The Poetry of C-Murder

Over the years I have listened to the music of No Limit Records and struggled to understand what lies at the heart of it, at the heart of the thoughtless violence, the anger, the cruel irony, the effortless creation, and the triumphant joy blended together into something both banal and mystical, and endlessly replicated to the delight of millions. Paradoxes, puzzles, dark currents beneath everyday life, much can be revealed when we cast a curious eye towards a place we may be too proud or too afraid to look. C-Murder is sometimes mocked as a thoughtless goon who has contributed nothing but violence to this world, but anyone who knows him through his music will recognize that he has given us something more, poetry that can be discussed rather than simply covered over in disgust. If indeed C is a killer, he is fairly unique among murderers in that he publicly declared his willingness to kill, was celebrated for that willingness, and then ultimately lived by his words. C-Murder was brought into the rap game by his brother, Master P, an almost otherworldly figure who, armed with limited skill but boundless enthusiasm, started No Limit records by selling tapes out of the trunk of his car and built it into a hundred million dollar business. The twin fates of these two brothers, linked by the simplistic vulgarity of their early lyrics but forever separated by their destinies, deserves its own analysis. To know the full story of the early years of these two and how they both came to be who they are would truly be priceless. C only made a few guest appearances on the early No Limit material, but two verses in particular should serve to show that murderous thoughts were always a feature of his style. Later we can examine how his poetry went beyond mere violence to encompass deeper themes. On Sonya C's track "I Aint to be Fucked With", C has the third verse.

"....Check ya nuts, and get your ass a gat G

Cause if I die, im taking niggaz with me

I was born to kill, thats what my people say

Never thought Id ever live to see another day...."

"....When I kill, I feel so uplifted

Cause when it comes to killin I'm so gifted

So keep fuckin with me boy is what I'm hoping

You’ll be bleedin on the ground with your eyes open

I know you wish they had life after death nigga

You shoulda known that I was quick to squeeze the trigga

I grab my gun and put my hands on my fuckin dick

And let you niggaz know I ain’t to be fucked with"

These are two telling stanzas. The theme of a remorseless unwillingness to swallow disrespect is clearly established. Of course, though this may sound horrific, it is not too far removed from any other gangsta rap verse. On Master P's track "Just an Everyday Thang" (also a fascinating example of the different destinies of the two brothers put in rap form), C, in the first verse, tells a story about taking revenge after getting shot. The story ends with:

"Rat tat tat tat tat tat then we bailed out

Got away clean smoking blunts in the house

I cant trip cause ya reap what ya sow man

Cause murder is an every day thang"

Here the violence is tempered by a jarring biblical reference that represents the other aspect of C's lyrics: A coldly reflective philosophical engagement with his way of life

It seems like C-Murder is a rare example of a rapper who both preaches and lives by the "thug life" code that requires its disciples to bow to no man and meet threats with lethal force. Rappers who live in this way, who interweave their lyrics and their life to create a strange sort of art, are in grave danger. Soulja Slim, a No Limit gangster-turned-rapper much like C, was murdered in New Orleans. Mac, another No Limit artist, is in prison for life. Tupac is perhaps the best comparison to make. The first and most famous preacher of the “thug life”, Tupac shot at police, was given a harsh sentence in a controversial court case, and was ultimately murdered. C based much of his music and philosophy on that of Tupac. Many phrases coined by Shakur were taken up by C and his brother Master P. All their talk of “thug niggaz”, “feel my pain”, “heaven for a gangster”, “only god can judge me” , “soldiers” etc came from the gospel of Tupac. Love for the struggles of the ghetto, paranoia, pain and anger from being trapped in a life of violent crime, praise for comrades and threats of death for enemies and fake individuals, all of this can be seen as somewhat derivative. It is understandable that the Miller brothers, as aspiring rappers, looked up to Tupac. They both paid tribute in their own way after his death, Master P with the West Coast Bad Boys vol. 2 album track “RIP Tupac” and C by covering the Tupac song “When we Ride on our Enemies” on his 1999 album “Bossalinie”. Ultimately, both Miller brothers did not just imitate Tupac, but became two of his most vital interpreters. Tupac was a powerful artist because he lived his art. His music was more than mere entertainment because it captured his existential struggle, his search for a meaningful code to live by in this amoral modern age. He professed to find honor and freedom in violent recklessness, stating “a coward dies a thousand deaths, a soldier dies but once”. Tupac’s honesty and his willingness to die for what he believed in has made him a hero to many. Perhaps C-Murder approached life and music in a similar way.

