Rap Genius: An Interview With Kool G Rap

[The Predator]

https://www.passionweiss.com/2025/10/15/rap-genius-an-interview-with-kool-g-rap/

In advance of being honored by the Paid in Full Foundation, the Queens legend speaks about his early days in the Juice Crew, hanging out with 2Pac during the LA Riots, inventing mafioso rap, and more.

By Jeff Weiss    October 15, 2025



Art by Evan Solano

Jeff Weiss is gonna’ rock this at the drop of a dime.

Stars were born in the crumbling tenement on 12th Street. By the mid-80s, this roach-riddled, two-bedroom in the Queensbridge projects was the centripetal force of the hip-hop solar system. That’s where Marley Marl controlled the den of the dingy apartment that he shared with his sister, and whatever rappers happened to be rewiring music’s circuitry that night.

Sometimes, you could find Roxanne Shanté dozing at the kitchen table or Eric B sleeping on the floor. Big Daddy Kane, Biz Markie, and even Rakim arrived on the F Line to inhale breakbeats and exhale arson. If you were a nascent hip-hop superhero, this makeshift studio was the nucleus of the New York underground – the hidden centrifuge where MC Shan constructed “The Bridge” and Shanté masterminded her revenge.

One night in 1986, an 18-year old named Nathaniel Wilson from Corona, Queens, received his invitation to immortality. This wasn’t his first time in the booth. The Disco Twins gave the neighborhood kid a shot at making a record. So did Herby “Luv Bug” Azor, who was already producing and managing Salt-N-Pepa. But those initial fusillades went nowhere. So when DJ Polo brought Wilson to Marley Marl’s apartment at the height of the Bridge Wars, the young rapper kept his expectations in check. The song inside his notebook was modestly titled “It’s A Demo.”

Entering the colorless, carceral-looking tower, Wilson climbed the pissy stairwells to the second floor. Dim light scowled inside Marley’s laboratory. The four-track reel was running. The producer cued a sample loop of James Brown “The Funky Drummer,” and Wilson delivered a howitzer attack disguised as one of the best introductions in rap history.

People in the audience/Kool G Rap is my name
I write rhymes and insert them inside your brain

Polo and Marley instantly understood they were witnessing the future of hardcore. Within days, the DJ/producer started spinning “It’s a Demo” on Mr. Magic’s Rap Attack. By the time that G Rap appeared next at Marley’s studio, MC Shan and Fly Ty Williams (the impresario behind Cold Chillin’) sat in rapt attendance. The latter offered a record deal. The Juice Crew, the most formidable collective in hip-hop, added a sicario capable of matching (or perhaps eclipsing) Kane bar-for-bar. It was like when the Golden State Warriors acquired Kevin Durant. The competition should’ve filed a formal complaint to the League.

The lopsided talent ratio became abundantly clear on 1987’s “The Symphony,” an idealized Juice Crew posse cut that Plato would’ve dreamed of in the cave if he had access to 808 drums and Otis Redding records. The still-teenaged G Rap rapped for so long and with such blitzkrieg fury that the tape reel slid off the machine. It’s the most indelible verse on what might be the most dominant performance ever delivered by a rap ensemble. The syllable placement is a polynomial equation mapped by John Nash. The machine gun staccato has no safety. G Rap was probably being humble: his voice was at least four times more horrifying than Vincent Price.

Conventional logic can explain Kool G Rap’s advancement of the art form. But I prefer to ascribe his scientific breakthroughs to more mystical origins. In the late ‘60s, the author Erich Von Däniken’s book Chariots of the Gods posited that the greatest achievements in human history – from the pyramids to the crop circles ¬– were the work of aliens. The alternate history hypothesized that benevolent extraterrestrials had gifted such futuristic technology to earthlings to enable them to take quantum creative leaps. In his autobiography, no less than fellow Paid in Full honoree, George Clinton, claimed that this theory helped inspire some of his most psychedelic odysseys on wax.

There is no proof that Kool G Rap was visited by an enigmatic species of interstellar creatures who bequeathed the secret of rapping at warp speed with surgical precision and the cinematic storytelling gifts of Scorsese. But it’s just as easy for me to believe that, as it is to heed the more terrestrial answer: that G Rap absorbed the wild style and meticulous craft of Melle Mel, Grandmaster Gaz, Kool Moe Dee, Spoonie Gee, and Silver Fox – and added his own blood and pavement poetry.

The eponymous first single from 1989’s Road to Riches essentially invented mafioso rap, the sub-genre later expanded upon by Nas, Raekwon, AZ, Jay-Z, Biggie, and Rick Ross. G Rap came out like Tony Montana went down: a guns-blazing, one-man, East Coast answer to N.W.A. The Source named his debut to its “Top 100 Rap Albums of All-Time” list. And these trife life sketches weren’t sensationalist caricatures. Listen to the cautionary tale, “4 Da Brothaz,” a harrowing chronicle of drug sales and inner-city violence, dedicated to a murdered 17-year old named Puzzle. More recently, Pitchfork named 1995’s 4,5,6 (the album “4 Da Brothaz” comes from) to its own best rap albums liturgy.

