Isaac Dunbar Takes Our Pop Quiz
office gave Isaac an impromptu pop quiz where there are no wrong answers... except, of course, the wrong ones.
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office gave Isaac an impromptu pop quiz where there are no wrong answers... except, of course, the wrong ones.
Now, Staples has put out many great albums with accompanied records. Yet, what we can't put a finger on is how to tell you that this album is different. Yes, every musician is constantly putting something out as a new chapter to their identity and even what they find interesting. Yet, Staples is a coyote among the pack. There's a sense of maturity— one that's always been there but speaks in higher volume. It's like we all know he's in his prime; and he's feeding the best that's yet to come slowly. As evidence to a phenonemal album, office decided to create a track breakdown of each song, summarizing how it makes us feel.
THE BEACH —
Exactly what it alludes. Whenever you’re missing your ex, put this song on. Run away from the ocean when it reaches the shore— and then move on.
AYE! (FREE THE HOMIES) —
The chorus is untouchable by itself, we recommend playing this in your pre-gaming playlist. For those precious moments of giggling between joint passes and gluing lash strips.
DJ QUIK —
We imagine this was one of those songs Staples and his friends were nodding their heads at in the studio and were like, “yeah, they’re going to be talking about this for years to come.”
MAGIC —
You know when it’s the summer and your family is having a family reunion? You open the door to your grandma’s house and the smell of barbecue passes you. The comforting commotion of sports talk from your old head uncles, and the little cousins are running past you— this is that song for this.
NAMELESS —
It’s not a song, but more of a memory. For those moments you miss the people you fell out of touch with.
WHEN SPARKS FLY —
A song for the saps. An epitome of intense eye contact, conversations in the car as the rain comes down, and when your heart won't shut up at 6 in the morning.
EAST POINT PRAYER —
For a redeye flight to a new city. When the plane takes off, the mastered beats and simple echos will take you into the clouds.
SLIDE —
You ever take walks alone? Take one and listen to this. This song is for the times when no one’s giving you the right kind of advice.
PAPERCUTS —
Yeah, so this one’s on repeat. Actually, maybe take a walk by yourself with this one. Or, when you’re cramming to finish a paper for a class you hate— this one’s it. We guarantee this is the song that’ll turn you into a Vince Staples fan. Or, it'll turn you into an even bigger one.
LEMONADE —
The song for when your life is no longer messy. We’d bet money that if Insecure had a sixth season, this would be the opening song.
PLAYER WAYS —
A song for a remale of “Love and Basketball” Truly, if they were to reprise a 90s rom-com about basketball, trust— this song will be in it.
MAMA’S BOY —
This is one of the songs at the functions that if you ask, “yo, who is this?” They’re not going to answer you. Just enjoy it for the time. Also, Mother’s Day is coming up, play this for your momma.
BANG THAT —
One of those songs that’ll play in the shuffle playlist after you just got Thai food with your date. You’ll be talking about pet peeves and guilty pleasures as this one bumps.
THE SPIRIT OF MASTER KODY —
There’s not much to say except period.
ROSE STREET —
For the moment you’re working retail and the store is quiet. It’s a subtle Wednesday and you’re talking to your coworkers about failed tinder dates.
THE BLUES —
It’s the slow chords that are getting us into our bag. The perfect post nervous breakdown song. When the strangers catch you screaming at yourself in the parking lot— put this one on.
In April, office sat down with Pyle to talk about Wild River, her musical evolution, and her spring tour. Read on for the full conversation.
How are you doing today? How has your week been?
My day is good. I'm kind of down to the wire to get ready for this tour that starts in May. So every day feels a little more stressful than the last. But my calendar is sorted out now. And yeah, it's a beautiful day here in Philly. So I'm just trying to keep— what do they say? Keep your nose to the grindstone. Trying to just check things off my to-do list but yeah, I'm good.
So how did you get started in music and writing?
