When rappers hit it big, someone pockets a fortune, and suddenly, they don’t have to deal with the artist or their crew anymore. No need to validate contracts; they just deal with the artist’s family, maybe once a year, and that’s it. The money just keeps rolling in. I’m not interested in what’s going on in your head or what you’re trying to project. All I see is that your downfall makes me money. You’re here to stir up trouble, and that benefits me and my family. Why would I turn that down? Would you turn away a struggling addict trying to buy drugs?
Let me be blunt: the real issue is that the system benefits certain people financially. That’s the dangerous part. So why would anyone sign an artist who promotes this kind of chaos? I’ve already answered that question; you weren’t paying attention. While everyone’s caught up in arguing over which rapper had the more disrespectful diss track—Fulio or Y Ace—people like Cat Williams and Charleston White are stepping in with a reality check. They’re reminding us that the real winners in these rap beefs aren’t the rappers, but the big record labels pulling the strings behind the scenes.
Cat believes that the violence and deaths in the rap industry are no accident. According to her, there’s a bigger scheme at play where powerful people exploit conflicts and violence for profit, effectively sacrificing young artists. Charleston White sees things a bit differently. While he agrees that record labels profit from the chaos in black communities, he stresses that individual accountability still matters. Rappers have a choice about whether they promote a violent lifestyle in their music.
Ice Cube recently pointed out another troubling aspect: the link between rap music and the prison system. He argues that the same entities that run record labels also own private prisons, profiting from both the destruction of young lives and their incarceration. This connection highlights how these industries might exploit and benefit from the misfortunes of young black men.
The situation remains dire. After the recent death of Jacksonville rapper Julio Fulio in Tampa, violence has continued to spiral. Just six days later, Darius “Fizzle Beels,” who was connected to Young A, was also killed in Florida. Fizzle was the brother of Malik “Lil Leak” Beels, another young man who was tragically killed in 2020. This ongoing cycle of violence shows no signs of slowing down. Despite the temporary fame and money that come from rap feuds, the grim reality is that many of these young artists end up facing a tragic end, much like Fulio.
Why do some Black men keep falling into the cycle of violence, even when it costs them their friends, family, freedom, or even their lives? Recently, there’s been a lot of talk about how these young men are often just pawns. They grow up in tough environments and are brainwashed from a young age to believe that living a street life is cool. Many young rappers are drawn into a dangerous lifestyle with the hope that it will bring them fame and fortune. But in reality, they’re just being used, and their lives are often seen as expendable for others’ profit.
There’s also a theory that record labels intentionally sign artists who make rap, drill, and similar genres that glamorize gang culture and violence. Studies suggest that these genres are associated with a higher death rate among hip-hop artists. In fact, rap and hip-hop have the lowest life expectancy of all major music genres. This is something Cat Williams highlighted in a viral interview, where he argued that the recent deaths of young rappers aren’t just bad luck. According to him, every time a rapper dies, it often means big money for someone higher up in the industry. The death of a rapper can lead to millions in profit for these executives, who then no longer have to deal with the artist’s contracts or their crew. They just deal with the grieving family, and that’s it.
Cat Williams also suggested that sometimes these deaths are arranged by people from the rapper’s own community. This, he argues, is a way to add insult to injury, making the situation even more personal and devastating. By doing this, those in charge can turn a $20 million investment into a $60 million gain, all while deepening the tragedy.
According to Cat Williams, the entertainment industry often hides behind a façade of coincidence or misfortune. Behind the scenes, things are often meticulously planned to benefit those in power. What might seem like random or unlucky events are usually carefully orchestrated, with real money and business interests driving the outcome.
Some people might quickly write this off as a conspiracy theory, but Cat isn’t the first to claim that record labels are selective about which music gets promoted. Let’s take a look back at 2012. Corrections Corporation of America, one of the two major players in the US private prison industry, made a striking offer to 48 states: they would buy the states’ prisons, but only if the states agreed to a 20-year contract that required the prisons to stay at least 90% full for the entire period. So, how could state governments ensure such a high occupancy rate for 20 years? What methods might they use to keep the prisons full?
Here’s where it gets even more interesting. Just two months after CCA’s proposal, an anonymous email started circulating among people in the music and PR industries. This email claimed that a secret meeting had taken place, where it was allegedly decided that hip-hop and rap music would be manipulated to drive up profits for privatized prisons. The email’s author, who claimed to be a former industry insider, described attending a 1991 meeting that he considered a major turning point for both music and American society. According to the email, the meeting unfolded like this:
“At the beginning of the meeting, one of my colleagues thanked everyone for coming. He then introduced a speaker who only gave his first name and didn’t share any personal details. The speaker explained that the companies we worked for had invested millions in building privately owned prisons. He suggested that with our help, these investments could become even more profitable, as our influence in the music industry could affect the success of these private prisons.”
