The Uptown Interview (Part 2) Featuring Wifigawd, The Uptown Souljah

To interpret and preserve the artistic heritage of Washington, D.C., the ‘Uptown Interview’ transcribes candid conversations with the artists, curators, personalities and amplifiers of the District’s creative ecosystem.

Wifigawd released his latest album Stuck in 95 executive produced by Dretti Franks on Wednesday. Polaroid by Maxwell Young

At 23 years old, Wifigawd has amassed streams and credits that would alert any listener in tune with the rappers and internet culture fueling the current generation of hip-hop.  He’s shared the stage with Smokepurpp, $uicideboy$, CHXPO, and Thouxanbandfauni, while pulling in features from others like an InTheRough favorite, Warhol.SS. No Jumper, the YouTube channel becoming less underground everyday, also debuted Wifigawd’s video to “Sippin’ on Drank” several weeks ago.  The internet enables this kind of reach, and thus the opportunity to travel and grow a fan-base on an inter-state level.  As far as home-base is concerned, though—the District of Columbia—Wifigawd’s music wasn’t always in the frame of mind.  “Niggas out here weren’t even fucking with me,” he said of his hometown.  He still resides in Northwest, D.C.

Times have changed, however, and a recent show at Songbyrd Music Cafe in Adams Morgan with ascending Houston rapper Maxo Kream is a prime indicator.  “I tore the roof off that bitch,” he said acknowledging the home field advantage.  “This is my fuckin’ city!”

Regardless of the eyes watching and ears listening to the image and sound of the Uptown Souljah, the context that has informed Wifigawd’s music is rooted in his Northwest, Washington heritage and collaborations with other like-minded DMV artists.

It started at home. The emcee’s parents instilled a deep fervor for hip-hop growing up.  “They wanted me to know who A Tribe Called Quest was before I knew who Lil’ Wayne was…who KRS-One was, De La Soul, all the greats, Big Daddy Kane, Rakim—real hip-hop,” he told me over pizza and football, the latter I found out he no longer supports.

Citing a household vinyl collection of over 2,000 records, there was no need to listen to radio, even though his folks forbade it.  Instead, they took him to see legendary wordsmiths live and direct at the notorious 9:30 Club.  “I’ve been going to shows since I was five years old,” he said.  “I just know they were letting a little-ass nigga in the club with his parents.”

Perhaps it is these experiences and influences that explain Wifigawd’s pre-millennium/early 2000s aesthetic he reinforces with his FUBU-dripped music videos, ‘FUBU 05’ project (which he regards as a third of his “Holy Trinity”), and ‘Stuck in 95’ album he released this past Wednesday.  “I know everything that’s going on, but I’m still stuck in the past.  I’m stuck in a time warp in my mind,” he said.

Aside from the music, an artist can choose to share or not share whatever storyline he/she/they want.  They can be as open as Wiz Khalifa’s DayToday vlogs or as cryptic and secretive as Beyoncé and H.E.R.  Certainly though, knowing more and having a greater understanding of the backgrounds and creative processes of your favorite artists can change the perspective of your listening.

I first saw Wifigawd last June at Uptown Art House.  The whole place went berserk that evening and I experienced a classic DIY rage that left me dripping in sweat from head to toe.  At that point, Wifigawd filled the placeholder for turnt rapper.  Then, I took to Apple Music to find his six full-length projects dropped in 2018 alone.  This hardened, turned-up persona also flexed melodic cadences and catchy hooks.  And now after talking to him, I know how big of a role writing is to the execution of his verses.  We have to be mindful that the self-made, anyone-can-do-it mentality of the internet can also obscure the real time and mastery people put into their craft.

“I do it all.  That’s just the swag…That’s the most important thing: you’ve got to have the swag,” he said.

Listen to ‘Stuck in 95’ by Wifigawd at the end of the transcript.

[Plays “Full Quart” by Nate G]

Maxwell Young: Do you keep up with D.C. music?

Wifigawd: Not many people.  Who is this?

MY: Nate G.

Wifigawd: I fuck with Nate G.

MY: When you started to realize what the D.C. music community was, who was responsible for introducing you to it?

Wifigawd: MartyHeemCherry was one of the main niggas who got me hip.  I’ve known bro forever, since high school...I just check out my friends new music.

MY: Who is that?

