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Shameik Moore: "['Dope'] Was My Introduction, 'The Get Down' Is My Solidification"

The 'Dope' actor opens up about starring in 'The Get Down,' which hit Netflix on Aug 12.

For most millennials, it's hard to imagine what a world without cellphones pinned to the hip and social media platforms like Twitter plugging our every move even looked like. But for the kids roaming the streets of the South Bronx in the late 1970s, that was all they knew. The 70s Bronx was a cellphone-less era for most POCs and definitely people at the bottom of the economic food chain. Instead, it was plagued with drug needles and junkies, plastered with graffiti, and its streets were overwhelmed with kids up to no good, who dreamed of turning nothing into something. The 70s were a more vibrant, noisier time than 2016. But luckily The Get Down, the newest Netlflix original series, is bringing back the funk to a small screen near you.

By the grace of esteemed producer, and director, Baz Luhrmann (The Great Gatsby), The Get Down was captured. The buoyant and colorful series chronicles the birth of hip hop during the 70s as the city was crumbling in chaos and destruction. While Baz definitely provided the vision (along with Nas, who was a big aid in the creative direction of the series and soundtrack), it's the young cast that brings the story to life.

At the head of the pack is breakout star, Shameik Moore, who first commanded the camera in the Sundance Film Festival turned blockbuster hit, Dope. But now, after one big screen triumph under his belt, the 21-year-old is back for more, for what he claims will be the next step in his professional destiny. Moore stars at Shoalin Fantastic, the graffiti artist-turned-DJ of almost legendary status, who guides his wolf pack of miscreants and hip hop fiends into a life of b-boxing, break dancing, and vandalizing. And adding flavor to the mix, Moore stars alongside, Jaden Smith (who plays Marcus "Dizzee" Kipling) and new kids on the block, Justice Smith (Ezekiel) and Herizen F. Guardiola (Mylene Cruz).

From the eccentric flare of the bell-bottoms jeans to the turntables in the hole-in-the wall joints where Shoalin and his crew first got their start, The Get Down leaps from an educational lesson to an entertaining and thrilling watch. VIBE spoke with Shameik to get the low down on his role in the highly anticipation series, his favorite 70s style, and what to expect from The Get Down.

The Get Down premiered on Netflix Aug. 12.

VIBE: You play Shoalin Fantastic. Can you talk about your character and how he plays a role into the origins of hip hop?
Shameik Moore: The show is about the origins of hip-hop. It captures that time period in the late 70s and it gives you a fresh perspective. My character, he's from the streets. He's the original bad boy of hip-hop, and that's how his story line plays out.  He finds a best friend, his first real friend, and ends up making a group. He's a super hero; he's a myth. He's a legend; he's special. He's definitely a creative character for sure.

This seems like a big departure from your role in Dope, but did you find any parallels between your two roles or were they pretty different?
The training process for this was actually longer than the process for Dope was. We trained for two months and Dope was 35 days or something. So it was a big difference. And then we were shooting for a year and a half. But the difference between the characters, Shaolin is a bad boy. And he grew up in the 70s, so buildings are burning down, he's poor, he's also has to figure out [his life], and hustle to make money. And Malcolm (from Dope), he was hustling too, but he was forced into the situation. Both of the characters are a part of me, or exaggerating the parts of me that make the characters come alive.

Would you say that you're a bad boy or more of a scholar forced to play dirty like Malcolm?
I'm in the middle honestly. I have Shaolin's swagger that makes him a bad boy. I carry myself the way that Shaolin carries himself, but you're not going to see me getting into fights, selling drugs and walking around with a gun. That's not who Shameik is. But on the other side of things, I'm a lot like Malcolm. Like when I'm shy, I pretty much act like [him]. Sometimes, I stutter like Malcolm. But I have Malcolm's confidence as well, and the love and all the positive energy within him I carry.

The story centers around the birth of hip-hop, but it also focuses on friendship. How was it working with a cast around the same age as yourself?
Being able to share genuine energy amongst your peers and being able to make something historic is a blessing. I made some lifelong friends. We all have our separate goals in life, our paths crossed on this beautiful project and we'll continue to support each other. The project that we made together is absolutely a masterpiece. I think our battle is to make sure that everything continues to be better and not just stay as it is now.