I've been singing and writing songs since I was five years-old, and I've always been drawn to writing in any format, so writing poetry, writing songs. I used to write a lot of stories as a kid. I think it was an accessible medium. All you need is a pen and a paper, and to write a song, all you need is a voice. I grew up kind of a poor little kid who had not the easiest home environment, so I think I was really drawn to creating a different world for myself through writing. Singing was a soothing activity for me, so I was always listening to the radio, and making up my own little weird songs on the playground. I sang in choir throughout school, and then I was also involved in musical theater. At the same time, I started writing my own songs. I would open for my friends punk bands in barns and garages, and played some shows at school. When I moved to New York, I was like, 'Oh, I'm a serious person. I don't play music anymore.' I didn't even take my guitar. It was my intention to study acting, and then I was like, 'Oh, that's useless too. Art is dumb. I'm going to study something else and be a scholar.' And I found that very depressing. My first year in New York was super hard. I was really sad and overwhelmed, so coming back to music was a life-saving activity for me. I had craved this creative outlet after studying so academically. When I graduated from school, all I wanted to do was sit and write poetry. I didn't want to do else. I didn't want to be this serious, adult person; I just wanted to create. So as tough as that period was, it was really helpful to see how essential a creative practice is to my spiritual well-being. When I graduated from school, I started a punk band with some friends of mine, and we ended up playing all around town and being able to go on tour and have some I guess what one might call ‘small industry success,’ some nice articles written about us. A lot of great, fun opportunities came from that. And that sort of like launched my so-called career in music, and I've been evolving ever since. That's the long-winded nutshell.
Several years ago, you made the decision to leave New York for Philly. What was that transition like? How is the music scene similar or different?
I'm originally from Colorado, and then I moved to New York City, 'the Big Apple,' when I was 17. When I moved, I went for school, and then I was in New York for almost 10 years before moving to Philly. I had met many people who lived here from playing music, so it was kind of a nice transition. I had a community that I was already a part of. My partner lived here at the time, so it was really a warm welcome. Definitely. Like everything in New York is just a little bit different than it is in other places. Because it's such a big city, there's so many people, everything is pretty dispersed. So one of the biggest differences is Philly definitely felt like a more accessible city, lin terms of creating art, sharing art, being in community with people. Just because in New York, you just have to hustle so hard to just survive. I really had to come down off of New York moving here. My energy was like still at an all-time high. It was so different to be like, 'Oh yeah, my friend lives down the street. I'm gonna go to their house for coffee,' which is something that never really happened for me, living in New York, because, you know, someone lived in Bensonhurst, someone lived in Queens, you know what I mean? We all just sort of lived dispersed. And so the music scene felt a little more accessible in Philly than in New York.
You mention accessibility a lot. Can you talk a bit more about how you cultivate or practice accessibility in your art? What does accessibility mean to you?
There's so many ways to approach the idea of accessibility. I mean, the first thing that I think about is monetary accessibility. So all of my music is free to download on Bandcamp, and you can pay what you want. That was something that a good friend of mine instituted early on in his career, and I really liked that because it's nice to have the option to have it if you can't afford to buy a record. I remember being the kid who couldn't buy merch, could barely afford it to get to a show, and so I think that that will continue to be a principle of mine throughout my career.
I don't know if this would really fall into the category of accessibility, but I try to use my music as a platform to do some fundraising for causes that I care about. I guess you can think about that in terms of a larger accessibility framework, like accessibility for existence. Funding trans healthcare or trans youth services, or Black progressive politics, and thinking about if I'm generating income, how can I divert some of it to making the world, in general, a more accessible place?
I have been thinking a lot about that with what it's like to play shows. I have some younger fans that can't get into bars, and I have some friends who only play all-ages shows. I'm trying to think about if that's something that I want to adopt as well. Right now, I'm not a large enough artist to dictate exactly how a headliner wants to take me on tour, but I can refuse the show if it's not all ages. But trying to think about these specific points of access, like, 'Am I playing venues where you can get in if you have a wheelchair?' Those kinds of questions. As I am playing more shows now, I think the largest point would be creating emotional accessibility for people. Something that I really want to do with my live performance is create a space for vulnerability, and create a space to access naming and identifying and feeling emotions. I don't think that I have many skills except for moving people into their feelings, and I find that to be an important practice. So the live set that I'm putting together right now for the tour is inviting people to access these deeper emotions and also has some somatic theory, like, 'What does it feel like to be in your body? What does it feel like to experience music in the body?' which I think is something that everyone in every body that is inhabited can benefit from.