Wifigawd: The Khan, Chachi--the gang.  Everyone I’m with, and if not, I’m looking for new Black Kray shit.  Anytime niggas play some new crank around me, or some random artist, I fuck with the joints.  I just don’t go looking for it unless I hear one of my friends play it.

[Plays “Duck Sauce”]

Wifigawd: What the fuck is this?

MY: This is NeckMusic.

Wifigawd: NeckMusic, oh, Ceez?

MY: Yeah.  Iodine, Downtown Dawson, and Ceez.

Wifigawd: I fuck with Ceez’s beats.  I don’t know who this is rapping.

MY: Where does the name “Uptown Souljah” come from?

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: It’s complicated.  It’s a breed of Uptown niggas--fly niggas.  Being from Uptown, niggas are fly. They get to the bag...They have good weed...It ain’t like that no more.  So, if few niggas are out there like that, they are some soldiers. Real Uptown shit--U.P.T Souljah.

MY: What’s the “Souljah” aspect to your name?

Wifigawd: I used to fight everybody.  I used to be a Bama.

MY: Talk about some early fights.

Wifigawd: Shit, that’s why I got kicked out of my school, for fighting.  I don’t like talking about fighting because I used to fight a nigga for no reason.  I guess not for no reason, but out of disrespect or some shit. That shit goes all the way back to fourth grade.  I remember I was at lunch and I had on a white polo, fresh as shit, and this nigga threw some mashed potatoes on me. I hit his ass across the table.  His ass was just sitting right there, huffing. I just cool it now, I’m not with the fighting shit anymore. I’ll still throw some hands, though.

MY: Take me through some of these legendary shows, the ones you can remember.

Wifigawd: I remember 2016--New Year’s.  It was me, Black Kray, and Lil’ Tracy in Richmond, Va.  That’s Kray’s hometown, you know, so that shit was lit. I remember another joint in Richmond at the same spot with me, CHXPO, and Kray.  That was 2016. Another legendary show I did was this joint with Smokepurpp, Thouxanbandfauni, CHXPO, and me. I could probably find the flyer, it was called Kings of the Underground in LA.  That shit had endless people in it. I had another show in LA. It was with DJ Smokey, Lofty, Slug Christ, and The Khan. That was pretty sick. Then I did this joint in New York with Dash, Madeintyo, Ugly God, Sporting Life, and we opened the joint.  We made that show lit. The show with Maxo was pretty hard. My first show out of town was when I was 18. I had that jont in Dallas, Texas--$uicideboy$.

MY: Are you out in LA a lot?

Wifigawd: Not really.  I go out there if I have a show.

MY: How did the No Jumper connect happen?

Wifigawd: [Adam22] has been following me on Twitter.  I just hit him up and told him I had a video for him, he said bet.

MY: That video goes.  The song goes more importantly (“Sippin on Drank”), but the visual is nice.  I just got hip to Moshpit DMV. I always see him around, what’s his name?

Wifigawd: JJ.

MY: Yeah, I’ve seen him everywhere.  Do you collaborate a lot on music videos?

Wifigawd: Yeah, that’s my boy.

MY: Can you take us to a low point in your rap career?  A specific time where you felt discouraged.

Wifigawd: When I first started was the lowest point because niggas don’t fuck with you.  They don’t send you any beats or anything like that. That’s the lowest point: dealing with bitchass producers.

MY: Where was your first show?

Wifigawd: I don’t know, bro, I’m trying to think about it.

MY: Or a moment where you felt like, ‘Okay, I can move forward from here.’

Wifigawd: Niggas weren’t even fucking with me out here, bro.  This is 2014. They were not fucking with me. I was like whatever, ‘Fuck you stupid-ass niggas.’  I had a friend who went to VCU and I said, ‘Boom. This is what we’re about to do. Listen, I see you setting up these little house parties.  I have rap songs. I’m going to come rap.’ I probably still have the footage of that shit--turnt the fuck up. Those were my first shows. Niggas were turning up at my shit, so I was like, ‘Oh, yeah, this the wave out here.’  We did three or four of them jonts. I had a little group back in the day called Portal Boyz.

MY: Like how you were describing your music as “void.”

Wifigawd: Yeah, like some void shit.

MY: You said D.C. wasn’t fucking with you.  Has that influenced where you play in the city?

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: I’ve always been the type of nigga to do me.  I know niggas be dick-riding because I see that shit from the outside.  Y’all niggas just dick-ride whatever is hot. I’m not mad, that’s what you do.  That’s definitely by default because everybody else is doing it. So when it’s time for everybody to do what I’m doing, I won’t be fucking with everybody.