Tupac’s influence is less apparent on C-Murder’s early work with No Limit. C carved out a place of his own through his storytelling, gangster lyrics and a voice that can be simultaneously ironic and haunting. On “Christmas in the Ghetto” from the West Coast Bad Boys 1994 album “High for Xmas", C tells a story about an unfortunate encounter he has with an undercover cop while selling crack during the holiday season.

Christmas in the ghetto just aint worth jack,

Tell santa claus he better watch his back
I guess I get the same damn thing I got last year,
Sittin in a burnt out buildin drinking beer
I dont have a job, no food, no fun
But I got the dope, 3 keys and a gun
So I tell the fiends, to me on the block
Open up shop, and start sellin rocks.
Im making big dollars off these god damn fools
If they wanna jack, then the money’s in my shoes
Now here comes a dope fiend begging for a hit
Saying can I please get a 50 dollar fix
He showed me the money, so I went for my stash
Got the dope fiend a big 50 dollar bag
The man said freeze and my mouth just dropped
The stupid dumb fool was an undercover cop.
Yea I was mad, but I didnt want to run
Staring me in the face was a big black gun.
Now its christmas eve and I’m locked behind bars
Sitting in a cell looking up at the stars
Reminiscing about my kids with tears in my eyes
Thinking to myself, I just want to die
Living in a house with no food, no heat
It may be cold but hell is the street.
Cause the place I’m from santa don’t leave gifts
In my house santa only shoplifts
Holidays in the hood aint no god damn joke
When people all around you is starving and broke
Cause if you black and poor, its hell
You only hear gunshots, you never hear bells
So if you got a way out then go
Cause it aint no fun when its christmas in the ghetto

In this short verse, there are many themes that will recur in C’s work. He is describing a grim ghetto situation, how a happy holiday is reduced by poverty into the same base struggle for existence that occurs every other day. But he is describing this bleak situation with a sort of upbeat flow, grim humor, and rhyming couplets that transform the tragic scene into a sort of nursery rhyme or simple song that dulls and overcomes the pain of the situation. There is also an eerie kind of lyrical premonition that we will encounter in many of his works, a prediction or a strange act of the self defining future possibilities, similar to the prophecies in the art of Tupac. Events in the story move along briskly from line to line. C mocks Santa Claus, and recounts his sorry state of “no food no fun”. But things instantly take a turn for the better in the next line, in which C states “but I got the dope, three keys and a gun.” With these tools, C moves into action, “setting up shop”, even stashing his money in his shoes, taking all possible precautions to protect his wealth. Then, a dope fiend comes up, powerless, in demand of the product that C controls. C-Murder gleefully goes to his stash and measures out a large bag. In this moment he is the master of the situation and of the fiend who begs for a hit. In classic C-Murder storytelling style, the situation instantly switches. The fiend is an undercover cop. C finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun, and then, soon after, in jail. He reflects on life both inside and outside prison, and counsels “if you got a way out then go”. No Limit records is constantly advocating “trying to make it out the ghetto” (see Mr Serv On's song with this title), and C-Murder’s lyrics often speak on this struggle. The “ghetto” comes to represent the cycle of poverty, crime, murder, and hopelessness. Some use violence and crime to escape from violence, crime and poverty, and so become trapped. ‘The ghetto’ comes to describe a near impossible situation which inhabitants try desperately to escape, only to end up sinking deeper into sin and danger. In the song “The Ghetto is a Trap”, from TRU’s second album, C Murder tells a similar story, but of even more epic proportions. His is the second verse:

