#Drama25thAnniversary
NEWS
LAY LOW | XXL MAGAZINE
2001 April | Previously published in XXL Magazine
Remember DRAMA? You know, the cat behind last year's soldier stomp, "Left, Right, Left?" Ever wonder what happened to him? Well, he went to jail and then his album went gold. Upon being released from the beast's belly, DRAMA speaks to Saptosa Foster on being hated on by his label and the judicial system.
Puffy and Shyne aren't the only rappers lady justice seems to have it in for. Just ask DRAMA. Fresh off a skid bid, ATL's forgotten soldier is finally able to enjoy the success of his gold album. Too bad his old label's got issues.
Terence Cook, A.K.A. DRAMA, wouldn't have gotten himself into this mess had he just slowed down his gold Lexus the night his album, Causin' Drama, was released.
No, scratch that. Had he reported to his probation officer, paid his fines, left that gun at home, never run away from home, stayed in school... Hell, there's probably a lot of things Terence should've done. But as the German poet Goethe once wrote: "Every step is an end, and every step is a fresh beginning." And today, January 12, 2001 — the final day of Terence Cook's seven-month stint n Clayton County Jail — is DRAMA's fresh beginning.
"Just so you know, I have a loaded gun in the car with live bullets in it — and I know how to use it," announces Phaedra Parks, DRAMA's savvy attorney and "lifesaver," flying her sleek black Mercedes CLK430 southbound on Atlanta's Interstate 75 toward Lovejoy, Georgia where the 19-year-old DRAMA will be released from medium-security custody. "It's registered and I go to a shooting range," she assures, "but I always want my passengers to be aware of it."
Sure enough, a chrome .357 Magnum sits glistening next to the coupe's automatic stick shift. Parks, a hotshot entertainment lawyer who represents some of the biggest South-based rappers, including Mystikal, Too $hort, and Bun B. (UGK), fully understands what kind of industry she's in and, therefore, takes every necessary precaution to protect herself, especially in the wake of alleged death threats from the Tight IV Life label (which they, of course, deny) that signed her incarcerated client.
An attractive, stylish woman dressed in a brown, ankle-length mink, and black and red python boots, Parks is relieved that DRAMA's finally getting out, describing the past seven months of collect calls, false release dates and management upheaval as "crazy," but not without hope.
"He's not really been given a second chance," she sighs, referring to DRAMA's no-probation, no-strings-attached release. "I just hope he makes good use of it." And with a jolting surge of the accelerator, she explains how Terence Cook wound up in jail in the first place.
On a cool evening in early February of last year (2000), DRAMA was heading to the party to celebrate the release of his debut album, Causin' Drama. Anxious and excited, he didn't realize how fast he was going and probably forgot that he didn't have a license with him. He was pulled over for speeding, and when the cops ran his name through their system, they discovered a bench warrant had been issued for his arrest for violating his current probation — which he received for a concealed weapons charge back in June 1999.
During his probation, DRAMA never reported to his P.O. officer, nor did he pay the $30 monthly fees, all of which resulted in the warrant. He went to Clayton County Jail hat night and was later sentenced to a boot camp down in South Georgia. As "luck" would have it, there were no beds available at the county jail, in which to wait for the two months prior to going to the camp. So, Parks petitioned to a judge to release DRAMA for two months so he could tour and promote his album before turning himself in to the boot camp. The petition was granted, and the two-month break would be the only promotion DRAMA would do for his album, which went on to sell plenty: 683, 388 units at press time.
During his probation, DRAMA never reported to his P.O. officer, nor did he pay the $30 monthly fees, all of which resulted in the warrant. He went to Clayton County Jail hat night and was later sentenced to a boot camp down in South Georgia. As "luck" would have it, there were no beds available at the county jail, in which to wait for the two months prior to going to the camp. So, Parks petitioned to a judge to release DRAMA for two months so he could tour and promote his album before turning himself in to the boot camp. The petition was granted, and the two-month break would be the only promotion DRAMA would do for his album, which went on to sell plenty: 683, 388 units at press time.
After all the interviews and performances with Master P, Mystikal, and UGK, DRAMA arrived at the Western Probation Detention Center on May 30.
"Man, I was twisted," he remembers. "My last day [of freedom], I knew I had to turn myself in. But I was like, 'I'm finna go in here and put this pen to this pad and shock the world."
A few months into his time at the boot camp, he got into a fight with one of the prison guards who gave DRAMA a hard time because he was a rapper. The altercation sent DRAMA back to Clayton County where he would've served two more years had Parks not requested a full-blown trial to prove that cruel, prejudicial treatment caused the incident at the detention center. She won the case and miraculously got DRAMA's time reduced to six months with no subsequent probation or fines upon his release — in other words, a clean slate and a new beginning.
The Clayton County Jail looks more like an office building than a correctional facility as Parks pulls into the parking lot. Situated on several acres of grassy land, the pale concrete structure, built in 1991, stands four stores high and is sectioned into four dormitories. Those cells with a "view" feature a narrow, rectangular window pane. Someone on the outside can look into those panes and see men's faces — mostly brown — peering down. If they want your attention— especially if you're female — they'll beat against that window as you walk past.