MY: You say that Stuck in 95 is unlike anything made in the last 15 years.  What does it mean to you as far as where you are in your development?

Wifigawd: It’s showing everybody that I can do rap.  Sometimes I hate whenever you try to classify me. I can rap.

MY: You’ve been talking about weed a lot, as far as needing to be high.

Wifigawd: Yeah, I fuck with weed.

MY: Why is that? Where does it put you?

Wifigawd: I’m hyper as shit.  If I don’t smoke I’ll start tweaking and get sporadic as if I was high on some other shit.  But when I smoke weed, I just feel normal. I smoke in my music videos, yeah. I fuck with weed.  I’d rather promote weed than violence...on some Curren$y shit. He’s a good example of how to be a G-ass nigga with good content.  Niggas know he’s not a bitch. Niggas know he’s about that shit, but his content is on some fly shit.

MY: Who are some of your favorite Instagram follows?

Wifigawd: I like following all the OG rappers just to see what the fuck they’re doing.

MY: Which OG rapper is a good follow besides Snoop Dogg?

Wifigawd: Tommy Wright III.  Follow that man. His shit is turnt.  He still does shows.

[Laughs]

[Plays “Diamonds” by Rob Stokes]

Wifigawd: Who’s this, King Krule?

MY: Rob Stokes.

Wifigawd: Oh, I fuck with Rob.  I was in the studio with him one day.  I jih like passed-out, but I heard it the whole time.  It was him and Trip Dixon collaborating on jazz shit. It was fire.  He’s tight.

The Uptown Interview (Part 1) Featuring Wifigawd, The Uptown Souljah

To interpret and preserve the artistic heritage of Washington, D.C., the ‘Uptown Interview’ transcribes candid conversations with the artists, curators, personalities and amplifiers of the District’s creative ecosystem.

At 23 years old, Wifigawd has amassed streams and credits that would alert any listener in tune with the rappers and internet culture fueling the current generation of hip-hop. He’s shared the stage with Smokepurpp, $uicideboy$, CHXPO, and Thouxanbandfauni, while pulling in features from others like an InTheRough favorite, Warhol.SS. No Jumper, the YouTube channel becoming less underground everyday, also debuted Wifigawd’s video to “Sippin’ on Drank” several weeks ago. The internet enables this kind of reach, and thus the opportunity to travel and grow a fan-base on an inter-state level. As far as home-base is concerned, though—the District of Columbia—Wifigawd’s music wasn’t always in the frame of mind. “D.C. wasn’t fuckin’ with me,” he says in part two of the interview.

Times have changed, however, and a recent show at Songbyrd Music Cafe in Adams Morgan with ascending Houston rapper Maxo Kream is a prime indicator. “I tore the roof off that bitch,” he said acknowledging the home field advantage. “This is my fuckin’ city!”

Regardless of the eyes watching and ears listening to the image and sound of the Uptown Souljah, the context that has informed Wifigawd’s music is rooted in his Northwest, Washington heritage and collaborations with other like-minded DMV artists.

It started at home. The emcee’s parents instilled a deep fervor for hip-hop growing up. “They wanted me to know who A Tribe Called Quest was before I knew who Lil’ Wayne was…who KRS-One was, De La Soul, all the greats, Big Daddy Kane, Rakim—real hip-hop,” he told me over pizza and football, the latter I found out he no longer supports.

Citing a household vinyl collection of over 2,000 records, there was no need to listen to radio, even though his folks forbade it. Instead, they took him to see legendary wordsmiths live and direct at the notorious 9:30 Club. “I’ve been going to shows since I was five years old,” he said. “I just know they were letting a little-ass nigga in the club with his parents.”

Perhaps it is these experiences and influences that explain Wifigawd’s pre-millennium/early 2000s aesthetic he reinforces with his FUBU-dripped music videos, ‘FUBU 05’ project (which he regards as a third of his “Holy Trinity”), and upcoming ‘Stuck in 95’ album releasing this Wednesday. “I know everything that’s going on, but I’m still stuck in the past. I’m stuck in a time warp in my mind,” he said.

Aside from the music, an artist can choose to share or not share whatever storyline he/she/they want. They can be as open as Wiz Khalifa’s DayToday vlogs or as cryptic and secretive as Beyoncé and H.E.R. Certainly though, knowing more and having a greater understanding of the backgrounds and creative processes of your favorite artists can change the perspective of your listening.