Wild River is your first solo record outside of your work in chumped and katie ellen. Can you talk a bit about that process of releasing music under your own name, rather than with a group?
That was a very liberating experience for me. It's hard to figure out how you want to present your projects, and what they mean. With chumped, it was very clear what it was, but with katie ellen, it was a little more murky. It was just a totally different experience from my first band that was like, 'It's the four of us, so we'll never need anything else.' We split everything four ways, even constructing songs. But then with katie ellen, it was like, 'I don't really know if I want a solo project, but I want to have a band, but I don't know how to present it, and I like the idea of it being an alias.' I think that gave me some anonymity. So, it was really liberating to be to make a record by myself, with the help of my producer, to make the artwork, to press the record, to distribute the record— it was a really empowering, challenging, and life-changing. process. It's definitely weird to make t-shirts with your name on them. I can't get used to it. I tried to take my name off the t-shirt, but I guess it's supposed to be there. So I don't like that part, but everything else is pretty good. It's kind of scary. I sought some advice of other friends of mine who had been in bands, and then, started to release solo music and use their own name, and most people were like, 'It's hard to go back from that, but it gives you a lot of freedom.' And I have felt that. It unlocks the ability to do whatever I want, whereas, sometimes, if you're in a band, you feel pressure to recreate the same sound or approach, and I like that [going solo] is like, 'This is me, and I'm multifaceted, and I'm super weird, and I'm going to do something different every time, and that's okay.'
You’ve been very open about the struggles you’ve experienced with grief and trauma, especially in Wild River. How have your experiences informed your approach to writing and art?
When I wrote Wild River, I feel like I didn't really put it together. Like I had songs that I wrote in response to my father. I had songs and poems that predated that, but had some worth in the material and the feelings that I was trying to really come into, and I did it as an exercise in trying to access my own process. I have a hard time feeling grief. I went immediately into logistic mode. My sister and I are my father's next of kin, so it was dealing with a lot of, 'Where does this box go? How do you do someone's taxes when they're dead?' All these little, weird experiences that I never really anticipated. And I found that I was shutting out some of my own honoring my father and I's relationship, and dealing with some of the challenges of our relationship. So I used Wild River as a way to hold space for those feelings. My intention with sharing it with people is that in being honest about my process and some of the things that I was feeling; I hoped that it could create a vessel for other people to tap into those sticky feelings that you tend to push away or that don't always come up and you kind of have to pry at them because you don't want to touch them. I used to have a sticky note that said, 'What are my intentions for Wild River?' and I really just hoped that it would hold space for others processing grief and loss. I think that music is such an effective emotional tool. Not only the process of making it, but maybe even more importantly, the process of listening to it can help you tap into these areas that need tending to when you can't always get there just by using your own mind. It's like a talisman.
How has performing Wild River live changed your relationship with it?
It almost feels like a meditation or a prayer, in some ways, to honor the feelings that were present when I was making the songs. It's a connective activity to speak directly to my dad, which I think was a profound experience when I was writing the songs. Especially “Orange Flowers,” which I wrote the day after I found out that my dad had passed. I kind of just got up and was like, 'I don't know what to do.' I wanted to send him a message, and so I think that now playing the songs live feels definitely like a meditative space where I can get in touch with some of the things, the people that I have lost and want to pay homage to. It's definitely a really powerful experience to play these songs with other people. I wasn't sure if I would ever have a band to share these songs with, and I really have found that to be a comforting and illuminating process. I feel like sharing songs with others and creating together is always a scary experience, but definitely when the songs are really intense and emotional and kind of sad, it's really nice to have some other people to share in that. I haven't had much opportunity to play them live— I think I've only played like five shows with these songs— so I'm excited to see what happens in May when I'm playing them every night and reapproaching them with others.
The process of making art involves so much trial and error. In "Failure III," you say, “Everybody is a failer// Nobody is a failure.” As an artist, can you elaborate on your own experiences dealing with failure, and how you’ve learned to get through it?