You were born in the mid-90s, so how did you prepare for a role that was set nearly 20 years before you were born?
It was a lot of watching videos and documentaries and movies. It was lots of conversations and talking with Baz, Grand Master Flash and Lady Pink. It was a lot of talking with the dance instructors, Rich and Tone, Famo, DJ Phantom. It was about really getting into the mindset. We took two months to get it right.

How much did you interact with Baz personally, and what was that relationship like?
Me and Baz have a great relationship. I communicated with Baz a lot.  I have scoliosis, so he had somebody come to my house a few weeks, taking care of my back while I was doing break dancing, which was really nice. He shows lots of love. He's like an uncle.  I tried to get him to let me screen The Get Down at his place, but he was like, "We can't do it at my place."

You're a musician and artist aside from acting, as well. How did that background play a part in the series, whether you were break dancing or commanding the stage with your DJ sets?
Even though it was a different style of hip-hop, because I have my groove, I think that I was able to pull it off. I got better, gradually over the time while filming, so each b-boy scene gets better and better. But thankfully, I don't look like I'm b-boying in 2016. That's what people should know; don't expect the same kind of dancing. People wasn't doing windmills and flares. The back hand spring was as crazy as it got. So that's what you see. It's really fly, and each sequence just gets better and better as the storyline continues to grow.

Of course there's an educational aspect to the series, but what else do you think it offers to young and old audiences?
It's very entertaining. You don't really look at it like it's a history lesson while you're watching it, but it really is.  I think what happens can be crazy and people will leave with that knowledge [about the birth of hip-hop], but they won't even realize that they learned so much.

Since this is about hip-hop, what's your first memory of falling in love with it?
My favorite memory is watching You Got Served for the first time. I started chanting immediately after. I went in with my pants in my belly button, and I came out sagging. And I was doing a whole bunch of dance moves on the way to the car. And then my life basically changed. I started doing underground hip-hop battles in my community. I got real popular amongst the dance community and just went from there.

Have you gotten a chance to listen to the soundtrack for the series? How do you think that adds a little flavor or something extra to the show, especially being that it's produced by Nas and features so many notable artists in the game?
Yeah, I heard most of it. The authenticity is definitely there. Even with the stuff that doesn't sound like it's in the 70s, it fits with what's going on. That type of stuff is what Baz is good at and what he's famous for. Music always sets the mood, and the scenes are so style, class, and finesse, that the music masters that. I think they did a great job. The music brings everything to life and takes it to another level.

You've already had an outstanding career for being so young, but you said that this is just the beginning and The Get Down is taking your career a step further. What did you mean by that?
In Dope, it's a great film that touched a lot of  people. It's more of a folk classic, which is fine; it's a movie that will grow and continue to grow and last forever. Lots of people notice it, and love it, and show a lot of love for it. It's my introduction. The Get Down is my solidification. This is what's going to make you say, he's not just a geek, he can't be put in a box. He played two totally opposite characters. This allows me to take my brand and my platform even higher, and a lot more eyes will  be on me. I think a lot of people will see more of what I'm going for in my mind in The Get Down. I want to do action movies, I want to do romance movies; I want to do music. I have some many ideas and goals that I want to accomplish. The Get Down is my next step to getting what I'm ultimately going for. That's why I feel like it's really good for me.

What do you want the audience to take from the show?
I want everyone to take away the  knowledge of the past, and apply it to the present. Live in the moment so we can create the future. Let's make a better future. People see Shaolin and see themselves. They'll see Ezekiel and see themselves. They'll see Maylene and see themselves. Look how many rappers are still selling drugs to fund what they're doing. Shaolin was basically the first person to have to do that in the hip-hop scene. I want people to leave with knowledge and be able to apply it to themselves and what's going on, whether that's from fashion or music or how they carry themselves, or the bonds between friends or  going out on the street and not having social media. However the [things you learn from the series] affect you, I want it to inspire you in a positive way.

What is one 70s style that you would love to see brought back to the future?
I would love to see the fur collar brought back. I think it would be dope to wear a suit with a dope fur collar. It's just the fur -- you put it around the collar of your neck. It's nice. I would do that. It's not too much; it's fly. It's like an accessory. It would just capitalize the regular statement.

