Soulja Slim Years Later A Few Months After Zip
Download File ===> https://bytlly.com/2tqTMJ
In the same year, the song \"You Got It\" appeared on a No Limit Records double-CD compilation Down South Hustlers: Bouncin' and Swingin' . In 1998, Tapp, now calling himself Soulja Slim, released Give It 2 'Em Raw by No Limit Records with his single and his music video \"From What I Was Told\" and a single called \"Street Life\". The album debuted at number 13 on the Billboard 200 and sold 82,000 in the first week.[5] At that time, Soulja Slim was convicted of armed robbery and incarcerated.[1] He reappeared three years later with Streets Made Me, which was again released on the No Limit label. From there, he started his own label, Cut Throat Comitty Records and released Years Later in late 2002. In 2003, he released Years Later...A Few Months After, his last album before his death. The album featured the song \"I'll Pay for It\". In 2003, he also collaborated with fellow New Orleans rapper Juvenile to make the song \"Slow Motion\". The song was released on Juvenile's album Juve the Great and reached the number one spot on the Billboard Hot 100. It was Soulja Slim and Juvenile's first number one hit, and as the song was released after Soulja Slim's death he became only the sixth artist to have a posthumous number one song.
James Tapp was raised in the Magnolia Projects which is in the 3rd Ward of New Orleans. He attended Booker T. Washington High School before dropping out of school his sophomore year. Tapp released his debut album, Soulja fa Lyfe, on Parkway Pumpin' Records in 1994 under the name Magnolia Slim. In 1995, he released the four-song e.p. The Dark Side on Hype Enough Records. In the same year, the song \"You Got It\" appeared on No Limit Records double-CD compilation Down South Hustlers: Bouncin' and Swingin' . In 1998, Tapp, now calling himself Soulja Slim, released Give It 2 'Em Raw on No Limit Records with his single and video \"From What I Was Told.\" Soulja Slim was convicted of armed robbery and incarcerated. He reappeared three years later with Streets Made Me, which was again released on the No Limit label. From there, he started his own label, Cut Throat Committee Records and released Years Later in late 2002. In 2003, he released Years Later...A Few Months After, his last album before his death. The album featured the hit \"I'll Pay for It\". In 2003 he also collaborated with fellow New Orleans rapper Juvenile to make the song \"Slow Motion\". The song was released on Juvenile's album Juve the Great and reached the No. 1 spot on the Billboard Hot 100. It was Soulja Slim and Juvenile's first No. 1 hit, and as the song was released after Soulja Slim's death he became only the sixth artist to have a posthumous No. 1 song.
On Thanksgiving Eve, November 26, 2003, Slim was en-route to a performance when an unknown gunman shot him four times; three times in the face, and once in the chest, in front of his mother's home in the Gentilly. Soulja Slim was buried with his Cutthroat Committee charm and jewelry and also the leather camo clothes he's shown wearing on the cover of Give It 2 'Em Raw. On New Year's Eve, December 31, 2003, police arrested 22 year old Garelle Smith in connection with Tapp's murder but was released months later. In August 2011, Smith was found dead with gunshot wounds to the face and chest.
ith the air conditioner off for filming, the only noise in Steve Gleason's home is the breathing machine that keeps him alive. That's as good a place as any to start a Katrina story, with the wires and plugs and tubes strapped to the back of his wheelchair, a life-support apparatus doing the heavy lifting for one of the most fervently alive people the city has ever known. The city has known its share. New Orleans treasures hyperlocal folk heroes: Soulja Slim, the king of the street rappers before the storm, shot at least three times in the face and once in the chest, dead in his black Reeboks; Trombone Shorty, who closed out this year's Jazz Fest instead of Elton John or Lenny Kravitz; Chris Rose, the Pulitzer Prize-winning newspaper columnist who wrote the best stories about the storm until his life unraveled and he found himself waiting tables. Gleason is that kind of hero. In the team's first night back in the Superdome after the storm, he stretched out his arms and blocked a punt in the opening series of a Monday Night Football game. There is a 9-foot statue of him outside the Dome now, but the actual Steve Gleason is paralyzed, four years into an ALS diagnosis. Most people don't make it past five.
One afternoon in August, the mayor of New Orleans, Mitch Landrieu, meets me at an old seafood market reimagined after the storm as a high-end culinary destination. He tries to explain how 10 years passes like a day.
