"By the way, Reid is also very interested in the music industry. He once said that missing out on the angel round investment in Spotify was the biggest mistake of his life." Jeff continued to entice him.
For a moment, Leon felt Jeff had been completely brainwashed, like a blindly following cult member.
In fact, the entire recording industry was like this.
In the internet frenzy triggered by smartphones, traditional record companies felt increasingly confused about the future, unable to see where the future profit points lay.
At all costs, they blindly built their own streaming platforms, dazzled by Silicon Valley lobbyists.
It is no exaggeration to say that this current era is the most confusing dark hour since the birth of the recording industry.
"Sounds like that guy is the second Bernie Madoff," Leon mocked.
From his arrest in 2008 to being sentenced to 150 years in prison by the Federal District Court for the Southern District of New York in 2009, Madoff, a figure who once stood at the top of Wall Street, still frequently appears on TV screens.
The media tireless dug deep into his private life scandals.
This former NASDAQ chairman created the biggest Ponzi scheme in US history, with accumulated fraudulent funds exceeding $65 billion.
At his peak, famous investors and big stars in the entertainment industry racked their brains to become his members. Many actresses who became famous in the 80s did not hesitate to sleep with this old Jewish man.
They rushed to offer their bodies and life savings. If not for the black swan event of 2008, the global financial crisis causing Madoff's major clients to be tight on funds and demanding early redemption of $7 billion investment, leading to his capital chain rupture.
Probably his wealth myth would still continue today.
"No, young man, Reid is really different. His talent in the investment world is just like yours in the music world..." Jeff said. "This is a great opportunity. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie begged me countless times before I agreed to introduce them to meet Reid..."
After a bombardment of mindless bragging, Leon got a bit annoyed listening to it and perfunctorily expressed that he was very interested in meeting this Silicon Valley Midas touch when meeting Jeff in Los Angeles next week.
After hanging up the phone, his fingers flew up and down on the keyboard, typing out the name Reid Hoffman.
Reid, 44 years old this year, was just as Jeff said on the phone—fat as if fed on honey and butter.
1.95 meters tall, weighing over 300 pounds. On the streets of New York, this is a standard "Loser" figure.
It is the result of long-term consumption of high-calorie junk food. The wealthy class usually has a proportionate figure, representing that they eat expensive organic food and have time for body management in the gym.
Reid, with an ordinary appearance, has a frighteningly shiny resume.
He was not only one of the early investors of PayPal but also participated in the early investment of Zuckerberg's Facebook.
He founded LinkedIn, the largest online job search website in the US, and became the chairman of this company in 2007.
Under his maneuvering, international investment banks such as Merrill Lynch pushed LinkedIn to go public on the New York Stock Exchange in May this year.
Based on the closing price at that time, the company's market value exceeded $8.9 billion, becoming the largest internet company IPO since Google went public.
Even JAY-Z's investment in Uber was a copy-paste operation watching Reid's moves.
Every investment move he makes in the industry can cause a large wave of people to follow suit.
"If I were Reid," Leon muttered to himself, his voice low as if interrogating himself, "I would keep such an opportunity for myself or sell it to those Silicon Valley geeks, instead of a singer hyped by black traffic, an investment layman..."
He stood up, walked to the window, overlooking the traffic in Brooklyn Heights, playing with the poker cards usually used for practicing Texas Hold'em in his hand.
Silicon Valley is a huge casino. App entrepreneurs are like junket operators, but Reid is not a gambler; he is the dealer.
The dealer is not afraid of you winning, only afraid of you not betting.
Among the more than forty social apps he invested in, maybe one will become the next Facebook, but more likely they are cannon fodder.
Although Reid is rich, most of it is securities investment. Wealth fluctuates greatly with stock prices. Under the influence of the SEC, he cannot sell these stocks at will before the lock-up period ends.
He needs funds, needs allies, and maybe even needs a scapegoat. The entertainment industry is undoubtedly the best choice.
Entertainment celebrities are far from comparable to Wall Street financiers and Silicon Valley tech upstarts in terms of paper wealth, but the assets in their hands are mostly attractive cash and real estate that can be cashed out at any time.
"Fck, these bastards are really a bit possessed..." Leon murmured softly, crushing the cigarette butt fiercely in the ashtray.
The proposal to invest in social software is hard not to move him. Once successful, the return is unknown how much higher than investing in traditional media.
But all that is just speculation. No one can guarantee that accidents won't happen. What Leon can do now is only wait.
September is the rainy season in New York. Two days later, Dre landed at JFK International Airport as promised. The sky in New York rarely cleared up.
In the recording base of The Rap of America in the Bronx, Leon stood in the center of the stage, wearing a black hoodie, somewhat resembling Eminem.
The rhythm of the vinyl record player sounded, and the textbook gangsta rap drum beat sounded.
The arrangement of Still D.R.E. is presented in a concise and powerful way, the core lying in the deep and catchy bassline.
