N.Y. State Of Mind

New York is the only city I’ll ever live in. It’s like that, and that’s the way it is. I’ve been here for 27 of my nearly 32 years, and I can’t really imagine a scenario that would uproot me at this point. There are other amazing cities around the world, no doubt. And I quite enjoy visiting them—you know, for a change—but nann-not-a-one has made me say out loud (or even in my inner monologue), “I’d rather live here.” The pace, the rhythm and the tension of NYC are just so unique and, frankly, so addictive. And they change you. Anyone that knows me knows I’m absolutely riddled with neurosis specific to 5 borough living. Shit, forget a license—I don’t even know how to drive!

So you understand why, when the fine folks of ACCLAIM Magazine (Australia’s answer to Mass Appeal and Complex) reached out to interview me alongside NYC legends like Futura and Ricky Powell for their New York Issue, I was beyond flattered. I owe New York my childhood, my career and just about everything else, so to be deemed an authentic voice representing this place I’ve love is really quite an honor. And, making it that much NYC, they had my best friend, fellow hardcore Rotten Apple rep (dude’s got a painting of the lyrics to Gang Starr’s “The Planet”!), and secretly dope photographer, Dart Parker shoot my portrait for the story. I swore to myself that I wasn’t gonna let the interview turn into an old-timey curmudgeon’s rant about the new New York, but, of course, that’s kinda what happened. Oh well. At the end of the day, even an L.A.’d New York is still better than anywhere else on the map. In my wildly biased opinion, at least.

Related Sidebar: I’m really psyched ’cause I’m actually heading to Melbourne, Australia next week to deliver one of the keynote addresses at ACCLAIM’s upcoming conference Carbon: A Festival of Contemporary Style, Design & Culture. I’ll be speaking on Sunday, April 30th about “The Art Of Hype.” Not exactly sure what I’m going to say, but trust, lies will be exposed, lives will be changed, and careers will be ruined. Not really, but maybe. Come through if you’re in that hemisphere and find out.

FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE, DOWNLOAD A PDF OF THE INTERVIEW HERE

Me So Hornet

Think fame is easy? Spend three-plus years working on your passion project—while dashing off a few certified classics along the way—and get back to us. As he prepares to drop The Green Hornet, the genre-bending, big-budget opus he wrote, produced, and stars in, Seth Rogen muses on the good life, and how hard it is to make time for It. By Noah Callahan-Bever.

Seth Rogen is just like you and me. You know, that affable, well-liked stoner who fills silences with awkward laughter, reads comics, collects KAWS toys, plays Xbox, and yearns to be romantically un-challenged. But this is a lie. You have been hoodwinked. BAMBOOZLED! We didn’t land on Seth Rogen, Seth Rogen landed on us! Wait…what? Never mind. The truth of the matter is that the 29-year-old auteur who’s managed to be the funniest man in Hollywood for the last three years is absolutely all of the above things—but he is nothing like you. Or me. For all of his laid-back jokes and seeming mellowness, Rogen is a relentlessly ambitious creative with a definite vision and the follow-through to see it executed. Case in point: his latest, The Green Hornet. Like, why stick to your core competency of mid-budget laugh-fests that are guaranteed moneymakers when you can invent a new genre: the kinda-unhip-old-timey-radio-serial-turned-awesome-modern-action-comedy? And get acclaimed avant-garde-ass Michel Gondry to direct, while you’re at it? Why? ’Cause if you’re Seth Rogen, you can do it and succeed. And then go back to smoking weed on your couch while playing God of War III and listening to Kanye, surrounded by boxes of comics and KAWS toys. So yeah, we’re down with Seth because he reminds us of ourselves—our insanely talented, insanely disciplined, insanely paid, better selves. Dude was kind enough to take a break from his rigorous genius/regular-guy schedule to talk to Complex about his passion for all the stuff we’re passionate about, and, along the way, what makes him altogether different from you and me.

We’re days from New Year’s Eve. What would you say was your biggest personal win of 2010?

Well, I got engaged. I’m going to get married, so that’s a big personal win. We’ve been together for…fuck, like five or six years. I can’t even remember at this point, that’s how long it’s been. [Laughs.]

How does engagement change a relationship?

It means your girlfriend stops bugging you to get engaged!

That’s probably a major change five, six years in.

We’ve talked about it before. It wasn’t a total shock for her. It really hasn’t changed that much, except we’re planning a wedding now. Well, she’s planning a wedding now, and I’m kind of observing the planning of the wedding.

Agreeing—a lot of agreeing.

“Sure, whatever!” [Laughs.] And then every once in a while I almost disagree with something, and I’m like, Oh man, just go with it.

Always go with it. Was there any anxiety leading up to popping the question?

No, I was pretty sure she’d say yes. [Laughs.]

Phew!

Yeah. It would have been so fucked at that point if she had said no.

Well, while that was the biggest win, it obviously wasn’t the biggest challenge. What was?

Editing The Green Hornet. The whole post-production process of putting that together has definitely been the biggest challenge. There’s so many different versions of it, and there’s so much action that we used, and there’s so much stuff that we didn’t use. Me and Evan [Goldberg, his writing partner] talk about how many more movies we could have made in the amount of time that we spent making this movie. We could make 10 Pineapple Expresses!

Up until now, you’ve done films with modest budgets. During those projects you must have become somewhat of a businessman. Does the pressure of the budget on a 3-D action film like this change your process at all?

A little bit, I guess. As a filmmaker, I believe in fiscal responsibility—to a degree. I would never make a movie as weird as Pineapple Express for the amount of money that this movie costs, for example. [Laughs.] I just know that that’s not a good idea. There’s just inherently some things in some of our movies that will make a lot of people not want to go see them, you know? And we very consciously had to balance those things in a movie of this scale or it would have just been irresponsible. I don’t want to be the guy that makes the weirdest fucking movie ever, and then when it doesn’t make any money, I’m like, “What? I can’t believe no one liked it!”

“But I thought Waterworld was going to be a hit…”

Exactly, “A guy with gills. Who doesn’t want to see that?” [Laughs.] But what was actually very gratifying was when we tested the movie, and it tested better than any of our other movies. We thought, “Whoa. Well, we actually did it.” Beyond that, we’ve done our jobs. As far as the marketing goes, if the movie makes its money back—at this point it’s out of my hands. That’s up to the studio. I assume they want to make their money back a lot more than I give a shit about them making their money back. [Laughs.] We’ve given them a movie that I think is good. I know it tested well, so we’ve given them the ball, it’s their job to run with it.

So you’re happy, the audience is happy, and hopefully the suits will be happy. How did you Jedi-mind-trick the studio into letting you execute your vision?

There’s a lot of trickery involved—and sleight of hand. We’re not above lying to the studio. We have this trick now where we listen to their notes, and even write a version of the scene [that incorporates them], and then the night before we shoot the scene, we just completely rewrite it and don’t give the final script to anyone except the actors. It works pretty well.

The overlords aren’t on set to see it?

No, they’re almost never there. At that point it’s kind of a runaway train, which is great. But editing is where they can really fuck you if audiences don’t like what they’re seeing. But luckily, when we screened the movie, it tested really well. So they had no argument to change any of the stuff that we did.

