Today, March 27, Compton-born rapper/singer/producer/dancer Channel Tres shared "Weedman," the first single from his new label Art For Their Good. The funky track is his first new music of 2020, following 2019's Black Moses EP, and comes paired with a vintage-hued visual.

Behind the song's house party-ready vibes and undulating G-funk beat, the underlying message is an important one: Despite the legalization of marijuana in California and beyond, many people of color are still disproportionately serving time for weed-related charges. According to the ACLU, "in the United States, a black person is 3.73 times more likely to be arrested for marijuana possession than a white person is, despite approximately equal rates of use."

Channel Tres Talks Honoring Isaac Hayes On EP 'Black Moses,' Healing With Music & Being A "Ghetto Savior"

Over email, Tres shares with us the inspiration behind "Weedman" and how it portrays his younger self and the perspective of his weed dealer.

"The track's nostalgic for a time where weed was inaccessible—and now there's weed shops everywhere. Back then if I couldn't get my weed, it was a big thing for me because I couldn't go to sleep. I was stressed out over a lot of stuff at that age. The song explains that—me struggling to figure out where to get my weed, but also for the dealer going through hard times too," he wrote.

"Every voice on there is me. All the voices and characters in my head. I grew up on a lot of DJ Quik, Parliament, OutKast, dance music. One thing I noticed with DJ Quik is if you take all the vocals off his tracks, they hit like European dance records."

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Tres also spoke to the beautiful video, shot by Henry Grenier on 8mm film by in a house he rented in the Hollywood Hills. It was directed and edited by regular creative collaborator Anthony Sylvester, who also directed the videos for "Topdown" and "Jet Black."

"I wanted the video to represent the different personalities I have, and this is the first song where I did vocals I wouldn't normally do, mixed with sounds I've been inspired by for years. The video's shot with a Super8 camera and I rented out a house that looks like my Grandma's because I wanted it to have that feel. It just happened to come out during this time where it's kinda fitting for everything that's going on—it looks like I'm stuck at home, alone on the couch," he explained.

The "Sexy Black Timberlake" artist will be making his Coachella stage debut this fall and plans to treat us with more of his musical gifts ahead of the fest.

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Havoc is excited. The Mobb Deep MC and acclaimed industry producer is preparing to film a video with Wu-Tang Clan MC-turned-actor and Internet crush Method Man, and the thought of new music for the masses has him thrilled to pieces.

"This shit is about to be fire," he says enthusiastically. "I can't wait for everybody to check it out."

This single is dropping as part of a larger project with Method Man, which will serve as a tribute to their fallen comrades Ol' Dirty Bastard (ODB) and Prodigy, respectively. But that's not the only new music in the pipeline: after getting the blessing from his late rap partner estate, Havoc will drop the final Mobb Deep album featuring never-before-released verses from the late, great Prodigy, and production by longtime Mobb Deep producer Alchemist, on November 2nd, 2024 — on what would have been Prodigy's 50th birthday.

Born Kejuan Muchita in Brooklyn, New York, Havoc was raised in the Queensbridge Housing Project — the same place that would give the world rappers like MC Shan, Cormega, and of course, Nas — and attended the High School of Art & Design in Manhattan, where he met Albert Johnson (later known as Prodigy). There, the duo would form Poetical Prophets, which later became "The Infamous" Mobb Deep. 

Havoc isn't only known for his rhymes — whether as a solo artist, notably on "American Nightmare," where he traded bars with ex-Juice Crew MC Kool G Rap, or as one-half of Mobb Deep. He's also become one of the most acclaimed producers in hip-hop, sitting behind the boards crafting tracks for Lil Wayne, 2 Chainz, and Eminem. 

GRAMMY.com spoke with Havoc to talk about his new projects, his legacy with Mobb Deep, and how being both a rapper and a producer is a blessing and a curse.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Let's just dive right into it. Let's talk about your new single with Method Man and your new album.

The concept of the album is to pay tribute to our loved ones who passed away — to Ol' Dirty Bastard, and to Prodigy. We thought it would be cool to do a salute to them. Method Man and I had worked together before this — and seeing that we worked together so well, you know, we decided to do it again. 

With the Mobb Deep album: that's been a long time in the making. I wanted to make it years ago, but it wasn't completely my decision. I also needed to work with Prodigy's estate, and they needed time to come to terms with the idea. I gave them as much time as they needed — and of course, we hit a few bumps in the road, but nothing major. We were finally like, "It's time." It's time to continue with the Mobb Deep legacy — to remember Prodigy — and to give the supporters the music that they miss, and love, from Mobb Deep. 

Alchemist was one of the people that we worked with when we did the Mobb Deep albums. We were always in contact because we were good friends — and I wanted to have him included to keep up with the Mobb Deep tradition. His inclusion is what our supporters would expect from a classic Mobb Deep album. 

I wanted to explore, a little bit, what you said earlier about collaborating with Method Man to both pay tribute to your fallen comrades, and to produce new music. How much of it would you say is paying tribute to ODB and Prodigy, while educating young heads about their history — and how much of it is the "new sound" that's representative of where you two are in your careers right now?

It's equally a bit of both. We're talking about where we're at right now in our careers and our lives — we're both older now. Method Man really doesn't like to curse too much, and I understand — but I'm on there, talking my talk, as usual. Nonetheless, Method Man is in the greatest space he's ever been in, in his life.

You also have a great deal of influence in hip-hop as a producer. Some may go so far as to say that you're one of the most iconic producers of all time. From your perspective, the two-fold question is this: would you say your impact is more felt as a rapper, or as a producer? And is that your legacy, in this industry, and how you'd like to be remembered?