This bassline not only drives the rhythm of the song but also injects strong West Coast hip-hop characteristics into it.
One second after the drum beat sounds, it can pull people back to the game screen of GTA: San Andreas.
A group of black gang members driving "lowriders" that can jump, waving bandanas floating on the streets of Los Angeles in the 90s.
Leon bent over and shook his body, grabbed the microphone, and interpreted the section originally belonging to Snoop Dogg in the song, with a small part of the lyrics changed.
Yeah nga I'm still fkin' with ya
Still waters run deep
Still Street Jesus and D-R-E
'99 nga Guess who's back
Still, still doin' that sht huh
Singing here, the section belonging to Leon completely ended. He breathed a long sigh of relief.
As his first rap attempt, although he only sang a small section, it was already the limit.
Fortunately, the flow of the whole song is not complicated, and the lyric density is not high. The first rap attempt did not go wrong.
The next performance will be completed by Dre and contestant King Von together.
Surrounded by the New York City Street Dance Crew, Dre appeared wearing sunglasses and a black tight T-shirt.
The fully diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe watch on his hand was eye-catching. Screams instantly erupted in the studio, pushing the recording atmosphere to a climax.
"Bro!" He first bumped fists with Leon, then danced the funny and weird gang dance C-Walk to the drum beat.
Dr. Dre is the name, I'm ahead of my game
Still puffin' my leaves, still fk with the beats
Still not lovin' police
Still rock my khakis with a cuff and a crease
Still got love for the streets, reppin' 213
"Sht... this is rap..." King Von stood behind Dre, shocked by the wonderful performance. It was his first time seeing this legendary West Coast big shot perform live.
Sharing the stage with such a hip-hop legend was a scene that often appeared in his dreams.
Now the dream shines into reality.
He didn't react until Dre patted his shoulder, adjusted his breathing, stuck to the beat, and interpreted his own section.
He danced the Chicago South Side Crab Dance beside the other party, a vulgar slum dance with crazy butt twisting.
The dancers of the City Street Dance Crew showed strong professional ability, seamlessly switching from C-Walk to Crab Dance, flinging their arms and twisting their butts.
The movements were highly unified, like a group of real crabs crossing the road, tyrannical.
The new generation and the gangsta legend cooperated seamlessly. The staff and a few media present in advance exclaimed in admiration.
Two big shots helping a contestant sing; anyone with eyes could see that the program team was determined to support King Von as the champion. When the accompaniment stopped, Leon stood back in the center of the stage, King Von squatted in front of the two big shots, and the picture froze.
"Great! This live performance will make all hip-hop fans crazy!" Sean below the stage clapped non-stop.
Since Dre focused his work on behind-the-scenes production and investment, he has been seen performing on stage less and less.
This collaboration with the currently most topical singer Leon is undoubtedly a heavy bomb. The new and old generations of singers selling street gangsta styles sharing the stage whetted the appetite of hip-hop fans across the US.
After the recording ended, Dre took off his sunglasses, patted Leon's shoulder, and grinned: "Bro, your performance is really impressive. If you practice rap skills well, maybe you will become the next Eminem."
He seemed to realize he said something wrong and quickly corrected, "No, I mean you are also very good now; you are creating your own era."
Leon tilted his head and grinned, asking the on-site handyman to bring cigars and coffee. "Fortunately, my section was only a dozen seconds, otherwise the recording wouldn't have been so smooth. Rap is not that simple; just those beat catches and flow changes are headache enough."
"No no, I think your performance is not inferior to Snoop Dogg. You are reshaping this song in your own way."
"It's my honor to cooperate with a legend like you."
The two licked each other, rainbow farts flying all over the sky.
During the period, Dre intentionally talked about the topic of Kendrick. "This kid has always had potential. I am optimistic that he can take over Eminem's banner and become a flag figure of the West Coast."
"Of course, Kendrick is the most honest and simple good ngga I have ever met."
"Do you know about his beef with Drake?"
"Know a little; Kendrick talked to me about it."
"Fck... this kid's brain must have something wrong. His relationship with Drake was originally very close." Dre held his forehead, looking anxious. "Kendrick's last album didn't achieve the expected effect. I am producing a new album for him, good kid, m.A.A.d city. Aftermath Entertainment poured all resources for this album."
"This will be a Grammy-level album." Leon nodded, understanding that the other party was not just talking.
Kendrick had talked to him long ago. For good kid, m.A.A.d city, Dre not only personally served as the producer but also found a group of big shots to participate in the production.
Terry Lewis, Pharrell Williams...
Even Quincy Jones and Janet Jackson participated in it.
"Just because of that little thing between him and Drake, fighting for women's butts, bar fights, those little things you know, everyone experienced these things when they were young..." Dre said, "His mind is now completely focused on how to diss Drake, even asking to delete Drake's part in this album."
Dre continued: "The biggest difference between us blacks and whites is that we value family, community, and friendship between friends... Making a fuss to this extent for those trivial disputes, this kid is simply hopeless."