The side of the building facing the parking lot happens to DRAMA's cell block, notes Parks as she drives toward the ivory Lincoln stretch limo stationed at the foot of the path leading to the building's entrance. The window of he limo rolls down to reveal a smiling, brown-eyed female face greeting Parks.
Stepping out of the car to model her outfit — a snowy, knee-dusting fur, suede, and leather boots, and a sparkly tube dress — she's a stunning white extension of the brilliant limo. She disappears. back into the limo, which also carries a bottle of Moet, a couple cans of Dr. Pepper, a fresh pair of brown suede Timberland's and a box of Phillies — a veritable smorgasbord of indulgence.
Parks makes her way into the jail lobby, and at 9:15 AM, a boisterous DRAMA, hyper and jubilant, emerges from the elevator doors. A diminutive chocolate sprite flanked by his two towering bodyguards, DRAMA is dressed in a brownish, black-tipped hooded fur, a water-blue Coogie-styled sweater, crisp denim jeans and white Reeboks. A thin layer of hair has grown over his usually bald head and cheeks. However, his unmistakably youthful vitality remains. Savoring the sudden attention, he dashes around the lobby with mosquito-like energy, embracing his attorney, dapping up the building's security guard, hollering "The world gon' have to get ready for me!"
He bounds out the door, almost delirious with freedom, and only stops to pose for the photographer. His bodyguard Ron hands DRAMA a Newport and, baring his grenade-tattooed chest and gold incisors, swirls of smoke curling from his lips, he shrieks that trademark rebel yell heard throughout his throbbing hit single "Left, Right, Left."
DRAMA takes a moment to sign an autograph for what looks like a young girl, but turns out to be a female inmate also just released. In the middle of the parking lot, he turns to face his former cell block, raises his arms and yells, "All my n****s in the pen get down like what!" As if on cue, a rumbling chorus of pounding thunders down from the building as DRAMA's cell-mates drum their approval in a celebratory send-off. "This is for y'all" he declares, splashing a bit of the Moet on the ground as he stands in front of his former "home."
Then, in a final act of tribute, he jumps into the limo and circles the lot three more times, hanging out the window, repeatedly to the frigid morning air, "The world ain't ready for me, man. They ain't ready!"
An hour and a blunt later, DRAMA is sitting calmly at a table at Shoney's, hunkered over a plate of grits, eggs and several strips of bacon. You'd think he'd be wolfing down his first real meal, given the story he just told about rock-hard prison grits ("We'd make sticks out of them," he laughed). But he's eating slowly, carefully mixing his grits in with his eggs. "Man, it was like I had been hit by an 18-wheeler. Just boom!" barks DRAMA, reflecting on the emotions he felt walking out of the jail."
Contrary to his raucous, "soldier thug" rap persona, DRAMA is profusely polite, apologizing to the "greeting party" for the poor breakfast buffer that he chose because he was "so hungry." He makes sure everyone at the table has enough forks and napkins and wishes the limo driver would "come in here and get this food."
You can tell he was probably a cut-up in school, as he likes to whisper silly jokes in your ear in his rolling country grammar. But you can also tell, as a 19-year-old still new to manhood, that he's sensitive and vulnerable and alone, and must still confront several lingering issues of identity, past family troubles and basically having to grow up fast in the industry. His right shoulder bears the initials "M.O.B." ("Mind Over Bitches") and on his left forearm is engraved "Slow Pain," a phrase he says is emblematic of his life. "That's what I've gone through all my life," he blinks, suddenly solemn. "Nobody ever cared about me. They can't begin to feel my pain."
Clearly not privy to this pain, which he completely camouflages behind the militant guise of DRAMA, or more fully, Drastic Retaliation Against My Adversaries. His flow is gruff and exacting on "Left, Right, Left" as he roars harsh orders: Nobody move 'til I say/Get ready to ride/No need to cry/Hope y'all n****s ain't scared to die."
Comparisons to his beloved 2Pac were ceaseless at the outset of DRAMA's career, especially given his standard bandana-around-the-dome and those moist almond-shaped eyes. If the beat and hook on "Left, Right, Left" weren't so unquestionably catchy, the whole army image would've been a harder sell. But DRAMA possess a certain charm and spunk that makes you just want to listen to him, regardless of what he's saying or doing. It's no surprise he's in showbiz.
[The origin story of Terence Cook begins] on Godby Road, a sunny, African-American, working-class neighborhood in South Atlanta's College Park suburb. His mother worked three jobs to support Terence and his younger sister, and despite prior reports, his father (who Terence does not talk about) was never a drug kingpin; nor did Terence ever cook cocaine in his kitchen at the age of nine. "That was just some hype," DRAMA confesses, referring to the information that built his current image. "Don't believe that."
A bright child, Terence was an A-student in school, favoring math and English. But within that intelligence lay a rebellious spirit that led him to drop out of the 8th grade and leave home. He would often hang around Downtown Atlanta's rough Techwood Housing, and even committed a few minor junior offenses, but nothing at all like his earlier claims of spending "a third of his life locked up for drugs" and "doing a bid for holding $9,000 worth of crack."
