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Graffiti in Its Own WordsNY MAGBy Dimitri Ehrlich and Gregor Ehrlich(2006)TRACY 168, who began writing graffiti in the late sixties and invented wild style in the mid-seventies, painted this train in two minutes in 1974. Afterward, he added ink and whiteout to the photo.Graffiti today is such an accepted part of youth culture that it’s hard to imagine what New Yorkers experienced in the early seventies, as they watched their city become steadily tattooed with hieroglyphics. Some saw it as vandalism and a symbol of urban decay. But for the writers who risked life, limb, and arrest, and the teenagers, filmmakers, and, eventually, curators who admired them, graffiti was an art form. Galleries and museums caught up to this view in the early eighties, when graffiti was briefly part of the era’s art boom. Now it’s finally ripe for retrospection: On June 30, the Brooklyn Museum features works by many of the artists interviewed here, while from June 29 at the Brecht Forum, the Martinez Gallery mounts a smaller show of movement veterans.Modern graffiti actually began in Philadelphia in the early sixties, when Cornbread and Cool Earl scrawled their names all over the city. By the late sixties, it was flourishing in Washington Heights, Brooklyn, and the Bronx. The New York Times took notice in July 1971, with a small profile of a graffiti artist named TAKI 183. But Julio 204 was using a Magic Marker and spray paint on city walls as early as 1968, and in 1971, writers like JOE 182 began “bombing”—marking as many surfaces as possible.By the mid-seventies, many subway cars were so completely covered in top-to-bottom paintings (known as “masterpieces”) that it was impossible to see out the window. For writers, this was a golden age, when the most prolific could become known as “kings” by going “all-city”—writing their names in all five boroughs. Mayor Lindsay declared the first war on graffiti in 1972, beginning a long, slow battle that seemed to culminate in May 1989, when the last graffitied train was finally removed from service.Yet today, graffiti etched with acid can be seen on subway windows, and it’s alive and well on buildings around the city. And thanks in part to the Internet, which teems with graffiti Websites, it is a worldwide phenomenon in every language. What follows is the story of the people who invented graffiti, and those who watched them do it. Names of writers are rendered in the style in which they appeared on the city’s walls and subways (all caps usually indicates an artist from the seventies). Next: A Graffiti TimelineGraffiti, the early years: Clockwise from right, a COCO 144 stencil, 1971; JOE 182, 1970; and CAY 161, 1971.Photo: Courtesy of the Martinez Gallery1969The BeginningIvor L. Miller, author of Aerosol Kingdom: Subway Painters of New York CityHumans have been writing symbols on walls since time immemorial. But it’s safe to place the origins of a New York style in the late sixties, as a younger generation’s artistic response to the public protests of the Black Power and civil-rights movements. Clearly something new happened with the invention of the spray can, the influence of psychedelic posters, and color TV. The Manhattanville projects just north of 125th Street in West Harlem were the residence of an important writer named TOPCAT 126.SharpTOPCAT 126 came from Philadelphia in the late sixties, maybe ’68, and he started tagging the streets. [Tagging is writing your name.] And he hooked up with Julio 204 and TAKI 183, and they grabbed the torch.C.A.T. 87In the late sixties, I saw the name TAKI 183 in little letters everywhere, and JOE 182 and Julio 204. One day I was playing stickball on 182nd Street and JOE 182 came out. He was one of the hottest graffiti writers then. He said, “Look what came out in the papers!” There was a cartoon of a guy catching someone writing graffiti, and saying, “Are you JOE 182?” And the writer said, “No, I’m his ghost.” Because nobody could catch them. They were just like these mysterious figures.MICOIt began in different neighborhoods. But we all had one thing in common: We wanted to be famous. I started writing in East Flatbush in 1970. Then slowly I met people from the four other boroughs. Everybody went to the writers’ bench at 149th Street and Grand Concourse in the Bronx. There was one for Brooklyn writers on Atlantic Avenue. In Washington Heights, it was on 188th Street and Audubon Avenue. We would hang out, see our work, and everyone could get autographs. C.A.T. 87 was from Washington Heights. TRACY 168 was in the first generation. COCO 144 used to live on 144th Street and Broadway, which is what the number 144 meant.LEEI met so many characters on the 149 bench. It was like a speakeasy, everyone came and traded stories.TRACY 168I grew up in the Bronx. Me and my friend FJC4 were dropping off some legal papers in Queens—his father was a lawyer—and we just took a marker out. We never thought we’d see the tag again, but on the way back, we caught the same train and it already had some other writing next to it. It was like a communication. At the time, New York was all dark. We had the Vietnam vets coming back, all pumped up. We had the war protesters. And we had the street gangs.C.A.T. 87I was in the Savage Nomads. You had the Saints at 137th Street and Broadway, and in the 170s you had the Young Galaxies. But if I was C.A.T. 87 and the guys from other neighborhoods saw my name, instead of trying to beat me up they would ask for autographs.Jeff Chang, author of Can’t Stop Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop GenerationThere were graffiti writers in many gangs, especially the larger ones like the Black Spades, the Savage Skulls, and the Ghetto Brothers. The writers would mark the gangs’ clubhouses and often their turf. At the same time, you had graffiti crews that moved separately from the gangs and could slip in between their territorial restrictions. Eventually, as the gang structures died off, the graffiti writers could be seen as the heralds of a new era.MICOWe didn’t call it graffiti in the early seventies. We would say, “Let’s go writing tonight.” Graffiti is a term that the New York Times coined, and it denigrates the art because it was invented by youth of color. Had it been invented by the children of the rich or the influential, it would have been branded avant-garde Pop Art.Hugo Martinez, founder of United Graffiti ArtistsIn 1971, when CAY 161 and JUNIOR 161 painted the 116th Street station, they painted a top-to-bottom wall there. That’s considered a milestone. And Norman Mailer wrote about it in The Faith of Graffiti—that was the first book ever about graffiti. Around 1971, CAY 161 also painted the wing on the angel in Bethesda Fountain in Central Park. Everybody talked about that. That was when the Puerto Ricans took over Bethesda Fountain.CAY 161The biggest and most dangerous place was where your piece was recognized the most. I wrote my name with white spray paint on the wing of the angel in Bethesda Fountain and a lot of people said, “Wow, how did he get up there and do that?” I grabbed one of the wings and climbed up.Richard Goldstein, author of “The Graffiti ‘Hit’ Parade” feature for New York in March 1973I loved the idea that graffiti defaced surfaces and re-created them in a different image. It was immensely creative in the way it re-created decrepit space, derelict buildings, and crumbling subways into real centers of energy. It seemed to be immediately something that Latins would do, because the color scheming was very tropical and the surfaces that were being defaced were very Northern European and dark and dour. I found Hugo Martinez, who was a student at that time, and he introduced me to a couple of these kids. They were all from Washington Heights. And I began to look at the social meaning of this. It allowed groups to cohere, formingteams. There was a lot of jargon and rivalry between boroughs. Next: Style Wars and the CrackdownCaught in the act: Riff 170 in 1975.Photo: Courtesy of Martinez Gallery1971Style WarsJeff ChangYour name is your brand, and writing your name is like printing money. Quality (aesthetic style) and quantity (the number of trains and walls you’ve hit) are the primary ways that the brand gains market share. If you’re the biggest name on a line or in an area, then you’re the king. After the New York Times wrote about TAKI 183 in 1971, there was more competition, which means style changed much more rapidly.LEEIt was a reflection of the great side of capitalism, where everyone wants to have the biggest stock or bond portfolio, or the fastest or most expensive car.MICOIn 1971, I was in the Sheepshead Bay layups one night—that’s the tunnel where trains rest in between rush hours. And we found the names of PAN 144, COCO 144, and ACE 137 on some of the cars. The paint was still wet. That opened our eyes to going all-city.COCO 144I lived close to the IRT, and there was a layup between 137th and 145th Street between the stops. We were there every Saturday and Sunday morning, destroying the trains inside and out. My style back then was what we called a hit: just a signature, a single line.MICO“Hitting” was just about getting up, getting around. The more hits you had, the more famous you became. “Killing” or “bombing” was a little more intense. It means carpeting an area—just hit hundreds of MICO, MICO, MICO, and kill that subway car. Or you could do a masterpiece, a really big piece that was generally planned out in a sketch.COCO 144I was the first to use a stencil. It said COCO 144 with a crown on it (page 50). I was trying to develop speed, and I was able to put my name around at a faster pace that way.MICOThe letters got more refined and larger and larger. We were each trying to outdo the other. I was doing social-political work, and unfortunately, I had no competition there. One of the most important moments in my career was when I was voted into United Graffiti Artists.Hugo MartinezI started United Graffiti Artists in 1972 as a collective that provided an alternative to the art world. I saw this as the beginning of American painting—everything else before this came from Europe. These kids were rechanneling all of those hippie ideas about freedom, peace, love, and the democratization of culture by redefining the purpose of art. They represented a celebration of the rights of the salt of the earth over private property.MICOIt was the top writers from the different boroughs. You had to be nominated by a member, and if you were good enough, you would be called in for an interview. I had my first art-gallery show in Soho in 1973, at the Razor Gallery. The first canvas that was purchased by a collector was my Puerto Rico flag canvas, for $400. It was an effort to bring the art form from the tunnels into the galleries.LEEMost writers were more concerned about going out into the elements, not being put together on gallery walls. Young people were interested in making a mark, literally, in their territory. It was seen as heroic.1972The CrackdownJeff ChangAfter Lindsay declared war on graffiti in 1972, it became the focus of political campaigns, and in this sense, its effects lasted much longer than the subway-graffiti era. Since then, every New York City mayor has at some point reaffirmed his commitment to fighting “the war.” You can locate the roots of the “broken windows” campaign in Lindsay’s war on graffiti.LEEIt wasn’t so much that the city did a single crackdown. It came in increments, from the time of Lindsay through Beame to Koch. At one point, Richard Ravitch, the MTA chairman, was in talks with a group of graffiti artists. The offer was that if these guys were given the green light to decorate, could they get the 30,000 other kids to stop? Of course, it went south. But they had a bargaining table and everything.MICOEspecially in the beginning, it was a guerrilla war. We had strategic maps of the subway system, of which yard or layup was hot or cooled off. We gathered intelligence info at the writers’ bench. And if you got chased out at Coney Island that morning, you came to the bench and told everyone it was hot.C.A.T. 87I got caught with a friend hitting the buses on 125th Street. As soon as we got there, guards came with weapons. I hid under the bus and my friend jumped into the Hudson. I crawled under the buses to 133rd Street and came out covered in mud and ice. I got home, and my friend showed up all frozen. He swam downtown. Next: Graffiti’s All-City KingsPhoto at left, the United Graffiti Artists in 1973. From left, first row: COCO 144 and Hugo Martinez; second row: Rican 619, LEE 163, and Nova 1; third row: Rick 2, Ray-B 954, Cano 1, SJK 171, Snake 1, and Stay-High 149; fourth row (standing): Stitch I, Phase 2, Charmin 65, Bug 170. Photo at right, a LEE mural from 1982.Photo: Courtesy of Martinez Gallery1973All-City KingsDazeIt elaborated from a signature, to a basic piece, to lettering, to stylized lettering, to cartoon characters, to doing whole subway cars.Ivor L. MillerThe movement really grew and blossomed on the trains, since it interacted with the city’s population, not just other writers. Writing is meant to be an “art in motion.” The form was developed with movement and the space of the train car in mind.C.A.T. 87The trains and the buses were like international routes.BLADEWhen Lindsay was mayor, each train you painted would actually run for years. It was beautiful. It was like thousands of rolling billboards. Beame painted all the subway trains brand-new in 1975, and