You’d think they’d have a little more faith. Looking at your career, you’ve had a pretty much unblemished record since Knocked Up.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. [Laughs.] Financially, or just good-movie-wise?

Either way.

I don’t know. Funny People, I’m not sure if it quite made its money back. Did it?

Well, I saw it in the theater…and on cable, too.

[Laughs.] I think creatively they’ve all been good. I don’t know if everyone who paid for those movies is 100 percent thrilled about it. You’ll have to ask Harvey Weinstein about that.

What was the story with Eminem’s part in the movie? Was that completely improv?

We had this idea that Eminem was the guy that makes [Adam Sandler’s character] realize that even though he’s better, his life still sucks. That was all we had. Apart from that, it was totally improvised. What happened was me and Ray Romano shot our part first, and we started doing a joke where we were taking pictures of Eminem. Then, when they did their part, he watched that and started screaming at us. It was fucking hilarious.

It was totally random—

Between that and working with the RZA, I am far more involved in the hip-hop community than I ever could have hoped in my entire life.

Speaking of which, tangentially, how did you come to know KAWS?

A lot of my friends in high school were into graffiti and underground hip-hop magazines, and I remember seeing the Calvin Klein ads and stuff that he did, and I just thought it was amazing. It was such a cool way to approach that kind of thing, which was not to vandalize it, but to improve it. And ever since then, I’ve kept up with him and collected. I probably have almost every single figure he’s ever made. And I just got his book. He sent it to me signed, which was fucking awesome.

So you’ve met?

No, but we have emailed. That’s one of the amazing things about being an actor. You—and I will milk it until I fucking die—get to meet some of these people that you think are fucking awesome, and you realize that they kind of like you, too.

What’s your next project?

We don’t know for sure, honestly.

Jay and Seth vs. The Apocalypse?

Yeah! Me and Evan are writing that right now. And we want to direct it if someone actually lets us; and I think they will. That’ll be crazy. It’s insane. It’s a very crazy movie. It’s kind of a horror-comedy.

Right.

We’ve been watching movies like The Mist and Tremors. Also, every apocalyptic movie we can find. We want it to be one of those movies where people are trapped in a little place while the apocalypse is occurring outside. We’re heavily inspired by The Exorcist as well, and Rosemary’s Baby. We want my character to get raped by a demon. [Laughs.]

You had me at “raped by a demon.”

And no one believes I’m pregnant!

How do you find the mental headspace to write and the actual physical time to do it, given your schedule?

It’s easy to find the headspace to write. The physical time to write is getting harder and harder. But we find time. Honestly, it’s what we enjoy doing more than anything, so we aggressively fight for our time to do it. Making movies is very stressful sometimes, but there’s nothing stressful about sitting in your sweatpants just writing on a computer, you know? That’s just fun.

How does your collaboration work? Do you break the script into parts?

Nope. We just sit there together. We do as much of it in the same room, at the same time, as humanly possible. Which is pretty much all of it. We only live a couple of blocks away.

Do you draw straws for who’s the hands?

Evan generally types, because he’s way faster at it than I am—

How convenient.

—Which is kind of something that pisses him off, a lot. I can type for a period, but we can’t deny that it’s just a waste of time. I failed typing in high school.

There goes your secretarial career. Let’s switch back to Seth Rogen’s interests. And you can talk about yourself in the third person if it makes you feel more comfortable.

Yeah, I will, thank you.

What are you listening to?

Team Canada. You ever listen to those guys? They’re mash-up DJs from Montreal. They’re fucking awesome.

Have you sat with the new Kanye?

Actually, I was literally listening to it when we started doing this interview. It’s awesome. I’ve also been listening to the new Girl Talk album all day. Although I haven’t seen the movie, I’ve been listening to the Tron: Legacy soundtrack. [Laughs.]

What websites do you go to?

What websites do I go to? I honestly spend very little time online.

Excuse me?

Yeah, isn’t that weird? My girlfriend, conversely, spends a fucking shit-ton of time online. But, no, a couple of years ago my Internet went out in my house for like six months and I just never got it fixed. And it literally didn’t affect my life at all.

That’s probably why you’re able to get all this stuff written.

I really think it is. I see a lot of people waste a lot of time on the Internet when they should be writing.

You may see that very phenomenon happen when it’s time for me to pen this article.

There’s one thing me and Evan waste time doing online when we should be writing, and it’s watching movie trailers. I go to The Movie Box usually, or Trailer Addict.

How do you unwind?

I play video games. I’ve been playing God of War III for hours and hours and hours a day lately. I read comic books, too. I like to garden, but it’s the winter so I can’t do that. But if I have a chunk of time, I’ll buy a video game and play it all fucking day.

Any recent favorites, aside from GOW3?

I have a 3-D TV, and I got Call of Duty: Black Ops, and I can play it in 3-D. I did that all day, every day, for several weeks.

Online, or do you play just the missions?

No, I just play myself. I should play online, but those fucking nerds are way too good for me. I thought, I’m pretty good at these games. I played GoldenEye in high school. I grew up with this shit. And then you play and you’re like, “These kids are fucking way better than I am.”

Yeah, all you can do is regenerate, and then get shot in the back of the head again.

Exactly! That’s when I realize how old I am. Like, “Oh yeah, I’m almost 30. There’s 13-year-olds that literally have been doing this their entire lives.”

So when was the last time you had a day to yourself when you could just loaf on the couch?

The last few days, actually. It’s been pretty nice. I haven’t been doing shit.

That’s great.

Yeah, it’s been awesome.

Project Runaway

In the space of six months, Complex editor-in-chief Noah Callahan-Bever confided in Kanye, flew to Hawaii, and found himself in rap nerd Nirvana.

“Did you look at my eyes?” asked Kanye West over the phone. He was calling from Milan. It was the middle of October 2009. It had been over a year since the completion of his last LP, 808s & Heartbreak, but this conversation was my first glimpse of what would become My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. “I mean, really look in my eyes in the ‘Run This Town’ video. If you do, you can’t tell me you’re surprised by what happened. It was all there in my eyes.”

He was, of course, referring to “what happened” at the 2009 VMAs, one week after the video shoot. Kanye and I had exchanged emails days after the Taylor Swift incident, but between him being inundated with criticism and my own personal distraction—a recently discovered brain tumor, of all things—this conversation, a month later, was our first real catch-up. And yes, Kanye West and I do periodically catch up. (And yes, I know how that sounds. Believe me.) Which is why, when I finally got around to explaining my condition over email, I received this concerned phone call from Milan, like, four minutes later.

After I hurried through the uncomfortable explanation of where I was at, the commiserating naturally turned to the major event in his life. Besieged and apologetic—but defiant—Kanye explained the fragile, overworked mental state that led to the outburst, his disgust with the ensuing media storm, and why he’d suddenly, and seemingly indefinitely, gone full ex-pat.

Kanye West was over it, he said. Done with music. He’d clearly needed a break, and his subconscious had manufactured one. Now, he was all about fashion—red leather, gold details, and recapturing the decadence of late-’90s hip-hop in design. While I encouraged his pursuit since he was so obviously enthused, I confessed that it’d be a bummer if he abandoned music altogether. In response, he shared rhymes from a still-never-released song he’d done with Jay-Z and Jack White and talked at length about trying to master the physicality of rap. He also admitted that he had beats in his head—ones that sounded like 808s melodies over Mobb Deep drums, no less—that he had to get out. But he was over it. Riiiiiiiight.