I first saw Wifigawd last June at Uptown Art House. The whole place went berserk that evening and I experienced a classic DIY rage that left me dripping in sweat from head to toe. At that point, Wifigawd filled the placeholder for turnt rapper. Then, I took to Apple Music to find his six full-length projects dropped in 2018 alone. This hardened, turned-up persona also flexed melodic cadences and catchy hooks. And now after talking to him, I know how big of a role writing is to the execution of his verses. We have to be mindful that the self-made, anyone-can-do-it mentality of the internet can also obscure the real time and mastery people put into their craft.

“I do it all. That’s just the swag…That’s the most important thing: you’ve got to have the swag,” he said.

Wifigawd: Oh, that’s why you were like, “I gotta see my Steelers play.”

[Laughs]

MY: Yeah. I graduated two years ago--2017.

Wifigawd: Oh, you went to GW?  You’re smart as shit. No funny shit, my father went there.  He’s smart as shit.

MY: He graduated in the 70s, 80s?

Wifigawd: I think he graduated probably in the 90s.

***

Wifigawd: I told you DJ Carnage hit me back!

Chachi: He hit you back after the joint?!

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: I’m about to show you this funny-ass shit.

[Shows correspondence with DJ Carnage.]

Chachi: He had to after that, bro.  He had to.

Wifigawd: Look.

[Laughs]

MY: This is to your “Made Man” video?

Wifigawd: No.  What, you saw me post that?  He did that a brick ago.  He’s trolled me four or five times.  So I was like, ‘I’m done with you trolling me.  I’m gonna show everyone you’re trolling me.’ So I just posted this, where he’s like, ‘whoopty-woo, you’re hard.’  That “Made Man” shit was a brick ago when it came out, that was back then. That nigga was like, ‘Oh yeah, your new video is hard, but you wanna tell Adam22…’  I’m like, ‘Naw, fuck this. I’m about to post this nigga,’ real-live. The comments were funny as shit. I think somebody else was like, ‘Naw, don’t say that. Wifi tryna get up,’ somebody else said, ‘Fuck that weird-ass nigga,’ or some shit.  They were funny. He a Bama for that, fool. I had to press him. The next nigga that’s getting blitzed is Pusha T.

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: He is getting blitzed.  He lives in Bethesda. Why are you not linking? Why?

MY: Have you had contact with him?

Wifigawd: No, but I should.  He’s from the DMV [Virginia Beach by way of the Bronx]. If we wanna consider that the DMV,  he’s honorary “V.” Pharrell? Honorary V. Timbaland? Honorary V.  Chris Brown? Honorary V.

[Laughs]

Chachi: I was just about to say Breezy!

Wifigawd: Black Kray--honorary V.  Y’all niggas can get the ‘V-card,’ fuck it.  I accept them niggas. VA got some shit.

MY: Have you thought about if you were in Pusha T’s shoes fifteen years from now and you’re in the position to put other people on, but you don’t know what’s here in the DMV…

Wifigawd: I will always know…

MY: Why do you say that?

Wifigawd: Because I’m from D.C.  I was born and raised here. I will always play a role here.  I may be in the shadows, but I’ll always play a role or something.  Plus if I’m an OG? If I’m a legend, I’m putting the young niggas on.

Chachi: Like he just said, there’s no reason for you to be in Bethesda and no one knows…

Wifigawd: And not linking.  He’s supposed to link niggas every day.  He wants to sign niggas from Chicago. I fuck with LA, but he’s funny.  You’re supposed to bring that back home.

[Picks up Game blunt]

MY: What kind of blunts do you smoke?

Wifigawd: I don’t smoke blunts.

MY: Do you smoke Backwoods?

Wifigawd: I don’t smoke Backwoods.

MY: What do you smoke?

Wifigawd: Sheets and funnel.

MY: Okay, so I have these hemp wraps.  I’m trying not to smoke tobacco, but I thought you smoked tobacco, so here we are.

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: I brought sheets and funnel.

[Laughs, proceeds to roll.]

Wifigawd: So you said you were at our show at Uptown?

MY: Yeah, you came in June for the Khan show.

Wifigawd: Mhm.

MY: That’s the only time I’ve seen you perform.  That shit was crazy. I had heard your name a lot, just around town, and I didn’t know what the hub-ub was about until that night.

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: He said until that night!