then everyone started doing everything big, with paint rollers. In the mid-seventies, you couldn’t see out the windows of the trains anymore.Jeff ChangThe MTA’s attempts to whitewash the trains only further intensified the process of stylistic change, because there were many more potential targets, and they’re all clean canvases.Adam Mansbach, author of Angry Black White BoyIf you watch Death Wish, the Charles Bronson movie from 1974, he lives in a graffiti-saturated world, and it pushes him to the tipping point. Middle-class commuters from Jersey or Long Island got increasingly alienated, because not only is there a conversation going on that they are not a part of, they can’t even read what is being written. And I think it got worse as wild style evolved.Charles Ahearn, writer and director of the classic graffiti movie Wild StyleWild style is an indecipherable, highly abstract, Cubist style of letters that have a kind of motion to them.TRACY 168I started wild style. Wild means untamed, and style means I have class. So I was like an animal but with respect. And they used that word for the hip-hop movie. They thought it was a saying that was all over the street, but it was just the way we lived.LEEWhen wild style came around in the mid-seventies, it was sculpture in motion. They broke down the alphabet and turned it into a three-dimensional thing. I thought it was riveting, but I wanted people to understand and not be confused. On a moving train, the art is coming at you, so it shouldn’t be antagonizing, it should be tantalizing. It should open up your pores and seep in.Hugo MartinezAnother important development was CASE 2 coming up with computer letters.TRACY 168You can see my name on the door of the train if you watch the opening of Welcome Back, Kotter. I wrote GOD BLESS AMERICA for the bicentennial. I did three pieces in red, white, and blue, and it was so beautiful that the MTA immediately painted over it. They couldn’t let anyone know that we loved America. Next: Street Stars Emerge and the Hip-Hop ConnectionA car painted in CASE 2's computer lettering style from 1978.Photo: Courtesy of Martinez Gallery1977Street Stars EmergeLEEThe blackout was the tipping point. It was a stepping-stone to graffiti becoming a worldwide phenomenon. That was a chapter that ended when people said to themselves they can jump right in and develop themselves as artists in a new context.TRACY 168We changed the whole world in ’77. After the blackout, they started using roll-down gates on stores because all the windows were busted from the looting. When the gates came down, they looked dark and weird, so we painted them to make them look beautiful. At the height of all the insanity, I went to a party where the governor and mayor were, and I actually sat down and had dinner with them. And they asked me, “Who are you?” I said, “Security.” Then the Secret Service came up and grabbed me.Charlie AhearnThe strongest memory I have is 1978, coming across all these handball courts north of the Brooklyn Bridge by Lee Quiñones [a.k.a. LEE]. They were exploding with color. They had a lot of control. They had a great deal of comic sensibility.I would ask the kids, “Who made these?” And they would look at me incredulously, like, “LEE, you stupid ass! LEE is the most famous artist in the world!”Glenn O’Brien, author, art criticThere was a great moment around 1978 when all of these stars were emerging—LEE, Futura 2000, SAMO [Jean-Michel Basquiat’s graffiti pseudonym] and Keith [Haring], Lady Pink and Zephyr—and you would go out and see stuff that was really unique.Charlie AhearnBy the summer of 1980, competition had reached a fever pitch. You’d see a whole car by Futura, a whole car by SEEN, a whole car by LEE, a whole car by MITCH—they were just popping up on a daily basis. These were massive, huge pieces. You could watch a train emerging aboveground, and you might see three or four fresh whole cars done in the last couple of days.BLADEI wanted to make sure you could see a train from five blocks away and you could read it. COMET 1 and myself invented the blockbuster in 1980: very large, square words, but very legible. We painted over 5,000 trains each, over the span of those years.Richard GoldsteinThe mural that was done on the train after John Lennon was killed, a masterpiece that covered two whole cars—that was a real milestone to me.A whole car by CASE 2 from 1979.Photo: Henry Chalfant1980The Hip-Hop ConnectionCharlie AhearnIn the summer of 1980, I was making an art show in an abandoned massage parlor in Times Square. Fab 5 Freddy started talking to me about making a movie about graffiti and rap music. So I got Fab and Lee to do a piece on the front of the building that said fab 5. Can you imagine that? Right there in the middle of Times Square.Fab 5 Freddy, hip-hop impresarioYou have to remember that in those days your prowess—being stealthy, sneaking into the train yards, breaking the law in a crazily insane manner, not getting busted—was a big part of the energy. I helped explain to people that graffiti was part of hip-hop. It was always something I saw as one cultural movement.COCO 144I was listening to jazz, Latin jazz, and rock. This was before hip-hop was created. Anybody that does their homework would know graffiti came first.Glenn O’BrienIt’s like, what’s the connection between jazz and Abstract Expressionism? They weren’t the same people doing hip-hop and graffiti, but there was a cultural, mental, and spiritual connection. The only one who did both was Fab 5 Freddy, and that’s because he was in such a hurry to become famous. And Futura did a record—I guess it was rap.Jeff ChangThere is still a raging debate, especially amongst older graffiti writers, as to whether hip-hop and graffiti are linked. But once hip-hop was presented with graffiti in movies such as Wild Style and Style Wars, history took a different turn. And clearly, the art of hip-hop now—whether we’re talking graphic design, fashion, painting, conceptual art, and even sculpture—has thoroughly been shaped by the language of graffiti.Richard GoldsteinThe reason graffiti didn’t cash in the way rap music did is that it was illegal, and it didn’t have the misogyny and violence that so appeal to white teenagers. Next: But Is It Art?Graffiti continues to evolve. Left, an acid etching by Snatch, 2006, and below, a truck bombed by Fresh in 2006, both from the book Graffiti NYC, by Hugo Martinez, with photographs by NATO (set to publish October 2006 by Prestel Publishing).Photo: Courtesy of Martinez Gallery/From the Book Graffiti NYC1981But Is It Art?MICOA lot of people became discouraged from writing on the subways because some of these toys started destroying our work. Toys are guys who are just starting out—they’re not respected by other writers. I was wasting my energy and my paint. So I decided to start putting my work on canvas to be able to preserve it.LEEIn a way, the crackdown couldn’t have come at a better time. Things had reached the peak of achievement artistically. The fine-arts world was embracing it. We had front-row seats to a lucrative atmosphere that opened a lot of doors.Patti Astor, owner of Fun GalleryI met Fab 5 Freddy at a party downtown. And through him, this whole world got opened up to me. I showed Jean-Michel, Keith Haring, Kenny Scharf, LEE, Zephyr, Dondi, Fab 5 Freddy, Revolt, A-1, Rammel-zee, Iz Da Wiz, Futura 2000, Lady Pink, Crash, Daze, and lots of others. Some people said that by going into the galleries, it would lose its purity. I think it brought it to a much wider appreciation.CrashI was painting on rooftops. So the first time I got to a gallery where I could control elements like wind and rain, it gave me the opportunity to do more than just my name.SharpIn 1981, you had a show called “Beyond Words” at the Mudd Club with Lee and Fab 5 Freddy. That was really the beginning of cross-pollination between the downtown scene and the uptown scene.Fab 5 FreddyThe word artist was rarely used at that time, until I began to have shows. Keith Haring would tell you he was not a graffiti artist, but he was based, rooted, and inspired by it. He was very conscious of the racial dynamics of fitting in with the black and Puerto Rican kids. And he did it.DazeKeith and Jean-Michel were never true subway artists. People had an easier time digesting what they did because they could refer back to art history. Whereas with our work, it was like learning a new language, and most people didn’t want to take the time.Richard GoldsteinThere was this period when major art dealers like Leo Castelli were after all the graffiti artists. I constantly told the artists not to trust the galleries because I thought they would only give them fifteen minutes of attention and then dump them. Which is actually what happened.Lady PinkThe art-world people are sharks like anyone else, so it kind of prepares us, being underground, to deal with the art world aboveground. At least a guy in the tunnel, you know what his intentions are.RATEGraffiti is vandalism. If it becomes too legitimate, it loses part of what it’s about in the first place.LEEI shared a studio with Jean-Michel in 1983, when Michael Stewart died, and it affected him really profoundly. Michael was arrested for writing graffiti on the subway, and he arrived at Bellevue Hospital Center in a coma, handcuffed and legs taped together. The whole political theater was intense. At that point, the majority of the police force was Irish or Italian, but they were white, and they were inflicting very harsh treatment to people of color.1989The End of the LineDan Ollen, a former NYC prosecutor who handled hundreds of graffiti casesGraffiti got way out of hand in the eighties and early nineties. Some time in the early nineties, I began to notice a change. Although I am sure the drafters of the Anti-Vandalism Act would like to take credit for this change, I don’t believe the enactment of two misdemeanor crimes had much to do with the abatement of graffiti, since graffiti artists could always be prosecuted for felonies under the criminal-mischief statutes before and after the act was passed. Rather, I believe the public got fed up with young men and women damaging property that did not belong to them. Remember, entire neighborhoods were under siege at this time. That led to increased public pressure on the police. Moreover, precincts began to form anti-graffiti task forces to combat the problem. Next: Long Live GraffitiAll grown up: From left, TRACY 168, 2001; CASE 2, 2006; and MICO, 2006.Photo: TRACY 168 and MICO: Robin X/From the book Graffiti NYC; CASE 2: Courtesy of the Martinez Gallery2006Graffiti ForeverKavesThey declared victory, but it was a farce. The graffiti moved off the subways and went aboveground. Now it’s on rooftops and churches all over the city, and it has become a private-property issue. There is etching and tagging with acid, and now it is more of a problem.Hugo MartinezGraffiti is much more prevalent than it was in the early seventies. It’s on every building in the city. It’s much more than 11,000 train cars! Nowadays graffiti is about appropriation. Slamming that shit on there quick so that you don’t get busted. It is not about making some landlord’s property prettier.SharpI think what people are doing today is really destructive. I feel conflicted about even having that opinion. I don’t see any artistic value in etched windows. This glass costs thousands of dollars. I’m going to be 40 years old, and I’m a property owner. I tried to have some semblance of couth with what I did. Today, they go and do throw-ups on rocks.MICOIronically enough, my full-time job today is in the New York City court system. And we get graffiti cases all the time.KEZ 5I used to think the acid etching wasn’t graffiti, but it’s the only form of vandalism available today. It’s a smart way to get up on trains because it stays there. They’re not gonna replace the whole window.COCO 144When I was out there, it was a misdemeanor; now it’s a felony. It takes a lot of balls to be a writer today.MICOI think these guys are doing what they are supposed to be doing. If you want to be a true writer, a true rebel, you have to make do with what you have.CrashThe Museum of Modern Art showed something of mine. The Brooklyn Museum has pieces in their collection. The Museum of the City of New York has pieces in their collection. The museums are the last stop on the subway line.BLADEIn 2003, I made the cover of Sotheby’s auction catalogue.COCO 144Sounds kind of crazy: I’m almost 50 years old, and I’m still painting, and I still live for it.C.A.T. 87My cell phone has a graffiti screensaver!CrashGraffiti is much better off today than it was ten years ago. Because of the Internet, it has become so global.Richard GoldsteinIt has now moved onto freight trains that go all across the country. The idea is that your name travels.KEL 1It has expanded, gone across the world, and come back in many different forms. Is it as good today? Can’t answer that. The objective has changed.Jeff ChangWhat now exists is a massive global art movement that some people call “neo-graffiti” or “post-graffiti.” There are literally hundreds of galleries around the world that support so-called street art, and a rapidly growing market of buyers.LEEThis movement is about movement. It is about reinventing itself. And it’s about the streets.StashI own a few businesses, and when people bomb my windows, I’m the guy that goes out there with the bucket and paints over it. But I do it with that coy grin on my face, like, “Shit! Payback!”