I believe I'm better received as a producer than as a rapper — which is kind of like a gift and a curse. It doesn't bother me too much, but I pour a lot of my heart into writing — I started as a rapper first, and did production later. 

I don't know how the transition happened — how I became better known for my production work more than my rapping — but I'd love for people to know how rapping is indeed my passion, because, to me, it's tough being a rapper that writes his lyrics and does his production at the same time. That's a big leap. If you could ask any rapper that same question, they'd tell you that it's a lot to do. 

I'm happy that I'm being recognized, but I'd like respect for my pen game. 

Let's go back to the early years — 1991, and your appearance in "Unsigned Hype" in The Source when you started to make headway in the mixtape scene in New York. Did you recognize that you were tapping into something special, or did that recognition come later?

I think we knew we tapped into something special, whether people recognized it at the time or not. So, when the recognition from a broader audience came along, it just affirmed what we knew all along. 

With "Unsigned Hype," that opened the floodgates for us. One thing led to another, we signed our first record deal, and that's when we started releasing our singles and working with Wu-Tang Clan and other artists. That's when we took hip-hop by storm. So we knew that we'd tapped into something special, and we hadn't even finished the full album yet. 

Read more: The Unending Evolution Of The Mixtape: "Without Mixtapes, There Would Be No Hip-Hop"

Where did your mind go with it, once you realized that? Did that change the way you made music, from that point forward?

I believe so. We had a unique recipe, and we followed that recipe for the rest of our career. And we knew that people wanted a specific sound from us, and they wanted us. They didn't want Nas, or Big L, or even Biggie. They wanted Mobb Deep. So we never tried to be like anyone else — we just gave them us, and that was the winning formula.

How did you handle being drawn into the intense East Coast-West Coast feud, particularly after 2Pac named you in 'Hit 'Em Up'?

We were ready for it. We were prepared for war. Look, hip-hop is a contact sport. It is very competitive. So I just looked at it as a rap battle. At the time, I looked at it and thought, "Well, maybe when we see each other in person, there will be a little scuffle." We're artists — we might rap about certain things, and speak about political issues and life in the hood, but at the end of the day, we're entertainers. 

I thought people had more respect for human life. I never thought it was a life-and-death game. But when it became a life-and-death game, it shook the core of my existence. I didn't like it at all. And I don't believe that anybody involved — not Pac, not Big, not anybody — deserved to lose their life over some rap beef. 

It made me paranoid, and I believe I still have PTSD over it. Biggie Smalls and I share the same birthday. So it hits closer to home for me. 

Did you ever get a chance to squash the beef with Pac while he was still alive?

Not at all. He died in the middle of our beef. We put a record out called "Drop a Gem on 'em" in response to "Hit ‘Em Up." We put the single on the radio — it was clear we were dissin' Pac — and, not even seven days after we first dropped the single, we found out he got shot in Vegas. And we pulled the record from the radio — purposefully.

It wasn't until maybe 20 years after the fact that we got a chance to speak with Snoop Dogg. I never thought I'd get a chance to chill around West Coast rappers, but time heals everything. Now, I'm friends with Tha Dogg Pound. I'm friends with Snoop Dogg. I'm in Los Angeles all the time. But that was way down the line.

You have to understand that when it came to Snoop, we didn't have any "beef" to squash, especially after Biggie and Pac were murdered. Once we started hanging out with West Coast artists, we knew that beef was over — and I believe the media hyped it up more than it needed to be, to be honest. No life is worth losing over some rap beef. 

For a brief period, you and Prodigy weren't on the best of terms. You even engaged in a bit of a Twitter (now X) back-and-forth that left many fans — myself included — bewildered. Looking back on all of it now, what was the issue at hand, and how did you guys resolve it?

Prodigy and I have known each other for so long, we're brothers. Internally, differences were brewing — but when you're brothers, you're going to get into arguments and disagreements, but at the end of the day, you still love one another, and you're going to work things out. 

It was never meant to spill over into the public. And I take responsibility for that. I expressed myself publicly at a time when I shouldn't have been near any electronic devices, you know what I'm saying? I was drinking, and you're emotional when you're drinking — but when I was sober, I realized what I was doing was wrong. 

I'm not going to go on record to say what we were beefing about, but at the time, I thought it was valid. Prodigy and I squashed it a year later, though — we knew it was bad for business, plus, we'd known each other for too long to let it go on like this. 

Let's touch a little bit on the G-Unit years. There's a lot that you did with the label — and you'd already had that relationship with 50 Cent before the signing. So, tell us what you learned during the G-Unit era about the business, hip-hop, and so on.

I'd begun working on a solo album, and the late Chris Lighty was my manager. He'd told me about this young dude named 50 Cent, and I heard some of his stuff and I was blown away. 

I'd told Lighty that I wanted to work with Fif, and 24 hours later, I had him in my studio. At the time, he told me how much he'd admired Mobb Deep, while also hinting that he was considering working with Eminem and Dr. Dre, as they'd shown some interest. He'd even asked me what I thought he should do! 

Well, my solo album never came out. Years later, when Mobb Deep got shifted around from label to label, and got dropped from Jive Records, Fif had already sold 10 million records with Get Rich or Die Tryin'. And I didn't believe that he'd even remember me — but when he heard what happened, he called me up and said he wanted to sign Mobb Deep.

Prodigy initially didn't want to do it, but he changed his mind once he sat down with 50 Cent. The rest, as they say, is history. I was so pleased to be down with a crew that had sold so many records. But a lot of our fans, at the time, was hatin' on it. They thought we'd sold out. 