Conversation over, we hung up, but my mind went to the story behind the Rolling Stones LP Exile on Main Street; the band had recorded it entirely in the South of France, due to a seven-figure tax debt that kept them off English soil. I thought of Kanye in Italy, I thought of his trials here in the States, and I thought: “This is about to get really…interesting.”

Months went by, and—save for two brief one-line check-ins on my recovery (I’m fine now, thanks!)—Kanye was ghost. At least until mid-January, when an email appeared in my inbox: “Yooooooo, happy new year fam. I can’t wait to play you this new shit!!!!” He explained that he’d holed up in Hawaii and was importing his favorite producers and artists to work on and inspire his recording. Rap Camp! Two weeks later, while Kanye was briefly in NYC, I got a preview of five rough, but incredibly promising songs: “Power,” “Live Fast, Die Young,” “Monster,” “Lost in a World,” and “Gorgeous.” And even better, I got an invite to Hawaii.

On a late March afternoon, I arrive at Avex Honolulu Studios, the seaside recording studio on Oahu where West tracked 808s and is now block-booking all three session rooms, 24 hours a day, until he decides he’s done. He had deliberately concealed the names of the players he’d enlisted, but I can’t say I’m totally shocked to find him posted up in the studio’s A room with Kid Cudi and the Clipse’s Pusha T. Those are his guys, after all. What does elicit a visceral reaction—hard, heavy laughter—is the wall of Kanye Commandments posted on 8.5″x 11″ sheets of paper on one side of the studio. They include the obvious—”No Tweeting” and “No Pictures”—and some…well, some less obvious ones, too. Not that “No Hipster Hats” and “Just Shut the Fuck Up Sometimes” aren’t rules to live by.

In any case, within 15 minutes I get to see Rap Camp in action. Kanye throws on the instrumental for “So Appalled,” which plays on hypnotic repeat for more than an hour while Pusha puts pen to paper finishing his verse. Then RZA walks in the room. And of course he’s got on sunglasses inside. And of course he’s wearing an all-black Ed Hardy-esque ensemble with matching dragon tattoo prints that start on his baseball cap, slither down his T-shirt, and end on his cargo pants. And of course he pulls out a Bobby Digital customized Akai drum machine with the Zorro mask and Wu logo on its face. Because that’s what you do when you’re a motherfucking national treasure. BONG!

Meanwhile, Kanye stares at his laptop, jumping between email and 15 open windows of art references in his browser. He polls those assembled on how risqué is too risqué for his blog, and occasionally barks mixing orders at the engineer, tuning subtle parts of the beat—all without breaking eye contact from his computer. This is how he works: all-A.D.D. everything.

The sun sets, and Q-Tip and Consequence arrive, straight from the plane. Kanye asks RZA if he’d voice the hook—”Champagne wishes and 30 white bitches/You know the shit is, fuckin’ ridic’lous”—and the Abbott steps into the booth and obliges, immediately transforming from sedate and stoned to amped and aggressive. It’s enough to make us all chuckle on his first take; wrapped around those words, his thick and bizarre drawl just sounds so perfectly…RZA. But Kanye notices something off in the delivery, and he presses the intercom button to talk to RZA: “Um, fam, it’s actually ‘thirty white bitches,’ not ‘dirty white bitches.’” RZA laughs. “I’ll do it again,” he says, “but to be real, the way I be saying words, you ain’t gon’ be able to tell the difference.” Ha! At Rap Camp, the shit is fuckin’ ridiculous.

The rest of the trip settles into a fairly routine pattern, if by “fairly routine” you mean “a succession of both magical and mundane moments starring the musicians who defined your adolescence alongside the most exciting artists of today.” Each morning begins with a 10 a.m. breakfast at Kanye’s Diamondhead residence. Pusha, Tip, RZA, Cudi, Cons, and Kanye’s crew slowly assemble to enjoy the absurdly tasty cooking of Kanye’s in-house chefs. If you’re smart, you order the French toast with the flambéed banana. An hour later, Kanye pulls up in his Porsche Panamera, fresh from the studio. That’s right, from the studio. During my five days in Hawaii, Kanye never slept at his house, or even in a bed. He would, er, power-nap in a studio chair or couch here and there in 90-minute intervals, working through the night. Engineers remained behind the boards 24 hours a day.

With everyone assembled and enjoying their leisurely multi-course breakfast, music is the only thing discussed at the kitchen table—or anywhere else. Despite the heavyweights assembled, the egos rarely clash; talks are sprawling, enlightening, and productive. Topics range from the future (whether “Live Fast” should be gifted to Rick Ross, who ended up with the track) to the present (reactions to Drake’s single “Over”) to the past (RZA describing the exact frequency to which he would tune Ghostface’s voice in order to regulate its whininess). But mostly we talk about Kanye’s album: what it has to mean, and what it has to accomplish.

At its heart, beyond the beats or rhymes, this conversation is the reason we were all summoned to the island (no LOST). It’s never explicitly discussed, but everyone here knows that good music is the key to Kanye’s redemption. With the right songs and the right album, he can overcome any and all controversy, and we are here to contribute, challenge, and inspire. And to play basketball.

After the Y comes free time until 3 p.m. or so, when people naturally reassemble at the studio—at which point, make no mistake about it, time is anything but free. On one particular afternoon, Kanye is hell-bent on finishing “Power,” which has had exactly 1.5 completed verses for the better part of a month now. He takes up residence in the A room. Sitting again at his laptop, perusing fashion and art sites for bloggable images, he scribbles lyrics and holds court trying to fill the first verse, which exists only as a mumbled, wordless flow reference. This goes on for hours.

Kanye’s process is communal—he literally goes around the room asking everyone there what “power” means to them, throws out lines to see how they’re received, and works out his exact wording with whomever is around to help. But his output is most definitely entirely his own—one listen to that consistently unique cadence, word choice, and sense of humor reveals that. Rappers, producers, and entourage are all welcome to offer ideas or phrases, but the funny thing is, nearly every suggestion is met with, “That’s really not at all a word I would ever say, but don’t stop offering ideas, thanks!” In fact, that day, a rah-rah couplet is offered by a rapper in the room (who will remain nameless) to close a line on “Power,” and Kanye jokingly says it would be “great—if my name was LL and I was making ‘Mama Said Knock You Out Pt. II.’” You get the feeling it’s addition by subtraction with him—the demonstration of what he doesn’t like illuminates what he does like.

And when he hits a creative wall, as he does this evening, he heads to another studio room to make progress on another song. In this case, it’s upstairs to check in on Q-Tip, who is syncing a beat he’d made to an acappella Kanye laid for a song called “My Momma’s Boyfriend.” Kanye had spit it to a Madlib beat, but didn’t feel like it was the right fit, so Tip is fitting a new track around the words. At first, Kanye is engaged, offering copious feedback, but as the record plays over and over, Tip tweaking small parts, Kanye starts to zone out. At first this means he just nods and stares without talking— processing, but too tired to speak. Eventually, the weight in his eyelids overcomes him and he nods off. It’s only 11 p.m., which means that we can expect a rested and ready Kanye by 2 a.m. at the latest. Tip keeps banging on the MPC for his sleeping audience while the rest of us decide whether to crash out at the hotel or wait on the next burst of creativity.

