Freddie Gibbs - Slammin.mp3
Freddie Gibbs – Slammin’ [MP3]
Freddie Gibbs has carved out the most gangster corner of downtown Austin’s otherwise extravagant Hilton lobby. It’s a familiar five star design: plush leather couches, a South by Southwest sanctioned McStage harboring chilled out, sensitive guitar guys; lots of windows, wi-fi, a coffee shop named Java Jive. There’s also a dimly lit, airport-recalling bar and in its dark, back corner Gibbs sips Hennessey on the rocks.
At 27, the rapper has already been restrained and discarded by Interscope, become disillusioned with the genre’s talent, ascended to trendy blog bait on the heels of two exhilarating, freely downloadable 2009 mixtapes, The Miseducation of Freddie Gibbs and Midwestgangstaboxframecadillacmuzik. Gangsta rap on a ’93 tip.
He’s in a black hoodie, black fitted. His manager, Archie, checks laptops as his boys, one a Rick Ross lookalike sporting impenetrable black shades, say nothing. Gibbs provides direct, honest, warm and thoughtful answers. He’s not like most hip-hop interviews, in other words.
“I’m not interested in being the most famous rapper,” Gibbs says frankly, without blinking, “I’m interested in being the best rapper alive.”
Good thing, too, because Gibbs ruffled lots of feathers with his first, decidedly non-gangster dent on the culture: an academic New Yorker feature wherein the author (a) declared hip-hop’s irrelevance and (b) anointed Gibbs as its last hope. The genre you know and love is dead, the white Sasha Frere-Jones arrogantly theorized, except for this guy I found.
If you read the oft-circulated and retorted piece, I don’t blame you for blacklisting Gibbs out of principle. But the embargo is worth lifting, if only because he embraces the pressure.
“He’s a good guy and I appreciated Frere-Jones taking the time to write about me,” Gibbs said, “I don’t take issue with his claim because I believe it.”
Photos by Callie Richmond
Freddie Gibbs hails from Gary, Indiana and makes streets-based rap the way it should sound in 2010: learned, lyrical, about robbing, in societal context. His voice is thick, grizzly. A faster Slim Thug. A smarter Young Buck. His appeal lies in an innate ability to spit the occasional run of the mill boast (“Gibbs run in your crib like Kris Kringle” or “I’m from the home of the old-fashioned Joe Jackson ass-whoopin’”) and have said phrase resonate for days.
“I rap with tunnel vision,” Gibbs said, “that’s all I really do.”
Sort of. There’s also a Twitter account and appearances at key networking opportunities like day parties with other buzz rappers and bills alongside jangly indie rock. He knows how to work the rap game, the industry game; all while appealing to purists with repeated jabs at contemporaries, like “I’m sick of these Auto-Tune ass niggas I miss Nate Dogg.”
And yet, his rising stock repeatedly lands him at photoshoots alongside the proverbial, Auto-Tune ass hip-hopper. In February, Gibbs was on the cover of XXL as one of the magazine’s annual “Freshman Ten.” Alongside well-connected rappers on majors (Donnis, OJ Da Juiceman), rappers with famous cosigners (Big Sean, J.Cole), and token indie back-packer types in skinny jeans (Fashawn, Wiz Khalifa), stood a free agent on probation for gun possession, a former drug dealer with four stints in prison on his resume.
“The [Freshman 10 artists] were cool,” Gibbs said, “I recorded songs the day after the shoot with [fellow cover star] Jay Rock, but I’m not going to butter up to J. Cole to meet Jay-Z. I’m not interested in chasing down rappers.”
So why jump at South by Southwest showcases?
“I think I can change that shit,” Gibbs said, “I was down here in ’09 with no shows, just hustling. This week I’m doing eight to ten shows. I have perspective. It’s a blessing to get love. I had to work at my live performance; I don’t get onstage and sing along to my CD.”
Photos by Callie Richmond
During a gig at Peckerheads, astonished colleagues look on. Jasson Perez of political hip-hop clique Bin Laden Blowin’ Up tells me about the displayed mastery, “He’s not taking breaths, not using pre-recorded adlibs. He’s spitting double time and I hear every word.”
After this week, Gibbs plans to continue work on his self-funded, insider-only album, Straight Killer No Filler.
“I go home and I do what I do to pay for the album,” Gibbs said, “I’m keeping the production in house, all the guys that worked with me for the art. I’m signed to Freddie Gibbs.”
A self-aware hybrid with versatility, vitality and an appreciation of the craft, he’s dead serious. Gibbs isn’t fueled by the exploitative, get rich, streets-to-studio hunger of compelling guys like 50 Cent and Young Jeezy. The Interscope sessions left him with big sounds from ace beatmakers like Pollow Da Don and Just Blaze, but he’s not hesitant to slam that door shut. Fuck rap.
“Pollow is a nice dude and a great producer but those beats came from my time on a major,” Gibbs said, “I respect his talent but all those guys only got at me because I was signed. They worry first about money. The game is full of rap fucks and bitch niggers.”
He doesn’t stutter. It’s a conviction that draws just comparisons to Tupac for passion and transparency. He doesn’t rap about rapping.
“I have a lifetime of stories to tell.”
Guest contributor Ramon Ramirez writes regularly at the Austin-based music site AThousandGrams.com.
