But Lil Wayne Is Already Gone

Sorry for the hiatus. But sometimes it be like that y'all. Anywayz, there's an excerpt from an article in the new VIBE that I just read that I want to share wit yall. Here's the link : http://www.vibe.com/news/cover_stories/2008/04/lilwayne_may_cover_story/

But for those of you who dont like to do any extra clicking, here's the excerpt:

Hendrix. Marley. ‘Pac. B.I.G. History is littered with legends who burned brightest just before they burned out. For two years now, LIL WAYNE has been just that hot, spitting out classic albums, mixtapes, and cameos at a ferocious pace. But with crossover success only one song away, Wayne can’t seem to shake the cloud of controversy- drugs, guns, and girl trouble- hanging over his every move. Benjamin Meadows-Ingram hops on a smoky tour bus with the best rapper alive, and dares to ask whether the most dangerous man in Wayne’s world is Wayne himself.

There’s a white girl. But isn’t there always? This one’s in her mid- 20s. She’s about six feet tall in strappy two-inch heels. She’s got on a silver dress with spaghetti straps—it hangs loosely, suggestively, over her fit frame before stopping mid-thigh. And she’s teetering around the Grand Ballroom of the Hilton New Orleans Riverside, clinging to a silver clutch and a half-empty champagne flute. The occasion? The Big Easy Billiards Bash and Afterparty, hosted by New Orleans Saints star running back Reggie Bush and brand-new Phoenix Suns center Shaquille O’Neal. The bash is just one of many celebrity events popping off in the Big Easy on this Friday in February, the first official night of NBA All-Star Weekend 2008.

Bush? Shaq? Nowhere in sight. But no matter, the star attraction has just materialized: Ladies and gentlemen, Lil Wayne is in the building.

At first his presence is simply felt—or make that, heard. Posted up in a service area just outside the ballroom, Wayne stands off in a corner, by himself, leaning on a wall next to a rack of ice and soda machines. Idle hotel employees gawk. Through a set of double doors, 15 yards away, Wayne’s surrogate father and boss, Cash Money Records co-CEO Bryan “Baby” Williams, commands the crowd, ripping through his 2002 street hit, “What Happened To That Boy.” As Baby prowls the stage, Wayne fires ad libs into a wireless mic from his perch in the hall while shooting off text messages with his free hand.

Then the real show begins. “How many of you out there are feeling my son?” Baby asks the throng pressing tighter against the stage. The crowd roars and Wayne springs into action. Passing his still-open flip phone to one of the 20-plus dudes rolling with the Cash Money crew this evening, Wayne takes a sip from the triple-stacked Styrofoam cups he almost always keeps close at hand, pushes through the doors, and makes a quick dash to the stage. He bounds up five metal stairs and into the spotlight—mic in hand, flashing his blinding grin.

The pounding organs of Wayne’s—um, scratch that—Playaz Circle’s ’hood anthem, “Duffle Bag Boy,” rattle the rafters. “If I don’t do nothing, I’ma baaallllllll!” Wayne belts. And the place goes ape-shit. “I’m counting all day like the clock on the waaaalllll!”

Wayne throws his whole body into the performance, two-stepping across the stage, tossing his head full of dreads with abandon, and delivering lines as if each word sends a shock up his spine. The music controls him; the fans adore him. As he plows through favorites like 2006’s “Stuntin’ Like My Daddy,” and last year’s “Pop Bottles” and “Prostitute,” he plays with his flow, singing some lines, blazing through others. For his frenetic verse from DJ Khaled’s recent “We Takin’ Over,” he holds out the mic, and lip synchs the words while the crowd fills in the blanks.

He’s consummate showman, with the threads to match—Marc Jacobs aviators, crisp dark-wash Levi’s accented with a Louis Vuitton bandana and a chain wallet hanging from the pockets, snakeskin adidas mids, an impeccable white V-neck, and what can only be described as one of the flyest peacoats known to man.

Within 20 minutes, the set thunders to a close, and ol’ girl knows it’s time to make her move. As Wayne skips offstage, she drifts past the venue’s lax security, produces a digital camera from her clutch, and starts doing everything she can to corral Wayne for an impromptu photo op.

“Lil Wayne! Lil Wayne!” she calls, juggling the camera, the clutch, and the glass while attempting to get an arm over his shoulder for the money shot. Wayne keeps his head down, paying her no mind as he makes his way toward a service exit, and the customized maroon Prevost H3-45 tour bus waiting for him at the loading dock out back. But homegirl is insistent, and as soon as her arm hits his coat, it’s greeted with a get-the-fuck-off-me shrug that sends her camera clattering to the floor. “Lil Waaaynne,” she pleads, scooping up her goods so she can continue the pursuit. “Lil Wayne?!” she says again, to anyone who will listen. “Is something wrong with him?” But Lil Wayne is already gone.