He saunters toward the exit of the casino, passing shifty-eyed young guys in Panama hats shooting craps and some older, white-suited men escorting their tanned and sequined trophy wives to the blackjack tables. At the bar, Nore orders a tall frozen drink and heads out to a terrace overlooking an illuminated swimming pool. He has been on a pi√±a colada binge all weekend. Earlier this evening, he and Shanell ordered a ridiculous, kitchen-sink-sized "piña colada grande." Nore polished it off.
He has a lot to celebrate-not only his smash, Neptunes-produced single "Nothin'," but also his proposal late last year to Jefferson, the mother of two of his children, Norea, 4, and Naseem, 2 (she also has a daughter, Nasaree, 7, and he has a 4-year-old son named Victor). On Christmas, Nore invited Shanell and her family from Queensbridge to his house in New Jersey and presented her with a three-carat diamond engagement ring. "She put it on and went downstairs and screamed, 'Look!' Everybody started crying and shit," he says laughing, as the trade winds rustle the bougainvillea and palm trees. After six years with Shanell, he's finally ready. "It's time for me," he says happily.
"This is my fifth album. Shit, I could be considered old school in a minute. Just 'cause I'm 24, it means nothing," says Nore, his speech slurring more with every passing hour and each drink. Despite his abundance of street credibility and the fact that he was one of the first artists to work with the Neptunes, he's aware that if he doesn't continue to evolve and increase sales over time, he could be relegated to the dustbin that holds rappers like Doug E. Fresh, Grand Daddy I.U., and Big Daddy Kane. Now that he has a large family, he feels that moving up from gold to at least double-platinum status is more critical than ever. "I look around at all these old-school artists [hiccup] and it makes me sad. Because I'm like, damn, these motherfuckers could have had my spot. But I feel [hiccup] that they deserve that opportunity."
The problem, he philosophizes, is a record industry that considers a new jack a better hand to play than an aging rapper. "At some point, you have to gamble," he yells into the balmy night, admonishing an imaginary tribunal of record executives. "You win some, and you lose some. But you live the next day to look at the fucking ocean."