Nas + DJ Premier – Light-YearsTwo legends of the game... Reviews12 · 12 · 2025Legends don’t come much bigger than Nas and DJ Premier. The Queensbridge rapper constructed arguably the definitive East Coast rap masterpiece with ‘Illmatic’, while his recent run with Hit-Boy has rolled back the years to document one of North America’s most potent pens. For his part, DJ Premier helped to codify hip-hop production during the Golden Age, and his work on the final Gangstarr record overhauled their sound for a new era.Almost 25 years in the making, the much-mythologised ‘Light-Years’ is finally here, and it’s a magnificent listen. From first to last Nas is on supreme form, reinforcing his reputation as one of the best to ever do it. The sheer consistency is remarkable – barely a second goes past without a moment of poetics, the muscularity of his voice displaying maturity, but also a deep-rooted passion for the project.‘My Life Is Real’ opens with those infectious piano chords, expertly laid out by Preem; Nas brags about the “legend has it kartel”, referencing the broader Mass Appeal slate this release is the foundation stone of. ‘GiT Ready’ is sheer New York hip-hop, the lyrics finding Nas gazing down on his city while DJ Premier spins a vintage Wilon Pickett sample.——‘NY State Of Mind Pt 3’ places the album within Nas’ broader lineage, but the record truly finds its feel across a confident, fluid mid-section. The dark beats within ‘Madman’ are fantastic, bringing out new timbres in Nas’ voice; ‘Writers’ moves between zero gravity ambience and a rugged, ultra-funky bass line; the fantastic ‘It’s Time’ utilises a wicked Steve Miller sample, pivoting between hip-hop’s past, and its present.Closing with an emphatic run, Nas’ pen has rarely been so sharp. ‘My Story Your Story’ is playful and inviting, ‘Junkie’ is an eerie warning about addiction, and ‘Shine Together’ is a display of unity. A record that is deeply conscious of its own mythology, ‘Light-Years’ closes with ‘3rd Childhood’, another callback to Nas’ catalogue. It’s been fascinating watching the social media reaction to ‘Light-Years’ in real-time. In places, there’s a pushback – were expectations too high? Can any record match up to a 20 year wait? Perhaps not, but when the dust settles fans will have one of Nas’ best rap performances, fuelled by one of the all-time great producers. 8/10
Album Review: Light-Years by Nas & DJ PremierNineteen years after the Scratch magazine cover, the architect and the boom-bap god finally deliver fifteen tracks of Queens concrete and sample-flip grief.Dec 12, 2025“Already classic before you heard it/The spoiler was all my feature verses,” Nas announces early on “My Life Is Real,” and he’s right about the spoiler, if not the modesty. Everything Premier has built for him over three decades—the drums that feel carved from concrete and iron filings, the sample flips that locate grief inside soul records—has served as prelude to a record nobody was sure would actually exist. The project first got floated on the cover of Scratch magazine in January 2006. It resurfaced in 2011 as rumor. In 2022, Nas winked about it on “30.” Then came “Define My Name” in April 2024 for Illmatic‘s thirtieth anniversary. Now, closing out Mass Appeal’s Legend Has It... series alongside Ghostface, Raekwon, Mobb Deep, De La Soul, Big L, and Slick Rick, Light-Years arrives not as an artifact but as an interrogation: what happens when a rapper who openly measures his career in decades builds a record about the pressure of time itself?The answer is a project that refuses nostalgia while being completely consumed by the question of what stays and what vanishes. Nas doesn’t chase the ‘90s, despite others wanting him and Preem to chase the sound of Livin’ Proof or Moment of Truth. He doesn’t need to. But he does ask, over and over, what it means to still carry the bridge when half the men who walked it with you are dead or gone. The album’s opening track invokes the departed—“Rest in peace, Polo, he see us” and “Big up Big L, Prodigy, Trugoy, they live/Martyrs, if you will”—then locates the living in a present-tense scramble of achievement and damage: “PTSD, project trauma still dwells/Happiness gotta be in you, money can’t help.” This is the tension that runs through all fifteen songs. Nas is rich, secured, globally celebrated, and also still walking through rooms where the walls remember what he came from.Premier’s production strategy is unusually restrained for a record this long. He doesn’t flood the tracks with dense samples. Instead, he gives Nas space—but a variety of sounds with long pockets of air between the snares where every rhyme has to carry weight. On “N.Y. State of Mind Pt. 3,” he loops Billy Joel’s original “New York State of Mind” as a chassis device, then lets Nas load the verses with contemporary inventory: “Steel toe construct’ walk, Nike shorts at night it caught/Stress’ll cut your life short.” The Billy Joel chop operates as a counterpoint rather than a celebration. Where the piano man romanticized the city as return, Nas treats it as an endurance test, rattling off Rikers, MDC, Michelin-star restaurants, and chopped cheese in the same breath, insisting the streets are “cooking that beef stew” regardless of what condos developers keep stacking on former devil’s playgrounds.The city as moral infrastructure shows up everywhere. “GiT Ready” places him “corner of 10th street” with VVS arm freezes and VSOP trees, but also in crypto boardrooms and Cabo silk, flipping “Ether to Ethereum” like the wordplay is proof of concept for a life lived between hustles. When Nas talks money on this record—and he talks money constantly—he doesn’t pretend it resolves anything. “From quantum computing to biotech ‘cause it’s life improvin’/Degradable plastic trash removin’/And when the market is down, it’s like a hustle when no coke is around.” The comparison is deliberate. He positions portfolio diversification as street logic repackaged, palms itching the same way they did when opportunity meant a different kind of risk. It’s self-mythologizing, sure, but it’s honest about what kind of self gets mythologized who learned patience and violence in the same hallway.Where the record gains real texture is in the songs about authorship and permanence—craft memory made material. “Pause Tapes” traces the origin of his production instincts to his mother’s hall closet, digging through Johnny Taylor records and Grover Washington LPs, dropping the needle and pressing record-pause-restart to loop four bars on a ninety-minute tape until something resembling a beat emerged. “Record, loop, repeat/Do that ‘bout twenty times, yo, I made my first beat.” The detail is specific enough to trust. He mentions the Ron G cassette in the deck, the spray of something to hide the aroma, the fiend-needle memory of childhood where kids played with dope paraphernalia the way suburbs played with marbles. Nas isn’t explaining his credentials. He’s locating the moment when making became survival, when the loop became the way out.“Writers” extends that impulse into cataloguing everyone who put their name on the city before the city erased them. The track opens personal—“Writin’ my name in graffiti/Yes indeedy, I wrote graffiti/I’m hard to read like graffiti”—then expands into a densely packed roll call of bombers and taggers, from Taki 183 to Lady Pink to Cost and Revs. What could scan as trivia parade becomes something else when you hear what Nas is actually saying about documentation: “So let’s salute the highly gifted Krylon mystics/This is homage to the ghetto hieroglyphics.” The graffiti writers and the rappers share an impulse. They mark surfaces that will be buffed or demolished. They insist on presence against erasure. The mic, he says, is a marker, and he’s tagging up names—not just citing them but committing them to the record before they disappear entirely. Henry Chalfant’s Style Wars gets a shoutout because it did the same thing with film.AZ appears on “My Story Your Story,” and the chemistry is still there, still easy, the two of them trading street memoir and grown-man exhaustion like they’re back on the “Life’s a Bitch” session, despite the slow bounce of the production. “Fuck a orgy, touch her face, two mouths kissin’ on me/Fuck off me, can’t fuck ‘em all, that’s too costly.” The language slides between hedonism and discipline, pleasure acknowledged then bracketed. AZ’s voice remains the perfect foil—smoother, less jagged, balancing Nas’s density with glide. When the track breaks into an interlude, the two of them talk over the beat: “This feel like Delancey Street, this feel like Albee Square Mall... This is 2030 right now.”“Bouquet (To the Ladies)” risks collapsing into list-poem territory—Nas namechecks everyone from Sha-Rock to Sexyy Red, from Queen Latifah to Ice Spice—but what keeps it grounded is the structural argument underneath the tribute. “What would the world be without beautiful, powerful women?/The Meemaws, the grandmas, the nation buildin’.” He thanks Faith Newman, the A&R who signed him to Columbia in 1991 and co-executive produced Illmatic, because she “created a movement.” It’s not empty applause. It’s an attempt to credit the labor that made his career possible—something the genre has historically undervalued.The record’s most revealing self-portrait might be “Junkie,” which casts Nas’s relationship to hip-hop as addiction. “Bruh, I’m supposed to big kick this habit/Done with it, had my fun with it/Hard to let it go, how could you when you in love with it?” He describes needing the music every morning, playing it loud while ironing his outfit, zoning out in his car. He can’t function on Suboxone—the substitutes don’t work. He describes sitting in a circle at treatment: “Hi, I’m a rapaholic, only been sober since my last installment/Need music with substance, so it’s abuse they call it.” The metaphor could be cute, but he pushes past cuteness into genuine confession. The dependence isn’t only on making music. It’s on a specific kind of music—gritty, raw, intense, the kind that “keeps calling me” and stays in his arteries. Premier responds with drums that pulse like circulatory pressure.A prequel to “Daughters,” “Sons (Young Kings)” tries to distill what fatherhood has taught him, and here the writing gets more vulnerable than Nas usually allows. “One day the words may come out the mouth of a reverend/By the power vested in me,’ loud at his wedding/Give flowers while you can smell them, I try to tell him.” The address to young Black boys expands from his own son to a generational plea: stand tall, know you’re glorious, don’t let the world shrink you. It’s direct without being corny, which is harder than it sounds. And then he pivots to autobiography—remembering the crossing sign he used to look at as a child, a silhouette of a grown-up holding a smaller figure’s arm. “I saw it as a little boy who was the baddest, like don’t let ‘em run in traffic.” He thought the sign was specifically about him and his mom. He was wrong, but the wrongness is the point. That’s how childhood works. You assume you’re the center because the alternative is terror.Picking up the pieces from Stillmatic, “3rd Childhood” closes the record with an argument about aging in a form that treats age as disqualification. “Is it time to take off the scully, the Timbs, and the fitted caps?/Time to let go of the weed, can’t let the jeans sag?