers sit there from the moment the bar opens, drinking all day long.
An open space adjacent to the museum was surrounded by yellow and white marking tape. Phil pointed there and mocked: "Heard the city government plans to spend more than $400 million to build the Barack Obama Presidential Center there. These vampires are simply frantic..."
Building a large project in the name of the President, undoubtedly this is a flattery project.
Fortunately, there are still a few conscientious councilors left in Illinois, and this project has not yet officially obtained the project approval document.
During the chat, a group of staff wearing Budweiser uniforms ran to the convoy in a hurry. "Mr. Leon! Welcome to Chicago. Sorry, something went wrong with the venue layout over there. The citizens' enthusiasm for beer exceeded our imagination."
"It doesn't matter." Leon looked in the direction. The beer prepared by the organizer had been looted.
Those old people who fell at a touch on the subway burst out with amazing strength at this moment, squeezing young black men east and west, picking up beer and moving it into their cars.
Starting with two boxes at a time, the physical strength made young people ashamed of their inferiority.
As for those without transportation, they sat directly on the mountain of wine boxes, took off their shirts, raised bottles to drink, soaked in beer.
"Is this your first time holding such an event in Chicago?" Phil asked.
"First time in the South Side." The person in charge of the organizer said.
"This is no big deal. I came, I saw, I took. Isn't this very reasonable?" King Von said, "We South Siders are like this; this is our way of showing enthusiasm."
"Ah yes yes yes..." The person in charge nodded repeatedly.
The loss of a few hundred boxes of beer is nothing for a promotional event inviting popular traffic stars.
The performance team entered the backstage waiting room. King Von finished his makeup without spending much time.
Black singers never waste time on makeup; anyway, few people can see clearly what is painted on their faces.
This was King Von's first time participating in a real commercial performance, and it was in his hometown Chicago. He showed full excitement from the moment he entered the backstage.
The organizer originally only invited Leon to perform Take Me to Church and the new work Heathens at a price of $300,000 per song.
Since the organizer refused to add a cent to the budget, in order to bring King Von to show his face in his hometown, he had to ask the other party to perform for zero pay.
The ngga who valued face more than money agreed without thinking.
King Von's cartoon avatar flashed on the big screen of the stage. The emotions of tens of thousands of spectators at the scene were instantly ignited.
Through the explosion of The Rap of America, he is no longer an unknown person hanging out on the street in Chicago. People here already regard him as "the hope of the whole village."
Wait until the live broadcast of the finals; the whole of Chicago will move to vote for him, helping him become king!
"Daddy is back again! How are you, Chicago! My bloods..."
"Yeah!!" The audience shouted in unison, "Von Von Von!"
King Von took off his shirt, picked up a bottle of beer from the edge of the stage, and poured it from head to toe. "I've waited too long for this moment. From the Great Lakes to the East Coast, from New York to Chicago... I'm back in O-Block. Now my name resounds throughout America!"
"Yes!!!"
Backstage, Phil drank beer leisurely and said to Leon: "No matter how his works are, as a rapper, his live ability is definitely top-tier."
Strong and fierce drum beats sounded. Took Her To The O had long become popular on streaming media with the broadcast of The Rap of America.
Hearing the familiar and catchy prelude, fans instantly went crazy.
"Salute to my boss Leon! The ballsiest villain on the East Coast!" King Von looked backstage, adjusted his in-ear monitor after paying tribute.
Weird trilling sounds burst out from the microphone.
"Von! Von! Von!"
"Got wild at the club, I took a girl back, she from Kankakee; I just bought a Glock with a extendo, nobody mess with me..."
"She hot, I met her at the store, she wanted to smoke, so I gave her some loud, took her to my block..."
"I killed that girl's boyfriend, two shots done."
"I thought that girl would be scared, but she smiled and said she was hungry, buried her head and gave me some..."
The audience was impacted by the violent drum beats, swaying east and west, waving beer bottles and bandanas. Black girls unable to suppress hormonal restlessness had taken off their coats, waving bras.
"Sht, did you see that?" The fanatical live atmosphere stunned Phil. "Now I understand, Drill is not a music form in Chicago..."
"This is life."