The author of the email shares how they were initially puzzled about the connection between private prisons and the music industry. They were shocked to discover that major record label owners had become silent investors in these prisons, which meant they had a vested interest in keeping them filled. The plan, as revealed in the email, was to promote music that encouraged criminal behavior—specifically, rap music. The idea was that rap was becoming increasingly profitable, and employees could even buy shares in these prisons.
The email also details how everyone in the meeting was reminded of their confidentiality agreements and warned against discussing the details. They were told this issue was much bigger than the music business and that challenging it could have serious repercussions. A few months later, the author noticed a noticeable shift in rap music. Political or fun rap songs were disappearing, replaced by gangster rap that was quickly taking over the charts. It seemed like the major labels had taken the meeting’s directives to heart, churning out gangster rap acts and cashing in on the trend. Violence and drugs became central themes in the genre.
Feeling disillusioned, the author left the music industry and moved to Europe for a quieter life. This experience spurred them to research the US prison system and understand how criminalizing rap music helped perpetuate racial stereotypes and mislead young people into adopting criminal behaviors that often led to incarceration.
Back in 2012, an explosive email hit the press, and major publications like Business Insider jumped on it. As it gained traction, mainstream media quickly tried to discredit it, calling it a fraud. Despite that, the theory stuck around, and with the way the music industry operates today, there’s a lot of talk about shadowy figures supposedly pulling the strings behind the scenes.
Delving into these claims often leads to wild theories. For instance, some former CIA agents have alleged that the agency created gangster rap to glamorize crime and fill private prisons. There are even rumors that iconic hip-hop lyrics from groups like NWA were penned by CIA psychologists and propagandists.
While these ideas are largely dismissed as conspiracy theories, they spotlight influential figures like Lyor Cohen. Cohen’s impact on the music industry is massive—he’s been a key player at Def Jam and helped shape the careers of artists like Jay-Z, Redman, Method Man, DMX, Ja Rule, and Ludacris. His influence stretches beyond rap, affecting a wide range of artists including Bon Jovi, Mariah Carey, Shania Twain, and Nickelback.
Cohen’s protégé, Julie Greenwald, is another significant figure. She’s worked with artists like the Black Keys, Bruno Mars, Death Cab for Cutie, and Kid Rock. Meanwhile, Lucian Grainge, the CEO of Universal Music Group, is directly involved in a lawsuit connected to these claims.
All of this suggests a music industry heavily influenced by powerful figures who shape the music being made. Artists may feel pressure to conform to the expectations of those who control their careers, which can lead to a lot of music that glorifies violence and gangs. This has raised concerns about the impact of such themes on young listeners and how it might affect entire communities and cultures.
Charleston White has a different take on this issue. He believes that while record labels do make money off of music that glorifies ignorance and violence in Black communities, it’s ultimately up to the artists to decide whether they want to sign with these labels.
“When you come to my record label with your music, I’m not responsible for what you’ve written. You wrote those lyrics yourself, and you’re the one who accepted the million dollars for them. I’m a businessman, so I’m here to handle the business side of things, not to control what you write. If you start making different music later on, like if someone like Lil Nas X comes along with a new style, I’ll sign them too. Your destructive music might make money, and that benefits me and my family. Just like you wouldn’t turn away a customer looking to buy drugs or someone in a tough spot, I’m not going to turn down your offer. My job is business, not judging your content.”
So, you want me to turn you away, and then I can cash in on your lack of awareness. Schools don’t turn kids away when their parents come to enroll them, so why would I? You’re chasing fame and dreaming of being a rapper, and the only way to get there is through me. But you’re not offering anything I can promote to Disney. I could make you wealthier than you ever imagined if you wrote me some family-friendly lyrics. If you want to be like Nick Cannon, I could make you a star for the long haul. But instead, you’re choosing to go the gangster route, which suggests you’re not planning on sticking around. Clearly, you’re not aiming to be like Nick Cannon.
You show up with your tough-guy attitude and your crew, and then blame me for the lyrics you’ve written. All the hate you’re expressing—I didn’t put those thoughts in your head. I wasn’t involved in your family situation or your upbringing. So why are you pointing fingers at me, just because I’m white? I didn’t rob you or hurt your family. Why am I to blame?
As someone who runs a record label, I’m just trying to sell music to your community. Without us, how would artists like you get their music out there? If it weren’t for us, there’d be fewer opportunities for your people to make music.
Fans have mixed opinions on this. Cat Williams and Charleston White both make good points. While rappers do choose to write and promote violent music, their choices are influenced by their environment. The context in which they grow up shapes their decisions.
What do you think? Is it fair to blame the record labels and industry bigwigs, or do artists who glorify violence in their music share some of the responsibility for tragedies like the death of young rappers such as Fulio? Let me know your thoughts in the comments, and stick around for the next story.