You can justifiably argue that any all-time ranking without 1990’s Wanted: Dead or Alive or 1992’s Live and Let Die is null and void. After all, the latter is basically the East Coast inversion of AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted – where G Rap decamped to Los Angeles to spit semi-automatic parables about organized crime, sex, and socio-politics over Sir Jinx’s hydraulic funk. Pharrell would probably argue this case. Nearly a decade later, the Neptunes producer’s studio session with G Rap largely involved trying to convince him to modernize “Ill Street Blues.” And lest you think that G Rap was limited to hard-boiled sagas, his “Erase Racism” treatise with Biz Markie and Kane preceded “Fuck Your Ethnicity” by two full decades.

If anything set G Rap back, it’s this sense of being too far ahead of his time. No singles charted near the Top 40. No albums went gold or platinum. Yet unlike many of his ‘80s peers, his catalogue doesn’t feel remotely dated. Where even nominally excellent rappers sometimes operate in stylistic cul-de-sacs, G Rap’s complexity and imagination opened up a northwest passage for his predecessors to further explore. No rapper has ever been more respected or admired. There have never been any accusations of imitation; no false starts or contrived identities. Gimmicks or corny commercial compromises are anathema. This is rap as timeless as a snub-nosed revolver.

That’s why Scarface said, “I grew up on Kool G Rap…he’s one of the best.” Ice Cube called him “one of the most underrated lyricists in hip-hop.” Rakim declared “he’s all that.” The Roots first bonded over their mutual obsession with “Men at Work.” The GZA hailed him as an idol. So did Mobb Deep and Big L. On J. Cole’s “Let Nas Down” Remix, Nas prophesized that “G Rap wrote the Bible.” On “Encore,” Jay-Z bragged that hearing him rap was like hearing “G Rap in his prime.” Whenever Action Bronson drew Ghostface comparisons, he insisted that the true patriarch of his creative lineage was rap’s reincarnation of Sam Giancana. As far as his most direct progeny, when Big Pun met G Rap, he literally kneeled to kiss the ring.

But the road to the riches was a labyrinth. Cold Chillin, the label that released the first four G Rap albums, was notorious for unpaid royalties. It didn’t help that Warner Bros declined to distribute Live and Let Die due to the backlash that followed in the wake of Ice-T’s “Cop Killer.” Then in the late ‘90s, amidst a G Rap resurgence, Rawkus Records offered a deal worth $1.5 million. But the label got bought, the release was delayed for years, and the underground Renaissance passed.

Only a few artists in history never fell off. G Rap is one of them. The notion of a lackluster verse is unthinkable. He’s 57-years-old and you can stick him in a cipher with the hungriest phenom that you can find, and you may as well start saying last rites for the rookie. His most recent album from 2022 is titled Last of a Dying Breed. But the title is only partially accurate: G Rap is a singular one-of-one originator.

On Saturday night at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, the Paid in Full Foundation is honoring G Rap alongside Grand Puba and George Clinton. Co-founded by Ben and Felicia Horowitz, the philanthropic organization includes Nas and Fab 5 Freddy on its advisory board and aims to reward the “most impactful original artists [who] never received recognition proportional with their exceptional contributions to arts and culture.”

Through its grantmaking program, Paid in Full seeks to “honor the people who built Hip Hop…enabling them to pursue their creative and intellectual pursuits for the benefit of society.” In short, this is the hip-hop Genius Grant.

In advance of the event, I spoke to G Rap about his first memories of hip-hop, riding around with 2Pac during the L.A. riots, the making of “The Symphony,” taking Nas to shop his original demo, and much more. It was like interviewing the inventor of the V-8 engine or the 9th Century Taoist alchemist who first created gunpowder. And to this day, you can’t replace him.

What’s your first memory?

Kool G Rap: I remember laying in the crib and watching the [baby mobile] go around. I remember my first birthday celebration. I used to trip my mother out, recalling things to her. She’d be like ‘Boy, you remember all that?’

What about your first memory of hip-hop?

Kool G Rap: I was about 9, maybe. Somewhere around 1977. I remember all the kids on my block [in Corona, Queens] going somewhere. I didn’t know what was going on — I just followed the crowd. I think my older sister went too.

They used to have this after-school center in my neighborhood. And in in the yard, there was a DJ with his equipment set up. And music was going, of course. And I just noticed the DJ scratching the record for the very first time, and thought that was just the coolest shit on earth. And the music that was being played and the continuation of bringing back the break beats and never letting them stop — I mean it was an instantaneous love. It just drew me in.