Of course, we wait. Who would allow themselves to miss a moment of this?

Das Racist

“Swate” feat. Lakutis

Produced by Mike Finto

I’m a bad person. About 18 months ago a lady-friend tried to talk to me about Das Racist, some ironic new hipster rap outfit she’d just read about in New York Magazine, saying they sounded hi-larious. Being that I spend an almost illegal amount of time thinking about, and talking about rap, I was immediately turned off because a) I didn’t know about them already, b) New York, the most credible voice on hip-hop in media, was lauding them, and c) I really hate irony… and hipsters (though kris ex would be quick tell you, as he does me every time he re-emerges on AIM, that’s just self-hate, spurred by a state of denial.). Anywho… Months later this dude Heems, lead rapper in said ironic hipster rap outfit, responds to some of the dumb stuff I say on twitter, and guess what? He GNR (Got a Noah Rollin’, obvs). So, forced to reconsider my position, I go listen to Das Racist’s latest, Sit Down Man, and discover—what the fuck!—it’s well rapped, well produced and is, in fact, hi-larious. Best of all, it’s a genuinely earnest effort, simply wrapped in a veil of irony. Swaaaaate, NYmag was right, and I was wrong. *shakes fist at sky*

So, in an effort redeem my horrible, pre-judging self, when the guys sent me their latest, “Swate”, asking if I could premiere it here on my portfolio site (arguably the most ironically earnest place it could be launched) I, of course, jumped at the opportunity. The hook is funny, the beat is hot, and Heems comes off on the second verse, as he tends to. Get rich to this, basically. Oh, if you’re more fortunate than I and happen to be in NYC tomorrow, February 3rd, check Das Racist and super rappin’ Danny Brown at Highline. I hear it’s going to be swaaaaaaate.

DOWNLOAD HERE

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

So here we are. 2010 is over. It had it’s moments, that’s for sure. Some great ones. And some, well, challenging ones too. But, as you get a little older you realize they’re pretty much all like that. Wins, losses and draws in relatively similar proportions. The other thing I’ve realized watching the years peel away is that no matter how much we decry the current crop of tunes (compared, say, to the sweet sounds of high school), each year produces an enormous wealth of great listening. With that in mind, a couple of years ago me and my best friend Dart Parker challenged each other to put together our Top 100 songs of 2008. Not as a countdown, but as a playlist—our personal soundtrack to the year.

Anyhow, we did so, drank some whiskey, swapped iPods, listened and compared notes. There was about 70% of the same stuff, but we both discovered a bunch of great records we’d never heard in the 60 songs that weren’t common. And so it’s become a bit of tradition. Last year some folks on twitter hit me up to peep my list so I figured this year I’d post it here and maybe put folks onto some jewels that slipped between their couch cushions.

Be clear: I’m not saying these are the Greatest, the Highest-Selling, Most Important or any other hyperbolic descriptor. I’m saying these are my favorite 100 songs of 2010, in alphabetical order by artist. Yeah, I like brutally rugged raps and electro indie rock with dainty vocals, hard programmed drums, and pop hooks. I don’t get it either, whatever. It’s my palate. Enjoy our overlap and dismiss the remainder. And when you’re done, #getoffme.

My Favorite 100 Records Released in 2010

1. “I’m Beaming (rmx)”—All City Chess Club
2. “Round And Round”—Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti
3. “Enforce The Law”—Asher Roth & Nottz
4. “Airplanes Part 2″ (ft. Eminem And Hayley Williams of Paramore)—B.o.B
5. “Vacation”—Beach Fossils
6. “Crazy For You”—Best Coast
7. “Lookin 4 Ya” (f/ Andre 3000)—Big Boi
8. “Tangerine”—Big Boi
9. “Country Shit”—Big K.R.I.T.
10. “What U Doin (Bull$#!@ing)”—Big Sean
11. “I Can’t Go For That”—The Bird and the Bee
12. “Rolling Stone”—Black Hippy
13. “Tighten Up”—The Black Keys
14. “The High Road”—Broken Bells
15. “Put It Down” (f/ Drake)—Bun B
16. “Ya Lame” (f/ Vado & Kid Cudi)—Cam’ron
17. “Odessa”—Caribou
18. “I Hate Parties”—Charles Hamilton
19. “Deuces” (Remix) (f/Drake, T.I., Kanye West, Fabolous, Rick Ross & Andre 3000)—Chris Brown
20. “Night By Night”—Chromeo
21. “Great Outdoors”—The Cool Kids
22. “Celestica”—Crystal Castles
23. “Not In Love” (f/ Robert Smith)—Crystal Castles
24. “The Day” (f/ Jay Electronica & Mos Def)—Curren$y
25. “Ray Ban Vision”—Cyhi Da Prynce
26. “The Return Of DST”—De La Soul
27. “The Difference Between Us”— The Dead Weather
28. “Revival”—Deerhunter
29. “David Coperfield”—Dice Raw
30. “100″—Dice Raw
31. “Salute”(rmx) (f/ Vado)—The Diplomats
32. “Up All Night” (f/Nicki Minaj)—Drake
33. “Barbra Streisand”—Duck Sauce
34. “Jail La La”—Dum Dum Girls
35. “Earl”—Earl Sweatshirt
36. “No Love” (f/ Lil’Wayne)—Eminem
37. “Seduction”—Eminem
38. “Syllable” (f/ Jay-Z, 50 Cent, Dr. Dre, Stat Quo, Cashis)—Eminem
39. “You Be Killin ‘Em”—Fabolous
40. “HaHa (Slow Down)” (f/ Young Jeezy)—Fat Joe
41. “National Anthem (F*ck The World)”—Freddie Gibbs
42. “One Thing” (f/ Raekwon)—Freeway & Jake One
43. “Me And The Devil”—Gil Scott-Heron
44. “Apply”—glasser
45. “Stylo” (f/ Mos Def and Bobby Womack)—Gorillaz
46. “Gay Human Bones”—Harlem
47. “Hand Me Down Your Love”—Hot Chip
48. “Premeditated Murder”—J. Cole
49. “Shiny Suit Theory” (f/ Jay-Z)—Jay Electronica
50. “Sweet & Bitter”—Junip
51. “Runaway Love” (f/ Raekwon & Kanye West)—Justin Bieber
52. “Christian Dior Denim Flow” (f/ Kid Cudi, Pusha T, Lloyd Banks & Ryan Leslie)—Kanye West
53. “The Joy” (f/ Pete Rock, Jay-Z, Charlie Wilson, Curtis Mayfield & Kid Cudi)—Kanye West
54. “POWER”—Kanye West
55. “Runaway” (f/ Pusha T)—Kanye West
56. “Blame Game” (f/ John Legend)—Kanye West
57. “That’s My Bitch” (f/ Elly Jackson of La Roux)—Kanye West & Jay-Z
58. “Look Out For Detox”—Kendrick Lamar
59. “Watchu Say”—The Knux
60. “Dance Yrself Clean”—LCD Soundsystem
61. “Wonton Soup”—Lil B
62. “Right Above It” (f/ Drake)—Lil Wanye
63. “6 Foot 7 Foot” (f/ Cory Gunz)—Lil Wayne
64. “Start It Up” (f/ Kanye West, Fabolous, Swizz Beatz, Ryan Leslie & Pusha T)—Lloyd Banks
65. “Space”—M.I.A.
66. “The Mood”—Kid Cudi
67. “These Worries” (f/Mary J. Blige)—Kid Cudi
68. “Lose It (In The End)” (f/ Ghostface Killah)—Mark Ronson
69. “Cameras”—Matt & Kim
70. “Loaded” (f/ Mike G)—MellowHype
71. “I Go Away”—MNDR
72. “The Last Real pt.2″—Nas
73. “Moment 4 Life” (f/ Drake)—Nicki Minaj
74. “Heartbeat” (Chase & Status ‘We Just Bought A Guitar’ Remix)—Nneka
75. “Fear of God”—Pusha T / “You Can Sell Anything”—Das Racist
76. “Warning Shots”—Rah Digga
77. “Live Fast, Die Young” (f/ Kanye West)—Rick Ross
78. “B.M.F. (Blowin’ Money Fast)”—Rick Ross
79. “What’s My Name?” (f/Drake)—Rihanna
80. “Snow” (rmx) (f/ Sean Price)—Roc Marciano
81. “How I Got Over”—The Roots
82. “Doin’ It Again”—The Roots
83. “The Fire”—The Roots
84. “Vagina” (f/ Taco from The League)—Royce Da 5’9”
85. “Let Me Tell You”—Sean Price
86. “If You Call”—Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings
87. “Thieves”—She & Him
88. “Tell Em”—Sleigh Bells
89. “Speakers Going Hammer”—Soulja Boy
90. “In For The Kill”—STS
91. “SLR”— Super Lupe Fiasco
92. “Soles Of Fire (Chauffeur)”—Theophilus London
93. “Over Again”—Travis Porter
94. “Painted Sun In Abstract”—Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross
95. “Large On The Streets”—Vado
96. “Hard In Da Paint”—Waka Flocka Flame
97. “Black And Yellow”—Wiz Khalifa
98. “Rome”—Yeasayer
99. “Billy Crystal” (f/ Rock City)—Yelawolf
100. “I Love It”—Young Zee & Mr. Green