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VIBE Vault: 'Dre Day: Andre Harrell' (December 1995 / January 1996)

In the business of music, there's no name with as much resonance as Motown. Former Uptown Entertainment president Andre Harrell—the man responsible for Jodeci, Mary J. Blige, and Heavy D—is taking over the legendary label and promising to bring the noise. But can he fight through the nostalgia and lead Motown into the 21st century? By Anthony DeCurtis. Photographs by Dana Lixenberg

"You know how Jeffrey Katzenberg became Disney? That's what I want to do. Like, how you felt Jeffrey had a passion about Disney—his Mickey Mouse watches, Disney sweatshirt, Disney tie. That's what I'm talking about. I will be at the Motown Cafe. I'll make Motown ties, watch­es, sweatshirts. I intend to make Motown the black Disney," Andre Harrell says with a smile. "You might as well start calling me Walt."

Harrell, 35, is obviously a man with a plan. Good thing, too. He's stepping into one of the most vis­ible jobs in the entertainment industry: president and CEO of Motown Records. "It's always been a dream of mine to head up Motown," he says.

Yet the lofty position confronts Harrell with a critical challenge. Motown has fallen far from what it once was. Aside from the monumental Boyz II Men, Motown has increasingly become a sound­track for nostalgia, much more redolent of the past than the present. It's so hard to say good-bye to yesterday, indeed. Harrell, a product of the hip hop generation, knows his job is to introduce Mo­town—music, television, film, video, animation, and new media—to tomorrow.

A Bronx native, he got his start in the early '8os as half of the rap duo Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. (He was Dr. Jekyll.) After moving over to the business side of the business, he hooked up with rap mogul Russell Simmons and soon landed a top spot at Simmons's company, Rush Communications, where he worked with the likes of Run-D.M.C., L.L. Cool J, and Whodini.

Harrell stepped out on his own in 1986, when he launched his own label, Uptown Entertain­ment, as part of a joint venture with MCA. At Uptown, Harrell defined a contemporary R&B sound for the hip hop age, bringing the world Guy, Heavy D, Jodeci, Mary J. Blige, Al B. Sure!, Father MC, and most recently, Soul for Real (with whom he had his first No. 1 pop hit, "Candy Rain"). He produced the 1991 film Strictly Business, and he coproduces the hit Fox series New York Undercover.

Successful as the artists on his label proved to be, Harrell has felt constrained in his efforts to make them pop superstars, both by his arrange­ment with Uptown's parent company, MCA, and by the troubling racial politics of the music busi­ness in general. Moving to Motown, which is now based in Los Angeles and owned by PolyGram, presents Harrell with the opportunity to put at least some of these issues behind him. At Motown, Harrell says, he'll have more people, more prerogative, more punch.

Seated on a couch in the living room of his Upper West Side New York apartment, dressed simply in a black shirt and white slacks, Harrell focused squarely through his blue shades on what must be done. A framed photo of a serious-looking Harrell arm-in-arm with Mickey Mouse sat on an end table.

Clearly a man who enjoys control, Harrell was soft-spoken and intent. He didn't want to be mis­understood. "Am I correct?" he would ask. "Do you follow me?" He leaned forward, and his voice rose with passion as he discussed his frustrations with MCA. Otherwise, he slipped back into the pil­lows of his sofa and spoke as if he was envisioning his future life in a dream.

Harrell knows he has as much on the line as Motown, if not more. All eyes will be on him. It's one thing to say you would've done something if only you'd gotten the chance. It's quite another to get the chance and have to do it.

"Every record has gotta be right," he said. "I'm trying to sign stars. I'm not gonna have wack-juice on me. Never did, never will."

What has Motown meant to you over the years? When was the first time you knew what it was?

The first true Motown experience I had was when the Jackson 5 were on the Ed Sullivan Show. I think it might've been, like, 1969, '70. They sang "Stand!" and "I Want You Back." I had never seen a black teenager on television—it was incredible. After that, I realized who the Motown artists were. My parents listened to them: the Supremes, Marvin Gaye, Diana Ross, the Four Tops, the Temptations.

What did the company represent for you?

Motown has always been the epitome of black excellence and artistry. Stevie sang about love in the most sensitive way, as well as telling about the plight of his people. Marvin sang about the plight of his people and his internal fight, but he sang about love in a very sexy way. They were major influences.