I didn’t want to rap or anything at that point. I was just amazed by it. From there, there were more park jams and more park jams. But my very first one? The impact of it never left me.
You’ve talked about the Disco Twins as being the stars of the neighborhood at that time. What made them so special?

Kool G Rap: Well , number one, they had the craziest system in the area. They was notoriously known for that. They was like the only locals at that point that had them ridiculous earthquake Cerwin Vega speakers. Then they was DJ twins – which made them stand out. Plus, they was dope.

But these brothers was older than me. So I wasn’t familiar with seeing them all the time like somebody maybe five years older, seven years older than me would have.
So were Silky Sam and Ray Rock like the first real rappers you ever saw?

Kool G Rap: Exactly. Yeah, Silky Sam, Ray Rock, those was the MCs of the hood that was known to be dope. They was known to be nice.

But if you went just outside of Corona to the next bordering community — which would have been East Elmhurst, then you would have had the Turn Out Brothers with Ron [Amen-Ra] Lawrence, the famous producer (“Hypnotize, “Money, Power, Respect”)
Were either of your parents into music?

Kool G Rap: I heard my father used to play the drums in his youth. But we never really sat down and talked about it or nothing like that. My biologicals were separated when I was at a young age. So, yeah, those were the talks that I didn’t have with my father, but my mother told me.

Was your mom supportive of you pursuing a career as a musician?

Kool G Rap: Not really. Because when she really found out I was really trying to pursue it, I was cutting class. I mean, my grades was pretty decent, but I just started cutting and because of that, she wasn’t trying to hear nothing with music.

I had to get my diploma just to satisfy my mother and get her off my back — and just go full-fledged into what I wanted to do. I lucked up and happened to be in the neighborhood with the likes of Eric B and Polo and certain people that could bring me in the company of Marley Marl — and then it was all history from there.
Was Eric B the first person who you knew in the music industry?

Kool G Rap: He was the first one in the area that got extremely hot. When him and Ra dropped, I mean, it was like ground shaking. Even just with the first single alone, it was a momentous, monumental time in hip-hop – the dawn of a new era. Because it was a change — it solidified the statement that hip- hop had evolved into its next phase from the pioneers who started it. And now, the new generation would exceed it.

Was Silver Fox your first favorite emcee?

Kool G Rap: No. Before I even got to know Silver Fox, it would have been Kool Moe Dee, Melle Mel, and Spoonie Gee. Silver Fox came maybe a year or two after me being influenced by those cats. When I met Fox, I mean, he was like next level. Because I wasn’t hearing nobody flow the way he was flowing at that time. He just seemed to have this futuristic flow. Good voice, everything. And he’s one of the ingredients that would build the G Rap sound some years later.

It was the combination of him, Melle Mel, Moe Dee, and Grandmaster Caz. And even though I never mentioned it, when I really think back on it, Spoonie Gee definitely had some influence. Just because of his swagger and his smooth delivery. I think he was the influence of when I did the record, “I’m Fly.” That’s a Spoonie Gee approach. Because he was always rapping about the ladies and all that. So he influenced “in my Jacuzzi with an Uzi with Suzy and Jane.”
What did you take from Moe Dee?

Kool G Rap: The fast rapping influence. And wanting to sound — I wouldn’t say intelligent — but just make it all make sense. I think I would have been a rapper like that regardless, but he just really drilled it in. He made it sound cool to be smart.

One of the things that always struck me about your music as well as Wu-Tang was that there was a cautionary sense of it, a sense of consequences. It’s not just like this cartoon. It’s real life, flesh and blood.

Kool G Rap: Exactly. Speaking of Wu-Tang, I spoke to Power for the very first time recently because Masta Killa did an appearance on my new album. And Power was telling me, like, “Yo, G, you and Rakim, for us, in the hood where we come from, y’all was the rappers that made it cool to us to rap and still have that flashy look.’

He said, ‘Y’all showed us we could do it another way. We could do it a way without all the consequences that come with being out in them streets and on them corners.”
I always wondered if the story was true that when Big Pun met you that he kneeled to kiss the ring.

Kool G Rap: He did. And it was just a sign of respect from one wordsmith to another. I have a high level of respect for anybody who I consider to be a real official spitter, because I understand the creativity that comes with that. It’s not easy. It’s not simple Simon. You have to take time out to be crafty with your wordplay.

You moved to Lefrak at 11. How was that different from Corona?

Kool G Rap: It wasn’t that much different. As far as the type of things I was subjected to, it was still the same thing — the only difference was Lefrak was the projects. But back in those times it would have been considered a nicer projects in comparison to like QB. But not to be mistaken, the goons was in there.