/Ozzy Osbourne still got his fingernails black/Rock ‘n rollers is still rebels, any age that they at/But with rap, it’s a time limit? Never.” He names Rastas still smoking in seclusion, pimps still wearing derbies, old men rocking their hats ace-deuce. Continuity isn’t embarrassment. It’s fidelity to origin. He returns to Queensbridge—“Resurrect through the birth of my seed”—and claims the bridge as permanent address. “Hope we get dessert, that’s the cherry on top/Peaceful Sundays, but we still carry the Glocks registered.” Even the guns are legal now, which might be the most middle-aged line on the whole project.The production never oversells its own importance. Premier scratches and cuts with the fluency of someone who invented the grammar, but he doesn’t showboat after years of onslaught of criticism. The beats serve the writing. The drums hit hard without overwhelming the voice. He leaves room for Nas to stack clauses and shift registers, moving from street reportage to tech-mogul flexing to father’s-blessing softness, sometimes within a single verse. That flexibility is the album’s primary achievement. Nas can be arrogant, tender, paranoid, grateful, and profane across the same sixteen bars, and Premier’s production accommodates all of it without flattening the contradictions, but do not expect the rehash of what you’re expecting.The record isn’t perfect. Some of the mogul bars land with less force the second or third time—the crypto talk, the Maybach descriptions, the multiple variations on “I’m still the illest.” But even the repetition serves a function. Nas is reassuring himself as much as the listener. He’s saying these things because he needs to keep saying them, because stopping would mean conceding ground. As mentioned about Preem’s production, there are a select few that would’ve benefited from sonics and drums, but at least they hit better than “Prayer Hands.”“Nasty Esco Nasir” stages an internal argument between three selves—the street persona who robs you, the CEO who whispers in your ear about not caring, and the man who signs his birth certificate Nasir. “My name is not as common as Muhammad or as popular/Or as praiseworthy, so I adopted a moniker/I’m Nasty Nas, I was destined to be here/In Grandmaster Caz’s atmosphere, to breathe/Kool Moe Dee’s air.” The genealogy is explicit. He positions himself as an inheritor and continuer. “Phase four, the fourth dimension The legacy’s here, and other things I won’t mention I’m winning when I’m not even trending Trailblazing, the message I’m sending.” — Nas on “Nasty Esco Nasir”Light-Years doesn’t pretend the wait was worth it in some cosmic sense. The album simply exists, finally, twenty years late and completely aware of its own belatedness. Nas is 52. Premier is 58. They made a record that sounds like they meant it, and they didn’t soften the edges or chase relevance. Whether that’s triumph or stubbornness probably depends on what you came for. “I’m my great-great-grandfather’s dream,” Nas says on “Junkie.” “One thing when you make yourself too accessible/Some could lose respect and think less of you.” He’s talking about the music industry, but he’s also talking about survival. You don’t get to fifty-two in this game without understanding when to withhold.Great (★★★★☆)Favorite Track(s): “Pause Tapes,” “Writers,” “Junkie”
How Nas and DJ Premier Got the Last SayMass Appeal spent 2025 reminding the world why New York rap still matters. Ending the series with Light‑Years is their way of saying: the people who built the era get to tell you what it meant.It is late autumn in New York, and there is a feeling in the air that doesn’t quite match the season. This is not the chill that sweeps through the avenues or the rush of tourists to Rockefeller Center. It’s the hum of elders stepping back into the studio with a steady stream of announcements and listening sessions rippling through social media feeds. You can walk past a comic‑book convention and glimpse Nas standing alongside Marvel artists, smiling under a logo that looks as if it were pulled from a Wu‑Tang album cover. You might scroll past a video of Slick Rick thanking Nas for giving him a stage at the Tribeca Festival, or catch a clip of Havoc of Mobb Deep explaining why he finally agreed to unearth Prodigy’s unreleased vocals. It feels like living in a city that is both returning to the 1990s and creating something that has never existed before.From June through December 2025, Mass Appeal’s Legend Has It… series slowly unfolded, one record at a time. It began with Slick Rick’s Victory, his first album in 26 years. Then came Raekwon’s The Emperor’s New Clothes, Ghostface Killah’s Supreme Clientele II, Mobb Deep’s Infinite, Big L’s Harlem’s Finest: Return of the King, and De La Soul’s Cabin in the Sky. Each project carried its own weight: Big L’s record stitched together a 1990s freestyle with new contributions from Nas and Method Man; Infinite transformed Prodigy’s unreleased verses into songs that sound as if he and Havoc never left the studio; Cabin in the Sky turned grief for the late Trugoy into a meditation on the passing of time. The label said the mission as “preserving the past, celebrating the present, and pushing hip-hop into the future.” Watching these records arrive month after month created the sense of a shared universe—one that honors the Bronx and Harlem as much as it caters to a global audience.That universe is about to close with an album that has existed as a rumor for nearly two decades. Nas and DJ Premier, the rapper and producer whose work on 1994’s Illmatic helped define the sound of New York rap, will release Light-Years this Friday. We do not yet know what the album will sound like, and for now, the tracklist is less important than what the project represents. In a rare interview, Nas talked about the series as a reminder of hip-hop’s pureness, saying that the 2025 run has felt “like 1995 all over again” on Rolling Stone with Andre Gee, while insisting that the music is forward-looking. The concept of Light-Years plays on that idea. A light-year is not a measure of time but of distance—specifically, how far light travels in a year. To observe a star many light-years away is to look deep into the past because its light takes so long to reach us. The title suggests that Nas and Premier are sending a signal across decades. The songs may originate in 2006 or 2024, but the moment of reception is happening now, at the end of a year devoted to letting New York’s elder statespeople speak.From the outside, Legend Has It… might look like a resurgence from our pioneers, but its rollout reveals a deliberate narrative. Victory, the opener, reminded those who aren’t aware that Slick Rick’s storytelling remains unmatched despite its brevity. It included a short film produced by Idris Elba and appearances from Nas, Giggs, and Busta Rhymes, positioning Rick as an elder and a contemporary. Raekwon’s The Emperor’s New Clothes leaned into mafioso imagery and an updated sound with Swizz Beatz and the J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League. Ghostface’s Supreme Clientele II revisited a long-awaited sequel to his 2000 classic, with contributions from Nas, Raekwon, and GZA. Mobb Deep’s Infinite confronted death head-on by mixing Prodigy’s vocals into new productions by Havoc and the Alchemist. Big L’s Harlem’s Finest restored and enhanced archive recordings, including a freestyle with JAY-Z that many had only heard in grainy bootlegs, documentaries, or YouTube videos. De La Soul’s Cabin in the Sky used Trugoy’s voice to explore mortality and joy, flowering like a concert of old and new friends.Each project invited Nas as a featured guest. He appears on songs with Big L, Raekwon, Ghostface, Mobb Deep, and De La Soul. This is not just cross-promotion; it is a way for him to stitch these stories together, to move between boroughs and scenes, to listen as much as he rhymes. Mass Appeal, the company Nas co-owns, supported these projects with infrastructure that older artists rarely receive. Slick Rick noted that Idris Elba created a space where he could step back into his artistry. Havoc of Mobb Deep said he chose to work with Nas because he trusted him like a brother. The project coincided with Nas pledging a million dollars to the Hip-Hop Museum in the Bronx and awarding $500,000 grants to pioneers like Kool G Rap and Grand Puba through the Paid In Full Foundation. An A&R from Big L’s estate said that in a culture where Black artists over 40 are often discarded, Nas insisted on celebrating them. Those acts of philanthropy and curation gave the series a sense of purpose beyond streaming numbers. When critics questioned whether there was a market for these albums, participants responded: This is about honoring a lineage.So why does it make sense for Nas and Premier to close the curtain? Nasir Jones and Christopher “DJ Premier” Martin met in the early 1990s, when the producer visited Queensbridge after hearing Nas’s demo. Premier produced three songs on Illmatic—“N.Y. State of Mind,” “Memory Lane,” and “Represent”—each capturing the daily rhythms of New York life. According to Premier, Nas wrote his verses in one take, prompting the producer to find a sample that matched the intensity of his lyrics and scratch KRS-One’s vocals into the hook. The result, “N.Y. State of Mind,” became a defining track of the so-called golden era. Premier later produced “Nas Is Like” (1999) and “2nd Childhood” (2001), and he and Nas appeared on the cover of Scratch magazine in 2006, teasing a full collaborative album. The idea lingered. Fans asked about it at shows; Premier promised it would happen; Nas mentioned it on “30” with his 2022 album King’s Disease III. For nearly twenty years, the project was a myth.In April 2024, the myth became tangible. On the 30th anniversary of Illmatic, Nas and Premier released a single called “Define My Name.” The song revisits the origin of Nas’s name (“Nasir” derives from Arabic and means “helper” or “victorious”) and reflects on what it means to rap at 50. Premier’s boom-bap drums anchor Nas’s verses, and the outro features both artists promising that “the album” is coming. For those who have followed the duo’s partnership, the song is a nod to nostalgia and a promise.Nas’s recent creative streak helps explain why Light-Years feels different from past speculation. During the pandemic, he and producer Hit-Boy released three King’s Disease albums and three Magic albums, a six-LP run, which is as an “unprecedented 2020s renaissance” for the rapper that’s multiple decades in his arsenal. The run won a Grammy and reintroduced Nas to a generation that may not have grown up with Illmatic. Nas even dedicated a song to encouraging his elder peers to get active with “1-800-Nas-&-Hit.” By the time Light-Years was announced, he had already proven that rappers in their fifties can evolve and experiment rather than resting on laurels. Premier, meanwhile, celebrated hip-hop’s 50th anniversary with an EP and countless DJ sets. The two artists appear energized, not nostalgic.Importantly, the album is not being sold as a simple return to the 1990s. Nas has said that the series feels like 1995 but is “going forward” and that it carries “that feeling of urgency, that vibration, the celebration of life.” He has also explained that some ideas they recorded during earlier sessions will appear on Light-Years. The album includes recordings that date back to 2006 (allegedly) alongside recent sessions, and Premier has hinted that at least two songs originate from those early meetings. The very act of finishing such a project speaks to the rare ability of Black artists to circle back to unfinished dreams, to be granted the time and resources to deliver on promises delayed by industry politics or personal paths. In a genre that often discards its veterans, receiving the chance to complete an album after twenty years is itself a statement.Because Light-Years has not yet been released, the column can only imagine its contours. The album title invites reflection on time and distance. A light-year represents the distance light travels in one year—nearly six trillion miles. Observing a distant galaxy means seeing light that left the object long ago; by the time it reaches us, we are looking into its past. Similarly, listening to Light-Years will mean hearing verses and beats that originated years apart. The track you might love most could have been drafted during the mid-2000s or a pandemic session. The album will collapse time, inviting the older and newer Nas fans to perceive 1995, 2006, and 2025 at once. When Nas references a memory, or Premier scratches a vocal, their light will have traveled decades to arrive.Why does it matter who gets to frame the past, you may ask? Part of the answer lies in the way hip-hop history has often been written by outsiders or shaped by nostalgia that reduces the 1990s to a handful of canonical albums. Nas and Premier, like many of their peers, have watched their work become museum pieces even as they continue to record. In 2006, when Nas provocatively declared that “hip-hop is dead,” he received