I think the sentiment of that particular poem is meant to say that everybody fails. We all f*** shit up, all the time. In our careers, in our personal lives, in our relationships-- nobody is perfect, we all make mistakes. But we are also more than our mistakes. The entrenchment of a label, like failure, doesn't really leave room for growth or grace for the human experience. Not only making art, but also running an art business, it's all about making mistakes. Some of the best advice I ever got was from a wise old woman named Bim, and she is very talented visual artist. She was just like, 'Can you just let yourself be bad at something?' You can't get good at something, unless you're bad at it. I mean, there are people who have talent, but talent is developed through trial and error. And so is your life, just developed through trial and error. As a person who struggles with perfectionism, I think it's very hard to accept failure. It's been a challenge not to look back at some of the moves I've made in my career and be like, 'Damn, I should have done that differently.' But I didn't. And we accept that, and then we learn. Wisdom is sort of the accumulation of mistake-making, so that we don't make the same mistakes. And some of us like to make them over and over again. But, I don't think that you can allow yourself to create without allowing yourself to fail. As another wise person once told me, 'It's all just a patch on your coat.' It's all just a little bit weird, and you put it together, and at the end of your life, you have a big beautiful blanket. Some squares you like more than others, but you can't make a quilt without a bunch of different, weird little f****d up squares.
Can you talk about some of your creative influences? Any artists in particular whose work has informed your own?
Oh my gosh, so many. It's so varied. I take a lot of inspiration from my friends who are creating. But I feel like some of the most influential pieces of art, for me, have been books. There's a book that I always come back to, it's called Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech. It's a young adult literature book. It deals with death and dying; city versus country; identity and family. It's just something that I keep coming back to, and have thought a lot about in my life, and has a direct throughline to Wild River. There's a reference to a lake in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, which I first experienced through this book when I was eight years old, and then later experienced it in real life, and it was so beautiful that it has just left a lasting impression on me. I'm really inspired by nature. I wouldn't say that nature is necessarily an artist, but something that is the original artist. The way that nature forms the Earth that we live in is just so incredible, and I think the natural world is the space that I've come back to, to center myself and experience creativity. But I also really loved the Spice Girls as a kid, and I think that just keeps on coming up for me. So, so many inspirations. But I would say a lot of my inspiration comes from reading books and being in nature. Musically, it always changes, and is all over the place, always. I've been really into Brandy Carlille's music, and I've been obsessed with the new Hurray for the Riff Raff record— those are my two current contemporary inspirations.
In the last year, you’ve started a Patreon. Can you talk a bit about how that community has impacted your creative practice?
Oh, yes, I love my Patreon. My Patreon is a great accountability tool. It keeps me writing every month. It keeps me playing every month. It keeps me thinking about my creative practice, and constantly reevaluating what I'm doing, and it keeps me connected, which was the biggest reason why I started it in a very kind of lonely, disconnected time. I play a live stream every month, and it's really nice to just see the same faces. Whatever I want to do there, they're there for, and I know that they really want to be there. So, it opens up this space of experimentation and honesty and it's really nice to have. It's like my 'accountabili-buddy.' I love to follow what my patrons are doing, and I've just formed so many beautiful relationships out of it. It's been really, really nice. I love it.
Your set to go on tour in the spring. Are there any other upcoming projects that you would like to tell us about?
Yeah, so I'm going on tour, and later this year, I'll be releasing some new music that I'm really excited about. I just got the mixes back. So nothing to formally announce, but planting a little seed that I'm working on releasing some things with some visual components, and I think it'll be really nice.
I pull over and find Guap’s manager on Instagram and tell him we need to set something up. After a few months of back and forth, I decided to fly down to New Orleans to intercept Guap during his tour with Wale on the first night of Mardi Gras.
This was a pivotal time for him because he was only days away from the unveiling of his single “Black Iverson” for his personal debut with COLORSxSTUDIOS for an NBA 2K special in-game performance.
These are the moments we shared:
4:30pm
I arrive in New Orleans on a mercifully tame, 75-degree and sunny day. I pull up to the storefront of the New Orleans rap legend Spitta Andretti aka Curren$y, where Guap’s team has been waiting to shoot a music video. I find Sam, a big guy with classic Oakland white man style, tattoos all over his arms, a big trimmed beard, a dapper haircut with a side-fade, and a dad fit consisting of black t-shirt, shorts, and clean grey New Balances. He is joined by his incredibly kind wife Stephanie. Sam is the head of the Twnshp record label, Guap’s only representation—Guap’s otherwise independent.
