Devil’s Music - Chapter 117: Break the Wall

California’s Carson Lincoln Memorial Park.

Wearing black sunglasses and a white shirt, Dre gazed down at a tombstone engraved with Curtis Young’s name. After a while of silently contemplating the inscriptions, Dre knelt down beside it, placing a white chrysanthemum he had brought onto the grave. The flowers, tied simply with black thread, lacked any elaborate decoration.

Peering at the tombstone, Dre removed his sunglasses and muttered softly to himself, “Is it cold over there? Curtis, Dad’s here.”

Tracing Curtis Young’s name on the tombstone, Dre spoke again, “It’s been nine years since you left. The six years I spent with you were the happiest moments of my life.”

Sitting down on the grass, Dre reached into his Boston bag and pulled out a bottle of liquor. “The day I first met you… I couldn’t say anything for a long time after seeing your face. You probably didn’t know, but I watched you grow up. When you played basketball in the neighborhood, I thought you’d become a basketball player. And when you played baseball, I thought you might become a baseball player.”

“After hearing that you dropped out of high school, I went to find you, and you were working at a mart. I secretly watched you, working under the white mart manager. I cried a lot seeing you being mistreated.”

Dre opened the bottle and poured some liquor around the grave. “You liked this liquor, didn’t you? Let’s have a drink, Dad and son.”

After sprinkling the liquor around the grave, Dre sat beside it, hugging his knees, and gazing at the landscape below the hill where the grave was located with misty eyes. “I miss you, son. Do you miss me too? I tried my best to be a father to you, even though we had such a short time together. Still, I miss you a lot.”

With his arms wrapped around his knees, Dre buried his face between them. “After you left, many people blamed you. I couldn’t even show that I was grieving for my son. They said I shouldn’t mourn your death because you died from drug addiction, while a rapper who had already debuted died. They pointed fingers at me and forced me not to mourn your death.”

“After that, I wanted to put your story into music. I wrote countless lyrics hoping they would reach you in heaven. But, son, the world is not that forgiving. Investors who heard about turning your story into music didn’t leave me alone. They said it’s not good to miss or mourn for a son who died of drug addiction, as it affects the stock market. Worthless children who only care about money.”

Dre looked down at the grave, saying, “But it seems like I was also such a worthless person. I was afraid the stock price would fall. In the end, I couldn’t sing a song about you. Not yet, anyway. Eventually, I realized I was just trash who valued money more than anything else in the world.”

Playing the file “Dear Buck wilds” by Ice Cube on his smartphone, Dre placed it beside the grave. “Uncle couldn’t make it today. He’s a bit busy. This song playing now was released by your uncle. How is it? It seems he wanted you to feature in it since he liked you so much.”

Dre reached out to touch the grave gently as he spoke. “I made ‘Dear Buck wilds,’ but at the same time, I didn’t. There’s a famous kid named Kay who arranged it. To be honest, the song I made was trash, but after that kid touched it, it turned into gold.”

Looking somewhat troubled, Dre continued, “That kid is definitely a genius. But, you know, Curtis, that kid is challenging me. He’s telling me to tell your story. He’s telling me to stand up again. Do you know how much I want to tell your story?”

Dre sat with his arms crossed. “I couldn’t dream because of the stock. So, I kept ignoring it. But, you know, recently, at Snoop’s party, that kid sent me a message. He told me not to cry. He told me not to forget the past but to wipe away my tears. When I listened to that song, your face and that kid’s face overlapped.”

Dre sighed deeply. “I saw you in that kid. Maybe, Curtis, you appeared before me through that kid. But that couldn’t be, right?”

After talking to Curtis’s grave for a while, Dre looked at his wristwatch and got up from his seat. “Oh no, time flies so fast. I’ll come back next week, Curtis.”

Even as he stood up, Dre continued to gaze at the grave for a long time, then put his sunglasses back on and headed towards the parking lot. Parked there was an unusual green Bentley Continental Coupe. A man in a suit standing beside the car opened the back door as Dre approached.

Just as Dre was about to get into the car, the man spoke up. “Boss, there’s something you need to see.”

Dre, puzzled, turned to face the man, still holding onto the car door. “To see? What is it?”

The man pulled out a tablet PC and said, “Today, Snoop, Eminem, Ice, Dogg Pound, Warren G, Master P, and 50 Cent all released digital singles simultaneously.”

Dre stood up straight, surprised. “What? All seven of them? Even Ice? I didn’t hear about this.”

Handing the tablet PC to Dre, the man said, “It seems they each put different lyrics on the same free song. There’s no copyright for the free song, but it’s registered under the name ‘Kay.’ The person who’s currently in the studio mentioned it.”

Scratching his head, Dre said, “Kay made the beat? Well, that kid is a genius, so it’s possible. But seven people rapping on Kay’s beat with different lyrics? And all on the same day? What’s going on with these guys?”

Taking the tablet PC from the man, Dre got into the car, saying, “Let’s listen on the way. We can’t be late for the major shareholder meeting. Let’s go.”

Geon settled into the car, his fingers searching for his headphones as the vehicle started moving. He plugged his ‘Beats Pro’ headphones, a budget-friendly gem of his brand ‘Beats by Dre,’ into his tablet and immediately played Snoop’s music. The chest-thumping bass guitar resonated from the $400 headphones.

As Geon listened, his eyes widened in surprise. “Huh? A rock ballad? ‘Break The Wall’?”

His gaze intensified as the solo bass guitar played, seamlessly transitioning into the intro of ‘Daddy Was A Doctor,’ a track released by his son Curtis under the moniker ‘Hood Surgeon.’ A 4/4 drum followed, real drums, not electronic beats, lending a rock feel rather than hip-hop.

“Ting, ting ting, ting ting.”

The intro filled with Snoop Dogg’s characteristic raspy voice preparing to rap on the beat.

“Uhh, that felt good?”

Geon chuckled softly, recognizing the lyrics mentioning his own songs. But as the next lines played, he froze, hand gripping the headphones tightly against his ears.

“That nigga fucked about right about now Dogg”

“I’m about ready to get up out this damn”

“I’m ready to get his shit up man”

“With motherfuckin investor after you”

“Punk ass bitches, sucka ass niggaz”

“I can’t take this shit no more dogg”

Geon’s eyes trembled, fixated on the music.

“You can, smoke a pound of bud everyday”

“You got a big screen TV, man, you wanna give all this up?”

“You got the dopest shit out on the streets”

“Nigga, is you crazy? It’s about your son. It’s not Other Asshole story.”

Geon’s eyes twitched, his gaze piercing through the tablet. Snoop’s rap danced effortlessly over precise drum beats and basslines. When the rap paused, a heavily distorted guitar solo engulfed the scene, swiftly covering the vocal part of ‘paradise’ by ‘Hood Surgeon’ with female vocals.

The guitar’s melody seemed to speak directly to Geon, urging him to constantly reminisce about his son Curtis. It felt as if Curtis was trying to convey a message to Geon through the music, stirring up a solemnity in Geon’s eyes as he listened to the final lines of Snoop’s rap.

“Dr. Dre is the shit, bitch!”

“Talk about the sadness of your son rather than the fucking money”

“I think what Hood Surgeon wants. It’s time for you to be a father”

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