MY: Yeah, bro.  That was the best show that the Art House had had.

Wifigawd: Ever!  Nigga, what, we do that.  That’s literally what we do, ‘Oh, alright, then we’re gonna sell it out.’  That jont was big as shit. We had that bitch sold out.

MY: Y’all turned it into a concert hall for real.

Wifigawd: We had that bitch hot.  We made that big ass room hot.  And it was cold outside.

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: That means there were endless niggas in there breathing; hot breath-ass, body-ass niggas.

MY: And the thing was there were no lights.  It was just the phone flashlights.

Wifigawd performing at Uptown Art House June 2nd, 2018. Polaroids (b&w and color) by Maxwell Young

Wifigawd: No lights, just gutter.  I was fucking with that shit.

Chachi: I was gonna go crazy in there.  After a while, I was like, ‘Alright, I gotta step outside before I go back in this joint.’  Just hearing music and bodies all around, I didn’t know who anyone was. It was too dark.

Wifigawd: No bullshit.  That was one of the best shows in D.C., period.

MY: Where else have you performed in D.C. that you like?

Wifigawd: Songbyrd is alright if it’s packed.  When I did that joint with Maxo [Kream]...

MY: Fuck, I missed that.

Wifigawd: That shit was lit, nigga.  I crushed that shit. I tore the roof off that bitch.  They said, “Who the fuck is this nigga?” I was like, “Yeah!” I perp out sometimes, like ‘Nigga, this is my fuckin’ city!’

MY: Exactly, so you go up with Maxo Kream, someone who’s now in the mainstream.  Someone who is hype. How do you approach that show, as a competition?

Wifigawd: I mean I just see it as an opportunity to get fans.  That’s it.

MY: Do you consider if people went to that show for just you, though, or both?

Wifigawd: Definitely both.  If I posted a flyer that means some of my fans are going to come regardless. Niggas definitely know my songs, too. And I’m one of the only underground niggas for real for real, from D.C.

MY: Can you walk me through what that means to be an underground artist?  When you say you’re underground, you know being involved with the Art House, I feel like I see other underground artists, too, or at least artists who are working to be on a mainstream level.  So, what do you mean by that?

Wifigawd: When I’m talking about the underground, I’m talking about the real underground.  If we wanna be technical: Odd Future, Raider Klan, Metro Zoo--them niggas--Lil’ B, Souljah Boy.  Those niggas are the godfathers of the underground that we have today. It’s hard to explain. When Raider Klan broke up, the niggas who were in it are the niggas who are hot in the game right now: Denzel Curry, Xavier Wolfe, Chris Travis, Bones--even affiliates--Pouya.  And from there it triggers down everything. Anybody in that type of lane...and I’m not even saying I’m in that same lane. I’m just an underground nigga. I make underground shit. There isn’t an underground anymore, though. The sound became the mainstream sound. Now you got niggas like Juice WRLD--never underground, never heard of him--but he got the fake Lil’ Tracy sound.  I ain’t calling him out. He’s a good artist, I’m just saying that’s what this evolves into. Niggas like Syringe...I don’t wanna get that deep, bro, but it gets deep.

MY: Do you think SoundCloud has made it easier to fake the underground sound, while making it easier for people like you to pop?

Wifigawd: Yeah, definitely.  

MY: So, tell me about this album.  Tell me about how you’re feeling because first of all, you’ve dropped six projects in a year.

Wifigawd: I did?

MY: 2018 on Apple Music has six projects.

Wifigawd: Damn.

MY: Did you not realize that?

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: It wasn’t even like that.  It was more so like, ‘Imma drop some slight shit.’  All that...I don’t even know what I dropped this year.  I’m not even going to hold you, bro. I’m high as shit every day.  I don’t even know...I mean, of course, I know what I dropped, but I can’t pinpoint every single one.  I didn’t t drop a Trenches to Riches or a WiFi Season or a Fubu 05 this year.  Niggas know when I drop-drop for real, like, ‘Oh, he dropped.’

MY: So are those the projects that are significant to you?

Wifigawd: That’s the Holy Trinity right there.

MY: In that respect, it’s been about a year and a half since you’ve had a major drop.

Wifigawd: Type-shit…

MY: How is this project different from those three?

Wifigawd: It sounds like nothing dropped in the last fifteen years.

MY: That would take us back to the early 2000s.

