The loss of Irv Gotti, who died last week at the age of 54, is immense. The Hollis, Queens native was a relic from an era when being a hip-hop multi-hyphenate wasn’t about diversifying your portfolio but a passion for hip-hop culture. In his time, he was a DJ, an A&R credited with saving Def Jam Records by helping sign Jay-Z and DMX, a producer who crafted a signature, multi-platinum sound, and a label head for Murder Inc., which sold over 30 million albums from artists like Ja Rule and Ashanti.
His eye for talent made him a trusted dot connector and gatekeeper during a time before metrics and streamers decided what was “in” within the hip-hop world. His beatmaking chops were so versatile that he could make the gritty “Shit’s Real” for Mic Geronimo and be involved in the syrupy production of Ja Rule and Ashanti’s “Always On Time.” All in all, he was a genius. But as we’re increasingly learning, genius often gets wielded as a weapon within the industry.
It’s impossible to erase Gotti’s accomplishments. But it’s also unfair to ignore his acrimonious relationship with Ashanti, the starlet who helped him earn his genius label. Instead of their legacy being strictly about canonical R&B music, it’s in part about how his unrequited love for her spiraled into another disheartening story of a man domineering over a woman artist’s livelihood. We’re all parsing the consequences of patriarchal power, one unsettling news story at a time these days. For so many of our entertainment heroes, considering their legacy is more about contemplation than unabashed celebration. Those with sound discernment are minding the complication in drawing sweeping conclusions about powerful men like Gotti. Many things become true at once during a 54-year lifespan cut far too short.
Gotti grew up in Hollis, Queens, where he’s said he had a rough upbringing. ”Up until I was 14, 15 years old, I only had two pairs of pants,” he told Entertainment Weekly in 2007. ”I used to get the free lunch ticket at school, then come home, and we would eat rice with pork and beans.” He eventually learned how to DJ and make beats. He says that after his father was fired as a taxicab dispatcher, he transmuted his rage at the dismissal into a passion to succeed within hip-hop.
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His first notable production placements were with Queens MC Mic Geronimo on songs like “Shit’s Real,” where he’s credited as DJ Irv — Jay-Z named him Irv Gotti to “toughen him up.” He soon signed on as an A&R at Def Jam. He produced “Can I Live” on Jay-Z’s Reasonable Doubt classic, helped service Jay-Z’s breakout “Ain’t No Nigga” single to radio, and was his tour DJ. Most importantly, he helped facilitate the joint venture between Jay-Z’s Roc-A-Fella Records and Def Jam. The label became ingrained in hip-hop history with classic music and lore that breeds clickbait stories 20 years after its dissolution. Gotti also advocated for DMX by threatening to quit if Def Jam didn’t sign the Yonkers MC, executive producing his It’s Dark And Hell Is Hot LP. The rising music executive helped DMX enjoy the kind of breakout 1998 he had been trying to achieve since he began rapping in the late ‘80s.
Both Jay-Z and DMX became multi-platinum spearheads of a new era at Def Jam, which was floundering after many of its first-generation acts receded from the spotlight. Irv Gotti’s vision helped save hip-hop’s foundational label, and Lyor Cohen admitted it while eulogizing Gotti. “He was hip hop, and when we were on bended knee, he brought the heat and saved our asses,” Cohen recently said. From 1997 to ‘98, the label’s value rose to over 100 million dollars.
His A&R success opened the door for him to co-found Murder Inc. with his brother Chris Gotti, which helped elevate their protege Ja Rule from a grimy Queens MC to a multi-platinum star. Gotti also helped develop singer Ashanti. Ja Rule and Ashanti were individually successful but together became the theme music for the throwback jersey and two-way pager era. Songs like “Always On Time,” “Down 4 U,” and “Mesmerize” were melodic and accessible. Ashanti’s lithe voice perfectly complimented Ja’s gruff vocal tone, providing Murder Inc. the equilibrium to commercially dominate hip-hop and R&B at the turn of the century. Artists like Jennifer Lopez, Eve, Alicia Keys, and Aaliyah also benefitted from the Murder Inc. sound.
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It’s one of rap’s great misnomers that 50 Cent alone “ended” The Murder Inc. run. His disses and phenomenal momentum certainly helped, but several factors converged. By 2003, hip-hop’s still-rugged core fanbase was growing weary of Ja Rule’s crooning. And the federal raid of the Murder Inc. offices on money laundering charges in 2003 was a death knell. In 2017, Murder Inc. co-founder Chris Gotti reflected that they held a meeting with Lyor Cohen in his office during that period. He alleges that at some point in the meeting, Cohen gloatingly pointed to a picture on his wall of him hugging 50 Cent, the brothers’ then-archenemy; imagine Clive Davis razzing his protege Diddy with a picture of him hugging Suge Knight in 1996.