Talkbox Featuring Words That… Spill.

Wanna know the only thing worse than listening to your disembodied voice on the replay of a radio show? It’s watching yourself interviewed on video. Yikes. It’s bad. (Note to self: Never are you to criticize Kanye for apparent discomfort during TV appearances) This is not to say that Alex and Al Lindstrom, the big homies of allindstrom.com, didn’t shoot me with the crispiest of lenses and exercise supreme judgment in their question selection and editing choices—I’m just better at typing than I am at talking. In any case, for your viewing pleasure, here’s me talking at you about my humble beginnings, how I learned to love the new media paradigm, and why blogs and magazines must embrace their symbiotic relationship. Enjoy!

I Can’t Live Without My (Internet) Radio

The honorable Combat Jack and his internets celebrity co-host with the co-most (mister majestic, the left right kid) Dallas Penn were kind enough to invite yours truly to their radio show last night. We talked comics, ego trip, the crazy-ass BLAZE days, Complex’s rise to being the “Coca-Cola of Rap Magazines”, and just about everything in between. Also they put me on the spot about whether I fux with Wale, musically. Anyhow, it was late and it was fun. But most of all, it was rap.

Oh, and the interview starts like 25mins into the broadcast.

Combat Jack Show 12-3-10 (Noah Callahan-Bever) Full by PNCRadio

Soul By The Pound

Kanye West brought the soul back to hip hop beats, but just wait ‘til you hear what his rhymes bring back. By Noah Callahan-Bever.

Kanye West is a confident guy. Supremely confident. If you want to be a jerk about it, you might even call him gassed. He says things like, “If you think about it, I’ve produced the most classic albums of the century.” Which, strictly speaking, is true. He had the most beats on Jay-Z’s The Blueprint [Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam, ‘01] and Scarface’s The Fix [Def Jam], both judged to be classic by many, including…gulp…The Source.

But just when you think the 25-year-old, Chicago repping rapper/producer’s head might be filled with more helium than The Red Balloon, you remember that Kanye is largely responsible for bringing the soul back to popular hip hop; his beautifully chopped beats-like “Izzo (H.O.V.A.),” “Heart Of The City (Ain’t No Love),” and “Guess Who’s Back”—are just fuckin’ incredible.

And just when you acknowledge said facts, the point gets pounded home. Def Jam honchos Lyor Cohen and Kevin Liles, followed by Roc-A-Fella CEOs Damon Dash and Jay-Z, burst into the small room in Manhattan’s Baseline studios where Kanye’s been previewing his newest joints. The Willies want to hear if he’s got more fire for Jay-Z’s already monstrous double LP, The Blueprint 2: The Gift & The Curse. The “masters of the universe” take seats and ask Kanye to cue up his masterworks (he’s been on a lockout mission for weeks, which means beatmaking every morning, song tracking every night).

They’re all good tracks, but the first couple don’t grab anyone. Then the third comes on, and it’s funky, in the vein of ‘Face’s “In Cold Blood.” Jay-Z, bucket low, like, fuck it, though, starts nodding, a sly grin creeping up the left side of his face. Def Jam CEO and president Liles smirks and his eyelids lower. Roc-A-Fella moneyman Dame does his patented dance. And finally, Cohen, Def Jam’s co-president and CEO, in his oft-imitated Israeli accent, exclaims, “This is fucking it! This the kind of music we need to be making!” It’s at that moment you realize that Kanye is not gassed at all. He’s just excited. And anyone in his shoes would be too. He’s given his heroes some of the best beats of their career, and now he’s signed as a rapper to Roc-A-Fella, which virtually guarantees him a gold plaque. Just Ask Memph Bleek.

* * *

Born and raised in the Chi by his teacher mother and salesman father, Kanye cites Kid ‘n Play’s debut and De La Soul’s “Me Myself & I” as the first records to pique his curiosity. But in a city with no rap radio, hip hop was hard to come by. “In Chicago, they didn’t even have a world for hip hop, so people would call me ‘Deep House’ because of my baggy pants and backpack,” he remembers.

Never a hard rock (and proud of it) Kanye spent his childhood baseketballing, drawing, and dreaming up video games. But when his syncopated handclapping was getting more props at practice than his layups—and the programming code got too involved—Kanye switched plans and put one hundred percent into the music.