With them are Guap’s DJ, another Oakland man named Fran wearing a flyass fit with pink nylon shorts. I also meet Guap’s personal videographer Paul who’s wearing merch from Guap’s European tour with Denzel Curry as well as Guap’s childhood friend from Oakland named Six, wearing an all-black tactical fit with bright pink Maison Margiela trainers. Beside Fran, everyone is here to catch Guap on his tour.
Guap is sitting on a curb, blunt in his hand, with a smile on his face. “My man,” he says, “Where the fuck did you get your jacket?” I’m wearing a vintage Oakland A’s varsity jacket to celebrate the occasion. “I really, really like that jacket. I love anything Oakland, but it’s just fly as hell.”
4:50pm
Sam is remarkably stressed about the video delay and is worried it’ll cut into our shooting. I say we can walk over to the French Quarter whenever, which seems to stress Sam even more since he doesn’t want us to leave before Curren$y gets back. We start shooting.
I ask Guap how the touring has been so far. “I love it, man. Get to see the world, meet a lot of people, a lot of beautiful women. I like people. We eat well everywhere we go and the shows are never how you think they’re gonna go. Every place you think is gonna be the best show never is and the places you never expect would be the best always are. But it’s exhausting as hell and a n-gga needs to take care of himself and I don’t get to do that.”
He tells me he performed last night at the Fillmore with Action Bronson and Earl Sweatshirt. “The crowd was going crazy for it, we were being insane and running around. This n-gga Bronson picks Earl up and is carrying him around like it’s nothing. That n-gga’s so huge.” They tell me they took Earl out for his birthday and got him blackout drunk. “That’s what happens when you go out with us, you’re gonna get fucked up and we’re all gonna have fun. It’s written.”
Sam stops pacing around and yells, “Fuck it! We’re going to get some fucking daiquiris,” and he storms off with his wife toward the French Quarter.
5:20pm
We start chatting with Curren$y’s crew. “I really love it out here,” Guap says. “Y’all really have a great city.” They ask if he’s been around before. “Not to have fun. I’ve been out here for scamming shit but not like this.”
“Yo, you know what’s the best food I had in California?” Someone in Curren$y’s crew says. “McDonald’s.”
Guap laughs. “N-gga, what?! McDonald’s?! I thought you was aboutta say a taco spot or at least some fucking In-N-Out! McDonald’s? Why?!”
“I don’t know man, y’all cook it different over there. It’s like how the Popeye’s here is the best. It just is.”
Sam gets back. He hates his daiquiri.
5:40pm
It’s getting close to Guap’s call time and we decide to walk over to the French Quarter. I pull out my secret carrying case that I use to sneak goodies on airplanes and let him know that if he needs anything for the show I got him. He laughs and says, “You took that on the plane? That’s hard, bro, but I’m good. I’ve been trying to be very present for my shows.” I’m a little embarrassed and surprised. His shows all seem so hyped up that I would’ve imagined he had some help.
I start explaining to Guap why I wanted to do the piece in the first place, that I watched almost all of his interviews and discovered a deep, thoughtful inside to him that I hadn’t otherwise expected from his hyped-up songs. He smirks and says, “It’s funny you say that. I really don’t think that much at all about what I say or do. I just live very presently. I try not to overthink anything and enjoy life while I’m around. Because what is the point otherwise?”
Again, a little embarrassed, I get quiet. He keeps surprising me.
Sam points at one of the statues. “Why don’t you take one with one of those?” I say no since he was probably a slave owner.
“None of the statues down here are safe,” says Guap.
We pull over to a small park alone and I shoot him in front of some trees. He puts on a face, serious, hard, pink $15,000 diamond grills flashing. Once I shoot and look up from my viewfinder, he’s smiling at me, which he does every time I shoot him. He seems extremely intent on making me feel safe and welcome.
He looks down to the ground and then begins to look all around the ground. “Dead pine needles all over the ground,” he says. “These aren’t supposed to be here. These don’t even match the trees that are above us. I can tell they’re from California.” He then picks up something that’s sticking out of the ground. “This is twine. You can make a basket out of it.” He starts to twist the twine around. “Wonder what it’s doing here.”