Nigga as you know I’m C-Murda
kicking the funky shit that you never even hearda
I’m talking 'bout, the motherfucking ghetto
Where many punk bitches, get killed ho
but I don’t give a fuck about that G
cause I’m rolling with a sick ass posse
I met a kingpin, said he want to kick it
I didn't know he was the mother fucking police.
I said fuck, and kicked him in his knees,
and got away across the street in some trees.
I started laughing saying, "Damn, he done slacked up,"
little did I know the 5-0 done had backup.
All I heard was “freeze!”,
with three bullets to my back I fell to my knees.
I started screaming and crying,
everything getting black, yo, I’m dying.
All I could remember,
thought I’d always catch a bullet, from a gang member.
Then the ambulance came, paramedics asking me my motherfucking name.
Damn I almost choked,
with six fuckin' doctors sticking tubes down my throat.
But through all that I made it.
Why I wanna live man? I think I’m crazy.
Now I’m going to the pen. But I don’t give a fuck cause I’ll be out in 10.
All that shit, cause I'm tired of eating scraps.
The ghetto is a trap.

The two stories that C tells on these early No Limit tracks are very similar. The flow is slower on this track, but with the same simple rhymes. Once again, C starts out his rap with a joke. Some rappers come onto a track spitting angry flames, others try to show off all lyrical, but C begins the second verse with “nigga as you know I'm Cmurda/kicking the funky shit that you never even hearda”. The simplicity of his lyrics creates an interesting structure for his story. He feels above the dangers of the ghetto because he is “rolling with a sick ass posse”. He meets a kingpin who wants to “kick it”. In most rap songs this would signify entry into the upper echelon of the drug world, a quick road to power and riches. In a C-Murder song though, things take a different turn. Just like in “Christmas in the Ghetto”, the situation is not as it appears. The kingpin, who appears to hold the key that opens the door to riches and success, is an undercover cop ready to lock C up. The situation switches in a single line, with little emotion in C’s voice. He simply reacts. In a slapstick moment that is easily visualizable, he kicks the undercover officer in the knees and runs away. Once again the situation has shifted, and C-Murder laughs at the officer’s incompetence. In one rhyme, laughter and tears are joined. “I started laughing saying damn he done slacked up/ little did I know the 5-0 done had back up.” C Murder is a great storyteller because he captures the simple unpredictability of life, and because of the tone in which he reacts to this unpredictability. In the same way in which he rhymed ‘C Murder’ and “hearda”, he describes being shot by the police. “I started screaming and crying/everything getting black, yo, I'm dying”, is a brutally simple description of impending death. His last thought is that he always suspected he would die at the hands of a gang member’s bullet. But he is revived by paramedics. His thoughts at being resurrected? “damn I almost choked/ with six fucking doctors sticking tubes down my throat/ but through all of that I made it/ why I wanna live man? I think I'm crazy”. In these rhymes C describes the futility of existence. It is all senseless circular struggle; he is shot by the cops only to be revived by the doctors. He is sent to prison, but does not “give a fuck cause I’ll be out in ten”. Over the course of this verse, C triumphs over cruel and fickle fortune by assuming an unshakably stoical attitude. Unlike Tupac, C provides little in the way of social or political commentary, and expresses little emotion. C tells his stories in an almost mocking way, ripping away layers of illusion and intricacy to lay bare the banal senselessness of life. Where Tupac preaches hope, C teaches resolve. These early stories contain little talk of “thug life”. They are more reflections on the inescapable machinations of fate. C understood man’s fundamental helplessness and faced it fearlessly in his lyrics. This should pave the way to an understanding of his later period when he took up and interpreted Shakur’s philosophy.