backlash from younger artists who felt he was dismissing their contributions. Since then, he has shifted from pronouncements to stewardship. By co-founding Mass Appeal Records and curating Legend Has It…, he has used his resources to make space for elders, to ensure that names like Slick Rick, De La Soul, and Big L remain in circulation. He has also channeled significant funds into institutions that will preserve hip-hop’s legacy. In other words, he is not only telling his own story but facilitating others’ stories.The series also demonstrates that canon-building can come from within the culture rather than from corporate or academic institutions. Nas, Premier, and their peers chose to frame their contributions as heroic narratives by collaborating with Marvel Comics. At New York Comic Con 2025, the team unveiled a limited-edition comic in which Nas, Slick Rick, Big L, Ghostface Killah, Raekwon, Posdnuos, and Havoc become superheroes. Nas explained that artists are like superheroes because they help people get through tough times and “lift people up.” He and Mass Appeal partnered with Marvel not to chase cross-brand marketing but to tell their own stories in a medium long associated with mythology. The comic, like the albums, extends the narrative beyond music and reinforces the idea that these legends have powers worth celebrating.Within the culture, the value lies not in chart positions but in the act of documentation. An A&R from Big L’s estate said that Nas’s dedication “matters” because it pushes against a culture that discards artists over 40. Havoc discussed making Infinite as a 21-gun salute to his partner. De La Soul used Cabin in the Sky to dance through tears and honor a brother. These acts resist the industry’s demand for constant novelty by insisting that what already exists still has value. They also remind younger artists that there is dignity in aging within rap, that your voice does not need to go silent after a certain age.Nas and Premier have always reflected a particular New York rhythm. Premier’s beats are built from jazz loops, scratched hooks, and crisp drums; Nas’s writing anchors abstract reflections in concrete details. On “N.Y. State of Mind,” Nas described corners where fiends lean, and Sly and the Family Stone blares out of speakers. Premier recalls that he wanted the beat to match the intensity of Nas’s lines and that the track came together spontaneously. Their collaborations like “Nas Is Like” and “2nd Childhood” similarly capture the city’s mix of nostalgia and realism. Even when Nas raps about distant lands, his cadence feels tethered to stoops and street corners. Premier, a Houston native who made New York his home, understands how to translate those scenes into sound. Light-Years will likely continue this approach. The cover art released in November shows the two men in black leather with rope chains and Rolex watches, their jewelry catching the light. It’s a knowing image: part Dapper Dan styling, part sci-fi aura. They look like men who have traveled across time yet remain rooted in the city that shaped them.That city has changed. In 2025, New York hip-hop extends from the experimental flows of Fivio Foreign and Ice Spice to the introspective poetics of MIKE and Wiki. The clubs where Nas once performed are now luxury condos or tourist attractions. The sound of New York is no longer defined by one neighborhood or crew but by constant flux. Younger artists borrow from drill, trap, Jersey club, and West African rhythms. They use TikTok to break songs and collaborate with producers worldwide. For them, the golden era is either a childhood soundtrack or a myth. Legend Has It… arrives in this context not to freeze the past but to remind new generations that there are foundations beneath their innovations. When Nas raps alongside Fivio Foreign on “Spicy” or when he invites DJ Premier to scratch on Hit-Boy-produced tracks, he enacts a conversation across generations. Light-Years will likely continue that conversation by integrating contemporary references with the boom-bap vocabulary that shaped them.Once Light-Years arrives and the Legend Has It series concludes, what happens next? One possibility is that this mode of storytelling becomes a blueprint for other cities. The Bay Area could imagine a similar series with Too $hort, E-40, Souls of Mischief, and The Coup; Los Angeles could center on DJ Quik, Freestyle Fellowship, and others (it’s wishful thinking). Another possibility is that younger New York artists, having watched the elders claim their narratives, will feel empowered to frame their own eras before someone else does. Already, rappers like Joey Bada$$ and A$AP Rocky have referenced their city’s history while forging new sounds. The presence of Light-Years may encourage them to look at the long arc of their careers and think about what they want to say at 40 or 50.For hip-hop fans (unless you’re one of those who like to pigeonhole Nas into making another Illmatic again), the album offers a chance to consider how we relate to the music that raised us. Nas and Premier are not asking us to live in the past; they are inviting us to see how past and present coexist. When Nas says that 2025 feels like 1995 but is moving forward, he is describing a feeling many of us share when we revisit old albums with new ears. The noise of the New York streets, the smell of vinyl and incense, the crackle of a needle on a record—these sensations are still with us, even as we stream music through apps and attend album premieres via livestream. The legend is not an object locked in a museum but a story we can retell and reshape. Light-Years will not be the final chapter of New York rap, but it will stand as a statement that the people who built the era deserve to speak first when its meaning is debated.The anticipation around Light‑Years is not just about hearing Nas rap over DJ Premier’s production again. However, that in itself is exciting, but nerve-wracking at the same time, considering the latter’s soundscape outside of producing three songs on De La Soul’s Cabin in the Sky. It’s about witnessing two architects of hip‑hop close a narrative they helped start. The 2025 Legend Has It series has shown what happens when you give elders the stage: you get albums that grapple with grief, rebirth and legacy; you get a philanthropic commitment to preserving culture; you get a universe where comic books, films and music intersect; you get a space where a song recorded in 2006 can finally see daylight next to a verse written last summer. When the album drops in four days, we will hear decades of light converge. Until then, the image of Nas and Premier standing with chains and watches glistening is enough to remind us that the era they built still matters and that they, not outside narrators, will tell you why.
This is like 15 years too late. Im a Preemo fan but his production is not the same anymore. Hopefully he will prove me wrong tho
This is like 15 years too late. Im a Preemo fan
Nas & DJ Premier – Light-Years | ReviewLight-Years arrives with the weight of two decades of conversations behind it. Nas and DJ Premier never promised this album, and over the years the idea shifted from rumor to myth. You would hear whispers in interviews, a hint in a bar, an anniversary teaser, a half-serious shrug from Premier on a podcast, then silence again. When the record finally lands, it doesn’t behave like a relic or a museum piece. It’s a working-musician album made by two men who refuse to act like their careers ended at a generational high point. That decision shapes the entire project.What hits first is how stripped-down the record sounds. Premier doesn’t chase bombast or attempt to recreate his flashiest moments. The production leans on drums that knock with a blunt edge, sample flips that leave rough seams visible, and basslines that slide under the verses like foundations instead of decoration. The approach gives the album a basement-studio atmosphere: warm, rugged, unfussy. If the six-album run with Hit-Boy showed Nas thriving in bigger, brighter environments, Light-Years pulls him back into the narrow hallway where his voice fills the room on its own.The record opens in a low gear. The first tracks feel like an engine turning over slowly, steady but not explosive. The opening track, “My Life Is Real,” kicks off with piano chords that loop steadily, creating a sparse backdrop for Nas to lay out his reality. He raps about truth-telling over drums that snap like concrete cracking under pressure. The sound pulls listeners into a reflective state, where success mixes with lingering scars from the projects. Premier keeps the mix clean, letting the keys breathe between kicks, which gives the verse room to build tension. Nas mentions departed figures like Polo and Big L early on, setting a tone of remembrance that threads through the record.“GiT Ready” shifts to a funkier groove, with a Wilson Pickett sample flipped into a gritty loop. The bass drives forward, evoking New York streets at dusk—horns blare briefly, then fade to let Nas’s voice dominate. He details criminal pursuits tied to money, his delivery steady and measured, painting scenes of corner hustles and high-end escapes. The structure here relies on verse-chorus simplicity, but the mood darkens with lines about VVS diamonds and crypto deals, highlighting the grind’s evolution.Then comes “N.Y. State of Mind Pt. 3,” the most anticipated moment for many listeners, and also the most loaded. There’s no way to recreate the chill and impact of the original or the pulse of the second installment. Nas knows that, and instead of chasing ghosts, he treats the track like a status report: the city changed, the streets didn’t, and he’s watching it from a vantage point earned by time, not hype. “N.Y. State of Mind Pt. 3” loops Billy Joel’s piano from the original, but Premier strips it down, adding sparse scratches that evoke wind through alleyways. Nas catalogs the city’s contradictions—Rikers Island, Michelin stars, chopped cheese—over beats that plod deliberately. The track feels contemplative, with Nas’s flow accelerating in spots to mimic urban rush. This third installment captures New York’s moral weight, where progress sits alongside decay.The album starts measured, with these early cuts establishing a deliberate pace. Then “Madman” ramps up the energy. Premier layers eerie strings over rumbling bass, creating a tense atmosphere that suits Nas’s murderous narratives. The sound evokes a psycho’s whisper, with hi-hats ticking like a countdown. Nas switches cadences mid-verse, building urgency that propels the record forward.From here, Light-Years gains momentum. “Pause Tapes” stands out with its experimental edge—Premier chops samples from old cassettes, mimicking the record-pause-repeat method Nas describes. The beat loops roughly, with vinyl crackle adding texture, evoking a childhood closet full of Johnny Taylor records. Nas recounts making his first beat, his voice warm yet precise, turning personal history into a rhythmic narrative. The mood turns nostalgic without indulgence, focused on craft as escape.“Writers” blends funk bass with ambient swells, switching between weightless moments and rugged grooves. Premier’s production highlights graffiti’s role in Hip Hop, with scratches that mimic spray cans. Nas lists taggers like Taki 183 and Lady Pink, his flow dense and rhythmic, treating names as marks against erasure. The structure builds through verses that expand from personal tags to communal homage, creating a mood of defiant preservation.“Sons (Young Kings)” samples piano delicately, fostering a tender vibe. Nas addresses fatherhood directly, wishing strong bonds and glory for young Black boys. The beat’s softness—gentle keys over subtle drums—matches the vulnerability in lines about weddings and flowers. Mood-wise, it conveys quiet power, with Nas’s delivery softening to emphasize guidance.“It’s Time” incorporates a Steve Miller sample, twisting it into a funky meditation on time’s passage. Premier’s bass pulses steadily, while Nas explores concepts like quantum computing and market dips. The track’s structure circles back to choruses that reinforce urgency, with a mood that mixes ambition and caution.