6:30
We’re walking toward a line of people, all very tall and business-looking except for the person in the middle, whom I lock eyes with and I put on a big goofy smile. Earl Sweatshirt. He smiles back and then walks up to Guap and daps him up. “Oh, n-gga, what?!” Says Guap.
“N-gga, it’s my birthday.” Says Earl. I say happy birthday, he says thank you, and turns us around and tells us to turn around because we’re going to get food. As we pass people, Earl tells the passing tourists that it’s his birthday with great joy and excitement. No one responds, but he doesn’t care.
“Yo, y’all got me mad vulnerable last night,” he says. “I don’t get like, that y’all had me fucked up.” I ask them to stop so we can shoot with a big bird statue. Earl starts yelling at people to stop and respect the shoot. One older white couple walks through the shot and Earl yells out at the woman, “Hey! Hey!” She stops and stares, in disbelief and offense that he yelled at her. Then he says, very calmly, “It’s my birthday.” She looks confused like she’s supposed to get something that she isn’t. As they walk away, we hear the husband say, “I think it was that guy’s birthday,” as if his wife had done something wrong.
We enter the restaurant, a crab shop, but Sam says we need to go back to Curren$y’s because we need to shoot the video; I grimace at the missed opportunity to eat, especially with one of my favorite rappers. Guap tells Earl that he should link up with us at the venue; we don’t see Earl again.
7:40pm
The shoot with Curren$y finally gets done. The roads to the venue are blocked off for the parade so we have to walk through. We start making our way through a chaotic, intoxicated crowd raging from every age range. Somehow, we lose Six and Paul. Sam and Stephanie stop by their hotel. Guap and I make our way to the venue. He’s carrying his two tote bags of clothes. I ask him if he needs any help. “Nah, I’m good, bro. This is my exercise for the day.” He’s quiet and has a calm presence. He seems to be mentally preparing for the show.
While we’re walking over we’re remarking on the chaos of the streets. A guy covered in dirt flings himself face-first at a metal parking sign and then falls face-first into the ground and a kid walks up and laughs at him. “Chaos.” Guap says.
We find Fran and settle in the green room where we meet a couple of people from Wale’s crew, including his cousin Cam who is also a rapper. “Do y’all want some mushroom chocolate?” We all say no. He looks distressed, “Are we gonna be the only n-ggas on shrooms?” He ass. No one answers. “God damn. Aight.”
12:30am
Guap and I are sitting together outside after the show while we wait for Fran to finish at the merch table. Guap tells me he’s trying to decide where we should go next. We could go to a hookah bar with Wale’s team, or we could go to a strip club someone told Guap about, or we could go get food somewhere, or we could just roam the streets. I’m growing extremely hungry and I begin to wonder what’s taking so long for him to decide. His attention is fixed on a strange type of garbage truck I’ve never seen before that seems to have collected everything that has accumulated on the streets over the course of the parade. The back of the truck raises and dumps out into a large dumpster in the street. A waterfall of what must be booze, piss, and whatever other liquids that Mardi Gras generates fall into the dumpster. He’s not thinking about the next thing at all. He’s totally present with what’s in front of him.
“He’s a pro.” Guap finally says. “Not a single drop has spilled into the street.” Another truck comes up behind and the back portion starts to rise faster. “Look,” he says. “He’s racing him.” After performing the same task faster, the truck jiggles. “Damn,” says Guap, “imagine being so good at something so particular that you can top someone else at it.”
A crowd of people starts to leave the back of the concert hall, Wale’s whole team minus Wale. They’re going to a hookah bar that we’ve been invited to. A group of gorgeous women in expensive-looking dresses pile into a black Escalade, followed by Wale’s team. One of them is lagging behind, Wale’s manager. He looks distressed. “Hold up!” He screams at everyone as they get into the van. “Hold the fuck up! Where is that girl I was speaking to? Where is she!” The team and the girls all look confused and anxious. One of them says that the girl in question must have fallen behind. “Call her!” He screams with great desperation. “Call her right now! No one is going to that club without her!” Guap and I look over at each other and turn away from the group so they can’t see us laughing. Eventually, one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, looking quite flushed and almost embarrassed that she caused such drama, comes hurrying to the car. “Baby, baby,” says Wale’s manager, “do not scare me like that. I really thought you’d be crazy enough to leave without saying bye.” They all piled into the car and sped away. Guap and I finally let out our laughter.