I don't even know where to begin with this, but: let's talk about Prodigy's death. It was a gut punch to me, and I can't imagine how it was for you. Where did you find the resolve to take on the responsibility of being the torch-bearer for all things Mobb Deep once Prodigy was gone?

I found it while I was thinking about Prodigy. I was thinking about him, and I was saying, "If God forbid, the shoe was on the other foot, he'd be moving forward." He'd be celebrating the Mobb Deep legacy. I don't think he'd want Mobb Deep to fall to the wayside. He'd be missing me like crazy, but he'd be taking Mobb Deep to the next level. 

With that, I found the resolve. I then thought about the supporters, and how they deserved one last Mobb Deep project. And I'm gonna make sure that happens because I don't want to be the one that fumbled the ball just because Prodigy isn't here. I'm the one who has to make sure that the masses hear it. 

And this is the last Mobb Deep album. At least, for now. There are still plenty of Mobb Deep verses to go around, but that's not for me to decide. I spoke to the estate about this album, and this album only. That's where my focus is. 

So, after this final Mobb Deep hurrah, what is next for Havoc?

There are a lot of things I want to get involved with — documentaries, film scoring, getting my label off the ground, mentoring young artists — that I don't think I'll ever be bored. No, there won't be any Mobb Deep anymore, but there's still Havoc. And that's my legacy. 

André 3000 is taking his show on the road, again.

The rapper-turned-flutist is beginning another tour this week in support of his debut solo recording, last year’s New Blue Sun. The two-month North American jaunt will feature André and his band —  Carlos Niño, Nate Mercereau, Surya Botofasina, and Deantoni Parks — performing the kind of collective group improvisation that was featured on their spacey, atmospheric album.

It’s been nearly a year since the album’s surprise release, so the world has had time to get adjusted to André Benjamin, experimental jazz musician instead of André Benjamin, one-half of arguably the greatest rap duo of all time. And André, likewise, has had some time to get used to being back in the public eye after years of trying to escape from it — a situation he compares to diet soda in our wide-ranging conversation.

GRAMMY.com called up André to discuss the tour, but things went in many different directions. We talked about his new musical life in detail — including why he jokingly refers to himself as the Lil B of out-there jazz. And we also delved into his old one. Does he ever write raps, even if only for himself? What is it like to have millions of people who only know you as the 23-year-old young man you were when OutKast's Aquemini created a whole new lane in hip-hop, as opposed to the 49-year-old man you are, who’s more into sharing stages with alums of Yusef Lateef’s jazz bands than with Big Boi or Killer Mike?

We got into all that, and a lot more. Check it out below.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

You're going out now for a new leg of shows in support of New Blue Sun. This tour is different. The venues are arts centers, concert halls, even an opera house or two. Last time it was jazz clubs and the occasional church. How are the audiences different in these sorts of venues, and how are you different as a musician and as a performer?

The venues, I think they're just getting larger because now people are finding out about it, and we've been blessed to keep getting booked in a great way. The only way the venue changes things is the sound. It may inform what we're doing.

Like, recently we did these caves in Napa Valley, and that was more intimate. It was caves, so you used the environment and the wall reverberation. That helps make decisions on what you're doing. But we've also gotten to a place now where, like you're saying, you’re performing in a larger church, and that church may have a longer [reverberation]. You do less in bigger spaces, because you're waiting for the sound to come back to you and fill it. Also, we've grown to bigger festivals, so we’re playing out in fields. And that’s even a different experience, because at that point you're playing out. We do more, you get louder. 

It just depends, because it doesn’t change the original intent and formula of what we’re doing, which is listening to ourselves and responding. So the venue is just another effect or another instrument, in a way, that we have to pay attention to. It gives us guidelines of what we want to do in the space.

What role do you play in the dynamics of the band? Are you the one saying, time for a new section or an ending? Who's handling the cues?

No, [laughs] we don't have cues. As a whole, we feel it. We feel when it's resolving, or we feel when it's building. Sometimes it gets really silent, and then someone may start. We don't have a, “Hey, you go do this.” It's not that at all. It is a total collective of feeling what's happening at the time. 

I may start a riff or a melody, or Nate may start like something, or Carlos may start something, or Surya may start something. And we just listen and chime in. But there are no cues like, okay, we're going to do this.

The only cue we may have is when we get together in our huddle before we go out, to ourselves, as a collective. We may say, “Let's start full on,” and whatever that means, we just dive completely in. Or we’ll say, “Let's just start in silence,” and we may sit there for 30 seconds to a minute completely silent, just listening to the crowd shuffle around. But that's our only cue a lot of times, and that's usually venue by venue or what we're feeling from the crowd. Other than that, once we start the ride, we're on our own G.P.S..

To the extent you can put it into words, what's going through your head when you play? I know you're not a trained musician who thinks in terms of notes and chords.

Sometimes, not musically at all. Sometimes it's concepts. I may be thinking pattern-ly or lines. Like if I just came from a museum or something, and I saw an artist and they used these kind of lines, [I’d think], how can I play like that? What does that sound like? And I'll try to mimic it.

Sometimes it’s just feelings. I may be agitated and try to play what that is. Because I'm not a trained musician, I have to find other ways to get to it, so I'm trying to use it as a way to describe what I'm feeling or what I'm trying to say. 

As long as I have an intent, I think that's most important. I have a goal. Sometimes I'm trying to agitate people around me, or trying to play like a bird. More concept playing, and I try to translate that.

