In hip-hop, one mogul rises as another falls
While Sean ''Diddy" Combs was hosting MTV's soporific Video Music Awards in Miami Sunday, Marion ''Suge" Knight was in a nearby hospital recovering from a gunshot wound sustained at a pre-awards party shortly after midnight Saturday.
The juxtaposition of these two hip-hop moguls began more than a decade ago. Back then, Combs and Knight were dueling rap entrepreneurs on either side of the country with competing record labels boasting some of hip-hop's biggest stars. Combs's Bad Boy Records had the Notorious B.I.G., while Knight's Death Row Records was a talent magnet with a roster that included Dr. Dre, Tupac Shakur, and Snoop Dogg.
Everyone knows what happened to B.I.G. and Tupac -- both were murdered, Tupac in Las Vegas in September 1996 and Biggie in Los Angeles in March 1997, in still-unsolved drive-by shootings. Yet what has happened to Combs, and especially Knight, in the years since has also been fraught with drama.
Combs, 35, remains one of hip-hop's most recognizable figures despite not having signed or produced a true breakthrough artist on his label since Biggie died. He's an all-purpose businessman whose empire includes successful restaurants and a clothing line bearing his name. Last year, his trendy ''Vote or Die" effort during the presidential campaign had mainstream news folks scrambling for interviews with him.
On the other hand, if you hear anything about Knight, 40, these days, it usually means he's in trouble. Since 1996, he's served several prison stints due to parole violations. Then, over the weekend, Knight was shot in the upper right leg by an unknown assailant at a Miami Beach party hosted by Kanye West. Knight is expected to recover.
His fortunes as a record executive haven't been as durable. Physically, the 300-pound Knight remains as fearsome as ever, but you can't scare people into buying albums. Death Row's Big Three have either died or departed. Not long before Tupac's death, Dr. Dre left the label and Snoop Dogg followed shortly thereafter. Each has found greater success. Dre remains one of hip-hop's premier producers, working with both Eminem and 50 Cent. And, the ubiquitous Snoop has transformed from the menacing face of hardcore hip-hop into America's most lovable gangsta, now appearing in a jokey commercial with former Chrysler chairman Lee Iacocca. ''He's just a good kid," Iacocca told USA Today about Snoop.
No one's ever publicly said that about Knight, but at least he used to have an eye for talent. A decade ago, if one had to predict whether his or Combs's career would prove more resilient, the smart money would have been on Knight. His ascendancy as a successful record label chief coincided with hip-hop's turn into darker, more nefarious places. Knight styled himself as rap's Don Corleone, an intimidating blend of brains, brawn, and business savvy. He imagined Death Row Records, which he cofounded with Dr. Dre, as ''a Motown of the '90s," but life too closely mirrored the label's brutal art.
Reports abounded about beatdowns in Death Row's offices, though such talk certainly didn't hurt record sales of Death Row's artists. Still, something changed within the hip-hop community with the murders of Tupac and Biggie. Hip-hop lost not only two of its greatest icons, but the absurd notion that rampant gangsterism could work as a business model. Combs understood that, Knight never did. (Combs has had brushes with the law but hasn't permanently tainted his image.)
With 50 Cent and his G-Unit, gangsta rap continues to flourish, even if it's been largely stripped of its daring and originality. Yet Knight's reign quickly waned. A few years ago, he tried to get back on track by changing his label's name to Tha Row, and signing TLC member Lisa ''Left Eye" Lopes for a solo project. But when Lopes was killed in a car accident, it seemed like Knight's last, best hope for a return to dominance died with her.
As for Combs, even if his influence as a hitmaker is, at best, dubious, these days, it's impossible to imagine him vacating the cultural scene any time soon. He always seems to make the right move at the right time, whether it's into fashion or politics. And he has maintained a degree of street cred, but not so much that he scares the power people with fat wallets and a willingness to finance his next venture.
Knight, meanwhile, is quickly becoming a footnote, undone by his no-longer-salable penchant for mayhem. He'll still find his way into the headlines from time to time -- an arrest here, a shooting there -- but now the once-powerful mogul is best identified by his incessant legal problems and his faded associations with people who have long since left him behind.
Renee Graham's Life in the Pop Lane column appears on Tuesdays. She can be reached at graham@globe.com 