“That n-gga was desperate for the hoes and I can’t blame him.”
2:00am
We meet back up with Fran, Paul, and Wale’s cousin Cam. We decide to take a walk down Bourbon Street. It’s not the craziest I’ve seen Bourbon Street get, but people are certainly happy that Mardi Gras is back. Guap walks a little ahead of us, observing the crowds in silence.
I catch up with Guap and ask him what he’s looking for. “I’m just going where the night takes us.” He says. “I love looking at people. I love seeing what people do when they don’t think they’re being watched.” Men drenched in sweat and beer, falling over each other and calling out to women who couldn’t be bothered to look their way. Girls on balconies flashing their tits and throwing beads out into the streets. A man surrounded by a pack of paralyzed kittens and dogs who have clearly been drugged. One girl goes up to them attempting to pet one of the cats who immediately hisses at her.
We stop for a moment to decide which bar to head into. Out of nowhere, a horse runs into me and the cop who was riding it pushes me out of the way. I scream out at the cop. “Damn!” Guap says. “Why they gotta make the horse a fed?!”
“That horse didn’t wanna be a cop,” says Fran, “why they gotta take something beautiful and make it so evil?”
We all get some daiquiris and try to find a club to roll into. A few white guys who are beyond fucked up run up to Guap. “Are you a Jets fan?!” Guap looks confused and then realizes the letterman jacket he’s wearing which is from Curren$y’s merch line; it’s modeled after the New York Jets merchandise. The guy puts his hand on Guap’s shoulder and Guap subtly pushes him away. “Nah, I don’t really know anything about the Jets, just a jacket.”
The man looks as if Guap has insulted his mother and he starts poking Guap in the chest. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed that if you’re wearing a Jets jacket you’re a fucking Jets fan for life!” Guap starts poking him back, harder, saying, “Just a fan of clothes, that’s all.” It gets tense for a moment, and I wonder if they’re about to start fighting. Then, Guap makes a couple of jokes to cool everything down and we walk away. Then, he falls over onto Six, laughing, saying, “I assumed you were a Jets fan for LIFE! What the fuck!” We all start laughing.
This moment is a tell, like many of the tells I’ve observed while following Guap around, that he has avoided the ego and the drama of the rap game all together. He could have bossed up and all of us together would have probably fucked these kids up that were getting in his face. But he isn’t interested in that. All day, I’ve noticed him, watching him, just like he is watching everyone else. He’s already a superstar, but he’s still the kid from West Oakland who used his wit and his smarts to get out, and he did it by being the type of person who notices things that other people don’t. He’s so present, beyond any ego or his fame. He’s really right here with you.
And he’s such a son of Oakland too, a product of the Hyphy era. Everywhere we went, no matter whether it was a fan or a store clerk or someone in the street, he was always kind and was always trying to make people laugh. It’s like he’s on this mission to bring positivity to those he comes into contact with in the same way that the late Mac Dre did, the patron saint of the Hyphy Era. It was an era of inclusivity, embracing the diversity of the Bay Area. Even Guap’s team is a testament to that, having all sorts of California folks around him, even himself being half Black and half Filipino, a true Bay kid. The Town's too small to be on some competition shit. Everyone wanted to put Oakland on the map and they did it by having fun and spreading it as far as they could through their music.
It’s why I found myself so confused by his genuine presence. He wants to give his performances his all while sober, so that he can do his best to make you feel present with his music. I may feel ready to rob a bank when I hear “Wells Fargo” because Guap is making me feel like he’s just as in it as I am. But it takes someone who has fought for and mastered a love of life and all its little moments to be able to get you to that place. It’s not through drugs or partying, that’s just the setting the music deserves because it gets you higher than you thought you could. It’s through being here, now, with yourself and your world, knowing you could still be in Oakland, reminiscing on a time that has come and gone. But it lives on in people like Guap who are intent on doing the superstar lifestyle differently: with intention, with love, with everyone.
4:00am
I’ve taken as much as I can and Guap and his crew decide to head back to the tour bus. We all exchange some love and Guap and I share a hug. “Thank you, my man.” He says. “Thanks for keeping the Bay in your heart.”
Always, I say.