The first concert I ever went to was Tupac’s. The first time I attended a major event at a venue like Nassau Coliseum was bittersweet—it was the night Tupac passed. I remember seeing Pac before, and now he was gone. He was the one who inspired me. Seeing him made me think, “I’ve got to get on that stage.” Everyone around me admired Pac.

Back then, I went from being a popular kid at school to not being popular after Pac was gone. I thought, “I’ve got to be like Pac.” From that day forward, I knew what I wanted to do. My mom took me to that concert, and I’ll never forget it. Nas was there, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, the Fugees, AZ, and even Foxy Brown. That night stayed with me.

**Banks continues**: “Yeah, I’m in the projects, grinding hard, carrying house money around my neck. People plot against you out here; you’ve got to stay ready. I’m tatted up, representing for the real ones who are gone. I’ve danced with the devil and spoken to God. I’ve been through it all, and it reflects in my music.”

When Instagram started popping off, I encouraged Banks to join. I told him it would be a great way to connect with fans, but he was hesitant. His reasoning? “Biggie and Pac didn’t do that.” I had to remind him that they didn’t have social media back then—it didn’t even exist. How does he know they wouldn’t have embraced it if they were alive? It was frustrating, but that’s just who Banks is—anti-industry, preferring to show and prove rather than play the game.

When it comes to material, Banks is unparalleled. He writes with the lyrical precision of Biggie but has the raw emotion of Tupac. He’s one of a kind, except maybe Eminem.

Then there’s the story of Tupac’s tragic night. He went to Las Vegas for a Tyson fight and ended up in critical condition after being shot four times in the chest. People speculated about what happened, but one thing is clear: tensions between East Coast and West Coast crews were high.

After the fight, Pac and his crew had an altercation with Orlando Anderson, which escalated. Slapping or stomping someone on the street is an act of humiliation, and Anderson didn’t take it lightly. Shortly after, Pac was gunned down at a red light. That last photo of him in the car breaks my heart—it makes me wonder if he knew what was coming.

When I got to the hospital, it hit me just how serious it was. Pac wasn’t sitting up or talking. He was hooked up to machines, tubes everywhere, fighting for his life. Seeing him like that changed everything.

Pac had this duality—he could be tough, turn to God when things got bad, and then go back to being tough when everything was okay again. That cycle confused me. His music inspired so many, but his life was cut short.

He once said his album, *Me Against the World*, was a response to Biggie’s *Ready to Die*. The competition was real. But when Pac got shot at the studio, he believed Biggie knew what happened and felt betrayed.