“Nasty Esco Nasir” features strings over kicks and snares, where Nas dissects his identities—street, CEO, birth name. The production swells in phases, mirroring his career’s progression. Mood remains assertive, with scratches adding historical layers from Grandmaster Caz to Kool Moe Dee.“My Story Your Story” brings AZ as the sole feature, echoing his spot on Illmatic. Premier crafts a slow bounce, with bass and keys allowing the duo to trade bars seamlessly. Nas and AZ share street memories and adult weariness, their voices interlocking like old friends. Lines about orgies and costs land with hedonistic bite, but the mood stays balanced between pleasure and restraint. In an era where albums often pile on guests until they resemble compilations, this choice keeps focus tight—just one collaboration amid Nas’s solo dominance.“Bouquet (To the Ladies)” dedicates itself to women, from grandmas to artists like Sha-Rock and Ice Spice. Premier’s beat loops warmly, with Nas crediting figures like A&R Faith Newman. The structure lists tributes, but grounds them in labor’s impact, evoking a grateful mood.“Junkie” crosses orchestral elements with boom-bap, portraying Hip Hop addiction. Nas admits dependence, describing morning rituals with music blasting. Premier’s drums pulse like a heartbeat, amplifying the confessional tone. The mood intensifies with lines about rapaholics and substance, turning metaphor into raw admission.“Shine Together” promotes unity over easy gains, with Nas’s verses escalating in intensity. Premier’s production keeps it phenomenal, bass driving the message home.“3rd Childhood” closes by questioning age limits in rap, referencing Ozzy Osbourne’s rebellion. Premier’s jazzy boom-bap supports Nas’s defense of continuity—scully hats, sagging jeans, registered Glocks. The mood affirms fidelity to origins, ending on a note of resurrection through legacy.Overall, Light-Years embraces a back-to-basics approach that draws us in. Premier’s beats avoid spectacle, opting for straightforward boom-bap with a basement rawness—drums carved deep, samples flipped simply. This style pulls more than the gloss from Nas’s six projects with Hit-Boy, favoring grit that lets lyrics breathe. No skits or filler disrupt the flow; it’s pure tracks, clocking in at a lean 48 minutes. The throwback vibe honors Hip Hop’s history without sounding stale—samples nod to soul records, graffiti gets its due, departed peers receive shouts. Nas measures time’s pressure, from childhood signs to mogul moves, his voice mature yet passionate. Production accommodates shifts from arrogance to tenderness, with space between snares for clauses to stack. A few beats, like on “Pause Tapes,” experiment admirably, while others hit solid. The record interrogates what endures in a genre quick to discard. Nas positions the mic as a marker, tagging names before they fade. Premier’s restraint serves the writing, scratches fluent without flash. Light-Years exists aware of its delay, two veterans delivering with intent. Great effort, four stars. Favorites: “Madman,” “Pause Tapes,” “Writers,” “It’s Time,” “My Story Your Story,” “Junkie.”8/10
Nas and DJ Premier Finally Locked In for a Full AlbumThe legendary rapper and producer talk about teaming up for Light-Years, a project fans have been clamoring for since the mid-'90s.Any objective rap fan of a certain age approaches legacy albums like Nas and DJ Premier’s Light-Years with learned skepticism. For 30-odd years, rap was exclusively a young person’s game, defined by brief, powerful peak runs of dominance. The genre is now comfortably middle-aged, as is a large contingent within its fan base. Like old comic-book nerds before them, old rap nerds have become a class of noisy, obnoxious cultists whose buying power the culture has belatedly recognized and now caters to with price-gouged vinyl reprintings and button-up shows at prestige venues and designer-collab merch and every so often, even new music. In a country with little left to look forward to, the nostalgia market is booming.Mass Appeal’s “Legend Has It” initiative was both aligned with rap’s fan-service era and distinct from it—seven 2025 albums bringing dormant legends out of various states of semi-retirement/convalescence to deliver albums torn from the imaginations and groupchat arguments of fans who had all but given up on their possibility. Many of those fans, accustomed to overpromised and underdelivered pipe dreams, scanned a lineup that included new material from Slick Rick, Ghostface Killah, Raekwon, De La Soul, Big L, Mobb Deep, and Nas with DJ Premier, said “Sounds great,” and began holding our breath in unison.Mass Appeal was spun off from a graffiti magazine named after a Gang Starr song in the mid-‘90s, then revived in the early 2010s, after it was purchased by Nas and an investor group who’ve used the brand as foundation for a full-blown media company that includes a television and film production wing and a record label. During this period the outer-borough native also “decided” to amass generational wealth, moving beyond the parameters of what is possible within the rap celebrity-brand space by launching Queensbridge Ventures, a full-fledged VC firm with a portfolio that boasts a ridiculously high slugging percentage, including timely investments in Ring, Dropbox, Coinbase, SeatGeek, Lyft, and Casper Mattresses, among other timely calls. Nas is now a restaurateur (he's an investor in Simon Kim's restaurants Cote and Coqodaq) and recently won New York rap’s late-capitalism Super Bowl by helping bring a $5 billion casino expansion to Queens (and beating out a splashy, ambitious bid from an old foe in the process.)So there was cause to doubt the commitment and sincerity of the “Legend Has It” series—or to fear it was little more than a now-rich guy’s vertical-integration vanity project. Now that the album cycle is complete, your mileage with the resulting albums may vary, but the commitment, the thoughtfulness, the execution can’t. Each effort got a proper rollout, live events, vinyl pressings, and budgets that allowed for star-studded features and production rosters, and each one got a verse from Nas. There was a limited-edition series of comic books starring each artist that was featured in the series; a pop-up merch shop on Howard in Tribeca is open through the holidays. It was clearly a force-for-good passion play that paid proper respect to these legends and presumably netted them a check as well as a few more well-deserved flowers on several decent-to-very good albums.But Nas saved his best surprise for last: the long-gestating Light-Years. Nas and DJ Premier—the producing half of Gang Starr and a legend who moved from Brooklyn to Houston as a teenager in the ‘80s—have enjoyed a Kurosawa-Mifune-level creative partnership that’s defined several decades of a particular brand of thinking-man’s pop rap. What they’ve had since 1994’s Illmatic is the type of artist relationship that barely exists in rap anymore—the marquee beatmaker routinely reuniting with a rapper to grace them with one surefire smash single per album. For almost as long as Nas and Preemo have been working together, dorks on the rap internet have been speculating and wishcasting a full Nas-and-Premier album, applying the transitive property that if they could only lock in for a sustained long play, the union that brought us shit like “I Gave You Power”, “2nd Childhood” and “Nas Is Like” would obviously produce the greatest album ever made.Light Years is not quite that, but 31 years after “N.Y. State of Mind,” it’s frankly stunning that Nas and Preemo have delivered an album eligible for this many superlatives. It’s the hungriest album ever made by a rapper with a nine figure net worth. The best rap album ever made by a 52-year-old. The best 18th album (and that’s only counting Nas solo efforts, not including collab albums like The Firm and Distant Relatives) ever made.Light Years is a backward-looking, multi-faceted homage to the elements and architects of hip-hop and Nas’ own personal and professional history. It literalizes the mission of Legend Has It as a conservation project. Preemo scratches in Guru and Rakim and re-flips Marley Marl (and/or Erick Sermon’s) classic flips of The Steve Miller Band’s song about the relentless passage of time; Nas shouts out the late Ego Trip founder and former Mass Appeal creative director Sacha Jenkins. There’s a new installment of “N.Y. State of Mind” complete with a Billy Joel intro, the only feature is a reunion with Nas’ longtime associate AZ. Nas opens the album by bringing us back to the passenger seat of Preemo’s MPV, when the producer would pick Nas up for the Illmatic sessions, ferrying the 20 year old prodigy to the studio to make history.This isn’t a novel concept. Legacy rap is frequently a self-congratulatory game of replaying old beats and remembering some guys. But the album resists the trap of the Adidas and Kangol cosplay this subgenre often settles for. It’s one of Nas’ most conceptual efforts since 2006’s double-album creative-writing workshop Street’s Disciple; its 15 tracks look at history from novel angles, breathing new life into old subjects. It leverages nostalgia for bygone eras to advocate for what made and makes, say, graffiti special and why it still matters (“Writers”). Songs like “Welcome to the Underground,” “Pause Tapes” and “Bouquet” have a reverent urgency that is typically drowned out with backpacker tropes and clichés whenever GOAT rappers return to the church of old-school religion.As important as any concept song or subject matter on the album, Nas consistently switches up flows and cadences, the number-one pitfall of older established rappers on projects like these. I was a fan of his King’s Disease trilogy with Hit Boy, but he sounds reinvigorated by Preemo’s production here, finding specific pockets and time signatures and varying his flow on the level of bar to keep the listener engaged. Somehow, Nas and Preemo are in conversation with the recent Clipse reunion and A Tribe Called Quest’s improbable comeback masterpiece in 2016, long-gestating rap projects that manage to answer the bell and satiate their fans’ impossibly set expectations.It’s a reminder that throughout his career, Nas has been a Scorsese, not a Tarantino. He’s never been precious about his catalog. He’s a studio rat and a worker who has never stopped working because while it’s been a long time since he’s needed to rap as a job, he’s motivated by love for the game. His longest break over three decades was a six-year sabbatical between his Here, My Dear—2012’s Life Is Good—and 2018’s Nasir, part of Kanye’s insane Wyoming EP project. Since 2020 he’s only been responsible for six albums, a body of work that would constitute an entire independent discography for some, working constantly through this “Old Master” era in a state of prolific productivity even as he has simultaneously successfully transitioned to full-blown mogul and tripled his net worth.Who knows whether Light Years will stick in a cycle-mad culture that has lost basic object permanence—but it should. It’s work worthy of more than our respect, faint praise, and a few courtesy spins. It's the best album of Nas’ late period by a considerable margin, and it’s all the more incredible because of its context and the precedent it defies. It was a pleasure talking over Zoom to DJ Premier (who was in Prague on a European tour with Alchemist) and Nas (from an undisclosed location) in an attempt to get to the bottom of how they pulled it off.GQ:Right before we got on this call, it occurred to me that, in a way, you both collaborated with D'Angelo, because “Devil's Pie” was on the Belly soundtrack. I was just wondering if you had any thoughts or reflections in light of his recent passing. DJ Premier: He and I were longtime friends, because not only were we labelmates, we had mutual friends in Virginia that we knew. So when I heard D'Angelo was joining Gang Starr at EMI, we were already cool. We were happy just to now be labelmates and see each other.D was always like, "Yo, man, when I get my stuff going, I'm going to make sure you do remixes and this and that.” And it was just small talk. But then when it came to the first album, he wanted me to remix “Lady”, which I did. AZ had just signed to EMI as