When did you get introduced to the street mindset?

Kool G Rap: I started going out there at like 15, 16 — around that age when we moved back from Lefrak to Corona again.

Obviously, you were very familiar with street life, but I imagine that a lot of what you rapped about didn’t personally happen to you, but was more of a novelistic approach – in which you described what happened to those around you.

Kool G Rap: Absolutely. I mean, when you’re a writer, you write about your own personal experiences — hands-on — and then you write about the things you observe around you.

I’m sure it’s the same thing with a lot of other cats. You can’t strictly narrow what you write about to only what you actually did yourself.
What do you remember writing first?

Kool G Rap: Oh, it was like some little bullshit story. It wasn’t even like a song or nothing like that. It was just a long verse.

When I was young — even by the time I started recording with Marley Marl, and did my first records — I had no real concept of song structure. I was just raw talent. So I would write the verses, it could be 20 bars, it could be 32 bars, 40 bars. I’m just going in, because I was trying to really prove a point. More than making a record, I wanted to let the world know that I’m nice.
Is it true that the tape reel fell off when you were doing “The Symphony” because you just kept going?

Kool G Rap: Yeah. That verse I did on “Symphony” and the first verse of “Men at Work” was all one verse.

What do you remember about the recording of “The Symphony”?

Kool G Rap: I was told to go to Marley Marl’s house and when I got there, Craig G already had laid his verse and took off. [Masta] Ace was there laying his verse, and I had never met Ace. But I’m hearing his verse that he’s spitting, and I’m like, ‘yo, this shit is dope.’ Stranded just like Caruso and all that.

Later on, Kane came, and it was crazy after that. Then Marley told me to shorten my verse because he needed space for Kane — but I laid my verse before Kane got there. So I had to correct it, and end it with the last thing I ended it with. But it didn’t originally end like that – I just kept going.

Was there ever a friendly rivalry between you and Kane?

Kool G Rap: It was like an unspoken competitiveness. I wouldn’t say rivalry, I would just say that we was both competitive because we was the two spitters of the Juice Crew — not to take nothing away from Shan. Shan was dope too.

But being a wordsmith was something that me and Kane really focused on. That was our real driving force, which might not have been Shan’s. Shan’s might have been more about making dope records and emceeing — but see, I was never an MC at heart like that, even though I love the Busy Bee type of rapper. I was more impressed by Melle Mel, Kool Moe Dee, and Caz: Caz for the stories, Moe Dee for sounding like he’s damn near a professor, and Silver Fox for the craftiness and flows.

So I was molded into this type of rapper and those was my influences. Shan might have had different influences. But I know Kane had similar influences to who influenced me. That’s why he was always close and tight with Grandmaster Caz. Melle Mel, I’m not so sure about. But I mean, who did Melle Mel not touch if you was a hip-hop head?
You were first managed by Herby Luv Bug, right? Even before Eric B?

Kool G Rap: I wouldn’t say officially managed by him, but I did work with him. So I seen the very beginning stages of Salt-N-Pepa.

Was your reputation already established in the neighborhood by the time that Eric B brought you to Polo?

Kool G Rap: No. It was a few cats that I used to be on the block with, they knew. Because I would spit rhymes within my own little circle. So those cats knew because every time they seen me, [they’d say] ‘Yo, spit another verse.’

And I started doing a lot of — well I ain’t going to say a lot — I started doing more recordings with Herby than I had ever done up to that point. I recorded something at the Disco Twins’ house, their studio, but it was just a one-time event. Otherwise, they wasn’t really dealing with me like that because they was already doing next-level things. They just did it for me as a favor for a young kid in the hood. But they was already putting out records.

Herby was fresh on his come-up. I don’t think he was putting out any records at that point. He was on his way to doing that with me and Salt-N-Pepa. But because of my friendship with Eric B’s brother, I ended up being around Eric a lot. And then one thing led to another — Eric officially introduced me to Polo. I knew about Polo, but he was an older cat, so I wasn’t personally acquainted with him.
What was Polo’s reputation?

Kool G Rap: I just knew he was a DJ and he had that unique name, Polo — especially in these days. This is early in the game. So there ain’t too many Calvin Kleins that I knew of at that time. Not too many people who had names of fashion designers, name brands and all that. So his name stood out.

And he brought you to Marley Marl?

Kool G Rap: Yeah, Polo brought me to Marley.

I imagine the Juice Crew was already legendary by then?

Kool G Rap: Oh, I was just in a state of awe to even be in the presence of Marley Marl. Because Marley was that dude — and he’s in the hood, he’s in QB and I already knew a lot of cats in QB. So he’s in an area that’s real comfortable to me. I had family there. So it was just like the best thing in the world for me. He was already dealing with Shan and Shanté and Biz at that time, and Biz was really on the come-up. What young kid who was rapping at that time wouldn’t want to be affiliated or associated with that lineup. These were the superstars of the hood.