One thing that your old music and your new music has in common is rhythm and phrasing. What connections do you see between how you would rhythmically phrase things as a rapper, and how you phrase things on the flute?

That's good you say that, because I think my strongest point, because I'm not a trained musician — I don't know keys or certain harmonies, I'm all using my ear — but I can translate rhythm from what I've done before. I can translate rapping. 

It’s almost as if a rapper became a guitarist, you’d probably be a better rhythm guitarist than anything, because he's played with rhythm. So yeah, a lot of things are rhythmically for me. I respond to that, because I've been in that space, and my mouth is doing that. It's rhythm.

When you were rapping, you had other groups in your Dungeon Family collective and people you probably considered your peers. Who do you consider your peers now when it comes to the type of music you and the group are making?

A long line of historical bands like Sun Ra, the Chicago Art Ensemble. Even rapper Lil B. I was joking to myself: I was like, I'm almost the Lil B of this type of music. Lil B is, they call it based rap. My son actually turned me on to Lil B. 

I'm informed by all kinds of things. I'm informed by Coltrane in ways. Eric Dolphy, for sure. Pharoah Sanders, Yusef Lateef. These are all people that for years I considered gods, not even knowing that I would be going in this direction, but I responded to these people. So I think when I play, I may reference them and not even know it, because it's in me. 

Sometimes we have OG players sit in with us that may have played with Yusef. We invite them on stage and after we play a set, some of the feedback that I've gotten has been really interesting about what I'm referencing and what I'm doing and who I sound like. And I'm like, wow, I'm not even trying to do a thing. But sometimes, it’s in your skin what you listen to or your sense of melody because you’ve listened to a certain thing for so long.

I'm curious to go back to the Lil B thing. What sort of parallels do you see between his approach and what you're doing?

Because a lot of what he's doing is made up or improv or really reactionary. It's not this studied, perfect thing. Because I came up in the ‘90s, we came up with Nas and Wu-Tang and some of the [people] considered the best rappers around. It was about clarity. It was more of a studied kind of thing. 

A person like Lil B is not studied at all. But the way the kids respond to him, it's because of that. It's kind of like a punk way of rapping, and I like it. [And what I’m doing is] almost like punk jazz or punk spiritual jazz. It's pure feeling. 

For me, it's really physical, because I'm coming from a different way. It's always been like that for me when it comes to instruments. Like, if I pick up a guitar, it's shapes in my hand, or if I'm on a piano, it's shapes on my fingers.

So when I'm playing a wind instrument, I'm physically trying to will something to happen. Some of my favorite players are physical. Kurt Cobain was physical — he wasn't the most perfect player. [Jimi] Hendrix wasn't even the most perfect player, but sometimes it was physical, what he was doing. Or Thelonius Monk, he hit the piano like it was drums. It's this physical thing that I like,

Did you connect more to Hendrix’s physicality during the time you literally had to become him for a couple of months [during the filming of the 2013 biopic Jimi: All Is by My Side]?

No. That was such an odd thing I had to do because I had to pretend to be left handed, which was very odd for me. No, it was a true acting situation.

The past year or so, what has it been like being a public person again? Are you treating it any differently than your first go-round?

It’s almost like [laughs] superstar lite, like Coke Lite or Coke Zero. It’s like Superstar Zero. You’ve got the fame, but it's not as intense as it was before. It's different. A lot of people are weirded out about the direction, so it's not the same intensity of the whole world on board with you — which is kind of cool for my age and tastes. I like this pace a lot, compared to just being all over everywhere all the time.

Then there's this other thing, too. The album has been out a year, and we recently dropped this film that we did to the album that came out a year ago, but we just released it on YouTube. So a lot of people are just now discovering the album. It's like, “Yeah, we heard something about this flute thing,” but they never heard it. Now that this video is out, a lot of people are hearing it again, or for the first time. So it's a cool thing that you kind of get this second wave of people that are just now hearing it.

Some of the ways you talk about playing remind me that your initial artistic plans, before rap, were in visual art. What connection do you see between the type of music you're doing now and the visual art you were doing when you were a teenager?

I don't necessarily see a connection from what I was doing when I was younger, visually. But as I've gotten older, now I do my own personal art study. I've never been to art school or anything, but now on YouTube, I have my own personal art history classes, and I'm learning: “Whoa, okay, Basquiat, he liked Cy Twombly. Cy Twombly, he just made these gestures on the canvas. Oh, I see Basquiat makes these gestures on the canvas.” Now I totally can see or even get influenced from a visual or physical thing, because a lot of those gestures were physical things.

It wasn't like I'm trying to make the most perfect figurative image. I'm trying to relate something. A lot of that, I can take from or be inspired by when I'm playing. Sometimes it's the only thing I have, because I don't know a certain progression or a certain series of notes. I know I'm physically doing a thing, and if I know that's matching what my ears are hearing in that key, I feel like I'm in the right place.

One thing I'm always interested in is how rappers think about rap. I've talked to artists who are like, “If I was walking down the street and saw a stop sign, I would come up with 100 rhymes for ‘stop sign,’ and it got so intrusive that I had to consciously cut that off.”

These days, do you still think of raps, even if it's only fragments or lines? If so, do you ever write them down or save them? Where are you these days in terms of composing raps or having raps come to mind?

Yeah, I totally rap all the time. I think it's just in me. But it's not an obsessive thing where if I see a brick, I have to rhyme “brick” with something. It's more of: there's a thought that's important to me. Then if there's a next line that rhymes, I go there and I'll write it down. But I'm not obsessive, where I'm trying to find every word that rhymes with “brick.” It's not an exercise for me. It's just a means to an end. 