well. And he had the Do or Die album coming. So they were like, "We want AZ to be on the remix, so once D'Angelo's starting to die down, AZ is popping." And he was brought into the fold because of Nas. So it all worked, made sense.And then when he started working on Voodoo, he used to call me and be like, "You got to hear what I'm working on. This new album is real different. I'm on some deep, spiritual shit. But it's going to be raw, and uncut, and hardcore. And I want to get a couple of rhyming joints on there. I got Red Man and Method Man. And I need just some hard hip hop from you.”Just by coincidence, Canibus and I were working on a track, but it didn't work out at the time. I was leaving and he said, "Yo, I'm at Electric Lady [Studios]. What you doing?"I said, "I'm just leaving a Canibus session, but I'm about to head home. There was a beat that I was working on he's not going to use." And he said, "Let me hear it.” I'm like, "Nah, it's on some real raw hip hop shit." He said, "I still want to hear it. Bring it over." And I went over there and played him “Devil's Pie,” and he was like, "I want that. I'm going to turn that into something crazy."When we were making the song he was like, "Yo, I got to go deal with my trainer in the other room because I'm about to do a video to that drum beat that Questlove was recording. I'm going to look naked in the video." And I'm like, "What?" He said, "Yeah." He said, "So I got to go work out in the other room. Just go ahead and lay everything down." Obviously that video, “How Does it Feel”, became monumental.And then Lyor Cohen came through and said, "There's this movie called Belly with Nas and DMX, and we want to put “Devil's Pie” in the movie." And D'Angelo was like, "Nah, I don't want to put it in a movie because I'm about to put my album out, and I want it to rock for that." And he was like, "Well, let me show you a snippet of the movie. And then let me show you where we want to put the music in the scene." And so we watched it, and me and D'Angelo looked at each other like, "Dude, that shit needs to go in there." And that's how it got in the movie.Nas: He was a pure artist. The world took a major loss when we lost D'Angelo. When we heard “Devil’s Pie”—when we was working on the movie, we heard that we were going to get it. Hype Williams was talking about this D'Angelo song produced by Premier. And I thought it wasn't going to happen. I was like, "No way, that's too good to be true." Everybody that was involved with the film was waiting to hear this song, and it blew us away.Especially coming off of Brown Sugar, I would imagine it would be hard to envision that combo on paper. Like, "Is he going to make a song that would make sense in a movie like Belly?" But it's perfect.Premier: And like I said, for us to see the scene that they wanted to put it in, mixing all the work together, packing it up to go get their flip on, we was like, "Damn, it just totally fits. Hype obviously, he had a vision.Your working relationship is probably hard for a lot of younger rap fans to understand, because it doesn't really exist anymore. You don't see these decades-long partnerships between an artist and a producer who aren’t in a group together or teaming up for a one-off album. Premier would just come on every Nas project with one monster beat that would often become a huge deal. What makes this creative partnership work so well?Premier: For me, it's always fun because we always hit the nail on every record. It always sounds like us, like what's expected. It's always another good one that lands in the mix of all the other songs he may have on the albums that he puts out.Nas: When I first heard Gang Starr, I just loved it. And I'm like, "If I get a chance to rap on this production, then I'll be heard. You'll be able to hear the real me." Preem opens up the whole stage for you to just walk out there and grab the mic. So once I got that, I was like, "Okay, got that session with him." From the first session, I knew it was on, no looking back.And through the years, all the other stuff he was doing, I'm a fan of his, he's not missing a beat. Every record is crazier than the last record. So when Group Home came out, he hooked up his homies with a classic. This dude, he's the guy, he's him. So it's like, you always want to get back in the studio with Premier. So I couldn't wait to really sit down. I knew we had to clear our schedules, which is impossible. But we finally did because it's so important to us to tap in and do what we do, man.Do you think doing an album cycle with Hit-Boy—locking in with one producer for several projects—helped get you in the headspace to go through with this?Nas: I think it prepared me for it. But before working with Hit, me and Premier was trying to put this thing on the calendar. And then in that time, when we couldn't get it together, I got with Hit. And at first, me and Hit were planning on just doing a couple of songs. And we just caught a vibe. And we just started going, song after song after song. And once we did it, it was just so right. We just felt like instantly, "We got to do this again." And it just became a thing where this magic happened.People have been asking for a joint Nas/Premier project as far back as I can remember. Do you remember the first time you talked about it, or realized fans were clamoring for it?Nas: Well, that is a while back. I think you're right. I think you're right. Because, I think when we did the second album, people wanted more of that formula. They wanted the producers that worked on my first one for a joint project too, and of course Premier's name was coming up. But Premier was on the second album and then the third album. And I think it started even before Nastradamus, which is crazy, I think it's always been that way.Premier: Nas and I always have had great records on every album that I've ever been on. Out of the Illmatic producers, I was still continuing to work with him on other albums. So it was just about, when is the right time? And I know back when the Scratch Magazine cover was out [in 2006], we really wanted to start then, but it just didn't work out schedule-wise for either one of us. I think the event that finally put it in motion was on his 50th he said, "Yo, bring me a couple of beats for my birthday."What was the recording process for the album? Were you guys in the studio together?Premier: Yeah, but different studios. We had started back when [Mass Appeal’s project] Hip Hop 50 was about to come around. But we're just dicking around. He and I maybe did two or three songs. I gave him maybe 10, 12 beats to start with. And as we finally started to get together and really be together on the regular, it was like, "Man, all those going in a vault. We need to start with some new ones."So everything was made on the spot, which is generally how I do it. But I've never gone to so many different studios. I'm used to just being at one location. I had just moved to a house in Jersey. Never planned on moving to Jersey. And I wasn't set up acoustically and everything. And starting off, I was like, "Yo, Nas, can you come to my house and let me just start there, so I can try to get my ears tuned to my room?" And he came to my house and we started recording there first, in the basement with my engineers. Then we'd go to Jerry Wonder's studio, Wyclef’s cousin. Then we went to Hit Factory. Then we went to Manhattan Studios.Then halfway through Nas was like, "Yo, man, we should just get away and go to the Bahamas." And I'm like, "I don't want to travel." And then I thought about it. And I remember I texted him and said, "You know what? I'm going to the Bahamas." He goes, "Yes!" We went to the Bahamas and did a big chunk of the album there. And from that point, we stayed locked in all the time. It never stopped. It just kept going.He had to go back and finish the Nas Tour, and we were still locked in. He had to do the orchestra shows in Vegas. And still. We were locked in from the Bahamas, man. The vibe was just so dope. He’d be in one room writing while I’d be in the other room finishing another beat to play for him. We were just in a groove and it stayed like that to the last record that we chose to put on the album.So thematically, this album has its eye on the historical record, on the history of rap and why it still matters. How did you settle on that as the focus of the album?Nas: I think it’s a reflection of the conversations that me and Premier have in the studio, outside the studio. It's always like, "Did you see this Run DMC video? Remember that jacket? Remember that rhyme? Remember that album cover, and the artwork, and the graffiti on it? Do you remember the first time? We’re always looking back and talking about the things we liked coming up, talking about our lives and how we’ve embraced the music throughout our lives, I think it bled into the songs. I think it was like that, because it's who we are naturally. We’re junkies.Premier: When we did the Tribute to Jam Master Jay at the BET Awards, DMC gave us the hats, the Stetson Hats, and said, "Y'all got to wear these when y'all go on stage." And I wear that hat on so many different occasions. It just puts me in the right frame of mind of what the sound of this should be like. Because we represent the purest form. A lot of people don't represent the purest form. We represent the breakers, the MCs, the DJs, and the writers. So the fact that we repped that and we've never changed from that, we're good.Nas: That's why we're light years ahead, a trillion miles away, five trillion miles away, because sticking to that was the inception of this whole art form. Coming in as the MC, doing what's not trendy, doing what's new, doing what's fresh in the Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn, Harlem, and Houston, and the world, everywhere where young people are, who are starting trends, and setting stuff off, hip hop was set off. It was the futuristic sound. It was light years away, man. And we're just catching up. And it's forever, man. The sound is going to be raw, man. It's got to stay raw.“Nasty Esco Nasir” is a fascinating song and concept. Nas, did you just alter your voice organically to do that? Was there any studio trickery you used to pull that off?Nas: Thanks, man. Nah, it was all me, no effects or anything.Premier: It fucked me up. I was like, "Damn, you sound like Nasty Nas!" The young kid. I didn't know he was going to do that type of a record. But he explained what it's going to be. And then when I heard it—Esco sounds like cool Esco. And then the Nasir he is at this time in his life, I was blown away when he finally played it for me.I heard it and I was like, "Damn, I can't believe they used AI!" Because I wasn’t sure it was possible otherwise. I’m glad to hear that was all natural. I had to ask, because I’d guess other people might think the same.I read in an older interview that you both had some concepts that you've been holding for years for this album. Did that manifest or did you end up throwing everything out and starting from scratch?Premier: “Pause Tapes.” We talked about that for a long time. But he's been like that. When Illmatic had just dropped, he said, "When we get back together and work on my next album, I want to do a record where I'm like a gun."Nas: “Pause Tapes” was the one we was really talking about for years and years, man. Yeah. But also, “N.Y. State of Mind Pt. 3.”Premier: That one I did not want to approach. I didn't even want to do [part] two, and he convinced me. Nas has a way of convincing you to do shit. And he knows I'm very headstrong and just stuck in my ways. So even when we did [part] two on I Am, I was like, "Nah, man, we can't ruin the first one because so many people love the original." He's like, "Nah, you can do it." So when he said three, I'm like, "I don't have any ideas to even go there for a three," but we got it.What are your favorite songs off the project?Premier: Definitely “Pause Tapes." “Writers”—I can't wait till all the graffiti writers hear that record. It's going to definitely touch them, how Nas approached it. He took his time with it. That was done in the Bahamas.I love “Bouquet,” to all the sisters. And I'm a mama's boy, so I love the approach. I love “Sons” because, obviously, “Daughters” was