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"They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, which / say is a natural fact / Becouse you are as beautiful as your thoughts.../ you got to love you and love all the beautiful things around you, the trees and birds / and if it ain't no beauty, you've got to create some beauty." -Earth, Wind & Fire

Welcome to a world where life is truly beautiful. A world where Cristal flows from bottles like water from fountains. Every expensive car sits on chrome, Rolexes decorate wrists like cuff links, and every foot is covered with the hide of some endangered species of reptile. Every citizen in this utopia is adorned with a minimum of $10,000 worth of jewelryat all times, women are treated like showpieces, bailers ditch their $100,000 cars for candy-painted helicopters, cell phones chime in unison like a well-orchestrated symphony, and players make paper airplanes out of $110 bills for fun. It's gross materialism, and you'll hear it on every Cash Money release.

This may sound imaginary, but like Walt Disney, brothers Bryan 'Baby' and Ronald 'Slim' Williams have made this multimillionaire dream tangible. Seven years of hard work, resulting in the release of over 30 independent albums, landed the brothers of Cash Money Records a $30 million distribution deal with multimedia conglomerate Universal Records. A deal that allows them to keep 100% ownership of their company and their master recordings while being funded for six projects a year.

Rap Coalition founder Wendy Day, who handled negotiations and began shopping a major deal for them in late 1997, says, 'Obviously, I'm thrilled that Universal sees the value that we all see in Cash Money.' It's a great deal, but Baby isn't really fazed by it. Relaxing in the company's customized tour bus, he says, 'We was going to make $2 million this year if we just dropped these b*tches [albums by Juvenile, Big Tymers, B.G. and the Hot Boys], so money wasn't even a issue. We just did it for the nationwide exposure.'

The merger does have its growing pains-both labels are used to doing things their way. 'Things move a lot slower [with Universal],' says Slim. 'Before, when we wanted to do something, we just did it. But we're adjusting.'

They've also had to adjust the content of their albums. The Big Tymers got a few of those reversed words on their album, and juvenile had two songs removed from his album because of the choruses. Mannie Fresh is even feeling the red tape on the creative end. 'The major game is a trip,' he says. 'Universal wanted me to do a remix for Monifah, but they talking submitting my track and a bid. I ain't trying to let a nigga hold my track.'

Mannie Fresh, producer extraordinaire, is the backbone and sole creative force behind the Cash Money clique. Undoubtedly one of the most versatile producers in the industry. Fresh has been trained by and worked with the best. He's worked with Steve Hurley (Mariah Carey) in Chicago, producing house music while signed to RCA in 1992. He also did some drum pro-

gramming on SWVs platinum debut, Its About Time; and under the tutelage of Johnny-J (Tupac), he learned to freak an SP 1200.

Mannie Fresh, son of a local DJ and producer, grew up digging in his pop's crates and learning what it took to move a crowd. Along with a taste for music, he kept a steady diet of Mad magazine and watched '80s white youth coming-of-age flicks like Fast Times at Ridgemont High, which he keeps a copy of on the tour bus. These activities in his formative years contributed to the makeup of this comedian/game-spitter/producer who will be a key to the future of Hip-Hop.

As one of the most humble brothers in this cast of characters, Mannie admits that his success is about more than cars and women. "I'm living my father's dream," he says fondly. "I'm doing what he wanted to do. And it's cool, because he'll come to me and say, 'I know some old sh*t you can replay that was on hit back in the day'. I really don't sample, but I'll get an idea from something and just lay it down. You don't really have to sample sh*t."

Like his father, Mannie had to pay dues. He released his first album in 1986 and since then has bounced from label to label (Atlantic and RCA) with his partner Gregory D, where he claims he was 'f*cked in the game' because he gave up his publishing.

In the early '90s, Mannie came to the end of his rope, parted ways with Greg on a friendly note and went into a life of crime. This wasn't how he planned it, but he had a daughter to feed and music wasn't paying the bills. 'I was stealing cars, mostly Cutlasses, and DJing on the weekend. So if somebody bought a car off me and let me do a party, I was having a good week.' 'I went to see Mannie about some tracks.' recalls Baby. 'That cat had the mixer and stuff set up, and underneath the turntables was the AK.' Laughing, Mannie interjects, 'I had a house full of guns because sometimes a nigga would come after me for stealing his car, so I had to be ready.' The Desert Eagle concealed in his DAT bag suggests that he's still ready Mannie's studio musicians, bassist Funky Fingers and keyboardist Berewolf, aid in executing his ideas. These two are all Mannie needs because his talent as a mechanic/car thief carries over to his production tools-the 808, SP 1200 and sampler. Instead of crutches to build tracks like B.G.'s '6 Figures,' which is laced with church bells, rattling bass and chimes, this equipment is used as a base; because Mannie doesn't just make beats, he crafts them with ingenuity.

Destination: the new CMR offices located in the Metairie section of New Orleans. It's empty at the moment except for the enlarged covers of previous albums, some pro-

motional cassettes and leftover couches. It's also quiet, because the only person there is Black, the company's driver and Fresh's sidekick on those hilarious skits that appear on CMR albums.

Soon Slim enters with his 18-month-old nephew, Bryan Jr., who is the spitting image of his father. Slim brings his daily dietary supply of Popeye's Chicken to accompany his super-cool swagger and low-profile demeanor. At the moment, his focus is on his nephew, a relaxing task compared to the recent road trip he took to Nashville to check the sales at local record stores that were jumping the street date on the eve of the release of Big Tymers' How You Luv That Vot 2.

But at this moment he isn't a multimillionaire executive, guardian or coach, he's just Uncle Ronald. The two drift off for a little nap, Slim's newfound sleeping format. He rarely gets a decent night's rest so he'll snack on some Z's while he's being chauffeured or when business is slow.

Slim is in la-la land until Baby enters the door, yelling at Black about being hungry He breaks the peace, that's his job....

If you want to read this entire article order this magazine: Rap Pages, February1999

Story by: Eric Robinson
Photos by: Brad Miller

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Page Updated Sun May 7, 2000 7:33am EDT