It's funny because my engineer that I'm working with now, he raps, too, and he's a younger kid. He's asking me about how I do it. He was telling me his technique — he'll find all these words that rhyme with this word. And I was like, oh, that's cool. But when I do it, it's supporting the thought more than the rhyme. The rhyme is supporting the thought. It's not seeing how many things I can rhyme. But if I have a thought and I have a next thought, I am going to try to find that.

So it's more important to support what I'm trying to say, more than rhyming. There are rappers to me that are true rhymers. The biggest way I can explain it is, some painters are just painters — that's their form, is oil on canvas. And then some artists are concept artists, some artists are emotive. It's more about the emotion or saying something. For me, it's more about what I'm saying than how I'm saying it.

What’s next for you, recording-wise?

There's always new music to come.

Anything specifically you can say about that?

No. It's too early for me to even be able to describe what’s coming. But I'm always recording and trying to figure out new ways to do stuff.

I assume you hear OutKast’s music sometimes when you’re out and about. But do you ever intentionally listen to it?

Rarely. But recently, a friend of mine sent me a video of an interview that I was doing, and I was talking about a certain song that I hadn't heard in a long time. So I went back to listen to that song, and that sent me down the rabbit hole of all my guest verses and OutKast stuff. So one day I was in my hotel room listening to all this stuff for hours — five hours of albums and guest stuff. And it was surprising because you’re listening as a fan and not remembering where you were at the time when you did them. It's almost like you're having an out-of-body experience listening to yourself. Then you realize how much time has gone by and how different of a person you are, which is even crazier.

I can imagine! The first time I saw you perform was in 2001, which was four records into your career. But that’s almost 25 years ago.

Yeah. Twenty-five years is a long, long, long, long time. So you gotta imagine listening to yourself. It’s almost like looking back at high school pictures: how your hairstyle was, how your clothes were. It's all a trip because you're like, whoa, that was a completely different time. 

And what's even crazier is that the audience a lot of times, they don't grow, or they only know what you've given them. So a lot of times in their mind they're still there, and it's kind of weird. Stuff that they're hoping for from you, you've already moved past that. 

A lot of people don't understand — even when you put an album out, you're past it already. You may be onto something else. But they start right then, and they only know of that. They don't know the years in between. They don't know the growth in between. And they really don't care, which is understandable. As the audience, we only know what we get — we don't know the in-betweens. It's almost like seeing your nephew that you hadn't seen for years. You only remember him as your little nephew. Then he's taller than you the next time you see him. 

It's like that, but on such a grand scale, I can't imagine what it must be like for you to have millions of people whose mental image of you is when you're 23 or 25.

Yeah. And it's funny because we're almost on two different wavelengths. Even when New Blue Sun dropped, one of the biggest stories, which I didn't understand at first — but then I had to understand — was writers saying, “We wait fucking seventeen years, and he puts this out?” 

To them, they're waiting. But I never said that I was about to put out an album. So in my mind, I'm not trying to be what I was 17 years ago. To me, it's just, life has gone on. It’s almost crazy to think that someone would put something out 17 years later. At ten years, I'm like, “Oh, that's done.” Even for me, I thought I was done. I really thought I was done at a certain point. And here comes a different thing. So that was surprising to me. At first, I was like, why would y’all wait 17 years for anything? And then I'm like, oh, well, that's all they know. I wasn't waiting.

Over the last couple of years leading up to the album, there was this [clip] that became famous, of you walking around and playing the flute in public. Is that something you're still doing? Are you still practicing in public?

I do it still, but it's sad in a way, because now that I've put the album out, when I do it, people expect as if I'm performing in public. But it started as a thing for me. I like to walk. I like to hike. I like to walk, and carry my flute while I do. It was just a thing. 

And so when people started sneaking videos and posting them, it was not a plan or anything. I actually love to play in nature. I love to play when I'm walking, when I find caves or when I find tunnels where the reverb is awesome. I love walking and finding places to play, but now it's almost like I have to sneak off and do it. I have to be away from the public in a way to do it, so it doesn't become a thing. So I don't do it as much as I used to.

29-year-old hip-hop artist Tierra Whack returned to the GRAMMY spotlight on September 6 for "An Evening with Tierra Whack" at Brooklyn’s National Sawdust. Part of the GRAMMY Museum's New York City program series, the event was moderated by journalist Ivie Ani and aimed to bring the renowned GRAMMY In The Schools Education Programs and Public Programs to the East Coast.

Before taking the stage for an engaging conversation and performance, Whack sat down with GRAMMY.com for an intimate backstage interview. Reflecting on her journey and the significance of being back under the GRAMMY umbrella, she expressed, "It feels like the first time, honestly. Every event. Every opportunity. I treat it just like a fresh start… I'm always happy to be here."

March 2024 marked the release of Whack’s debut studio album, World Wide Whack, which she followed up with her first Tiny Desk concert over the summer. Catchy cut "Shower Song" melds '80s electro and Whack's upbeat singing voice, along with a similarly fun music video, thanks to her collaboration with conceptual artist Alex Da Corte.

Growing up in Philadelphia, Whack credited her mother for nurturing her creative side, encouraging her to explore poetry, singing, and even sports. "My friends held me accountable at school," she recalled. "When I would see them in the morning, they would ask, 'What you got? Let me hear something,' and then they would hit the beats on the tables… I think it really helped me sharpen my skills and be who I am today."

