Decoded by Jay-Z

with him, I’d have to be able to ask him anything. I meant anything.
    It was so perfect that I had Juan with me because he’s a die-hard Knicks fan, and as much as he respected Jordan, he hated the way Jordan personally sat the Knicks down every year in the Eastern Conference play offs. Juan is a real sports fan; he’d be sick for a week, I’m talking depressed—he wouldn’t leave the house—after his team lost. That night he had to sit there and dine with his nemesis. Jordan told Juan the story of how he almost came to the Knicks. He said he was a second away from closing the deal, he was packing his bags to come to New York, when Jerry Krauss called and matched the Knicks’ offer at the last minute. Juan looked like he was going to cry.
    I asked Jordan who was the hardest nigga that ever guarded him; he told me Joe Dumars. I found out how much Jordan loves Hakeem Olajuwon; he pointed out that he was a leader in steals, which is rare in the center position. I asked him to name his five favorite centers, the best games he ever played, which championship meant the most to him. I got to be an unabashed fan. It was an absolute dream conversation for me.
    The thing that distinguished Jordan wasn’t just his talent, but his discipline, his laser-like commitment to excellence. That’s something I always respect, especially in people who have great natural talents already. Making music requires a lot of that same discipline and commitment. It’s true that I’m able to sometimes come up with songs in a matter of minutes after hearing a track, but that’s a skill that I’ve honed over hundreds of hours of practice and work since I was nine. My earliest mentors in rap taught me that making music is work, whether it was Jaz locking himself in a room working on different flows or Big Daddy Kane taking the time to meticulously put together a stage show. There’s unquestionably magic involved in great music, songwriting, and performances—like those nights when a star athlete is totally in the zone and can’t miss. But there’s also work. Without the work, the magic won’t come. There are a hundred Harold Miners (no disrespect) for every Michael Jordan.
    I WORK GODDAMN HARD

    For instance, tours are the most lucrative aspect of a recording artist’s career; you have a lot more control and fewer people are in your pockets as compared to album sales. It can also be stressful beyond belief. Every night you’re in a different city, every crowd brings a different vibe, every show is subtly different—but at the same time, you have to hit the same marks night after night, find a new way to get your own energy up when you’re performing the same song you did the night before. It becomes less about your innate charisma and talent—although that’s still required—and more about being able to meet the mental and physical challenge of it. A tour requires stamina, willpower, and the ability to self-motivate, to hype yourself into game mode night after night. When you’re on tours like the ones I’ve done over the last decade, you’re like a professional athlete, except that night after night you’re the only one with the bat.
    When it comes to signing up new talent, that’s what I’m looking for—not just someone who has skill, but someone built for this life. Someone who has the work ethic, the drive. The gift that Jordan had wasn’t just that he was willing to do the work, but he loved doing it, because he could feel himself getting stronger, ready for anything. He left the game and came back and worked just as hard as he did when he started. He came into the game as Rookie of the Year, and he finished off the last playoff game of his career with a shot that won the Bulls their sixth championship.
    That’s the kind of consistency that you can get only by adding deadserious discipline to whatever talent you have.
     

 

 

 

“I f you’re proud to be an American, put your hands up now!” It was the night