The glitzy corridors of Hollywood have always whispered secrets, but Al B. Sure!’s latest revelations are a thunderclap that’s shaking the foundations of music’s elite. In a raw, unfiltered interview on September 25, 2025, the R&B legend—whose silky voice defined the ’80s and ’90s—unleashed audio evidence and a lifetime of suppressed pain, pointing a trembling finger at Sean “Diddy” Combs. Al claims Diddy poisoned him into a 2022 coma and orchestrated Kim Porter’s 2018 death with toxins mimicking pneumonia, all to silence threats to his empire. From a $20,000 bounty sparking hitmen hunts to rogue cops on payroll gaslighting his pleas, Al’s story is a survivor’s scream against a system that buries truth under cash and clout. As Uptown Records’ ghosts rise—Andre, Heavy D, Kim—all dead mid-tell-all—Al’s vow to testify in Diddy’s ongoing trials has the industry on edge. Is this a mogul’s massacre, or a deeper conspiracy? In a world where fame’s price is often paid in blood, Al B. Sure! is demanding the bill comes due.
Al B. Sure!—born Albert Joseph Brown, the velvet-voiced heartthrob behind hits like “Nite and Day” and “Off on Your Own (Girl)”—has been a quiet storm since his heyday. Married to Kim Porter from 1992 to 1999, father to their son Quincy with Diddy as co-parent, Al’s life intertwined with hip-hop’s royal family. But beneath the harmonies lay a harmony of horror. On September 25, 2025, promoting his memoir The Truth About Me, Al sat for Good Day New York, his eyes shadowed by 15 years of “being ignored, ridiculed, and medically silenced.” The trigger? Diddy’s September 2025 sex trafficking trial acquittal on most counts, amid Ally Carter’s bombshell podcast claims of suppressed Cassie Ventura footage. “The DOJ lied,” Carter raged. “They had the video and said nothing happened.” Al’s response? A deluge of detail, backed by audio that’s as haunting as his falsetto.
It started with Kim Porter’s death on November 15, 2018. The official story: lobar pneumonia, sudden and swift. Al, who’d reconnected with Kim platonically, called BS from the jump. “She was in the best of health,” he told the hosts, voice cracking. “We’d just celebrated our son Quincy’s Netflix special at the Netflix lobby—Sean, me, the kids, all together.” But days before, Kim had pulled Al aside, her eyes wide with warning: “Watch your back.” She knew Diddy was plotting—against her for her tell-all book, against Al for his own exposés. “Kim didn’t just check out,” Al insisted. “The first coroner’s report ruled homicide—toxins in her system creating pneumonia-like symptoms.”
Ed Winter, the L.A. coroner who’d probed Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, and Paul Walker, found the evidence: poisons mimicking heart attacks or lung failure. But Winter was yanked, replaced by a Diddy-picked successor who rubber-stamped pneumonia. “They have poisons that create those symptoms,” Al said, echoing leaks from Hollywood Street King: Kim found with red fluid on her pillow, a trail to the bathroom, strategically posed to muddy the scene. Winter’s sudden death weeks before Cassie’s lawsuit? Timing too tight for coincidence. “I know very clearly that Kimberly didn’t just check out,” Al posted in 2018, a tearful video that drew threats. “That’s some bullshit.”
Al’s own brush with death came in 2022: a mysterious multi-organ failure landing him in a coma, liver transplant, tracheotomy—the works. “Doctors haven’t figured it out,” he revealed. “I was healthy, then out of the blue—collapsed.” Threats flooded: “Take down the posts or else.” Cops gaslit him: “You need psychiatric help.” On payroll, Al claims, reporting back to Diddy. “For over a decade, I’ve tagged agencies to protect loved ones,” he wrote. “But a very aggressive PR team and costly campaign silenced me.” The bounty? $20,000 for his head, he says, after Kim’s warning: “Diddy was coming for us both.”
Uptown Records’ graveyard adds ghosts to the gallery. Al, Andre, Heavy D, Kim—all penning tell-alls that never saw shelves. “Andre was writing right before he died,” Al said. “Heavy D too. Kim was next.” Andre Harrell, Uptown founder, dead at 59 in 2020; Heavy D, 44 in 2011; Kim, 47 in 2018. Coincidence? Al sees a pattern: “Everybody that worked at Uptown from the beginning—gone. Just him.” Diddy’s the “luckiest mother,” Al quips, untouched while collaborators drop.
Al’s testimony threat? A trial grenade. “I’ve volunteered to testify,” he affirmed, risking his bond with son Quincy, Diddy’s co-parent. “The collateral damage is too much.” From Uptown shadows to Diddy’s empire, Al’s audio is a survivor’s siren: “I was ignored… but now the facts come out.” Katt Williams’ Club Shay Shay rants—”Satan can’t create blessings… Hollywood’s hitmen act like it never happened”—resonate. Ally Carter’s DOJ drag: “They had the Cassie video and lied.” Orlando Brown’s “scash goobash” rants? Echoes of Al’s warnings.
The fallout? Diddy’s acquittal cracks under scrutiny—Cassie clips “vaulted,” per Carter. Al’s book The Truth About Me drops October 15, 2025, promising “facts and insights” from Kim’s “selfless attempts to save my life.” Threats persist: “Pull up and end it.” But Al’s unbowed: “No celebration in Sean being incarcerated… but the truth will be revealed.”
Celeste Rivas Hernandez’s tragedy—unrelated but parallel—mirrors the pattern: a teen groomed, silenced, her end a “sacrifice” for clout? Al’s fight isn’t solo; it’s a chorus against an industry that trades souls for streams. For Kim, for Al, for the Uptown ghosts, his voice is vengeance. In a town where stars shine on graves, Al B. Sure! is the light that won’t dim—testifying to truth’s triumph over terror.