What did you learn from Marley?

Kool G Rap: I learned a lot about production. I didn’t learn much about song structure, per se. He might have told me to cut a verse or something at certain points, but he didn’t do too much. Marley just let me be the raw talent that I was.

If you ask me now, the first verse of “Road to the Riches,” I would never do a first verse that long these days. He just let me be me. He didn’t drill into me song structure [by saying] ‘yo, you got to cut it eight bars, 10 bars, 12 bars’ — none of that. I think he liked the fact that I was different in that sense. Rather than other artists who might have been more structured.

Biz might have had more structure, as far as the ability to make radio-playable recordings. When you gear records to radio, you kind of have to go in with that approach. There’s a certain feel you need for a radio record — G Rap was doing none of that.
What was the inspiration that sparked you to create mafioso rap?

Kool G Rap: I didn’t even think about it in real time. I was just rapping what naturally came out of me. And because I was in the streets, that’s what was coming out of me.

Melle Mel kind of encouraged that too, because Melle Mel would rap about the environment around him. Like the verses on “The Message” and other recordings – he’s talking about, ‘There’s a drugstore set up right on the corner, selling dope…’

It was so relatable, and it just stuck with me. And so he was a very heavy influence on my direction. And by me being in the mix, that drilled it in even more. But I wasn’t actually thinking, ‘Yo, I’m gonna go the street direction, or I’m gonna talk some gangster shit.’ It just came out naturally because it was my life; it was what I was surrounded by.

I remember reading an interview with you where you talked talking about how John Gotti was in the New York Post and New York Daily News headlines every day.

Kool G Rap: Right. Absolutely. All this is going on at this time. So I’m just absorbing everything: what’s right in the neighborhood around me, what’s happening that’s not in my proximity, but it’s headline news. And it’s just coming out of me in lyric form. That’s what artists do — they rap about the times.

If you ask me, Curtis Mayfield was rapping a lot. He did a whole lot of rapping. He was just singing it, but he’s talking some real gritty shit.
You were barely 20 years old when “Road to the Riches” came out. What were the consequences that you’d already seen at that point?

Kool G Rap: Even when I was in high school, I was losing people who were the same age as me. They was already doing stickups. One of my homies from high school – he got killed because he tried to rob one of the dollar van dudes in South Jamaica, Queens. And there was a struggle for the gun, the guy got the gun from him and killed him. This is somebody who I was going to other people’s wakes with, and then he ended up getting killed. I saw the consequences of it early — very early.

When I was in Lefrak, I remember my mother coming off the terrace in a panic. And I’m like, ‘What’s the matter? What happened?’ All she could say was, ‘The lady! the lady!’ And I look off the terrace and it’s a lady laying down at the bottom who must have fell from a higher floor.

Lefrak has 17 flights up, so she must have fallen from maybe the eighth or ninth floor. And my mom must have seen the body come down while she was on the terrace and it caught her by surprise — that’s why she was in a panic. And then she seen the woman hit the ground. I don’t think it was a real fall because it wasn’t like brains all over, but you just saw a pool of blood in the back of her head. Her eyes were still open, but she was definitely gone.

So seeing death and tragic things happen, it started young. Like a lot of kids who grow up in these environments — the inner cities — you get subjected to crazy shit — crazy shit at a very young age. And if you didn’t, you were very fortunate.

I was talking with an older homie of mine. He was like, ‘Yo, G.” He said, ‘Yo, n**s in the hood got PTSD, bro.’ I said, ‘Yo, you are absolutely right.’ He said, ‘you could be in front of a store and watch somebody get gunned down right in front of you.’ That’s fucking tragic. And that can mess with your mind, especially when you’re young — it can mess with your mind when you’re a grown-ass adult.
One of my favorite of your albums is Live and Let Die. What made you decide to come out to LA to work with Sir Jinx and make that sonic shift?

Kool G Rap: I was a very big fan of N.W.A. when they came out. And I probably was one of the few cats out of New York to feel that way, because nobody was talking N.W.A., nobody was talking Geto Boys as early as I was. When I used to mention them, cats didn’t even really know about them like that. It took a little bit of time, maybe a year or two, for it to really catch on. It didn’t solidify for a lot of people on the East Coast until Ice Cube went solo. And the tracks that Jinx was producing for Cube were incredible. Like “Once Upon a Time in the Projects?” I just thought it was amazing.

I was fascinated about how they made those interludes sound so realistic. Everyone else sounded reverbed and like they were making it in the studio. But Cube and Jinx sounded like they were bringing you to the scene of a crime. And when I went out there to work with Jinx, I was amazed at watching him put it all together. He would bring out boxes of hundreds and hundreds of CDs from his sound library.