Speaking of Stevie Wonder, he made a strong album last year and nothing happened with it. Can Motown sell a Stevie Wonder record in this day and age?

The Four Tops, the Temps, and, especially, Stevie Wonder and Diana Ross—these are national trea­sures. You have to treat them like events. Stevie Wonder, he's someone I would do an Unplugged with. Or a couple of years ago, it was Stevie's 3oth anniversary in show business. You could have got­ten Stevie Wonder a television special. We could have had artists pay tribute to him—pop artists, rock artists, R&B artists, rap artists, everybody could have participated. And there's probably no other female, black or white, who's as fabulous as Diana Ross, who epitomizes the glamour and excitement of a star diva.

What about new directions? What makes Motown happen in the '9os?

Motown has to become the lifestyle label for the times that the active record-buying audience—the audience who's 15 to 3o—is living in. One of the ways you do this is by putting out records that are in the groove that that audience is living in. Like if Mary J. Blige was a Motown artist, Motown would have some of her imaging on it. It's that young, hip hop—soul, Generation X energy. Same thing if Jodeci was on the label. Back in the day, Motown talked to everybody in the ghetto—and it talked to the rest of the world too.


That sounds like the philosophy you espoused at Uptown.

The thing that [Motown founder] Berry Gordy led the way with is the idea that the label head becomes the image of the label. Myself, I allowed whatever celebri­ty occurred in my career to happen through the artists. I was so consistent with the kinds of artists who were on my label, after a while, it was, like, "Who's behind all this?" I was behind it.

Going into Motown, my plan is this: When you think of Motown now, you're gonna think of Andre Harrell. I'm not gonna work for Motown, I'm gonna be Motown—in the way I dress, the records I put out, the causes I choose to get involved in, the artists from the past, the artists who are there now, and the artists in the future. Like I lived Uptown Records, I'm gonna live Motown Records.

But you, Russell Simmons, Sean ."Puffy" Combs—and Berry Gordy before you—are entrepreneurs. You're identified with the companies you founded. With this, you're stepping into something—

—that's already existing. I'm gonna be Motown for this generation of young-adult record buyers. Motown was the blueprint. Berry Gordy was the blueprint for what I became.

Were you conflicted about leaving Uptown?

I had tremendous conflict. It was like I was walking away from my works of art. There will never be another Mary J. Blige—it's rare to find a queen. There will nev­er be another Jodeci. There'll never be another Heavy D. But I have to go, because Motown gives me the power I need to go to the next level. I have to make African-American superstars. At Uptown, I was able to make black icons, but they were icons only to black people.

[I was] trying to grow Uptown, to have indepen­dence, to be able to say, "This act is getting ready to be a worldwide star, and I'm gonna take all my resources, and we're gonna march to this one beat." I was trying to do that for nine years. Between me and the corpora­tion, I could never get it to happen.

In terms of support from MCA?

I think MCA, after a period, wanted some of these things to happen. For whatever reasons, though, the execution between the two sides never worked. The biggest record I ever had was Jodeci's [1991] Forever My Lady—3 million.

When [Arista president] Clive Davis got in the game, I felt myself shrinking. Once he got in business with LaFace [L.A. Reid and Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds] and [Dallas Austin's] Rowdy Records and Puffy [Bad Boy Entertainment], Davis's commitment and his exe­cution were taking those artists where I wanted my artists to go. I wanted Mary J. Blige to sell the 7 million that Toni Braxton did.

Jodeci came to me because I had Al B. Sure! So they figured, "He knows how to do this. We wanna be down with him." They drove 13 hours, sat in my lobby for eight hours just to meet me. Now, I feel like, with Arista being involved with LaFace and the other labels, they sold 7 million Toni Braxtons. They sold 6 million TLCs. I'm, like, if I can't sell these kinds of records, I'm gonna slowly shrink. I was catching heat from my artists, who wanted that kind of stature. I would bring that frustra­tion to MCA, and we couldn't seem to come to terms.

Was the idea, "Well, Andre's doing fine. He's doing a cou­ple of million here, a couple of million there. He's covered. Were gonna invest somewhere else"?

