interview I

PAC POV

January 5th, 1990

Today was the day. I'd agreed to appear on The Tomorrow Show with Tom Snyder—a show I respected for its unfiltered conversations. Snyder wasn't like the rest of the hosts chasing headlines or looking to twist someone's words for clicks. He was known for keeping it real—unscripted, raw, and honest. That's why I chose this show to make my first TV appearance since releasing "Dancing with the Devil." The world had a lot to say about me, but today, they were going to hear it straight from me.

As I stepped out of the car and onto the studio lot, I felt the buzz in the air. The L.A. sun was setting, casting golden streaks across the sky, as if nature itself was marking the occasion. A small group of fans had gathered near the entrance, their faces a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation.

Some held copies of my single, while others had homemade signs with my name scrawled across them in bold letters. These weren't just casual listeners—they were people who felt the music deep in their souls. They understood the message beneath the controversy.

One young woman, no older than 20, stood out from the crowd. She clutched a copy of "Dancing with the Devil" so tightly, it looked like she'd been carrying it everywhere since the day it dropped. Her voice trembled as she called out to me.

"Tupac! Your song—it changed everything for me," she said, her words spilling out all at once. "I just wanted to thank you."

I paused mid-step, turning to face her. Despite the producer signaling for me to keep moving, I couldn't just walk past someone pouring their heart out.

"You don't have to thank me," I said, locking eyes with her. "You listened. That's what matters. Keep spreading the message."

Her eyes welled up with tears as she nodded, clutching the record even tighter. Moments like this reminded me why I did what I did. This wasn't just about music—it was about reaching people, about sparking something real.

Inside the Studios

The energy inside the studio was electric. Production assistants buzzed around, headsets crackling with instructions, while stagehands moved props into place. The walls were lined with sleek, modern panels, illuminated by the soft glow of stage lights. It was organized chaos, but chaos nonetheless.

A manager greeted me with a firm handshake. "Mr. Shakur, it's an honor to have you here," he said, his tone a mix of professionalism and genuine admiration. "Tom's been looking forward to this all week. He respects what you're doing, even if it's stirring up a lot of conversation."

I smirked at that, sliding my hands into my pockets. "Conversation's the point," I replied.

He led me down a maze of hallways, explaining the setup as we walked. "We'll have you backstage for a bit, then bring you out to meet Tom. He's got a few questions lined up, but as you know, the show's unscripted. He likes to see where the conversation naturally goes."

"That's why I'm here," I said. "No filters, no edits."

Backstage Moments

The green room was quieter than I expected, offering a brief moment of peace before the storm. The walls were adorned with framed photos of past guests—icons of music, film, and politics. It was humbling to see the history of the place, knowing I was about to add my name to that legacy.

A producer brought me a bottle of water and went over the sound check. "Anything else you need, Mr. Shakur?" she asked, her voice polite but efficient.

"Nah, I'm good. Just tell me when it's time," I said, leaning back in the chair.

A knock at the door broke the stillness. It was Tom Snyder himself, stepping in with his signature glasses and calm, composed demeanor. He extended a hand, and I stood to shake it.

"Tupac, good to finally meet you," he said, his voice warm and genuine.

"Likewise," I replied. "I appreciate you having me on."

"Appreciate you accepting," he said with a slight grin. "Not every artist would come on live TV after dropping a song like yours. It's bold. I respect that."

"I'm not here to hide," I said firmly. "The people deserve the truth, not the media's version of it."

He nodded, as if he already knew this would be one of those interviews people would talk about for years. "Well, we're live in ten. Let's make it count."

The Audience Awaits

As I was escorted to the stage entrance, I passed by the live audience. It wasn't a massive crowd—this wasn't a stadium—but the energy was just as intense. Fans had lined up for hours to get tickets, and now they were seated front and center, waiting to hear what I had to say.

John, the man whose life had been changed by "Dancing with the Devil," sat in the front row. He recognized the weight of the moment, his eyes locked on the stage entrance where I would soon appear.

He glanced at the young woman beside him, another fan clutching a vinyl copy of my single. "This is going to be big," he said, almost to himself. The woman nodded in agreement, her face a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Tom Snyder walked onto the stage as the cameras rolled, his signature calm presence immediately commanding attention. He opened the show with his usual style, blending humor and insight as he addressed the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice steady, "tonight, we have a guest whose latest release has ignited conversations across the country. Whether you love it or hate it, you can't ignore it. Please welcome Tupac Shakur."

The applause was deafening as I stepped onto the stage. The crowd rose to their feet, clapping and cheering, their energy washing over me like a wave. I walked toward Snyder, my expression calm but focused

The audience erupted in applause as Tom Snyder introduced me, their claps filling the room with energy. As I walked onto the stage, I could feel every eye in the studio glued to me. My steps were steady, my head held high, and I nodded briefly at the crowd before shaking Snyder's hand.

"Tupac, welcome to the show," Tom said, gesturing for me to take a seat across from him.

"Thanks for having me," I replied, my voice calm but firm.

Once the applause died down, Tom leaned forward, his hands resting lightly on the desk in front of him. "First of all, congratulations on the success of your single, 'Dancing with the Devil.' It's become a cultural phenomenon in such a short time. Did you expect this kind of reaction?"

I smirked, glancing briefly at the audience before locking eyes with Tom. "I didn't do it for the reaction. I did it because the story needed to be told. But I'll be real—I knew it would get people talking. That was the point."

Tom nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Let's talk about the song itself. I've listened to it multiple times, and I have to say, the story is gripping. But here's what everyone's been asking—how much of it is real, and how much of it is fiction?"

To be continue