Now, this is in the early ’90s. A sound library is nothing today: multitudes of people might have them. But back then, in those times, where you had to buy the CDs and all that — he told me he probably spent about $8,000 just on his sound library. He said at that time that Dre’s probably cost like $11,000, because Dre had more than him. It was like 20th Century Fox sounds. So he said, ‘G, these are the things they score movies with.”

I watched him build and create these environments from scratch — the whole process of panning sounds from one side of the speaker to the other to make it sound like a car is riding past. All the creativity that was involved in making those, it just fascinated me.
You were staying there when the Riots happened, right?

Kool G Rap: Yeah, they happened one of the times that I was out there. I would generally go out there and stay for two or three weeks, then come back home because I had a family in New York.

One of those times, we were in a different studio than we normally would record in at the time. And 2Pac was in one of the rooms. And Jinx would go back and forth because we was mixing down my album at the same time. He was like, ‘Yo, if you want to come and meet Pac, it’s all good.’ But I was so focused on what I was doing with the mixes that I didn’t go over there to meet him.

But when we left, Pac bounced with us. We was all riding in one of our homie’s cars. He had a convertible BMW. So me, Jinx, and ‘Pac, we’re leaving the studio right as the riots broke out. Right when the verdict was made public, and that shit just went ballistic. It’s just straight up lawlessness. And understandably so. I understood it. There was a lot of anger behind that verdict because this was the first visual video evidence – clear as day – of the brutality that police have inflicted upon this motorist, Rodney King. And this is so concrete, nobody could believe that there could be any other verdict besides guilty. And it showed you that racism is still very alive – even in the ’90s. And we’re still dealing with the same things that we was dealing with in all the decades prior.
So what did you and ‘Pac and Jinx do at that moment?

Kool G Rap: We joined the crowd that was breaking out store windows and shit like that. We was all angry. Everybody took that personal — it’s like somebody spitting in your face, personally. Because you’re thinking this is the one moment where justice is going to be served — so-called justice.

I didn’t personally want to burn down a whole block and burn down the city, but I definitely felt that frustration. If it could happen to [King], it could happen to me — it could happen to any person of color. That’s basically what the statement that was made.
Do you feel like things have improved since then?

Kool G Rap: No, not at all. In these most recent years, I think it’s just brewing up even more. It’s this real underlying type of energy of the same thing that has always been.

And then Live and Let Die was famously not distributed by Warner Bros. because they were scared of the controversy that followed in the wake of Ice-T’s “Cop Killer.” What exactly happened?

Kool G Rap: There was a whole big meeting at Warner Bros. And I was a topic, Ice-T was a topic, and Live Squad was a topic because they were signed to Warner too. And it was decided that they’re not putting out our records: Ice-T for “Cop Killer”; G Rap because he had the two detectives standing on a chair with a rope around their neck – and the chairs was attached to two rottweilers with chains attached — and me and Polo got steaks in front of the rottweilers. Which was the photographer’s idea. I thought it was pretty slick and creative.

But they wasn’t too fond of that. And they said, ‘We’re going to give y’all your walking papers with this particular project.’ And so it just got put out independently via Cold Chillin’.

And then around the same time, you were somehow in the “Poison” video too? What do you remember about that shoot?

Kool G Rap: Yeah, I was in it for a split second. I just remember Mike [Bivins] that reached out, because he always expressed [that] he was a G Rap fan. And plus, I guess it was a way to keep us cool, with my voice being repeated like a thousand times on the song.

Did you get royalties on that or no?

Kool G Rap: You know what? They didn’t have to. At that time, sampling and all that was like, you had to be over three seconds — or three-point-something of a second — to be liable to pay for a sample of your voice.

Another thing that I wanted to ask about is the fact that most people don’t know that you were the one who helped Nas shop his demo?

Kool G Rap: Oh, absolutely. I was literally the one shopping it. And it wasn’t much shopping because he ended up landing a situation almost instantaneously, once I started dealing with him. I had maybe two things recorded by Nas, and I took it to Def Jam. They thought he was dope, but they was like, ‘He sound like you, G. He sound like G Rap.” And I’m like, “true, he’s influenced by me, but he has his own identity.” They passed on it.

And Nas is at my crib one time — when we were recording— and MC Serch hit me and came through, and I introduced him to Nas. I played the Nas recording and he was just loving it. And this is all at the same time that I’m going to California to record my next album. So somewhere in the midst of all that, they must have exchanged math or whatever. Serch got Nas’ contacts and contacted him when I was in California. And that’s how it was a situation with Serch shopping him.

