Patti LaBelle. Teddy Pendergrass. The O’Jays. Boyz II Men.
The streets of Philly have been a fertile musical breeding ground for decades, so it’s not surprising that a row house near the corner of 48th and Spruce was the birthplace of the sound that transformed hip-hop and R&B for a generation — the Lucious Lyon Sound.
If you’re old enough to remember October 1997, then that time probably brings back memories of Life After Death, Wu-Tang Forever, and Wyclef’s The Carnival. That same month, a new album from a self-proclaimed drug slinger was burning up South Street. The raw, gritty street anthems of the colorfully named Lucious Lyon could be heard in clubs like Funkadelphia and the Lay-Up.
Lucious remembers these days with a nostalgic smirk. “I used my old street contacts to get my music out there. Trunks of cars, barbershops, strip clubs. Every CD I pressed was seven dollars each.” When asked if he chose that price because seven is a lucky number, Lyon’s eyes narrow and he focuses with laser precision. “Seven is the number of truth. Of knowledge. It’s spiritual and timeless.”
“Please. He started at ten and people bargained his ass down to seven,” says an Empire source who’s been part of Lyon’s inner circle for years (and who requested to remain anonymous for this article). “Nah, but Lucious is a deep cat. Everything’s got meaning for him. He don’t do anything willy-nilly.”
“I used my old street contacts to get my music out there. Trunks of cars, barbershops, strip clubs. Every CD I pressed was seven dollars each.”
Lyon’s rhymes eventually caught the attention of Billy Beretti, the famously unorthodox head of Creedmoor Records. From there, a partnership was born that spawned multi-platinum hits like Deuce Deuce, 2–1–5 or Die, and That’s What the DJ Spins. When the conversation turns to the Creedmoor days, Lucious becomes snippy, almost like he might haul off and slap somebody. “Y’all know the Beretti story by now. The past is past.”
The “Beretti story” is the story of Lyon’s very public falling out with Billy Beretti over royalties and creative control. Lucious left Creedmoor in 2003, taking his vanity label with him. That vanity label would eventually become Empire Entertainment. Over the next few years, Lucious built an impressive roster of diverse acts from 187 Kevin to the Hunts Point Blank Trio to the reigning queen of blue-eyed soul, Elle Dallas. Lucious’s successful transition from musician to mogul paved the way for other rappers-turned-CEOs. (Jay-Z and Dre, anyone?)
And in recent years, Lucious hasn’t lost his touch. Fans are chomping at the bit for upcoming albums from hot new Empire stars like V., Kidd Fo-Fo, and Tiana. Of course, a mega-star like Lucious can’t help but pass on his musical genius to his children.
The middle Lyon son, Jamal, is no stranger to the business — his debut album dropped nearly ten years ago, and his sophomore effort is expected any day now.
But it’s Lucious’s youngest son Hakeem who’s set to make the biggest splash of all. Hakeem’s early singles are proof that the musical apple doesn’t fall far from the Lyon tree, and his album will be released soon to an eager public.
Speaking of public, Lucious is looking to expand his Empire to his next big conquest: Wall Street. It’s not enough for the insatiable Mr. Lyon to have the most valuable Black-owned company in America; he’s poised to head the first Black-owned music label to join the New York Stock Exchange. Empire Enterprises, which in addition to the multi-platinum label, has its tentacles in fashion, sports management, high-end liquor, publishing, and electronic gaming, is set to make its initial public offering in the coming months.
Those who know Lyon best know that his driving force comes down to one idea: immortality. The Empire employee I interviewed for this article talks of business meetings in which firings happen on the spot if employees don’t pitch big enough ideas. “He would come in the conference room and talk about having his name next to cats like Walt Disney and Henry Ford. He wants his legacy to be that big,” the source says. “To Lucious, no idea is too grand or too unrealistic.”
Lucious Lyon himself corroborates this. “If Henry Ford had asked people a hundred years ago what they wanted, they would’ve asked for a faster horse,” Lyon says. “It took his vision to make the automobile happen. You either got that kind of vision or you don’t.”
That idealism extends to Lyon’s vision for the future of the music business. It’s not a secret that the world of big labels is on its way out. As the number of music release platforms expands, many artists see labels as nothing but money-grubbing middlemen who are becoming less and less relevant. So why is Empire looking to expand in a time when bloated conglomerate labels are bleeding money left and right?
“The platforms aren’t the issue,” Lyon fires back. “The issue is compensation. Artists have been getting screwed by the system back when we had 8-tracks, and they’re getting screwed now when we have streaming services. Artists have to have total ownership and profit participation. I don’t make money off other people’s music. Never have. That’s what my other divisions are for.”
Total ownership. Profit participation. Hopeful words that paint a picture of a bright future for artists lucky enough to be a part of the Empire family. But is it sustainable? Only time will tell. In the meantime, Lyon is looking forward to the day when he rings the opening bell at the Stock Exchange. “I’m ringing that bell for me. I’m ringing it for my kids. I’m ringing it for Philly. I’m ringing it for hip-hop.”
