JOEY BADA$$ as part of Canadian Music Week at the Danforth Music Hall (147 Danforth), Saturday (May 9), doors 7 pm. $30. cmw.net.
Joey Bada$$ has hung up on me. I’m not sure if I blame him.
The 20-year-old rapper is scheduled to chat for 30 minutes once he’s finished a photo shoot somewhere in his native New York City, but the shoot runs an hour late. When his publicist hands her phone off to him, he’s breathless, breaking through the clatter and chatter of some bustling outdoor space he’s momentarily occupying.
“How you doing, brother?” he says warmly, but then quickly gets down to business. “I’m just, like, on the go, so if we can make this as quick as possible…. I apologize.”
For the next 13 minutes, Bada$$ continues to convey this mixture of courtesy, impatience and indifference. He’s either curt and contained or animated and free-flowing.
His Pro Era crew and other close friends occasionally interject during our conversation. He doesn’t ignore me, but follow-up questions to get him to be more forthcoming are almost always required.
“You were born in Brooklyn and raised in Bed-Stuy. What was your upbringing like?”
“It was great. I loved my upbringing.”
That’s all I get.
My questions aren’t meant to be nosy. On January 20, his 20th birthday, Bada$$ released his debut album, B4.DA.$$, which by his own accounts chronicles his childhood, the emergence of his unique style as a gritty, storytelling MC, his struggle to make a name for himself and rise to fame.
I want to know about what’s shaped him, particularly things he’s hinted at in his music. At one point on the track Only Child Blues, Bada$$ raps that he wanted to be like one of Brooklyn’s most famous sons, Ol’ Dirty Bastard.
“Wu-Tang was for the children,” he tells me, laughing. “Know what I’m sayin’? As a child, seeing all that shit, I was like, ‘Wow, these guys are really interesting.’ I was a mere toddler when I first heard Brooklyn Zoo.”
His single-parent mom worked two jobs to support the family. Beyond being a music lover with eclectic tastes across all genres, she had a strong work ethic that motivated and inspired him to step up at an early age and start tramping down a path of his own so he could contribute to their collective livelihood.
As he’s recounting this, he clarifies that his father was just as influential.
“He was around, but you know how it be when parents split up,” he says. “Every time I say that, like, my mom was a single parent and shit, everybody thinks, ‘Oh, he’s a black kid so his dad must be gone.’ No, my dad was very involved in my life. I love my dad. Gotta give a lot of credit to my dad.
“Put it like this: my mom was a book-smart genius and my dad had street smarts, so they together moulded this Joey Bada$$ creature.”
Joey Bada$$ is basically a kid.
I’d forgotten this until we get into his childhood, only realizing then that he’s not far removed from the formative period we’re discussing. In fact, he’s still growing and maturing and coming of age, and doing it in front of us.
Not alone, though. He’s backed by a support network that includes musical mentors like DJ Premier and the Roots. And then there’s his Pro Era crew. But that crew is wounded.
In 2011, Bada$$ co-founded the Progressive Era collective along with CJ Fly, Powers Pleasant and the dearly departed Capital STEEZ, who committed suicide on December 24, 2012, after simply tweeting “The end.”
No one outside STEEZ’s family and friends has a real sense of what drove the 19-year-old to end his life, but he apparently suffered from some undisclosed mental illness.
STEEZ’s death haunts Pro Era, young men left to deal with the pain and trauma of his loss. In the days prior to our conversation, HipHopDX asked Bada$$ about STEEZ in an interview.
“I was a leader my whole life, but when I met Capital STEEZ, he was the first person I ever followed,” he said. “What I seen in him was an older me. He was the only person I ever met where I felt like, ‘All right, following behind this guy won’t get me into anything bad.’ You understand? They say all leaders make the best followers….”
That was noteworthy since Bada$$ has seldom spoken publicly about his late friend. Glimpses of self-aware reflection on the album make me wonder if he’s willing to open up about STEEZ, but our conversation has already taken moody turns.
When asked a seemingly innocuous question about B4.DA.$$, he says, “Honestly, I really wish we’d had this interview earlier in the fucking month. I’m just so into my other projects right now, y’know what I’m sayin’?”
When I ask about those other projects, he shoots me down in a hail of sarcasm, as if I’m inappropriately angling for a scoop.
“I can’t tell you! Don’t do it! Don’t do it to yourself! That was a juicy bone for you. You was like, ‘Oh shit! Wait, wait, wait, what are you working on?!'”
Questions about what B4.DA.$$ might tell listeners about his life are met by clichés and non-answers.
“You learn about a series of events that happened in my life. You get to learn about me as a person and my whole method, my whole plan and shit.”
But how does a 20-year-old on the come-up with a solid crew grapple with the fucked-up fleetingness of life? Pro Era came together because, according to Bada$$, everywhere they looked, shit in hip-hop was weak. They wanted to represent the east coast and be the change they wanted to see.
How does that mandate shift when you lose a soldier? How do you continue to find your way without the only person you felt comfortable following?
I have to ask.
“You lost your partner Capital STEEZ in 2012. How has his loss impacted you in your life and in your work?”
The line goes dead.
A flurry of texts and calls with publicists ensues. One tells me the flare-up is not my fault no topics were off-limits. It’s possible that the photo shoot/Pro Era gathering, however fun, is a cold reminder that someone is missing.
A follow-up call for the next morning is brokered. Bada$$ sounds bleary-eyed, croaky and freshly awoken. I don’t bring up STEEZ, and we don’t discuss the hang-up. I just ask how he’s dealing with life these days.
“Everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be, so I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says. “Through the process of making shit, you’re gonna become famous. Certain people come up to me and they’ll be like, ‘You have this awesome life, this cool life, always travelling.’ But people don’t know about the baggage it comes with. More money, more problems. That’s the thing you gotta be prepared for.
“It’s definitely bittersweet,” he adds, and I feel STEEZ between us. “It’s a balance. There’s a lot of good things and a lot of bad things as well.”
music@nowtoronto.com | @vishkhanna