I never held it against Serch or Nas because I wasn’t in it for no money or nothing like that. I have a high regard and very high respect for who I consider to be spitters and wordsmiths and dudes creative with that pen game. So I honestly just wanted Nas to get on. I thought the kid was so nice. I said, ‘Yo, the world got to hear this.’ So to me, it didn’t matter how he got on as long as he got on.
What were the sessions like for “Fast Life?”

Kool G Rap: Oh, it was real dope. Nas came through the studio. And now he’s Nas that’s got shit buzzing himself now. So it’s a different type of dynamic now. Now it’s like respected-artist-to-respected-artist — Not G Rap and the young cat he’s trying to put on. He’s already on. So it was dope in the sense of me being there and [Nas] doing something like a teacher would consider a student that graduated and got his masters, like he’s now a professor.

At the same time, that’s the homie. I loved it. I loved the fact that he was established and dudes knew that he was no joke. And now I get to do a recording with him from this approach.
With 4,5,6 I feel like you took another quantum leap. The early stuff, you can hear the Silver Fox, a little Moe Dee. But by 4,5,6, that’s the stuff you hear Pun directly taking from. You hear Eminem directly taking from it. What goes on in that period?

Kool G Rap: I was just developing as an artist. And what was happening in hip-hop, and what hip-hop was becoming, probably had something to do with it too. Because if you don’t stay being a fan of hip-hop, then you’ll lose it as an artist. Once nobody can move you, then I think you get stuck in a certain place. You’re stuck within your own paradigm and can’t get out of that box. And it just limits you. So I’ve always stayed a fan of it.

Who are you a fan of now? Who inspires you?

Kool G Rap: Oh man, I love the Griselda movement. I thought it was so refreshing — it gave me flashbacks to when Wu-Tang dropped. My man, 38 Spesh. That time frame of when Griselda and 38 and Boldy James came out, I think that was a new era within itself as well, because it started to shift it back to being lyric-conscious, wordplay-conscious. And, of course, big shout out to Roc Marci.

What do you remember about the making of “The Realest” with Mobb Deep?

Kool G Rap: It was just me and Prodigy — Havoc wasn’t there. And Prodigy — we started from scratch together. There was no verses laid, no beat picked yet. And he’s going through some tracks and he’s telling the engineer, ‘Yo, put this on. Put that on.’ He’s like, ‘Yo, G, peep this shit out. From this new cat I’m fucking with, [Alchemist] gave me these shits. See what you think about this one.’ And he put that ‘Realest’ track on. And that bassline just did it for me.

P wrote the chorus. He told me what lines he wanted me to say in the chorus and all that. And then I laid my verse.

And that verse famously helped lay the groundwork that got you the $1.5 million deal with Rawkus Records? Or was there a longer story?

Kool G Rap: I’m sure it contributed because at that time when that dropped, it was a few labels that was showing interest.

Did it feel like validating at that point? Because you’d been making music for over a dozen years and suddenly, the new generation of artists was basically like, “alright, well this is where it all comes from.”

Kool G Rap: Oh, yeah, absolutely. It was like a resurgence of G Rap. It was like a second life. Because I was already over a decade in the game at this point. And a decade is a lot in hip-hop. So if you could pass that mark and still be an artist that somebody’s still checking for, then you are officially solidified as a staple in the culture.

And then this was around the time that you had a session with The Neptunes, right? What was that like? How did that even come about?

Kool G Rap: It was arranged by somebody at Rawkus. And I sat with Pharrell. And Pharrell was such a fan of “Ill Street Blues.” And I think what he was trying to give me was another form of “Ill Street Blues.” But it probably would have been more of a commercial approach instead of the raw, gritty, mafioso type of feel. Because Pharrell’s gonna do Pharrell. Pharrell — he ain’t doing gritty, he’s doing the shit that’s going to sell.

And it just didn’t work for me. And I was honest with him. I told him. I was like, ‘I ain’t really feeling that one. Show me something else.’ And He was like, ‘yo, G, I’m telling you, yo!’ And you know what? I should have fucked around and listened to him. I should’ve listened to him — because this is probably what stopped G Rap from going to those next levels. And now it’s right there in my face, but I’m not used to this.
You’ve mentioned a passion for screenwriting in the past. How far have you gone in that pursuit?

Kool G Rap: I never got the opportunity to just indulge in it 100% because I always got to do this, or do that— and I’m always being pulled in other directions. If it’s not my own project, it’s the feature on another project or to do a whole project with somebody. Which will take me away from that for a long amount of time.

What are your other interests outside of music?

Kool G Rap: It would be the film thing. I really want to get that cracking. Which, I think, there’s a lot more opportunity available now because of the internet and streaming channels. So I think that is something that I’m most definitely going to pursue. I just got to find the right time and space to really dive in that world.

Who are the filmmakers you most admire?