a great record. I love what he did with that. I only have a son. It got me emotional. I don't really get emotional on music, really. But just the way he just expressed it, just the way he described him, and his brother, and his dad, and his mom, even, in the lyrics. And it's like you see every step of the record, the way he says it. And it applies worldwide to everybody. So it's an emotional record. It's definitely going to be understood by everybody that is a fan of Nas.Nas: He was telling me that when we was in the studio, he was just like, “Man, this tugs at the heart,” both of us having sons. And I played it for my boys, one of them got that feeling, too. It was emotional. And I felt that when I was writing it. So that's one of my favorites.But my favorite on the album, I think, is “Writers.” That one is important to me. It’s me coming up, trying to figure out how to be a graffiti artist halfway. But I was nowhere near graffiti artists. I would just find cans on the ground. And attempt to steal a can from a store, until they put locks on it. So that takes me back to the good old days, when it was raw. New York was raw. The world was just going through some metamorphosis. And my introduction to the art and seeing it all over the buildings and stuff, it was just like, "Wow, these are people who are faceless. Some of them are ghosts, or myths." So I was tapping into that.And the beat has so much, it's so heavy. It feels like that time in the train yard, late '70s, but it feels like now, it's in your face and music is crazy. And what he's scratching, Rakim and Pharcyde, it just flows.That one really spoke to me, as a guy who got arrested for tagging a relay box in Park Slope with a fat Sharpie 20 years ago. What did you write?Nas: I used to write Kid Nice. Before I was Kid Wave, I was Kid Nice. I would go back and forth with those names.Do you know if any of those tags survived? Is there anything up somewhere that a historian could track down?Nas: I saw most of the stuff I put up go away fast. It's been gone, within the first year of me putting it up.None of it even made it out of the 80s?Nas: Definitely not.Now that this iteration of the Legend Has It series is ending, any reflections?Nas: I knew that, coming after all the other albums, it was in the back of my head, I can't disappoint. I can't disappoint the guys. Because they put their art, their heart and soul into the music. Slick Rick—it was just such an honor to be in his presence, and do a song with him, and have his stamp on us, to have him leading us. We all learned from him.Releasing Raekwon’s Emperor's New Clothes and Ghost’s Supreme Clientele 2 was a dream come true. Havoc being this insane madman as a producer and MC was just out of this world. And then, of course, rest in peace Prodigy. Just hearing his voice—we'd been waiting for that for so long. And Big L was a really beautiful thing, because he's someone that we should never forget. It's unfortunate that he's not here. It's unfortunate that Prodigy's not here. And Trugoy from De La. De La’s album—to me it's a Picasso, man. It's a work of art on all levels. And then hearing what Premier did on De La's album, I was telling Premier—the way he works with artists, he really knows how to design the type of shit that you want, he perfectly tailors the situation for you.So coming after all of that, I had to remind myself, "Yeah, me and Premier's doing this for me and Premier." But also being a part of Legend Has It, I wanted to make sure we didn't disappoint. And I’m just happy to reach that point with my brother Premier, man, because it's been a long time coming. So we're finally here.Premier: Yeah. We text each other, just randomly, “YO, WE GOT OUR ALBUM!!!” All capital letters and exclamation points.One of my favorite videos ever in the history of the internet, Preem, is the one of you driving and singing along to “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” That song turned 50 years old a couple weeks ago. Could you briefly speak to your history with it?Premier: Oh, that was with Brady Watt. The first record I ever heard from Gordon Lightfoot was “Sundown,” which is a big record in Texas. But with “The Edmund Fitzgerald”—Brady Watt is one of my artists, but he had cancer, and it was during the pandemic, so he needed to go do chemo. And it happened to be right near the studio where we were recording, where we started the Nas records at. So I was like, "Yo, man, why don't you just move in with me and I'll take you to chemo while I go record and work on stuff." Because he's going to be weak. And a lot of times he just can't stand up. The chemo beats your ass.And I put him on to that record and he just loved the guitar chords and the way Gordon Lightfoot sang it. And we used to play it so much. He was like, "Yo, we should film us singing this shit!" And we put it on, filmed ourselves and we're like, "If we post this, people going to bug out." So every year, he does an anniversary post of us singing it. Because we really know the words. And it is a dope song. You can't front on it.
Nas & DJ Premier’s ‘Light-Years’: All 15 Tracks RankedBillboard ranks every song off Nas & DJ Premier's highly anticipated collab album 'Light-Years'12/12/2025Those of us old enough to be alive in 1994 when Illmatic dropped have been waiting for Nas and DJ Premier to drop a full-length project for 30-plus years, especially after the numerous classics they’ve made together following the three offerings Preemo provided on the Queens rapper’s pivotal debut.Songs like “N.Y. State of Mind Pt. II” and “Nas Is Like” are important in both their catalogs, and only turned up the anticipation — and the expectation when it came to them linking up for something like Light-Years. Back then, it wasn’t as easy as it is today for two heavyweights to link up due to major label red tape and bureaucracy, so we’ll have to thank the current music business landscape for this project as one-producer albums have become somewhat the norm these days, especially when it comes to the underground scene.During an interview I conducted with Premier and Roc Marciano when they were getting ready to drop their own collab album The Coldest Profession, the legendary producer said that this album was supposed to happen 20 years ago — and the stars finally aligned during Nas 50th birthday party, which resulted in the announcement record “Define My Name.”Well, it’s finally here.Now, is it as mind-blowing as we’d hoped for? Not necessarily. However, the project is a solid offering and includes a handful of standout tracks that scratch that itch and maybe leaves the door open for a follow up.With all that being said, check out Billboard‘s ranking of every track of one of the more anticipated albums in rap history below.Billboard VIP Pass15“Welcome to the Underground”While the underground is flourishing right now, I do not like this song.14“It’s Time”Not this the biggest fan of this track, but I dig the Steve Miller Band sample so much that “Fly Like an Eagle” has been stuck in my head since hitting play.13“GiT Ready”One of the more “boom-bap” beats on here, Nas refers to himself as “Mr. Cryptocurrency Scarface” like he did on DJ Khaled’s 2021 song “Sorry Not Sorry,” where the QB legend rapped alongside his longtime rival Jay-Z. Not sure how I feel about that line — maybe it would hit better if he leaned into the character more and rapped like a present day, globetrotting crypto drug kingpin with a Silk Road type darkwebsite.12“Junkie”It has been a pleasure to watch legends like Nas continue to rap at a high level and still be addicted to making rap music, no matter how much money they’ve made. Both he and Premier don’t need to be doing this, but they love the art and the fans enough to finally give us this.11“3rd Childhood”Stillmatic’s “2nd Childhood” is a classic, where Nas tells tales of people that are stunted in their developmental growth and never mature because of various factors — but in the sequel he raps more about how it’s OK to remain youthful and to keep it hood, no matter how successful you get. Not as good as its predecessor, but a welcome edition.10“Bouquet (To the Ladies)”Keeping to the theme of tributes on this project like “Pause Tapes” and “Writers,” Nas and Preemo take some time out to shout out the ladies who’ve contributed to hip-hop over the years. Buffalo rapper Che Noir woke up this morning and tweeted out the part of the song where Nas mentions her and appreciated the shoutout.9“Writers”Preemo provides Nas with a vintage beat as the Mayor of Queensbridge tips his cap to a much under appreciated faction of hip-hop culture: the graffiti writers. He namedrops artists of new and old, while acknowledging the vibrant graff scenes across the globe — which is something I like to pay attention to whenever I travel abroad. It’s always fascinating to see hip-hop’s reach.8“My Life Is Real”The piano Preemo uses on this reminds you why he’s the legend that he is today. Things start off on a good foot, as Nas sets the table for one of the more anticipated albums in rap history. I especially like the first verse where he talks about the legends who aren’t with us anymore, while still having the presence of mind to appreciate how lucky he is to still be around to revel in his success.7“My Story Your Story” (feat. AZ)These two need to stop playing around and just come out with a collab tape. If we can get a Nas and Preemo album 30 years later than we can get something from Esco and Sosa. We’ll have to settle with adding this one to the AZ and Nas playlist where songs like “Life’s a Bitch,” “How Ya Livin’,” “Mo Money, Mo Murder,” and “The Essence” live.6“Shine Together”I knew I heard this sample somewhere before, and after some light research, I realized that DITC’s Buckwild used the same Sunbear sample when making Big Pun’s “N—a S—t” from his posthumous album Yeah Baby. Shout out Premier for flipping a previously used sample into something completely different. That’s true mastery right there. It also doesn’t hurt that Nas is skating all over it.5“NY State of Mind Pt. 3”The first two NY State of Minds are catalog classics, and while this one isn’t as good as those, Premier’s sampling of Billy Joel’s “NY State of Mind” and his brooding production do still make this track a standout. I do wish, however, that Nas would’ve went more into how the city’s becoming more and more gentrified by the day, when he raps, “If you was locked down for a while, it’s a different place now/ They buildin’ hotels where once was the Devil’s playground.”4“Sons (Young Kings)”This track works as a companion to “Daughters” from his 2012 album Life Is Good, where Nas offers advice to parents and talks about his own experiences as a one. Not sure if it’s as good a song as its predecessor — but still a cool, sentimental song, the type of grown-man rap a certain section of his fanbase will appreciate.3“Madman”This is a fan favorite on social media right now, and the tape starts to find its footing around here. “Madman” is vintage Premier, and Nas brags about how influential he is when it comes to this rap thing. The line “It’s my life, not a third-party witness’ story” from the second verse really says it all.2“Pause Tapes”No, this has nothing to do with the game Cam and Mase play all the time. It’s about a time where the only way to listen to certain rap songs was to either buy a cassette tape, or hope that somebody else did, so that you could record it. We also used to sit in front of the radio and have our tape decks ready to record at a moment’s notice, in case a DJ played an exclusive song or they had a rapper in the building who was about to kick a freestyle. Nas also explains how he used to make beats and some of his first songs on a cassette. And speaking of making beats, this might be my favorite one from this entire project.1“Nasty Esco Nasir”Both legends are at their best on this one: Preem with the bangin’ beat, and Nasty Esco Nasir having a sparring session on the track, like an episode of Mr. Robot where Rami Malek’s character fights the voices in his head. I hope we get an Esco tape from Nas when its all said and done. Let’s get the Firm band back together for old time’s sake.
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