C had a few other appearances on early No Limit material, but was mostly absent in 1996 when No Limit was on the rise, unfortunately not making an appearance on Master P's classic album of that year, “Ice Cream Man”. Regardless, in 1997 he was back with a new, more passionate voice and delivery that seems to have been influenced by Tupac’s oratorical style. In 1998, at the height of No Limit’s popularity, he was finally able to release a solo album. The album title, “Life or Death”, recalls themes from his early stories, in which he pondered the swift and merciless workings of fate, the way things can switch in an instant. One can be alive and about to become rich, and the next moment bleeding from bullets to the back. But “Life or Death” also brings to mind a choice, an existential decision that must be made every moment yet is out of our control.  Yet it is impossible to think in terms of life “or” death. Life must necessarily end in death. C’s opposition of these two concepts in his album title can be troubling. He speaks about a choice that is not a choice, something difficult and seemingly contradictory. Throughout the album, C returns again and again to this essential theme, to a consideration of death and how it shapes our lives. Like Heidegger in Being and Time, C considers Being-towards-death, how death is our ownmost possibility and must be at the forefront of our thoughts when we consider what life is and how to live. On some tracks C plays the role of the death dealer, while on others he describes the fear and angst that plague us all in our daily quest to escape obliteration and nothingness. Thoughts of death are never more than a line away. They seem to seep into even the most banal reflections, coloring them with a grave and serious aspect. For example, on the song “On the Run”, C begins his verse with emphatic boasting that quickly turns to serious consideration of life and death.

“There aint no limit to the motherfucking bitches we fuck,

My tank niggaz bout to make, the world blow up,

We get rowdy in the club, so show me some love,

It’s been two years, since I've possessed some drugs,

Nigga hard times, is a thing of the past,

Give me two keys and I’ll give you back cash

I’mma hustle till I’m dead,

ball till I fall,

I won’t rest till they put,

My name on the wall”

Reflections on sexual conquests and the success of No Limit inevitably lead to a consideration of how to live until death. C reflects on the life that he lives, and then affirms it three separate times. While Soulja Slim, also featured on the track, chooses to describe being literally ‘on the run’ from the law, C takes a different, more subtle approach. He considers man’s flight in the face of existence, the constant running away and avoidance of the reality of inevitable death, and then confronts it in a Nietzschean manner, with joyous affirmation. C has moved away from the grim stoicism of his earlier work. It seems like he has found freedom and happiness in the choices available to him. The ghetto may be a trap, impossible to escape even when one becomes wealthy (see “Ghetto Ties” later in the album), but when one has recognized the trap and the impossibility of escape one can finally begin living and considering real possibilities.

C’s matured philosophy is best expressed in the song “Feel my Pain”. The second verse is particularly instructive.

"Nobody knows when your time gon’ come,
I live life to the fullest, TRU niggaz don't run.
Anticipating your death, make you soft and sick,
I leave my worries at home, when I'm hanging with my click.
I reminisce about all my niggaz thats dead.
A lesson was learned when they put you in the grave.
It don't matter what you got when a nigga wanna get ya,
Cause if a nigga wanna hit ya, a nigga gone hit ya.
Bulletproof with Ak's and 100 round drums,
Can't stop one bullet penetrating your dome.
That's why I value nothing, but family and friends,
You lose material shit, you can get it again.
But ain't no coming back, when you meet the Reaper
I done lost too many thugs to the permanent sleeper
Cause everyday a nigga taking a chance,
Only thug niggaz feel my pain.
Feel my pain"

This is about as directly philosophical as C is willing to get, but this one small verse can be written on endlessly. In the manner of all great thinkers, C attempts to grasp truths about reality, and then to shape his beliefs around these truths. He observes that no one is able to predict the time of their death, that even with the greatest precautions and offensive firepower, even the strongest man is at the mercy of one small bullet from an enemy’s gun. Interestingly, he contradicts many religious traditions that emphasize recognition of and meditation on our mortality by stating that "anticipating your death makes you soft and sick". There is no coming back from death, and every day we all must take chances. From these simple truths, C concludes that one must live life to the fullest, not run from what is inevitable, and that one should place value on what is truly precious and irreplaceable; the unique human existences that surround him. His earlier stories seemed to laugh at the pointlessness of existence. Here he considers the other side of the paradox; existence is priceless, it is wealth beyond wealth. Yet in an instant it is all dust. Such a thing can drive us poor thinkers mad. We can fill up libraries reflecting upon it, but perhaps this is not what a TRU individual should do....