I felt like a figurehead. I had all this energy around me—like, I was the Man. I was the founder and chairman of Uptown Records, a major, culturally influen­tial entertainment company for African-Americans in the '9os. But I didn't feel like the Man, because I could­n't put my finger on the button that would really make it happen. I don't want to be in that position anymore. I need to have more control. I need to be responsible for the big picture. And being at Motown positions me to create a truly black pop company. I got a film divi­sion, a television division. I got green-light power for small movies. I don't have to ask anybody.

What are your plans with Gordy?

We're gonna do a series of commercials—print and television. He endorses me. We spoke yesterday for about an hour, and he said, "Any advice I can give you about where we go from here, feel free to call me." We're gonna spend time together and talk about his history with the elder stars. I feel as if I've had a tremendous amount of experience working with stars' drama and ego, but we're talking a whole 'nother level of stars. I've never built a superstar. There're superstars at this house.

How do you build superstars?

If black stars are gonna have a shot at becoming pop stars, it's gonna be because the chairman of the company is committed to them—and because their music is his personal taste. That's what I'm bringing to black music, to black musical stars. Not just their art form but their plight as African-American men and women.

What you're describing is a role that black executives play, but aren't they often frustrated in their attempts to rise at most record companies? 

I can't talk about it enough, how few black execu­tives get to control their playing field. Black music is becoming the music of the popular culture. Because of that, companies are repositioning their priorities and trying to get in the game. But as black music becomes more important, there should be more black presidents and black chairmen. As soon as the black executive's artist reaches platinum, suddenly the artist and man­ager have to deal with the president of the corporation, because he controls the priorities at pop radio. The black executive becomes obsolete. As his music gets bigger his power diminishes. He's more or less told, "Go find the next act and establish it."

It's an emphasis on the creative—

—as opposed to the business. That's why young black executives don't get to become the old chairmen—the wise men who've seen it and done it. They get to stay hot black executives so long as their instincts are hot. But this is a lifestyle business—only a few of us, black or white, are going to be cool enough to have great in­stincts our whole career.

The black executive is not given the opportunity to become the business and the music. Why not? Why shouldn't he be the one that everybody reports to? When you get an act that sells 5 million—at a major compa­ny—the black executive's out of the room. But when there's some sort of problem, the major label looks at the black executive: "Why can't you handle this act?" When the artist hires a violent manager and the violent manager is coming up to the record company, the label's, like, "How did it get to this?" How? Because they [the white executives] couldn't see it coming. Because they re not sensitive to his issues. By then the relation­ship between the record company and the artist is dys­functional. And then the black executive gets blamed and fired. But they created the monster.

When I had the artist, I talked to his mother, his girl­friend, his babies' mother with the two children, dealt with his drug counselor, and whatever other dysfunc­tional Generation X problems he has. He'd call me late at night.

But he feels like they're just businesspeople. And they don't understand. And they might be racist. He's comin' with all that energy. Even if they like him as a person, he still has goo years of issues he has to get over to accept them. And they have a lot of work to do to gain his trust and respect.

So what are your immediate plans?

I will be moving to Beverly Hills. I'll have a house out there for a 12-to-18-month period, and I'll be bicoastal between the New York and L.A. offices. Then I'm moving the company to New York. I'm going to have a satellite office in Atlanta—A&R-oriented. I'm going to build a recording studio in New York, Motown Studios.

Any new musical directions?

The sound I'm going for now is soul. I'm looking for voices that sound like 400 years of slavery and then some. I'm looking for that inspirational, take-us-out­-of-our-plight, Aretha Franklin, Bill Withers, Al Green voice. I'm looking to build those kinds of stars now.

What about the younger acts on Motown? Have you met with Boyz II Men?

No. Those meetings will come after I execute the deal. Boyz II Men are the biggest group I've ever seen. I don't know what I'm bringing to the party except to keep them from goin' crazy from the level of success they've had. They probably need a break, a little time out to lead their personal lives. Outside of that, that for­mula is working. Queen Latifah, I'd like to bring her record sales up to match her celebrity. Zhané I'd like to give a little bit more image. I'm gonna bring Johnny Gill back—he had a fabulous first album. And I'm excit­ed about working with Michael Bivins. He's tremen­dously talented, and if he and I get together, we can real­ly do some important things.

Are you apprehensive?

I got a lot of work to do. But no problems. Making hits is not a problem. I'll be making some noise real quick. And I ain't gonna stop makin' noise until I'm done.


