‘My biggest regret is being the one responsible for not saving Tupac’s life,” says Reggie Wright Jr, formerly head of security at the hip-hop label Death Row Records. On 7 September 1996, 25-year-old rapper Tupac Shakur was fatally shot while riding in a BMW with the head of Death Row, Suge Knight, along the Las Vegas strip.
The gunman is believed to have been Orlando Anderson, a Crip gang member the pair had previously beaten up amid the charged aftermath of a Mike Tyson boxing match. Anderson died in 1998 and his uncle Keefe D, who testified to being in the white Cadillac that Shakur was shot from, goes on trial for the murder in November.
Whether it was Shakur’s bodyguard, Frank Alexander, not carrying his gun, or the failure to keep the rapper locked away in his hotel room to avoid retaliation, armchair detectives often blame Wright Jr’s decisions for Shakur’s death, meaning he is “constantly forced to relive what happened in Las Vegas”, he says. He claims his security detail couldn’t get licences to carry guns on the evening Shakur was shot and that a complacent Death Row felt “too safe” in Vegas due to Knight owning a nightclub in the area.
Nevertheless, the criticisms keep coming. “Who would have thought a big celebrity could be murdered on the Las Vegas strip? They always write that Tupac should have had security guards sitting either side of him, but he had no fear and would never agree to that,” Wright Jr says. “In the YouTube comments section, they’re always accusing you of this or that. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t affect me.”
Wright Jr’s comments demonstrate the mental strain that accompanies one of the music industry’s least appreciated yet most perilous roles: the rap bodyguard. While the killings of Shakur and the Notorious BIG in drive-by shootings in the mid‑1990s is seen as a nadir of the genre’s relationship with gang violence, rappers have frequently been assaulted or murdered ever since. “Trust me,” says Bam-Bam, a Miami-based rap security guard, “this is one of the most dangerous jobs in the world.”
The New York-based security veteran Robert House previously protected 90s names the Lox and Lil’ Kim and believes today’s scene, particularly the drill subgenre, is “definitely more dangerous” than the gangsta rap era. “Now, the drill artists are rapping about dead gang members and showing their photos in the music videos, laughing. Dissing the dead used to be a no-go area. I think the labels have to monitor what they put out, but they’re not going to do that, because the violence makes too much money.”
Not a year goes by without a notable US rapper losing their life to gun violence, with artists including Nipsey Hussle, XXXTentacion, Pop Smoke, Young Dolph, King Von, and the Migos rapper Takeoff among the recent high-profile victims. Security guards must manage threats from rivals – especially if their client is gang-affiliated – and keep rappers safe from extortion, armed robbery attempts and even aggrieved fans.
This year’s high-profile beef between Drake and Kendrick Lamar, which sparked a series of diss tracks, has created dangers: Drake’s Toronto home was shot at in May, injuring a bodyguard (no motive has yet been ascribed); following a concert in Vancouver in June, Rick Ross and his bodyguards were attacked by Drake fans after Ross played a song taunting him.
Bam-Bam’s highest-profile client is 6ix9ine/Tekashi69, the controversial, rainbow-haired rapper who, in 2019, cooperated with federal prosecutors to help imprison members of the New York gang Nine Trey Gangsta Bloods as part of a plea deal. Renowned for his online trolling, 6ix9ine will often film videos of himself walking through and mocking a rap rival’s neighbourhood, such as the drill star Lil Durk’s O-Block in Chicago’s South Side, the nucleus for the global drill scene.
Bam-Bam, who is also a bare-knuckle boxer, must deal with any resulting fallout, ensuring that the nihilistic 6ix9ine – who has widely been labelled as a “snitch” by peers including Snoop Dogg – doesn’t end up being killed.
“When I’m around 6ix9ine, I’ve got to keep my head on the swivel,” he says. Last year, the rapper got into an altercation inside a Miami strip club; Bam‑Bam says he got outnumbered and was jumped by a group of angry men while trying to usher the artist away to safety. “I’m just glad it was only an ass-whooping and I didn’t get shot. I learned a lot, though, and that won’t ever happen again.”
In this job, he says, “you could lose your life so easily. I might not come home to my daughter. My back is always against the wall when I walk into rooms. I don’t like any surprises.” While he says he regularly gets death threats from his client’s enemies, he is proud of his work and all the people he’s kept safe. “I believe any man has the right to go to McDonald’s and order a Happy Meal for their kids without getting harassed. I will put my life on the line to protect those basic human rights.”
A rapper might be worth hundreds of millions of dollars to a record label, but the bodyguards (who tend to be independently contracted, either hired by the artist or their label) are paid significantly less.
“I might make $500 for the whole day, at best,” says Samson Dread, an Atlanta-based bodyguard whose previous clients include Sexyy Red and Young Thug. In 2014, he laid his life on the line for another client, he says. “I jumped in the way of gunfire and saved him. I got shot in my hand, but I don’t believe I got properly rewarded financially.” It’s one of the reasons he’s now guarding NBA stars, a safer environment in which the pay can be three times higher.
When an MC performs at a venue, Dread says the security guards must survey it “like Napoleon observing a battlefield” and “plan ahead” tactically, clocking all the entrances and exits. Dread has long been immersed in the dangers of gang violence – he was shot 11 times growing up in St Thomas in the US Virgin Islands – and uses a formidable arsenal.
He says he has carried not just handguns but multiple assault rifles when protecting a rapper. But he says that rather than the weaponry escalating potential violence, it’s about knowing how not to use it. “Wisdom is everything: if you lose your cool, everything collapses.”
Bodyguards tend to have combat training and an understanding of how to keep calm in high-pressure situations; they’re often ex-cops (like Reggie Wright Jr) and ex-bouncers (Robert House used to man the doors at the fabled New York nightclub Tunnel).
Dread says rappers often recruit their friends for these roles, which “can cloud the operation”, but close bonds can nevertheless form between security and client, with Shakur’s late bodyguard Frank Alexander once saying that Shakur “cared about his family, cared about my family.”
Relationships with other trustworthy security personnel, particularly at a venue where a rapper is performing, are paramount, says Dread.
“In medieval times, you don’t see a king without his soldiers. And those soldiers need to be in their finest armour and swords, because they’re the ones prepared to die, right? As bodyguards, we’re not really honoured or respected like that any more. It’s weird, because a lot of your favourite rappers are only alive because of our sacrifices.”
House says that for all the sense of pride and fraternity, rap bodyguards frequently suffer from lingering PTSD. “The job creates a lot of mental strain. My mother used to fear I’d get killed. I always saw myself as Martin Luther King: my job was to have a peaceful conversation and calm things down. That wasn’t always possible, sadly – there was one rapper I represented who got shot at and I jumped on top of him, keeping him safe. When I got home after a long day, it took a long time to get all the dirt off my shoulders and decompress. I used to take very long baths.”
The violence he describes can happen anywhere, even – or perhaps especially – in the places where rappers feel safest. Samson Dread refers to the fate of his late friend Nipsey Hussle, the Los Angeles rapper murdered in 2019 outside his Marathon clothing store in Crenshaw while freely mixing with locals. “It’s always your home that kills you,” Dread says, “because that’s where the most jealousy is. Rather than buying jewellery, you should invest in security, because it will keep you alive.”
The retired Wright Jr says although he hopes security guards will be paid better, he is glad to see major stars taking better precautions: “You’ve now got Beyoncé riding around in a bulletproof van.”
But the bodyguards themselves are still so often exposed, to the violence itself and then its lasting impact. “You’re always thinking about what you should have done differently,” Wright Jr says.