I have presented only four examples of what is an extensive body of work, but I believe that some things have become clear. In his own way, C is a poet and a thinker who attempts to live according to what he believes is the truth about the world. Of course much of what C says can be called offensive, foul, and reprehensible. Any discourse that deviates from the droning voice of reason can be dismissed in this manner without even being understood. As we speak, C is locked in the prison that he often imagined he would inhabit in his rhymes. One of his premonitions has come to pass, just as Tupac made many references to his impending death. Surely C cannot be as dispassionate as he seems in his music, and surely jail has placed a great strain upon his spirit. But perhaps C will face this burden with the same stoical resolve that he constantly expressed in his lyrics, continuing to live by the troubling code that he defined for himself and saw through to its destined end.

 There is something triumphant about the best No Limit music. It can be trite and cheap sounding, yet honest and life affirming. At its core is a dark union of tragedy and comedy, for they turn death and destruction into entertainment and profit effortlessly, in the strangest kind of alchemy. Their success and our enjoyment of their work speaks to hidden aspects of our world and psyches that we never acknowledge. Perhaps we are not as peaceful as we seem, perhaps we cannot help but admire those who are willing to live and die and create and destroy without hiding. Or perhaps the message No Limit records transmits is at heart not one of violence but one of transfiguration, of taking pain and suffering and transforming it into a twisted comedy, embracing the dirtiest and most dangerous aspects of life without gloved hands and upturned noses, being willing to live fully in the environment they find themselves in, understanding the rules of the game and making music that expresses the codes they live by, being a "TRU playa". Maybe those of us who despise violence and strive to live peacefully are merely weak and have no stomach for reality. We wish to put down our words and weapons and be humble and gentle with each other, seeking harmony and understanding. But we cannot truly hold up these dreams as real and righteous until we really understand what is at work in the music of No Limit, and I doubt that we ever will. The violent aspect of our spirit seems to be a near insurmountable problem for the peaceful to understand or ever overcome. "A coward dies a thousand deaths, a soldier dies but once." Every time we submit, every time we swallow insult, do we die a small death of the soul? Many spirits can be healed with love and faith, but what answer do the good have for the proud man who wishes only to face life with a grim smile, refusing to bow, refusing to hide? Too many of us believe in the annihilation of the spirit after death to completely refute this cold ethic. If we all end in the same nothingness, the path that we choose to take through this world of confusion, in which we have but one chance to define ourselves, can be based on whatever strange ideals we decide or are compelled to cherish, and is ultimately meaningless anyway. As the chorus of an early Master P song says: "Anything goes/life's a trip/but that's how the game goes."

Of course, the music of No Limit is only one example of violent art that glorifies violent people. We love to watch the strong as they force the world to bend to their will. I am not sure how the world can be healed while this love of power remains so deeply embedded in our hearts. But any healing must begin with understanding. C-Murder cannot be the worst of men, because he spoke what was in his heart, no matter how ugly or shameful. Maybe the truly evil hide their darkness from the world, hide behind a false mask of goodness so they are more free to manipulate those around them. Rap music dares to express some often buried truths of the spirit. Emotions and ways of thinking that were once hidden at all costs, then unleashed in secret or on the powerless, are brought to light in rap songs, and perhaps thus made less monstrous. By speaking what is in our minds, by attempting to really communicate with each other, even when the words may reveal something frightening or ugly, we contribute to understanding. Maybe with understanding can come peace. We are very far from working out any of this. Perhaps their is no solution at all. The strong care nothing for reasoned arguments for meek goodness. No words have the power to stop them from gobbling down as many delicacies as they can from the table of life during their allotted time. They don’t care to understand those of us who seek to understand. Understanding could be a symptom of a weak spirit that has already been pushed away from the banquet table and seeks to know why it is hungry.

But is understanding really seeking to understand? Or is it seeking to take a topic, dance around with it, and so demonstrate its own weak strength? Did C-Murder really create his art to express himself, or did he simply give the world what it demanded in order to make money? And why does the world want to listen to young black men speak about killing and crime? How much real suffering is covered over by catchy beats, rhymes, jokes, and our smiling, nodding, winking, cynical enjoyment? We misunderstand Corey Miller, we misunderstand his art, we mistakenly create something that seems to understand but misunderstands, and then we are misunderstood. What lies at the heart? Lies at the heart. So all of this is wrong, but to hide it away would just add to the constant pretension maintained by the world and everyone in it that everything is on its way towards making sense.