The Day Nicki Minaj Went Mental At Me

Whatever you do, do not try to tell the hip-hop beauty that is Nicki Minaj that she's a pop artist (even though she is), because things will get very ugly, very quickly...
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Whatever you do, do not try to tell the hip-hop beauty that is Nicki Minaj that she's a pop artist (even though she is), because things will get very ugly, very quickly...

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I'D listened to Nick Minaj's No1 album Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded three times and spent the morning researching her.

I knew the global megastar was feisty and that she can be a tricky interview but I’ve been a showbiz journalist for five years and thought, "as long as I’m prepared, how hard can it be?"

I even put on a pink shirt for the occasion in a naïve attempt to impress her. It is her favourite colour after all.

Fuck. That.

When I arrived on the top floor of London’s W hotel, her UK PR (who is one of THE nicest blokes in the industry) gave me the subtle warning that Nicki was being "a bit unpredictable" that day.

It alarmed me slightly but I was still pretty confident, especially as I had my questions taken and returned to me from Minaj's management grumble and red-pen free, even though that’s not usual protocol. They were lucky I even had them in black and white to hand over.

I sat waiting on a white, leather sofa in a pimped out suite for around 20 minutes and in she struts, a fucking day-glo midget.

My eyes went mental, I didn't know where to look first, her cartoon eyes, her long blonde wig, her chest… then she turned round and there it was, in all its glory - the most incredible bottom in showbiz. I've seen Kim Kardashian's ample behind but Nicki's pisses all over it. So huge, it almost eclipsed her entourage standing behind her.

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We were introduced, she was instantly unimpressed. She took my hand like it was a snotty tissue she didn't want to touch, gave me two air kisses and we sat down to begin.

She looked me up and down, and up and down again. I started to regret the pink shirt.

But that frostiness was nothing compared to the grenade about to land in my lap as less than a minute later she was shouting at me.

"You think my album is a pop album!? Did you even listen to my album!?"

Okay. Perhaps, given the stick from critics I’d read that morning saying Roman Reloaded was her “selling out” as a rapper, maybe it was a bit daft to go in on the "pop" thing.

However, I didn't expect such a strong reaction.

Her language became as colourful as her outfit. Her rant lasted about a minute, which felt like ten.

"Somebody get this girl my album! You couldn't have listened to it because there's no way you'd have called it a pop album!"

(She was up at this point and strutting at this point. I was surprised just how quick she moved given the starship attached to her rump.)

"This is what pisses me off about people like you. You are going to write to the world that it's a pop album but you haven't even listened to it….

"You know what it is, I get tired of people making statements that go to the world and they will read
what you write and what you're saying isn't true.

"The album is a versatile album with five dance tracks on it. The album has 19 songs and the majority
of it is hip-hop. How can you give people a true account if you haven't listened to it in its entirety?"

I only had 20 minutes and needed to deliver a double page spread to my bosses and she'd barked at me for half that.

Like a lamb being led to the slaughter, I tried and failed three times to bleat an explanation and was almost ready to walk, already imagining the pasting I was going to get when I returned to the office after admitting I got sweet fuck all from a 20 minute chat with one of the biggest "pop" stars on the planet.

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Even her UK PR - the nicest in the industry - tried to interject and got shot down.

In a last ditch attempt, louder and firmer and glowing the same colour as my shirt, I said "O.K Nicki. I can assure you all of this will be going in the piece."

She stopped shouting and looked at me.

I followed it with, "Can we start again?"

Nicki paused, looked at me, looked at my pink shirt again and "Hmmm, okay, yes. What’s your question?"

With ten minutes left and acutely aware of the clock ticking, I got stuck in, feet first but all the subjects she loves this time and not one utterance of the word "pop" again.

Staying true to my word, Nicki’s rant was published.

I’m yet to wear the pink shirt again....