Despite everything Gotti had done to keep the lights on at the label, they treated him like yesterday’s news. Chris said that after the meeting, the Gottis left the building, and Irv told him, “It’s over.” The Murder Inc. officers were removed from the Universal building shortly after. While Interscope was pouring marketing dollars into the 50 Cent mystique, Murder Inc. was too hamstrung by its own label to compete. Gotti learned that everything is a commodity in the music industry, even genius. Years later, instead of lamenting that a rap powerhouse was halted by one of the first instances of rap on trial, hip-hop discourse reduces Murder Inc.’s downfall to diss songs. That’s not fair to Gotti or Ja Rule’s legacy.
Though the Gottis were acquitted on money laundering charges in 2005, disproving the feds’ claim that they had funneled drug money for Kenneth “Supreme” McGriff,” Gotti’s music career never reached the pre-trial heights. People often contend that Ja Rule is a chief figure in mainstream hip-hop’s melodic shift; by proximity, so is Gotti. But despite that reality, he didn’t get the second run he sought in music. He began working as a television executive, where he developed the inventive Tales series on BET, which adapted stories from hip-hop songs such as “Straight Outta Compton” and “Trap Queen.” But it’s The Murder Inc. Story docuseries that cemented his reputation with younger millennials and Gen Z fans.
As pretty much every industry shows us, few things are more minacious than an undeniable genius, especially a male. When enmeshed with capitalism, genius fosters almost inordinate ambition and grants the kind of power that few would turn down but even fewer should wield. And often, people around the genius look the other way at their flaws because of what they provide. The Murder Inc. Story showcased the whole of Gotti as a rap boss: he was shrewd, passionate, and resourceful, but also blunt and brash, with inconstant sobriety that affected his decision making. In 2002, he set a Guinness World Record by producing the number one single on the US Hot 100 pop chart for 19 consecutive weeks. Murder Inc. was grossing over $100 million a year — and he was feeling every ounce of that power.
Gotti has been candid about his missteps: he upset Jay-Z by being willing to sign Nas, the Brooklyn rapper’s then archrival, in the heat of their beef. He buried Jennifer Lopez in Elle because he was having a bad day. He said he hoped his former signee Lloyd got “hit by a truck” for doing a song with 50 Cent. And though he didn’t regret calling labels and telling them not to sign his nemesis 50, he regretted that the strategy funneled the “In Da Club” rapper to Eminem and Dr. Dre, making him a superstar.
In 2022, a Jane Doe accused him of sexual assault, and he “categorically denied” the allegations. For most, though, the worst blemish on his legacy is his treatment of Ashanti. Fans of the docuseries were dismayed when he admitted he was “in love” with her despite being married at the time. They pondered the ramifications of their power dynamic with the 30+ Gotti being the young artist’s boss. In subsequent interviews, they sighed when Ashanti revealed that when she tried to leave the label and sign with Dr. Dre, Gotti asked for 90% of her future earnings. Gotti also gloated that he had no desire to give her back her masters (or give her a cut after selling the Murder Inc. masters for $300 million). He had an antagonistic relationship with her after she left the label in 2009, and it seemed to be rooted in being romantically rejected.
In the wake of Cassie’s civil lawsuit against Diddy, many have discussed how the Bad Boy mogul hindered his ex’s career. And though the accusations against Combs are much graver than anything Ashanti mentioned about Gotti, it’s fair to ponder the same of the Murder Inc. duo. What more could she have done if she had a boss who was solely focused on advocating for her career? For her part, she’s always been diplomatic when discussing him. In an Instagram post after his death, she noted, “We weren’t on the best terms the past few years but as I’ve always said, through our ups and downs I will forever be grateful for everything that you’ve done for me.”
People may rightfully criticize, but they can’t minimize. Gotti’s 1996 through 2003 musical run was impeccable. If Diddy is the architect of the hip-hop and R&B fusion, Gotti is a close second. He was a genius. He knew it, and so did everyone else around him. That dynamic fed an ego that resulted in a slew of regrettable comments and actions that added a troubling nuance to his legacy. The more honest we are about yesteryear legends like Gotti, the more we understand that they demonstrate genius as a gift, as a commodity, and as a weapon.