He copped a Casio keyboard and got started, but it was a friend of the family—Common (Sense) producer No I.D.—who taught Kanye how to put it all together. “My mother was friends with his mother; they used to party together. So when I started to get into music they hooked us up,” he says. Though he first met NO I.D., (who, himself recently inked a label deal with Def Jam), during the recording of Common’s energetic first album, Can I Borrow A Dollar? [Relativity, ‘92], Kanye would pick up his ear for soul watching the two work on the rapper’s slept-on sophomore banger, Resurrection [Relativity, ‘94]. Since there’s no guaranteed future with professional beatmaking, Kanye enrolled at Chicago State University and began taking classes. The lure of music, however, would prove to be too strong. “I produced ‘City to City’ for Grav [from Down to Earth, Correct, ‘96] and took the $8,800 and bought myself a big Ghostface Jesus piece and some fly Polo,” he says. He also admits that, believe it or not, “It was the best thing I could’ve done with that money.”

A year later he sold the chain to No I.D. (for his video shoot) and used the money to get himself to New York. Once in the Big Apple, Kanye began unloading heat on Harlem World, Jermaine Dupri (Life In 1472 [Sony, ‘98] was his first plaque), and dead prez (Lets Get Free’s “Hip Hop” remix). Finally, in the fall of ’98, he got one off on Beanie Sigel that would become the title track for his debut The Truth [Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam, ‘99].

Sold on Kanye’s menacing organs and thumping drums, Roc-A-Fella A&R Director Hip Hop took over his management and Kanye and the similarly minded Just Blaze became Roc The World, the Roc’s in-house producers. Despite his unrelenting drive, it was Hip Hop that put the fire under Kanye’s ass. “He pulled me aside when Hov had done seven songs for The Blueprint—and I didn’t have any on it yet—and he said, ‘You gotta bring him joints every day, ‘cause Jay’ll go and get Alchemist,’” he remembers. “Everyone’s parents have the same records.”

Kanye took that as his cue to go hard—hard with the rhymes as well. “People don’t realize it, but I only started making beats so that I’d have something to rhyme to,” he explains. (In ’96 he actually bested Common in a famed Chicago radio freestyle battle.) So he started shyly playing his tunes during other people’s sessions. One day last spring, Damon Dash noticed and flipped: “Do you guys hear this? Kanye’s got rhymes! And they’re not even wack!”

His currently untitled debut is due for an early ’03 release. Featuring an interesting cast of cameos, including Scarface, Jay, Beans, Ludacris, Mos Def, and Freeway (who actually appear together on “Two Words”), Kanye’s album can only be described as Resurrection meets The Blueprint. He’s an everyman with b-boy Chutzpah—hip hop enough to appeal to the most thugged-out cats, but thoughtful enough to resonate with the underground, and just charming and stylish enough to score with the ladies. “I’m really fittin’ to be a bigger artist than [Jay and Dame] expect. I think that what I got to say will hit a lot of different people.”

* * *

Reclined in baseline, the puppet masters having exited to give final approval on Freeway tracks in another room, Kanye is focused, man. He has, again, produced Jay’s lead single—the Beyonce-guested “Bonnie & Clyde”—and also snuck a verse onto the Blueprint 2. In addition, he recently signed on to split production on Scarface’s next album with ‘Face’s longtime collaborator, Mike Dean. “I knew when I started all this that, if I went at it hard, I could do anything that I wanted,” he says, glancing down at the gold Roc chain that hangs from his neck.

Kanye West is far from gassed, but the immensely talented rapper better watch out, because if he keeps heading in the direction he’s going—straight to the top—it won’t be long before those around him start catching the vapors.

Way of Life

They’re two hustlers, baby! And they want you to know, it ain’t where they been but where they’re about to go. Pharrell’s prized pupils, CLIPSE are the leaders of the new school. By Noah Callahan-Bever.

Though Malice, the older of the two Clipse brothers, may laugh at the suggestion, it’s clearly true. If one were to reduce the content of the duo’s surprisingly mature and sonically sophisticated new album, Lord Willin’, to one essential sentence, it most surely would be: “I lived off cocaine, way before I lived off rap.”

“Ahh, the drug theme,” he says, seated in the mirrored den of his parents modest Virginia Beach home. “I think it’s so prevalent because the album came together at a time in our lives when that’s exactly what was going on.” Like any good paranoid hustlers, Gene “Malice” Thornton and Terrence “Pusha T” Thornton dance self-consciously around the details of their sordid former profession. But their lawyer-like knowledge of the Virginia Commonwealth penal code, combined with the cold-blooded and too-specific-to-be-fictional words of Lord Willin’, reveal their gangsta.

“You can kinda tell it does wear on my conscience,” Malice admits hesitantly, before passing the onus to his sibling. “But Pusha will tell you, ‘You get to be ignorant on the first album…’” Pusha T concurs, his broad smile and soft features making him look like a cartoon of his lithe, chiseled brother. “We’ll probably try to save the world next album,” he says, hinting at a Criminal Minded to By All Means Necessary-type turnaround between releases. (A strong KRS-One influence can be heard in Malice’s rigid flow.) “But this one had to come out the way it did, man.”

* * *

Entering existence in 1973 in the Gunhill Road section of the Bronx, Gene Jr. was the first child born to Gene and Mildred Thornton (his mother had a six-year-old son from a previous relationship, Charles). A decidedly non-malicious child, Gene was nonetheless mesmerized when his older half-brother introduced him to hip-hop through freestyling ciphers and breaking sessions on the family’s block.

The Thornton four became five in ’78 when Terrence was born, and one year later, as their neighborhood declined, the clan relocated to Mildred’s childhood home of Virginia Beach. “I remember thinking how slow people talked,” says Malice. “And seeing someone walking on the street with no shoes on, and thinking it was the strangest thing.”

A quiet, working-class community tucked behind the beach’s booming strip, the new locale seemed like an escape at first. But, as in the case with so many American suburbs, the emerald foliage and freestanding houses fostered their own version of vice. It was there, in Virginia Beach—the seemingly serene, middle-class land of lovers—that the Thornton brothers learned the game that would come to change their lives.

Both parents were hardworking law-abiders. Mildred spent days at the post office, Gene Sr. at a pharmaceutical lab (how’s that for irony?). But it was their grandmother’s ability to turn five into eight that really impressed the boys.

“I didn’t know where her income came from,” says Malice of the women he compares to Madame Queen (from the 1997 gangster flick, Hoodlum) on Lord Willin’s “Out of Line.” “I just knew she had a lot of money. I can remember as a child playing around with my cousins, we would always come across something like, ‘What’s that?’ Finding scales and stuff.”

Thus, the taboo surrounding dope was removed early on. In the mid-‘80s an adolescent Gene took up a trade he refers to as a “family tradition” when he began pushing crack on neighborhood street corners. “I got two cousins where we used to get the money at,” he explains matter-of-factly. “They ran it, so it was easy.”

While Gene lost interest in school, Terrence excelled with little effort and, when he was nine, actually staged an intervention for his 14-year-old brother. “I started to notice his new gear,” says the once-concerned Pusha. “I started to get worried, so I pulled him to the side to tell him he was messing up.”

In the late ‘80s, though, the money to be made off crack made for a hard argument to beat. Eventually, Terrence followed his brother’s footsteps and opened his own operation.

In 1992, Gene, fresh out of high school, was realizing the danger of his continued hustling. He began cutting back from the time on the block and started making forays into the VA hip-hop scene under the alias Malice. But then, after impregnating his girlfriend, the fresh young MC was forced to put his dream on hold, in need of steady, taxable income, Malice enlisted in the Army for two years and 23 weeks, the shortest tour they offered.

