Dear Meek,
I hope this letter finds you well.
To be honest, I’m not a big fan of yours. I think you absolutely harbor legitimate rapping skills, but your singular aggressive flow is extremely displeasing, and borderline offensive. Unless I’m in the company of an eight ball of blow and fourteen cans of Red Bull, I don’t feel like being yelled at. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pile on—I know these past couple of years haven’t been easy on you.
And that’s why I’m reaching out to you today, Meek. I feel for you. You’re a hardworking individual who sacrificed everything to enjoy success. You took on the innately challenging task of becoming a professional musician with fierce determination and an ironclad will. Relentlessly, you hustled to spread your music and bolster your brand, which ultimately resulted in your affirming 2011 MMG signing. For awhile, life seemed to offer a gaggle of opportunities. And then, you fell victim to a demon that bested many before you: a crippling ego.
I get it—all you did was ask one of your biggest featured artists to tweet the album. He should have done that. But when Drake neglected to support Dreams Worth More Than Money through 140-characters, your ego hijacked any rational thinking. Your Philly blood boiled, and you made the mistake of inciting war against one of the world’s biggest pop-stars, with one of the weakest armies. Funk Flex was your strongest line of defense… Wale said it best: you brought a pencil to a gunfight. Your attempt to defame Drake by mentioning his ghost writer employment wound up fueling the first Grammy-nominated diss track. You discovered the hard way that legitimate street cred and ostensibly proving someone’s writing assistance doesn’t matter to the public—it’s all about the image and music. We thought you would learn, but that stubborn ego continued rearing its ugly head.
Almost one-year later, you were the subject of another rap feud with The Game. The jury is out on whether or not you actually snitched on him to Sean Kingston. But the facts remain as such: you got exposed (again) on not one, but two diss tracks. Your rebuttal was comical at best. However, throughout all of this adversity, you still had one huge check in the win column: Nicki Minaj.
The object of lust in most men’s eyes, you managed to secure one of entertainment’s most sought after females. I’m sure that Nicki’s curvaceousness helped heal any wounds from your rap battle defeats. Despite you being ruthlessly slandered, your adversaries envied this relationship, netting you a quasi advantage. But, much like the stitching on her pants, the seams of your relationship bursted, simultaneously eliminating your advantage and re-establishing her place on the market. I’m sure you suffered conventional post-relationship struggles, but I’m also sure they were exacerbated by a recently surfaced picture.
On February 1, Nicki posted a photo of her comfortably sitting on Drake’s lap. Their mouths are closed, but their faces speak volumes: Nicki’s eyes say, “See him? That’s a real man.”; Drake’s smug expression says, “See this? You were right to worry the whole time.” This picture deepens the long suspected Drake - Nicki involvement rumors, turning the knife in your heart. I’m sure Game reposting this picture with the caption, “I don't wanna hear about this ever again, not even when she tell em that we better as friends” didn’t help. A picture might be worth a thousand words, but Nicki joining Drake on his “Boy Meets World” tour might’ve been the most painful blow yet. I can only imagine what transpires between them behind closed doors.
I really do feel for you, Meek. No one deserves this intense level of public humiliation—it’s enough to make any sane man go crazy. I believe this leaves you with two options: wallow in self-pity, or convert this acute disrespect into your most genuine, heartfelt work. A singular aggressive flow would be appropriate here.
These past couple of years haven’t been easy on you, but the stage is ironically perfectly set for your triumphant return. Expectations of you are minimal; chances of redemption are high. It’s yours for the taking.
All the best,
Zach Hurwitz