BA says there’s paper in the projects. No kidding: he’s making his point by smoothly parallel-parking his platinum Maserati in front of Marlboro Homes, Coney Island. Cutting off his latest work, ‘Won’t Stop,’ a flashy, hyphy-styled adrenaline anthem, the self-styled Brooklyn Bad Ass shows love to the first wave of his old Coney cronies to approach the whip and praise the tune.
As the homies stroll off, BA vents, “We ain’t even ready to put that song out.” Ironically, as an aspiring rap star, BA’s balling is too real for new fans to accept; his handlers want his brand established before unleashing the boasts. “People might not believe the lyrics. But if you hear me mention a Maserati, or jewels or whatever, I’ve got it! I ain’t trying to get caught in no lies.”
Out here in Marlboro, where climactic scenes from Denzel Washington’s American Gangster were filmed, BA answers the question, what exactly is ‘gangster’? The true-life murderous mafia wars of Coney in the early 1900s? Hollywood’s glorification of uber-dealers like Frank Lucas and Nicky Barnes? Or is it banging over colors, like the wild gangs from Coney’s beaches featured in the 70s classic cult film, The Warriors?
Quoting another of his latest songs, “Whatcha Do,” BA singsongs, “Do niggas even know / the meaning of gangster?” as he glides through his old building lobby and into the familiar metallic elevator. He mashes the button to his former floor, then continues. “My car is worth a buck and change. Rims, ten stacks. And it’s parked in the projects. I hopped out, no gun. Without respect, I couldn’t just walk up in here like that.”
Respect, then, is the key to BA’s gangster.
He made mistakes during his life journey, but none of them put any dents into his reputation on the block. Leaning back against the wall, BA recounts his story: a childhood shuttled back and forth from his mom’s Marlboro Projects to Marcy Homes, Jay-Z’s stomping grounds and those of his paternal family; his Marcy fam putting him up on their hustling once he hit adolescence; those crimes inevitably leading to jail time.
“I write off of beats, so in jail, I wouldn’t write much,” BA admits. What dampened his spirits more was how the little daughter he left behind would barely acknowledge him upon release. After a few turns in the system’s cycles, the light bulb came on for BA, and he finally fully committed to a future in music. “Jail shit, the thing with my daughter, niggas trying to rob me,” shrugs BA, “it gave me more to talk about.”
Spitting a hot 16 was never BA’s focus though. He studied rap titans like Biggie, Nas, Snoop and Tupac, concluding, “They never sounded like nobody. The next dude’s spitting, but I’m flowing. When you flow and make sense, you sell records.”
Still, copycat A&Rs were unnerved by his charismatic delivery and clever, asymmetrical rhyme style. It wasn’t until BA met Odlight Entertainment executive Dave Lighty that BA found a businessman who understood and properly promoted his originality. Lighty, who played a key role in developing vets like LL Cool J and Foxy Brown, as well as finding then-unknowns like 50 Cent, Kanye West, Nelly, Lil’ Mama and Petey Pablo, immediately began putting his protégé through the paces. “Dave kept passing me beats,” recalls BA, “I’m like, ‘I’ve done over 100 songs with you!’ ”
But Lighty was patiently grooming BA to learn the ropes—the industry, the internet, the hit-making and the tastemakers. In short order, music heavyweights like DJ Whoo Kid took notice. “BA’s different,” urged Whoo Kid. “We can make a classic album with him. I want in, 100 percent.” Another vet, Hustle.Period’s John Monopoly, former Jive A&R and former President of Kanye West’s G.O.O.D Music label, also signed onto the project after seeing BA featured in a video that made the rounds around the music industry. “What got me excited about BA as an artist was his swagger,” Monopoly explains, “his style, his whole flow…to
me, that stuff is the hardest thing to develop.”
Returning to “Won’t Stop”, BA explains “I’m stunting in the song, talking shit: ‘Pulling out cash and shit? / That’s played out.’ Why? Cause flashing cash just means ‘rob me!’” BA smirks. “Niggas with a bunch of jewelry on, hopping into a Maxima? Not to play niggas out, but if you gonna do it, do it right. Get property. Invest. Get your credit straight.”
BA steps toward the railing overlooking his old building’s courtyard, angular walkways cutting puzzle pieces out of the blanket of snow; he looks past them to his white neighbors in the homes and tenements a stone’s throw away—an enduring market for hand-to-hand drug sales in the projects.
“Those homes there, that’s why there’s so much money here,” says the young hustler, seeing business opportunities, as usual. “You know what they doin’ with these projects now? Moving everybody out, redoing them as condos,” he chuckles. “I see OGs over 30 and still on the corner selling drugs. I’m like, you running on a treadmill! Everyone comes into the game to make money—but can you make it out?”
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Brooklyn biiatch!!