This article originally appeared in the Dec. 1995 - Jan. 1996 issue of VIBE Magazine | Written by Anthony DeCurtis | Header Photography by Dana Lixenberg

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DJ Khaled attends the 62nd Annual GRAMMY Awards at STAPLES Center on January 26, 2020 in Los Angeles, California.
Frazer Harrison/Getty Images for The Recording Academy

DJ Khaled Cuts Off Twerker On Instagram Live, Inspires "Talk To Me Normal" Remix

Like the saying goes: when you give an inch, they take a mile. DJ Khaled learned that lesson over the weekend after he had to cut off a twerking follower on his Instagram Live session.

The producer and recording artist hopped on his social media account on Sunday (May 3) to chat with his fans and followers. To make the moment more engaging and interactive, Khaled opened up his request lines for one-on-one chats and chose a couple of lucky followers. What he didn't realize was that one request would be from a woman ready to twerk on camera, Quarantine Radio style.

"Oh, sh*t, oh, sh*t," he said aloud with his hands up in the air once he realized what was about to go down. "No, no, don't do that. No, it's all love but you know what I'm saying? I've got a family and everything. I've got love," he stressed to the giggling blonde before she proceeded to pour water on her derrière.


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I have love for everyone please take it easy when I’m on fan luv ig luv . Again I have love for everyone please lets be respectful nothing but love BLESS UP !

A post shared by DJ KHALED (@djkhaled) on May 3, 2020 at 4:25pm PDT

"Just talk to me normal, talk to me normal," he requested as he covered his eyes from seeing what she was doing. But did she care to oblige? Nope, because 45 seconds of fame and "we live baby!" Khaled gave up on pleading and closed out the chat repeating, "I can't, I can't."

Shortly after, Khaled posted the incident on his Instagram account with the caption, "I have love for everyone please take it easy when I’m on fan luv ig luv. Again I have love for everyone please lets be respectful nothing but love BLESS UP!"

And like clockwork, the video made its rounds and inspired one producer to create a remix, because, that's what we do when we need another level of comic relief. Much like Brooklyn's own DJ iMarkkeyz, who gained momentum on Billboard's charts for his remix of Cardi B's coronavirus rant, producer DJ Suede posted a remix of the moment and it brought more laughs to probably one of DJ Khaled's most stressful moments.

Hear it down below. You're welcome.


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#IGotAFamily #IGotLove 🕺🏾💎#RemixgodSuede #AnotherOne @therealcocoabrown #Diamonds @sophiajamesxo

A post shared by Dj Suede (@remixgodsuede) on May 3, 2020 at 9:48pm PDT

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Matt Winkelmeyer/Getty Images

Will Smith Hosts Virtual Reunion With ‘Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air’ Cast

Ahead of the official 30-year anniversary of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’s debut, Will Smith hosted a virtual reunion with his cast members for the latest episode of his Snapchat show, Will From Home. Tatyana Ali, Alfonso Ribiero, Karyn Parsons, Joseph Marcell, DJ Jazzy Jeff, and Daphne Maxwell Reid reunited with Smith via the video conferencing app, Zoom.

“Reunited and it feels so good,” Smith wrote on Instagram on Wednesday (April 29). “It’s been 30 years since the first season of ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’ so I thought we should have ourselves a lil Zoom reunion!! Check us out.”

Smith posted a snippet from the Zoom reunion that showcases the special bond between the Fresh Prince cast. The crew also sent well wishes to Jeff, who recently recovered from coronavirus.

“Jeff you had us all scared,” says Ribiero.

“Not as scared as I was,” Jeff responds. “It was a little rough but I’m definitely happy to be on the other side.”

Marcell, who played the family butler “Geoffrey” on the series, appears to be enjoying life under quarantine. “There’s something amazing about house arrest,” he quips.

“This is probably not your first time [on house arrest],” Smith jokingly replies.

Loosely based on the life of show producer Benny Medina, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air premiered on September 10, 1990. The sitcom aired for six seasons before ending its run in May 1996.

Watch a clip from the reunion below.


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Reunited and it feels so… AHHHHHH! It’s been 30 years since the first season of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air so I thought we should have ourselves a lil Zoom reunion!! Check us out, link in bio. #WillFromHome

A post shared by Will Smith (@willsmith) on Apr 29, 2020 at 10:50am PDT

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