The main event featured an onstage conversation with Ivie Ani, audience questions, and a live performance where Whack showcased tracks from her latest album, including "MOOVIES" and "SHOWER SONG." Throughout the evening, she shared insights into her artistic journey and her refusal to be pigeonholed into one genre or style.

Here are five other things to know about the Philly raptress, as we look back on "An Evening with Tierra Whack." Find more exciting GRAMMY Museum programs taking place in Los Angeles and New York City on the GRAMMY Museum website. 

Read More: 21 Live Events At The GRAMMY Museum This September: Experience Orville Peck, Kate Hudson, Tierra Whack & More

From Viral Video to Stardom

At 15, while riding in the car in Philly, Whack spotted a group of guys with a camera. Feeling the need to showcase her talent, she jumped into an impromptu freestyle battle and began performing under the name "Dizzle Dizz." This was the height of the Twitter and YouTube viral era, and by the next morning, her video was trending.

On stage with Ivie Ani, Whack explained her transition from the battle rap scene to exploring a broader creative range. "Being from Philly, most of us, we come out as babies rhymin'," she joked, earning laughs from the crowd. "But I don't want to be stuck in a box. [So I] started listening to the Miseducation [of Lauryn Hill], the Musiq Soulchild." Her 2018 mixtape, Whack World, and the GRAMMY-nominated single "Mumbo Jumbo," further cemented her status.

Introvert with Many Faces

Whack openly shared how she's an introvert who loves to experiment with genres and personas. Wearing her signature red hair and wide-framed glasses, she talked about her album, World Wide Whack, which includes album notes that describe her persona as "an all-seeing trickster and provocateur, a reflector of truths in the Yoruba tradition, and a Pierrot, the original sad clown in 17th century Italian theater."

She recounted how early in her career, she was often told to focus on one style. Some wanted her to just rap, others to sing. But engineer Kente Simms encouraged her to embrace all aspects of her artistry. "He was the first engineer who told me 'yo, you can do it all... Be who you are. Be free,'" Whack recalled.

A 'Sponge' for Stories

When Ani first asked about what Whack "consumed" when making World Wide Whack, Whack talked about binging food. On a follow-up, the crowd got a look inside what Whack does when she's not in the studio recording. A lot of it, as it turns out, is staying at home and binging Netflix documentaries. She’s inspired by success stories across various fields, not just music. "I wanna see the hardships. I want to see you overcome," she shared. Whack couldn't say enough about the influence of documentaries on many powerful female musicians who came before her, including Tina Turner, Dolly Parton, and Celine Dion.

"MUMBO JUMBO" Was Inspired By The Dentist

Many of Whack's songs focus on the ordinary. Take "Mumbo Jumbo," inspired by a visit to the dentist. "Everybody has a fear of the dentist. I love the dentist. I just played off of that," Whack said. The song's distinctive sound came about because she recorded it shortly after having a tooth pulled. "Mumbo Jumbo" reflects her experience and commitment to self-expression, even when words don't come out as expected.

Read more: 5 Women Essential To Rap: Cardi B, Lil' Kim, MC Lyte, Sylvia Robinson & Tierra Whack

Staying Grounded Amid Stardom

Whack remains humble despite her growing fame. Candid about her struggles with mental health (her song "27 Club" deals with these challenges), she spoke about living her dream and connecting with her idols. "I remember I used to cry watching music videos. Missy Elliott, Busta Rhymes. And now I can call those people my friends," she said. "This is crazy. I see my phone ringing and I'm like 'oh Jill Scott is really calling me.'"

This humility shone through when twin sisters asked to sing in front of everyone. "You two are amazing. You actually made my night," Whack responded. Following her performance, she insisted everyone at National Sawdust join her for a group selfie, showcasing her inclusive spirit.

Offset understands the weight he shoulders as a former member of Migos, the eternally influential hip-hop trio that made Atlanta trap a global phenomenon. He carries his past with pride, even as he works relentlessly to define his artistry outside of Migos' shadow.

"People always relate back to my group, and I'm putting so much into my creativity to be a standout artist," Offset tells GRAMMY.com. "Carrying the legacy of that is a challenge, too. [Migos] was big — massive — so I'm just trying to make it as big as possible on my own. I want to get to the point where Offset is selling out arenas. That's a dream of mine, so the next album has to be an arena album."

Offset has steadily built toward an arena-ready album. With Migos, the three-time GRAMMY nominee delivered the "Bad and Boujee" hook heard around the world, setting the bar for Migos' world-beating Culture trilogy. His clever wordplay and infectious flow yielded anthemic results outside of Migos, including the six-time-platinum-certified "Ric Flair Drip" from Without Warning, his collaborative album with 21 Savage and Metro Boomin, and the GRAMMY-nominated Cardi B team-up, "Clout," from his 2019 solo debut, LP Father Of 4.

Still, Offset didn't feel like he'd come into his own until SET IT OFF, his sophomore solo LP that he released in October 2023. He developed a mood board around Michael Jackson, even cosplaying the late pop icon on the album's cover and in his self-directed video for "FAN." His hands-on approach to video direction and creating a bold aesthetic bled into autonomous lyricism. The album opens with "ON THE RIVER," where Offset showcases his signature bravado and proclaims his solo star power. But with the album closer "HEALTHY," he isn't afraid to admit that he's still human, and striking out on his own is scary.

"That was my statement to let people know — and let myself know, too — I'm here to stay," the 32-year-old polymath says of the LP. "For my next album, I'm thinking about naming it Kiari, my real name, so I can break barriers and say things that I haven't spoken on before." 