"Ah yes yes yes..." Leon didn't make a sound, not wanting to puncture the other party's hypocritical pretentious moment.
Dre's own ass wasn't clean. In the heyday of N.W.A, he was at odds with the soul figure Eazy-E, and finally betrayed the group under Suge Knight's instigation and temptation.
Taking a step back, there are more than a dozen beef incidents between rappers every year; fans are no longer fresh to it.
The vast majority of them come from close friends turning against each other among black rappers. The reasons for turning against each other are not complicated.
Can't escape "You slept with my girl," "I slept with your sister," "Do you still remember I lent you five dollars when you were living on the street," and other drama events.
Speaking of this, Dre took a deep puff of the cigar, dense smoke spraying out from his nasal cavity. "If he continues to be willful like this, this album may not be completed next year."
"You have to give young people some patience; Kendrick is a genius."
"I really hope you can participate in the production of this album. Everyone knows your inspiration is like an oil mine in the Persian Gulf, never drying up..."
Leon wondered before, how could Dre, a rapper from a serious street background, tolerate such willful behavior of his artist?
Delaying the album production process because of his private beef, this behavior is intolerable for any record company boss.
Dre wouldn't say pointing a Glock at Kendrick's head, but probably would have unbuckled his brass buckle belt and lashed out long ago.
Now Leon understood everything. All of Dre's previous foreshadowing was to ask him for a song.
His works are the guarantee of explosive hits. If the good kid, m.A.A.d city album can include a single created by him, the album sales will be guaranteed.
"You and Kendrick are my friends; I am honored to join this album." Leon thought for a while and responded positively.
Aftermath Entertainment gave a lot of help to The Rap of America program. 50 Cent and Dre both joined the program at a floor price.
Otherwise, with Leon's notorious reputation in the rap circle, it would be difficult to win over heavyweight rappers to join, and the program would definitely not present such quality.
"Really Bro?"
"Of course, we are family."
"Family, what else can I say?" Dre smiled, and the two bumped fists.
What moved Leon was naturally not personal relationships. Feelings are just side materials he pays attention to when thinking about problems.
The core content is still profit.
He is not good at rap music, but the inspiration refresh mechanism is uncontrollable. Refreshing works like Panda can only be interpreted by others.
Apocalypse Music currently only has two rappers, King Von and Lil Duke, and the route they take is all the niche music type of gangsta Drill.
Kendrick's new album is coming aggressively, integrating top production resources, full of gimmicks, and media expectations are maxed out.
If the good kid, m.A.A.d city album can really reach the level of a legendary album, then Leon handing over the work to Kendrick for interpretation will maximize benefits.
This is a win-win.
Five days later, Leon sat in the office as usual, listening to Bonnie's work report while playing with the poker cards on the table.
Tomorrow he will fly to Las Vegas to watch the UFC 135 match live at the Trump International Hotel Las Vegas.
The attention received by this competition is much higher than previous ordinary numbered events because this competition not only includes the light heavyweight title fight between "Bones" Jones and "Bad Boy" Tito Ortiz, but the two will also compete for another brand new title BMF (Baddest Motherfcker Belt) that night.
The pre-match weigh-in face-off segment was playing on TV.
"Here it comes..." Phil played with the wine glass, suddenly sat up straight, looking focused.
In the picture, Conor McGregor, the first athlete signed by Apocalypse Agency across fields, appeared. He will complete his debut in the prelims of UFC 135.
Conor stood on the scale, his whole body muscles showing a shredded state due to dehydration and weight loss, looking like Bruce Lee reincarnated. Excessive weight loss did not affect his state. He raised his hands, bulged his muscles, staring at the camera, his eyes looking like they were about to spray sparks.
Weighing in at 143 pounds perfectly.
"Ah!!!" After host Joe Rogan announced the weigh-in news, he roared crazily without warning, startling the staff.
"This kid..." Phil shook his head while watching.
After the weigh-in, according to the process, the prelims leftover contestants would go directly back backstage.
For contestants participating in the main card, the event organizer will leave three minutes of interview time.
Letting them spray trash talk to their heart's content, making the final hype for the upcoming match.
However, Conor didn't play by the rules. After the weigh-in, he grabbed the host's microphone and sprayed wildly, "Thank my boss, the great Street Jesus Leon Smith! The last man with balls in America!"
Saying that, he pointed to Dana White behind him. "No! Dana, you should thank him more! He brought you a king, a great man who can save this event!"
Dana grinned from ear to ear, signaling the bodyguards to step back and let this Irish kid finish his posturing.
"I will become the first UFC champion in Irish history; I do what I say!"
"I want to twist off the opponent's head and hang it on my fireplace to admire every day!"
"The Irish barbarian is here!"
"One man goes to war, the whole nation joins the army!"
"Ah!!!" Finally, he roared again without warning, like a lion with its fur standing on end.
Leon in front of the TV was also dumbfounded, realizing that he seemed to have picked up a big treasure. "This kid, very energetic."