Kobe’s Outside Shot

We mere mortals know the grass is always greener down here on Earth, but just imagine the luminous emerald lawns up in the rarefied realms where celebrities live. Maybe that’s why rock stars dream of being jocks, jocks want to act, actors want to direct and all of them, curiously, yearn to drive race cars.

It’s that dynamic that brings us to Sunday night and the House of Blues, where Kobe Bryant, the beloved 21-year-old Los Angeles Lakers star, staged a party to launch his would-be career as a music mogul and rapper.

Hey, if rap titan Master P can take a half-court shot at an NBA career, why can’t Bryant grab a mic and throw his hand up in the air like he just don’t care?

“People see an athlete do something like this and their first thought is it’s not a serious thing,” concedes Jerrod Washington, CEO of Bryant’s new label, Heads High Entertainment, and the hoopster’s brother-in-law. “But this is very serious. Music is his second love. . . . If he wasn’t a professional athlete, he would have become a rapper.”

Yes, but would he have been a good rapper? Will his music career go “bling, bling” or “clang”? Sure, people compare his hoops potential to Michael Jordan and his charisma to Magic Johnson, but what if he raps like, gulp, Shaquille O’Neal?

More on that later. But first, the scene on Sunday: It was by no means a sellout, but the allure of seeing Bryant up close inspired hundreds of people to shell out $15 each.

The show was structured like a fast break--a half-dozen acts signed to Heads High each performed three of four songs and then hustled offstage to make room for the next. The music ranged from hard-edged rap to heartfelt R&B;, but for the crowd there was a single-note focus: “Where’s Kobe?”

“Eighty percent of the people here just want to see Kobe,” said Troy Fox, a fan from Glendale. “These music acts, nobody knows them. Why would you come see somebody you don’t know?”

Still, the crowd quickly embraced the first act, a Los Angeles rap trio called Da Babies. Composed of two 13-year-olds and an especially precocious 8-year-old, the group paced and stomped, exhorted the crowd and generally got oohs and ahhs for being cute. They got their biggest cheers, however, when they donned Laker jerseys bearing Bryant’s No. 8 and suddenly resembled a squad of Spud Webbs. Perhaps the other acts backstage took notice--most hit the stage with Laker garb and shamelessly invoked Bryant’s name when the crowd’s enthusiasm ebbed. Which happened a lot.

It’s hard for the uninitiated to understand the spell Bryant has cast on Laker fans. Four years ago he jumped to the pros at age 17, fresh from high school in suburban Ardmore, Pa., and fans have watched him grow as a man and a player, often in dramatic fits and starts. He has worn on teammates at times for showboating, but he plays with flair and hustle, and with the thunderous O’Neal he lifted the Lakers to the championship this season.

And his drawing power alone can pack a house.

“This is definitely not the kind of music I like,” confided Bernice Sanchez, a 29-year-old from West Covina. “But it’s a lot easier to get a ticket to this than a Laker game. . . . I’m a big fan. I even went to see Shaq’s cheesy movie. That was bad. I even--Wait! There he is!”

And just like that, an hour into the show, the star had suddenly appeared, jogging to center stage mid-song to join rapper Uneek. Looking sleek in an ebony jumpsuit, the handsome Bryant looked larger than life (he is 6 feet 7, after all) as he did that same pigeon head bob that punctuates his slam dunks. He rhymed in a quick, clipped style for about 25 seconds and then . . . he was gone. The crowd sagged. What, did he sprain his ankle again?

The show went on. And then not long before 11 p.m., the emcee announced that Bryant had spent enough time on the bench. The crowd went crazy, but it wasn’t enough. “That would be all right if I was about to introduce one of the [expletive] Clippers,” the emcee admonished, and the crowd went berserk times two.

Bryant performed a few songs and looked calm and comfortable in his new arena. He wagged his finger, slapped hands with fans and, at times, crouched at the rear of the stage for dramatic effect. His songs referenced rap’s dominant theme--the dangers and despair of urban street scenes--but his general vibe was uplifting.

Bryant, who often writes music during Laker road trips, presented lyrics such as “My skull is the holster, my brain is the gun” and “If you live life fast, you’ll probably die slow.” Some of the gritty images and language seemed a bit odd coming from Bryant, whose image has been that of the Lakers’ fresh-faced little brother.

Was he good? He was better than Shaq (who raps about as well as he shoots free throws), and good enough to take the stage without embarrassment. Fans might not buy his album (previously scheduled for an August release, it has been put on hold to add new songs, Washington says), but they seemed to love the novelty of seeing the star in a new setting.

“He said God has his back, I like that, and all the spiritual stuff,” said Young Bo, a promotions employee for Master P’s No Limit Records. “I think of him now as a spiritual rapper. He’s really good.”

Would Master P sign Bryant as a rapper? “Uh . . . I don’t know about Kobe’s versatility, you know, but I do like the spirituality. I do know P would like to play hoop with him, especially one on one.”

Violet and red spotlights strafed the audience as Kobe Bryant the rapper headed off to celebrate his public debut. Soon the DJ began spinning a Dr. Dre song, and with the stage no longer a distraction, the dance floor came alive in a way it had not all night long.

Sanchez, the West Covina fan, surveyed it all, shrugged and decided to call it a night.

“It was nice seeing him,” she said as she turned to go, “but I think Kobe should stick to his day job.”