These misconceptions may have been fueled by DRAMA's former label CEO and manager, Micaiah Raheem, better known as "Raheem the Dream," bass king and founder of Tight IV Life Records.
A 15-year veteran of creating popular booty-shake tunes such as "Toot That Booty Up" and "Freak No Mo'," Raheem signed DRAMA to a five-album contract with his Tight IV Life label in 1997 after the then-15-year-old Terence rapped for Raheem at a College Park barbecue. They immediately recorded "Left, Right, Left" which quickly became a Southern radio favorite, selling 90,000 units independently. A distribution deal with Atlantic Records soon followed, and by March, Causin' Drama was certified gold. The album is closing in on platinum sales now, despite very little promotion.
Currently, DRAMA wants to sever ties with Raheem and Tight IV Life, cryptically alluding to the label neglecting his best interests. "I'll say it like this: It's like sunbeams. You can look up to it, but you're going to need shades. No one really knows what's going on. But like I said, it's about moving on. I'm trying to prosper. Better myself."
According to Parks (who became DRAMA's lawyer only after his album dropped), DRAMA made no money from his first album — not an unusual phenomenon in the music industry. Worse, he foolishly bought from Raheem that gold Lexus in which he was caught speeding, for $7,500 and half of his publishing from the Causin' Drama album. The car was worth $28,000 at the time of sale.
"I didn't know much about the music business as far as these papers," DRAMA admits sheepishly. "All I knew was, 'I'm finna come off the head and rock this mic.' Putting this pen to this pad, that's what I know. But this business requires more than that. So I don't blame the game."
However, Raheem sees the situation a lot differently. He feels that DRAMA is a classic example of a new artist who's unfamiliar with industry and was subsequently preyed upon by rival opportunists, who persuaded DRAMA to turn against him. "Once you blow up an artist, sometimes they change like the wind," says Raheem, taking a break in the recording booth of his Cobb County studio. "Once an artist gets large, people get in their ear. And if it's your first time in the game, people will have you thinking you're supposed to be a millionaire overnight. That's a phase we think he's going through right now. But we're going to work with him."
Of DRAMA's money issues, Raheem maintains he put DRAMA up in an apartment and gave him money for living expenses in addition to his advance and thousands of dollars in performance money, but he alleges that DRAMA would spend his entire profits on jewelry and clothes.
"We were booking shows for DRAMA at $5,000-$10,000 a night," asserts Raheem, who also claims that DRAMA's probation was "hidden" from him and had he known about it, he would've made sure that the fines and the P.O. visits were taken care of. "If he had been out of jail doing shows, he could've made a half a million dollars before Atlantic even sent him his [album] statement. The record company is going to tell you up front, 'We get the record money because we're putting money into it. We'll blow you up and you can go do shows all across the U.S.' So you don't have to wait six months, you can get your money that night [at a show]."
"I worked hard for this," retorts DRAMA. "Nobody gave me nothing. I paid my own bills and got my own apartment. And as far as Rah saying he gave me this and that, I deserved it. This is what I'm supposed to get. This is my job."
At press time, both parties are still in discussion as to what will happen next. While DRAMA is looking to be signed directly to Atlantic, Raheem says he will either contractually force him to make another album for Tight IV Life or have Atlantic buy DRAMA out of his contract. Still, despite charges of "unprofessionalism" and even alleged death threats from Tight IV Life, ("We have never spoken to them. We let our attorneys speak to them" says Raheem) the two extend each other parting wishes for success.
"We wish DRAMA a lot of success," says Raheem. "We want to see him prosper, 'cause we know if he prospers, years down the line, I guarantee I'll get a phone call from him saying, 'Hey man, you had some game. You had some knowledge, dog."
"Oh yeah, I wish that man the best in the world," says DRAMA sincerely. "Ain't no hate-ian in my heart for that man. I'm finna shine."
Already moving toward that shine, DRAMA is back in the studio recording the songs he composed in prison; songs, he says, that are going to make people "feel it. These folks are ready for me," he all but shouts. "It's millions of folks saying, 'That boy DRAMA finna go off. I know this next album is gonna be hard.' These are my people."
Having fully rested, shaved, and filled his belly with his mama's thorough meal of macaroni 'n' cheese, baked beans, ribs and grape Kool-Aid, DRAMA is lounging patiently on a couch in his attorney's home the day following his release. For an hour now, he's been confidently responding to questions about his life, his career and his future, but grows suddenly serious when asked about his spirituality.
"I pray for a beginning," he replies, looking away briefly. "For people to open their eyes and see. Life ain't all about this thuggin', man. It's funny how people take life for granted. But I just can't see myself taking it for granted. I done served this time. I can't see myself walking back through those [prison] doors. That's not the life I want to live. Believe it."
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DRAMA re-emerges with the 2024 game-time anthem for the Atlanta Falcons' NFL Football Team. And #staytuned for the #remix breaking free during the 2025 NFL football season.
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