Equally comfortable sitting with Oprah as he is dodging verbal blows from 50 Cent, Diddy’s done it all—and more.
He’s holding a bottle of champagne by the neck as he navigates the dark corner of a DJ booth in an intimate Hollywood nightclub. He greets members of Danity Kane, the band he’s executive producing, with air kisses and hugs. A few business associates get pounds and chest thumps. His mouth, tiny and pursed, occasionally breaks into a wide grin after he leans in to receive kind words from several admirers. As each track from his new album, Press Play, pulsates through oversized speakers, he becomes more and more animated: dancing, lip-synching, pumping a fist into the air.
But a close look reveals all is not well. He is celebratory yet somewhat reserved, giddy but removed.
The party ends. He is ushered out of a back door. In the span of five minutes, he seems to shrink physically. He slips into the backseat of a Mercedes Maybach, kicks off his sneakers and flexes his toes. One hand goes over his eyes.
One month before his 37th birthday, Sean Combs is doing his best to keep up his mantra. Even though for the past decade he’s been telling us he won’t stop, today is a little more difficult than others. Diddy has a cold.
A minion comes to the door of Diddy’s car and taps the window. He cracks it a few inches, his face twisted in a scowl. Diddy has an appointment at a Latino radio station to discuss his new album in an on-air interview with radio personality Raq-C. The minion needs to make sure he’s going. “I’m not going to no Spanish station,” Diddy growls.
“Tell them I’m throwing up.” He rolls the window back up and speaks to his driver. “I’m going to the studio.” Thirteen years, five albums, 23 singles, six fateful bullets and one tragic death, four name changes, two arrests, a ridiculous number of lawsuits, three children, one J.Lo, three record-distribution labels, two clothing lines, two Grammys, one major movie role, one starring role on Broadway and more than 100 million records sold worldwide with the Diddy stamp. And he hasn’t stopped. The man who would be hip-hop’s James Brown says he’s closing a chapter of his life with his latest—and he claims, last—album as a solo artist.
“I’m summing up this phase of my life,” Diddy insists as his driver heads to the studio. “I’m not going to overstay my welcome. I’m pretty sure this is my last album. It says what I wanted to say.”