Luckily, before he left for Fort Bragg, mutual friends introduced Malice to Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo—fellow Virginia Beach music makers who had the good fortune of working under local legend Teddy Riley. “We just clicked,” Malice remembers of meeting the future Neptunes. “We’d just make songs together at Chad’s house, no matter how much his parents would scream on us.”

* * *

By the time Malice earned his military discharge in ’94, Pharrell had already scored his first platinum plaque for penning Teddy Riley’s “Rump Shaker” verse. His friend’s accomplishments was proof to Malice that a career in music could be a reality. And he got some help from those around him.

“My girl was like, ‘Well, I don’t work. I’ll work. You stay at home and do your music,’” he says, still awed by her understanding. “And that’s exactly what the fuck I did.”

Malice went to work with The Neptunes on making a demo. At the same time, he was dabbling in the streets to make ends meet—running with his little brother.

Though never drawn to rap like Gene, the book-smart but directionless Terrence enjoyed hanging around his brother’s recording sessions. One day, on a whim, Pharrell insisted that the 16-year-old hop on a posse cut. From the moment his verse hit the reel, The Neptune boss saw the potential in the sibling rhymerly and Malice’s solo act became a duo. Terrence took the MC name Terror.

Originally calling himself the Full Eclipse Crew, which they clipped in light of the Terror Squad-affiliated Full of Clips Crew, the brothers cut a demo over some “dreamy” Native Tounge-ish Neptunes tracks. Reared on the old school, Malice brought a stiff cadence and broad vocabulary to the songs, while the younger Terror contributed to a looser, unconventional flow.

Malice, Terror and Pharrell spent the next four years trekking from Virginia to New York and back, meeting with every label from Quest to Tommy Boy to Priority. All to no avail.

Finally, in ’98, The Neptunes broke though as producers of Noreaga’s “Superthug” and Ma$e’s “Lookin’ At Me” and used their newfound cache to start up a production deal with Elektra. Clipse were their first signing. The four set to work at home, and by year’s end had an album completed, Exclusive Audio Footage.

At their producers’ insistence, during recording, Malice and Terror kept their noses (and those of their customers) clean. “That album was nothing more than friends together doing something they love,” says Pusha of the group’s initial effort. “No outside interference, no arguing. It was all happy times.”

Offbeat and interesting, with song titles like “Breakfast in Cairo,” Exclusive boasted some strong beat work (the first track on the LP would become Jadakiss’ “Knock Yourself Out” in 2001). But truth be told the four weren’t yet ready for prime time. The ‘Tunes relied too heavily on the “Superthug” guitar sound, and both MCs strained their voices, with less-than-convincing results.

They shot and serviced a video for a single, “The Funeral,” in the fall of ’99. Radio reaction was weak, however, and Elektra pushed the release back to 2000. Sensing years mired in contract hell, Neptunes manager Rob Walker was swift in extricating them from the label.

“I’m gonna tell you who was disappointed the most,” says Pusha. “That was Pharrell. He was like real hyped about working with [established artists] but he’s always been like, ‘Yo, we gotta show them how we do it.’”

After their first at-bat strikeout, the brothers went back to the block. They had to make money, even while Pharrell kept talking that music shit. Terrence would abandon the name Terror for the more appropriate Pusha T (The “T” now standing for “Ton”).

Despite the failed business venture, and some lost luster after N.O.R.E.’s “Oh No” bricked, Pharrell and Chad stayed hard at work as boardsmen-for-hire. In the fall of 2000, on the shoulders of two giant crossover smashes—Jay-Z’s “I Just Wanna Love You (Give It To Me)” and Mystikal’s “Shake Ya Ass”—The Neptunes emerged as pop music’s hottest hit makers. The next year, in between assignments from the likes of Britney Spears and ‘NSync, Pharrell and Chad went into business with Arista—forming their own label, Star Trak, with Rob Walker as CEO. Of course, again, Clipse were the first to join The Neptunes’ roster.

With The Neptunes splitting time between Babyface’s next project and Lord Willin’, the foursome went into production in LA. They knocked out the first five tracks in as many days, but, as they’d so painfully learned before, all the industry juice in the world can’t break a new artist. You need a joint, and a dope one at that.

“I’d be like, You got some aight joints,” says Pusha, with a sly smile, describing how he goaded his longtime friends into making their magic. “But you have not made no muthafuckin’ crucial shit. Look, I think you’ve been going to the movies too much. You get Hollywood? You rich?” He laughs out loud. “Pharrell started yelling, screaming. Called Chad, asked him, ‘Do you hear this shit?! Do you hear this shit?!’ He said that a thousand times, and then kicked everybody out of the room.”

Hours later, Pusha’s phone rang. It was Pharrell. “He was like, ‘I got some heat for you,’” says Pusha. “But if you don’t get back here in exactly seven minutes, I’m giving it away.’”

Needless to say, he and Malice showed up in less than seven minutes—but not everybody was ready for the bare-bones rhythm science that Pharrell had concocted. “I was like, ‘Pharrell, something’s missing…’” Malice admits. “And I’m ashamed of this…I don’t even wanna say this…I think I’ve been lying in every other interview, but I’m gonna tell the truth: I didn’t get ‘Grindin’,’ man!”

It’s understandable. The shit is challenging. In fact, Clipse approached the abrasive, futuristic-yet-old-school beat three different ways before finding the perfect fit—dedicating it in the end to the focal point of their adult lives: the grind.

* * *

As their undeniable hit blasts from radio of Malice’s gray Benz truck, the duo reveal their insecurities about the long-time-in-coming debut. For his part, Malice is concerned about the album’s late August release date. Pusha admits to being “addicted” to SoundScan’s sales figures (he can quote the stats on almost any current rap release) and prays that the group break 100,000 in their first week.

“We’ve thought that it was all good before,” says Malice. “And then watched it turn to shit. So we know that nothing is guaranteed.”

“That’s why we stay humble,” adds Pusha. “All that we want from this rap game is the ability to provide our families, to scoop our peoples off the street and make this music that we love.”

Indeed, the grind is about family, never been about fame.

Change-N-The-Game

50 Cent goes for broke with his debut, Power of the Dollar. Noah Callahan-Bever counts the change.

“He’s dead,” says rapper 50 Cent, as his finger darts across a creased photo. The wrinkled relic—which an old friend recently found and shoved quite unexpectedly into his hand here on the corner of Guy R. Brewer Boulevard while 50 is giving a tour of his Jamaica, Queens haunts—depicts a semicircle of grown men dressed in tuxedos, with champagne glasses raised in a toast. In the middle of this Godfather-esque image is the beaming face of 50 Cent. He looks to be about 17. But in a weird way, due to his confident smile and relaxed body language, the man-child fits into the scene more than he doesn’t. 50 continues, revealing the desperate fates that those in the photo succumbed to. “Him, too. That nigga in jail. He on the run.” He chuckles, “I don’t even know what happened to that nigga!”

However, despite this particular image having been captured years ago, this scene is far from ancient history for 50 Cent, born Curtis Jackson. From Big to Eazy to Jay, rappers have often rhymed about their devious days supplying crack to fiends. For this 23-year-old MC, those days are still alarmingly close. “I was hustlin’ till—um—last month,” he says. “Back when ‘How To Rob’ came out, I wasn’t physically on the block myself, but I was still on the street.”