Three years later, on July 18, 2009, he opened a football program in Lemann Playground, the only public green space between the Iberville and the Lafitte projects, both occupying the gray blocks northwest of the French Quarter. On the day the league officially began, a drill team of neighborhood kids he'd trained led a procession through the gates into Lemann. The adults released balloons. Across four age groups, 125 boys played football, Brown says. That was six years ago. Now the Lafitte projects have been torn down, replaced by mixed-income housing. The Iberville is almost gone, the last of the city's projects. He remembers the hope of opening Lemann Playground. On that sunny day in 2009, with a newspaper reporter taking notes and pictures, he didn't suspect that his football league would be killed by the very spirit of rebirth that rose from Katrina's receding waters.
Three years later, in February 2010, he sat with his grandmother in her nursing home as the Saints took the field in Miami. He'd promised her they'd watch the Super Bowl together if the Saints ever made it, the team's historic awfulness becoming a running joke about her mortality. On that Sunday, they sat side by side in front of the television. The game ended and the Saints won, and his grandmother exhaled: a deep, resonant sigh.
Her health started failing not long after, and she never really got well again. Near the end, Shack had a fourth son, Lorenzo, and he took his boy to meet his grandmom. The baby rested in her arms, and she rested in white sheets, her head on a white pillow. Two days later, she died. That night, Brown slept with Lorenzo on his chest, and around 3 a.m., the baby woke up gasping for air. The next morning Shack got the news about his grandmother, who'd passed away between 3 and 4 in the morning.
THE NIGHT Steve Gleason blocked the punt, Chris Rose was in the stands at the Superdome. It was his job to take the madness around him and somehow put it into words for The Times-Picayune. Nobody did it better. He was part of a team that won a Pulitzer Prize for its Katrina coverage, and he was nominated individually for a second, the poet laureate of New Orleans. Two days later, Rose's column about the game appeared, which was subsequently included in his best-seller \"1 Dead in Attic,\" a collection of his work in the aftermath of Katrina. Two years ago, when the Super Bowl came to New Orleans for the first time since the storm, a local organization got Gleason to read that column on video. The link is still on the Internet. In it, Gleason's voice is slurred, the camera tight, the weight in his body already stealing his ability to talk.
DURING THE SUMMER of the anniversary, Rose works on his latest writing assignment: a follow-up of perhaps his most famous piece, an odd experience given the way his life has changed in between. Ten years ago, just eight days after the storm hit, he wrote an open letter introducing the fleeing citizens of New Orleans to the communities around the nation taking them in. The same local nonprofit that got Gleason to write and record his letter reached out to Rose for a new version of his column. The group is called Evacuteer, and it created a website to collect the love letters and offer readers a way to donate. Rose plans to read his piece at an event near the end of May.
The letter project also serves as a memorial to those who died in the storm, so their deaths will not have been in vain. Even 10 years later, nobody knows how many were lost. The best guess is 1,833, but that's just a guess. At the end of Canal Street, in a pauper's cemetery, there is a memorial to the dead. Six sleek marble mausoleums hold the remains nobody ever identified or claimed.
The day after that game, when staff members got to the newsroom, they found readers stretched around the corner, waiting. The paper sold 687,000 copies, more than double its typical circulation, people of all ages and races buying them by the bundle. The presses printed into the next night. People wanted to save these papers, pass them down to their children. That front page is now hanging in every imaginable establishment, from the inside of a food truck that sets up at Second Line parades on Sunday afternoons to the corner of the stand-up bar at Tujague's, whose interior always seems filled with a beautiful, strange yellow light. The framed cover is an anthropological document of sorts, capturing a specific madness that swallowed New Orleans in the years after the hurricane.
Hurricane Katrina destroyed much of New Orleans, but a statue of Jesus Christ in Jackson Square was only lightly damaged. Ten years after the storm, as a symbol for the city's recovery, the statue will finally be repaired. Wright Thompson reports. Photo: George Steinmetz
Landrieu took over where the Saints left off, and near the end of this past May, he walks toward the microphone to give his fifth State of the City speech to a packed room, where a gospel choir sings him onstage. The event takes place at a renovated theater across from what used to be the Lafitte projects and is now part of a major construction plan for the city, the Lafitte Greenway, a long public park and bike path connecting City Park and the French Quarter. In Landrieu's speech, he des