SET IT OFF opened the door to bottomless vulnerability. While he didn't specifically mention Takeoff, who was fatally shot on Nov. 1, 2022, Offset alluded to his former Migos groupmate and the trauma from his death on tracks like "SAY MY GRACE" (which features Travis Scott), "DON'T YOU LIE," and "HEALTHY." Writing about his suppressed emotions reminded Offset why he committed his life to music in the first place.

"I'm back to enjoying making music," he says. "I've pushed through so much hardship. I feel more confident — like I can breathe."

On Sept. 20, Offset will return to his native Atlanta for a special GRAMMY U "Unwrapped" event in collaboration with the Recording Academy Atlanta Chapter and the Black Music Collective, as well as participating sponsors Amazon Music and Mastercard. The panel will see the rapper go in-depth about the creative process behind SET IT OFF and offer tips to aspiring artists.

Ahead of the event, Offset sat down with GRAMMY.com to reminisce on his favorite memories with the late Takeoff and dissect some of his favorite verses from SET IT OFF and his latest release, “STYLE RARE” with Gunna. Below, in his own words, the rapper details the stories behind lines in "SAY MY GRACE," "WORTH IT," and more.

"I had got off the juice / Then the money start blowing up out of the roof / I'm telling the truth, I became the one when I got out the group"

People be taking s— wrong. I ain't want them to flip it as if I was saying something negative about [my time with Migos], but "I became the one" is like I found myself. I found myself when I stepped out and could be myself fully, and I could have control of everything around me. I feel like I'm going to hold the [Migos'] legacy down at the same time. 

When I started making my own songs, I think I was just more confident. After "Bad and Boujee," I was real confident because I had finally brought something to the table. People didn't think about it, but the whole time [in Migos], I was like, Damn, I haven't brought no hit yet to the group. I did that with "Bad and Boujee." Following that, I did "Ric Flair Drip." Finally, after "Clout," it was right there for me to go grab and reach at it. I wouldn't have been able to write "I became the one" if I didn't do those songs.

"Had to part ways with the sad vibes, bad guy / You might be a villain today / Ask God, 'Why I didn't get an answer? / Why I lose my brother to bullets? / Why I lose my grandma to cancer? / Why mе, God? I need answers / Why a young n***a straight out Atlanta? / Why the judge and thе cops tryna jam us? / Why I keep gettin' all of these chances? / Why me, God? I need answers' / Speak your mind and you might get canceled"

When I was working on the hook, I was just thinking, Say my grace / Made room on my plate. was like I'm asking questions to God. These are real questions. I felt like losing my brother and losing my grandmother — it's like, you get big blessings, and then you get big losses. I was just questioning a lot of things that happened. Why did it have to go like that? 

I will never get the answer, but it was just me speaking out loud on it instead of holding it in, because I'd been holding it in for so long. For that record to touch a lot of people was fire, too, because it was a hard song for me to make, even though it seems energetic. When I perform that song, it's like a mosh pit. But I'm saying some real things that I feel like would relate to someone that took a loss. When it be so big of a loss, you're asking, "Why?" You might not get an answer.

I wrote this in June 2023. I was in Cabo. I never wanted to speak on that s— publicly or make songs about it. It was so personal to me that I was going to hold it tight, but it was just like, I need to get this out. I didn't feel no type of relief — still don't have relief.

Shout out to my boy Travis. He always supports me. Bro just pulled up on me at Paramount Recording Studios, and I'm like, "I'm gonna play you the album." It wasn't a session for us to get on music. It was, like, two months after I'd made the song.

I always want to get an outside person that ain't my core or around me every single day. Travis is my boy. I trust his ear, so he be knowing s— is fire. I was playing the album, and, you know, he's crazy. He was like, "Yo! What the f— is this?! Pull it up! I'm going to do it now." Usually, he don't do verses right then and there. I guess it just touched him. We just locked in. The beat just sounded like an anthem. Stadium music.

"Where would I be if I didn't have Atlanta?"

[This song] came down the line in September, right before I dropped the album. I don't be in Atlanta a lot, you know? I'm in New York because of family. I'm in Los Angeles for business. I just wanted to tell those people I wouldn't be as big — or where I'm at, period — without their support. It's not like me being from Atlanta; it's Atlanta supporting the culture and the music scene in Atlanta that brought me into the doors. I never want to forget that. I don't know where I'd be without Atlanta.

The line came about because it rhymed, to be honest. And it was just a great statement. I did the song in Atlanta, too. "Don't You Lie," even when I performed it at my concerts, that song and this line really made me go down memory lane. 

I was thinking about Takeoff, honestly, and the greatest times we ever had. Me and him playing basketball. We sucked. Our jump shots were bricks, and he'd be laughing about it. 

He'd sleep late, no matter what. Times when we was smoking and s—, laughing at jokes and what we'd seen online. He always put me on some good movies I'd never heard of or seen. Sci-fi movies. It'd be a good-ass movie every time. He's like 100-for-100 on movie [recommendations]. 

He'd also humble you. He's so down-to-earth that he'll make you feel like you're not being down-to-earth. He'd be like, "What you got to do, bro? You always got to do something. Just sit down, smoke, watch the movies, and laugh." And then just [remembering] how great of a human being he is. Bro is non-problematic. He says what's right, what's true, and what's real. There ain't no human like him because he's so soulful. Even if you had the right to be mad at something, he'd be like, "Bro, just let that go."

I felt like the production was kind of soulful, where you should be talking about real s—. It wasn't a beat that you should be having fun on.