One listen to 50’s soon-to-be-classic album, Power of the Dollar (Columbia), confirms his incredible claims. The LP is saturated with vivid details that couldn’t possibly be fabricated. “Ghetto Quo’ran” exemplifies this as 50 recounts the tumultuous tales of New York’s most notorious hustlers. “That’s a real record,” he says with pride. “The dudes on that record knew me. I’m still a little boy to a lot of these dudes because they in they late thirties.”

Standing on this Guy R. Brewer Boulevard corner (known in the pre-Giuliani days as New York Boulevard) in front of an anonymous Chinese takeout spot, 50 Cent is surrounded by friends and acquaintances. Always dressed in a football jersey (this time Tampa Bay), he seems like a king. It’s more than just the contrast of these obese platinum—and diamond—encrusted cross dangling perilously from his neck against the poverty that surrounds him on the strip. It’s his air. 50—who originally named himself in honor of an infamous Fort Greene, Brooklyn, hustler but now claims that his moniker simply represents change—holds himself regally.

“I seen this bootleggin’ ass nigga today, and he said he got yo’ album from [an industry exec],” says a heavyset member of the assembled crew. But 50 is unfazed by the underground distribution of his debut. “Good! I’m glad the bootleggers got the album,” he says with a laugh. “Some niggas ain’t got it like that to pay sixteen dollars for a CD. Let ’em pay five, as long as they tell they friends how dope the shit is and they come to my shows.” 50 just shakes his head and sighs while reflecting on the implication of the alleged bootleg plot. “Issues are brought to me,” he says, “and you can see how easy is would be to want to hurt somebody.”

He seems to have that problem a lot. 50 can’t help but think about an incident that took place last summer between him and fellow South Side, Queens, resident Ja Rule. “Ja had an altercation where [someone from 50’s neighborhood] had robbed him,” says 50. Shortly after, 50 saw both men in a club. First, he talked to his neighbor, and then approached Ja to give him a pound. “I felt like he tried to chump me.” 50’s animosity came to the surface with the hook in his single “Your Life’s on the Line”: “Murder? I don’t believe you.”

The two squared off later that year at Ja’s platinum party in Atlanta. “He stood up in my face getting mad loud, so I had to handle my business,” 50 says trying to describe, as diplomatically as possible, the ruckus in which Ja allegedly lost his chain. “We jumped off and handled it there.” For a moment, it seemed that the fisticuffs that took place quelled any remaining differences between the two. “I seen him in San Francisco recently, and he talked right by me. That ain’t beef,” says 50. But week after speaking to BLAZE, New York’s Hot 97 FM reported that Ja Rule or a member of his crew had stabbed 50 Cent inside Manhattan’s Hit Factory recording studio. 50 Cent is doing fine, but both he and Ja Rule declined comment.

50 maintains a positive outlook despite the backlash that his industry shakedown anthem, “How To Rob,” garnered from the rappers he mentioned—most notably, Jay-Z, Sticky Fingaz, and Ghostface Killah. “I think that Ghostface’s response was a nice five-minute advertisement for my album,” he says. “I don’t know. I might send him a bottle of champagne or something. Him and these other rappers do a better job promoting me than my label!”

Still, it’s unfortunate that 50 finds himself embroiled in these petty squabbles, since they are partly the reason that he left the street for rap. But 50 is a work in progress. His altruistic goals are constantly hindered by life’s realities. “I look at this whole rap thing as an experiment to see if I can do anything with my life other than sell crack,” he says frankly. “If not, I’ll come back and be on the same block.”

50’s love affair with the dope game borders on addiction: He’s lost far more than he’s gained, yet he still continues to hustle. His mother, Sabrina, a hustler who ran with Queens’ infamous Supreme Team, was killed when 50 was only 8. “It was foul play,” says the stoic MC, reclining on his grandmother’s couch. “Somebody put something in her drink and then turned on the gas.” Clearly, his mother’s death has affected him profoundly: 50 attributes the genesis of his isolated personality to her death. “A lot of people that are your friends aren’t your friends,” he says, spitting bitter words out of his mouth with disgust. “I think that a lot of the bad shit that happens to people happens because they let people get too close to them.”

Despite the example of his mother’s death and the birth of his only child, Marquise, now age 3, 50 remained a street player. “Hustling wasn’t an issue, ‘cause the money was there, and I know so many people on the street that got kids,” he says. “You can be in love, but love don’t pay the bills. In order to give him the things that he needs, I had to be in the street.” Although he makes this rationalization, it’s clear that 50 took fatherhood as a cue to change his life, signing his first recording contract with Jam Master Jay’s JMJ Records right before the birth of his son.

Cash wasn’t the only thing that led 50 to rap, however. “I like rap a lot better than selling drugs, even though I made more money in the streets,” he says. Even more interesting in his aspiration to be more like Redman than Nas or Jay. “Consistency is the key to success. It might not be this album, but one of them will sell a whole bunch of records and be a smash.”

There was a time, though, when money was 50’s only concern. With his mother gone, the rapper was raised by his grandparents, who were already burdened by 13 children of their own. “My grandmother spoiled me ‘cause my mom had gotten killed, but still I hated to ask them for things. Being spoiled wasn’t enough for me. I had bigger expectations.” 50’s insatiable thirst for the finer things in life, coupled with his grandparents’ meager finances, added up to a life of crime.

He began selling cocaine at the age of 12. From there, he quickly moved on to crack. Ironically, while 50 plummeted into the depths of the dealer’s underworld, he straightened out other parts of his life, swearing off drugs and alcohol. “I never really started getting high: it’ll fuck your money up if you get high and sell drugs,” he says. “I don’t really drink neither. That shit affects my judgment. It’ll have me in the middle of the street, shooting.”

50 also started training to be a boxer as a preteen. His new skills gave him focus and discipline and were easily applicable in the street. It suited his thug mentality perfectly, and he became a sort of neighborhood bully. “I figured out that I could fuck these niggas up, so I got more aggressive,” he says of his days tormenting other hustlers and random kids on the block. “If I stumbled over somebody’s stash, I was takin’ it. I’m gonna go home and change their [vile] tops to my tops and then come right back out with ‘em. I had my differences around here.”

50’s money, power, and respect grew but so did the danger. “I’ve been arrested seven or eight times, if you count the juvenile shit,” he says, referencing to the drug possession charges he’s received over the years. “Twenty-two months is the longest that I’ve been locked up.” His last charge was for criminal possession of 5 grams of coke.

For the sake of 50 personally and his fans, that will hopefully be the last time he sees the inside of the bing. 50 says he’s ready to leave whether he can. “I love to watch people’s faces when I perform,” he says with the glow of appreciation that most new artists have. “The energy is so positive, but I know they listen to me, get hype, and go and clap niggas. That’s not really positive,” he concedes. “That’s the only way I see things now. Down the road, I may see the world differently.”

It’s too early to call, but if 50 doesn’t find a new perspective, it may be he who’s fate is laughed about by tomorrow’s hustlers, looking at this very magazine, years from now.