If you grew up in the mid-2000s, you definitely remember the "Grind With Me" era. It was everywhere. Pretty Ricky wasn’t just another boy band; they were this weird, magnetic blend of R&B and Miami hip-hop that felt a little dangerous and a lot more explicit than what B2K was doing. While Pleasure P was the smooth voice and Spectacular and Baby Blue handled the business and the choreography, there was always one wildcard. Slick-Em.
Corey Mathis, known to the world as Slick-Em, was the guy who brought the grit. He was the one with the raspy voice and the unpredictable energy that made Pretty Ricky feel like a real group from the streets of Florida rather than a label-created product. But if you've followed the group's trajectory over the last decade, you know things haven't exactly been a smooth ride for him. Honestly, the story of Slick-Em is a lot more complicated than just a rapper from a boy band falling off the radar. It's a mix of legal drama, industry shifting, and some pretty intense personal struggles that played out in front of the cameras.
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The Miami Legend of Slick-Em
Slick-Em wasn't just a character. He was the heart of the "Blue Stars" era. Born in Miami, he grew up in a environment where music was a family business. People forget that Pretty Ricky was basically a brotherhood—literally and figuratively. They were managed by Joseph "Blue" Smith, the father of Spectacular and Baby Blue. Slick-Em was the cousin, the one who added that "Pleasure" wasn't going to give you. He was the rapper who could actually flow.
When "Grind With Me" hit number one on the Billboard Hot Rap Tracks, Slick-Em’s verse was the one people were reciting in the school hallways. It was simple. It was catchy. It worked. They sold millions. They toured the world. They were the faces of the Scream Tour. But fame that comes that fast, especially for a group of young guys from Florida, usually comes with a massive comedown.
Why the Pretty Ricky dynamic fell apart
Groups break up. It's the law of the music industry. But with Pretty Ricky, the fractures were deep. When Pleasure P left in 2007 to go solo, the chemistry shifted. Slick-Em remained loyal to the brand, but the music never quite captured that same lightning in a bottle. You could see the frustration in the interviews from that era. Slick-Em was always the most vocal, the one who seemed the most "unfiltered," which is a blessing for fans but a nightmare for PR people.
The Public Struggles and the "Love & Hip Hop" Era
For a long time, Slick-Em went quiet. Then came Love & Hip Hop: Miami. That show changed everything for how the public saw him.
Watching Slick-Em on reality TV was, frankly, uncomfortable for a lot of long-term fans. We saw a version of him that seemed far removed from the high-energy performer of 2005. There were rumors about substance abuse. There were very public arguments with his bandmates. It felt like watching a car crash in slow motion, but one where you really wanted the driver to pull over and be okay.
One specific moment that stands out was the reunion. The tension between Slick-Em and Baby Blue was palpable. It wasn't just "reality TV drama" for the cameras; you could tell there were years of resentment over money, creative control, and personal respect. Slick-Em often felt like the odd man out, the one who wasn't being taken seriously by his own family.
Addressing the rumors head-on
Let’s be real about the "Slick-Em is broke" or "Slick-Em is on drugs" narratives that circulate on social media. Fans are quick to judge based on a 30-second clip or a grainy Instagram Live. While he has been open about his struggles, the reality is that the music industry is a beast that eats people alive. If you don't have a solid support system or a "Plan B," the transition from platinum-selling artist to "former star" is brutal.
He’s had brushes with the law, sure. There were reports of arrests over the years, including a drug possession charge that made the rounds on the blogs. But reducing his entire life to those headlines is a mistake. He’s a father. He’s a creator. He’s someone who has been in the spotlight since he was a teenager. That does something to your head.
Where is Slick-Em now?
If you check his socials today, things look... different. He’s still Slick-Em. He’s still got that Miami energy. But he’s leaning more into his solo identity. He's been releasing music independently, trying to find his footing in a rap landscape that looks nothing like it did when he started.
The most interesting thing is the 2024-2025 resurgence of nostalgic tours. Pretty Ricky has attempted multiple reunions. They performed on the Millennium Tour, and for a moment, the magic was back. Seeing Slick-Em on stage, doing the old choreography and rapping those 20-year-old verses, you see the spark. He belongs on a stage. That’s where he makes sense.
The Baby Blue situation
You can't talk about Slick-Em without mentioning Baby Blue’s recent legal troubles involving PPP loan fraud. While Blue was away, it put the group in a weird limbo. Slick-Em had to navigate being the "face" of a group that was down its most vocal member. It forced him to step up, even if the group's future remains a giant question mark.
People often ask if they’ll ever drop another album. Honestly? Probably not a good one. The industry has moved on, and the "Pretty Ricky" sound is a period piece. But as a legacy act? They could tour forever. Slick-Em is the key to that. Without his specific gravelly tone, the songs just sound like generic R&B.
The "Slick-Em" Legacy: More than just a rapper
A lot of people get him wrong. They see the tattoos and the wild hair and the erratic interview style and they write him off. But if you look at the technicality of his early verses, he was actually one of the more versatile rappers in that specific R&B-rap crossover niche. He wasn't trying to be Jay-Z. He was trying to be the soundtrack to a Friday night in Liberty City.
His influence is subtle. You see it in the way some of the newer Florida rappers carry themselves—that "I don't care if you like me" attitude. He was doing that before it was a curated aesthetic.
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Misconceptions about his wealth
There’s this idea that because he isn't on the Forbes list, he’s destitute. That’s rarely the case with these mid-2000s stars. Between royalties (which are small but consistent), club appearances, and reality TV checks, these guys usually find a way to stay afloat. Is he living in a 20-room mansion like he was in 2006? Likely not. But he’s still a working artist in an era where attention is the only real currency.
Lessons from the Slick-Em Story
If there is a takeaway from following Corey Mathis over the last two decades, it’s about the importance of mental health in the hip-hop community. We see these guys as superheroes or as punchlines, but rarely as people who have to wake up and deal with the fading of their own fame.
Slick-Em’s journey is a cautionary tale, but it’s also one of survival. He’s still here. In an industry that usually discards people once they hit 30, he’s managed to keep his name in the conversation for twenty years. That’s not an accident. That’s a grind.
What you can do to support or follow the journey:
- Check the Official Sources: Stop relying on The Shade Room comments. If you want to know what Slick-Em is doing, follow his verified Instagram. He’s remarkably accessible and often goes live to talk directly to his fans.
- Stream the Classics: Modern streaming numbers actually help these legacy artists more than you think. If you’re feeling nostalgic, put "Late Night Special" on repeat. The publishing checks matter.
- Watch the Documentaries: There have been several deep-dive interviews on YouTube (check out platforms like VladTV or Say Cheese) where he actually breaks down the financial side of the Pretty Ricky deal. It's an education in why you should always read your contract.
- Attend the Nostalgia Tours: If the Millennium Tour or a similar "2000s" package comes to your city, go. These artists rely on the live circuit to fund their independent projects.
Slick-Em isn't a tragic figure. He’s a human being who lived through one of the craziest eras of music history and came out the other side with his personality intact. He’s still the "Slick" one, still unpredictable, and still very much a part of the Miami music fabric. Whether he ever gets back to the top of the charts doesn't really matter—he's already cemented his spot in the history books of R&B.
The next time you hear that "Pretty Rick-aaaay" tag at the start of a song, remember that behind the smooth vocals was a guy from the 305 who gave the group its edge. Corey Mathis might have had a rocky road, but he's far from finished. Keep an eye on his independent releases; he's still got a lot to say, and the raspy voice is as sharp as ever.