Kool G Rap: Scorsese. His ability to just capture certain actions and make it so vivid and powerful and send chills down your spine. He makes you feel like you’re there witnessing a murder. That’s why you still have people posting clips of Goodfellas and stuff like that, because it was just so powerful.

Oliver Stone is another one. Ron Howard, too.
Do you have a top five favorite mob movies?

Kool G Rap: It’s crazy you ask me that because in the other room before I started the interview, I started to play Once Upon a Time in America. That’s another director I was going to mention too, Sergio Leone.

If we say mob movies, then I can’t put Scarface in there because that’s not a mob movie. Then I would have to go with Godfather, Once Upon a Time in America, Goodfellas, Untouchables, Public Enemy.
Was there any mob movie — or really any movie screenplay that you saw — that inspired your own writing?

Kool G Rap: No, because at the time when I even mentioned Gotti in “Road to the Riches,” I couldn’t get Godfather then. My mother had recommended Godfather to me — the movie. And each time I tried to watch it, I’m like, ‘Ma, that movie boring to me.” She’s like, ‘Nah, baby, I’m telling you, you got to really watch it.’ And I tried to watch it a second time. It took me three times — and for me to be like maybe three or four years older — for me to really get it. I guess my mind had to mature more to accept the drama of the long talking and conversations and be entertained by dialogue like that. Where it’s not as much action, but it’s the dialogue that’s powerful. Me as a young spirit, I wasn’t geared that way yet.

What does it mean to be honored by Paid in Full?

Kool G Rap: Oh man, it’s an honor. It’s an honor in the sense that I know this is new. So for them to come around to G Rap so suddenly — right in the beginning stages of this event — that’s an honor within itself because there’s so many other artists that could fit right into the slot that I’m in. Deservingly so. So that alone right there is an honor. And it was an honor that the artists that we was just talking about earlier — who I had hands on into getting them out there — would call me and tell me that they want to do this. That was an honor.

So it’s like, they’re honoring G Rap, and G Rap was triple-honored by the gesture.

Why do you think it’s important for something like this to exist?

Kool G Rap: Oh, it’s extremely important. Hip-hop has withstood the test of time. It exceeded everybody’s expectations of it. I remember being early in the game and you had certain disc jockeys on the radio that was still on the radio from the disco era. And everybody from that generation thought that hip-hop was a fad and it’s going to be here five years and then gone. They was equating it to disco. But disco had its phase and then by the time, around the mid-80s, it was something totally different.

People doubted hip-hop, and it beat all the odds. And it’s still here and still relevant – a dominant genre of music to this very day. Because a lot of genres still exist like jazz and blues, but to maintain its power, to still be in the forefront of popular music and what people are tuned into, that’s a hell of a statement.
What advice would you give to young artists starting out?

Kool G Rap: I think that individuality’s starting to come back now. Hip-hop kind of went through what a lot of people would refer to as a cookie-cutter phase — all our records sound the same, all the production sounds the same, all the peoples’ approach sounds the same.

I think it’s going back towards to people being individuals again. So that’s what I would tell a new artist coming up — zero in on that, focus on that, having your own identity. Of course you’re not going to invent the wheel at this point, but you’re still going to have your own approach.
When are you the happiest?

Kool G Rap: When I’m to myself: because I would say I’m more of an internal person than an external person. And I think that’s where the creativity comes from. I don’t have to sit in the hood and jot down what I see in real time anymore — it’s already in there. My creativity comes from the internal aspect of who I am as a person.

What are you most proud of?

Kool G Rap: I don’t think I could pin that down as far as me as an individual. But I would say that I’m proud of a people that’s been systematically held down on so many different levels — whether financially or education-wise. And to come from all those different obstacles and hurdles and still be able to display greatness — it’s amazing to me.

Music is a universal language, period. But I also love how hip-hop bridged so many gaps and racial divides and ethnic divides and just made it one huge culture that involves everybody – no matter what walk of life they come from.

I’m also proud of that because it was amazing to me to see DJs coming out of Germany that’s super nice. And it got to the point where it’s not just DJs — it’s breakdancers, it’s rappers, it’s spitters, it’s producers. Nothing has a particular face no more. When you say ‘hip-hop producer,’ you cannot just narrow it down to a particular face. It could come in any face, any form.
You mentioned a new album earlier. Tell me about that. What can people expect?

Kool G Rap: They can expect a whole shitload of tracks. And just expect more of G Rap. G Rap in his well-in-his-50s now, still being a wordsmith, still being technical with it. But maybe they might see the growth in me as an artist — of song structure and things of that nature that I told you I didn’t have as a youngin’ coming into the game. Those things just developed on their own in time, without somebody [saying], “yo, you should do it like this.” It’s just things that just developed in time with just experience.

Last question: How would you like to be remembered?

Kool G Rap: As one of the illest wordsmiths that ever touched the Earth.