"I'm watchin' on your 'Gram, you givin' them angles / I'm payin' for it, you ain't never gotta stress about no landlord / You ain't never gotta ask me, 'What you plan for?' / Private jet, we're puttin' stamps all on your passport / I got plans for it, leave your man for it"

I'm talking about things that women always talk about online — like the supportive man who makes sure he's taking care of the bills. You ain't never gotta ask me, "What you plan for?"

"Worth It" was a very special record to me because it's timeless music. Fifteen, 20 years from now, you could play that, and it's a vibe. Also, I wanted to show people that I can get into that bag. Everything ain't just rah-rah-rah. It was a really musical record for me. We even broke down the stems of the beat. Like, "These levels need to be a little lower because the instrumental of the beat is just beautiful." 

[Don and I] were already cooking. Every time he'd be in L.A. or I'd be in L.A., we'd pull up on each other. We've got like five joints. We picked that one because, to me, that one got your ear immediately as soon as the beat plays. Before a word is even said. That guitar. It's off-rip.

Actually, here's a funny story. Don hated the song, bro. He did not like his parts. He tried to change some s— and send me some new s—. I'm like, "Hell nah!" We went back and forth about it. To this day, every time he sees me, he'll be like, "Bro, you were right! That s— crazy!" 

Something about my boy Don Toliver's voice is a different vibe. It sounds old, but it sounds new. When I heard him do that "Ooo" in the hook, I was like, "Oh, my god. This is it." I told him, "This is how you came in, bro. This is the bag you came in on." He was like, "I'm on some new s— now, bro." 

I told him this had to go on the album, and he [begged] to send me something else. No, sir. It's over with. We were doing this one. He was like, "Alright, bro. If it don't do nothing, I told you so." It was out for about a week, and he said, "I ain't gonna lie, OG, you got us one!" He performed it on tour in Europe. After he performed it, he called me, like, "Bro, they know it!" I'm like, "I told you."

"Money bring a lot of power till the money go down / I was knockin' at the door, and then I kicked the door down"

When I say, "Money bring a lot of power till the money go down," it's like you're powerful when you got the money, but when you're broke, people treat you that way. Now, your ideas are not that good. People just turn their backs on you.

You know how some people may think in the beginning you don't have money, then you get it? I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about after you become successful, and then you lose it. It's just not respected. And so, I said that as a message to try to stay at the top. Save your money. Make sure you don't fall off or fall down because when you do, people will let you know that consistently.

And then, when I say, "I was knocking at the door, and then I kicked the door down," it's like, before I dropped my album, letting people know I'm going solo. I'm doing this on my own. SET IT OFF was me kicking the door down. I'm here. Let me in now.

"Broad Day" was a fun record for me. I was going for the do-it-for-the-city vibe. My boy Nick Papz made that beat, which he's a low-key producer. He came up with some fire. I thought, I hear Future on this s—. I know he's gonna go crazy. I sent it to Future. He called me and said, "This s— hard. I'm already at the studio." Future knocked it out in one day. That's how he do. He don't play. When I perform the song, they go crazy for it.

"Praying for a sign, Lord, can You help me? / Keeping all of this to myself, oh, no, no"

This is me saying I'm a little scared and insecure about going solo at first. Help me to be able to do it. It ain't easy coming behind something so big. I know all the eyes are gonna be judging. It's not like being a new artist. You have an expectation. I had a little fear of that — just being honest, being the creative music man, especially in this time. You never know how shit will go.

It was a heartfelt record. I wasn't even going to put it on the album. I knew it wouldn't be the biggest record, but I felt like maybe I should put it on there so people could hear me in a melodic way talking about myself being solo. I made it the last song because I wanted to be a little vulnerable at the end of the album.

I was actually in Cabo making this one, too. It was nighttime. I had just walked on the beach by myself, smoking a blunt real quick — just thinking. I had a couple of shots in me, too, so I was a little lit when I made the song. I always listen to the production. The guitar on that was just so beautiful. I was like, "I'm just gonna be vulnerable." I was out in Cabo. Just me and my engineer. Nobody else. 

It gave me more confidence to be in that bag. To be in that pocket of sound with the autotune because I'm not a big autotune person. That wasn't my expertise. I started to play with it. When you have those types of records, and you got the tempo, and the template must be changed, then you have to learn which key matches the beat so that the tune doesn't skip or sound off-balance. The production put me into different settings on my vocals.

"Flow like a butterfly, Lambo' the V"

"Float like a butterfly; sting like a bee" is a known term that Muhammad Ali said, so I caught people's ears immediately. It's the first thing I say [on the song]. I made it "Flow like a butterfly" because of my flow. When I get on the song, it's smooth as a butterfly flying. 

I was in Miami around this May. I don't know why this line hit me, either. I swear I don't even have a reason. I freestyle all my music, so sometimes, it's in my head. I'm just listening to the beat. I usually start off mumbling to see the cadence I'm gonna use for the beat, and then I feel out the words.

[Gunna and I] were just f—ing around, cooking up, and working a lot. It was in the same session in L.A. When I lock in, especially with somebody from Atlanta, we're gonna lock in. When you go in the studio like that, you're competitive. We're going back and forth. I hate saying I'm competing with people, so I don't even want to say that. It's like a fun collaboration. You're good, and I'm good. We're both from the A. I've been rocking with him since his first album. 

The fans like it when we do songs together. We made some hard s— with "Prada Dem," and then we made this. We were in a confident bag. We both fly, you know what I'm saying? 

The video was more of a fashion film vibe. That's why there weren't so many scenes or activity; it was more placements, colorations, and settings. I went crazy on that motherf—er.