Wifigawd: Type-shit…

MY: One of the reasons I wanted to talk to you was because of the aesthetic of your covers and sound.  They remind me of the snap-rap era, this early 2000s era. I’d love for you to walk me through your style--your sense of fashion style, sonic style, and images you choose.

Wifigawd: It’s all hip-hop inspired.  My new album is called Stuck in 95 because I dead-ass think that’s what’s going on in my mind.  It’s just not correlating with what the world is doing, but I’m still updated, type-shit…

[Laughs]

MY: You say you’re still updated?

Wifigawd: Yeah, I know everything that’s going on, but I’m still stuck in the past.  I’m stuck in a time warp in my mind. I have an old soul.

MY: What influences make that so?

Wifigawd: My parents and the type of music they played around me.

MY: What kind is that?

Wifigawd: All hip-hop.  Not all hip-hop because there was endless reggae and go-go music.  I wasn’t allowed to listen to the radio.

MY:  When did you first start to listen?

Wifigawd: The first song I ever heard on the radio was “Go DJ.”  When I heard it, I turned it up loud as shit. And then my mother came in the room and she said, “Turn that shit off!”  My folks had me listening to people like Gang Starr, Dead Prez, Mos Def, Jeru the Damaja.

MY: Was it that they weren’t interested or that they didn’t think that the current hip-hop was good?

Wifigawd: Yeah, they’re cultured.  They grew up in real hip-hop. They wanted me to know who A Tribe Called Quest was before I knew who Lil’ Wayne was...Who KRS-One was, De-La Soul, all the greats, Big Daddy Kane, Rakim--real hip-hop.  That’s what my folks wanted me to understand. For some reason they really wanted me to understand hip-hop. I’ve been going to shows since I was five years old.

MY: First show?

Wifigawd: Might’ve been Mos Def or KRS-One.  I could call my mother and ask her, but it was probably Mos Def or KRS-One.  I know I saw Wu Tang with my dad. I was probably seven years old at 9:30 Club.  Any show I went to was at 9:30 Club.

MY: How has 9:30 Club changed from those days to now?

Wifigawd: Honestly, I don’t know because it was in ninth grade the last time I was there.  I saw Kendrick Lamar at that jont. I just know they were letting a little-ass nigga in the club with his parents.

MY: That’s wild.

[Laughs]

MY: On that Instagram Live you had a couple days ago you said you were uploading the album to SoundCloud?

Wifigawd: Yeah, it’s there.

[Laughs]

MY: You have a scheduled drop on it?

Wifigawd: Type-shit.

MY: At what point did you decide to start pushing tracks on streaming services?

Wifigawd: Shit, 2016, I was trying to get some money.

MY: And you can monetize on SoundCloud now, right?

Wifigawd: I haven’t done it yet, but I’m going to.  I’m getting the right content together. I’m never going to rush content because I don’t give a fuck.

MY: What do you mean? What people think about it?

Wifigawd: Niggas can tighten up and wait because there’s some fire already there for their ass.

MY: That’s true.

Wifigawd: Don’t be greedy.

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: Like you said.  You said I dropped six projects this year.  Nigga, that’s to keep them consumed.

MY: Still consuming because I’m not done with them.

Wifigawd: That’s for consumers only.  That wasn’t for me.

MY: You don’t listen to your own music?

Wifigawd: If I’m high as shit, you feel me?

[Laughs]

MY: What does that mean?

Wifigawd: If I’m in the zone, turnt up, like, ‘Oh, I’m fried, I’m finna go and listen to some of my shit real quick…’  Because I do make songs for myself sometimes, but it’s for the people.

MY: When you’re in that frame of mind to listen to your own music, is that to listen to it as feedback or is it because you are enjoying the song at that moment?

Wifigawd: To enjoy the song.  To understand. If I’m listening to my music, I’m listening to where it could be better every time.  I fuck with it, always, but I listen as a critic sometimes. Just hearing certain places in the song where my voice could do something, and then I might say it while I’m listening to it.  I don’t know, just weird shit. Just hearing it for real for real.

MY: Do you have favorite tracks that you go back to?

Wifigawd: Kind of...recently I’ve been fucking with the “Out the Bag” jont that I did on the Pharrell beat.  That’s what I really want to make. I wish I could fuck with Pharrell.  He’s one of the greatest producers. I wish I could cool it with him all day.

Wifigawd: This is me on 100%.  I’m turnt on this jont.

MY:  Are you freestyling?

Wifigawd: I don’t remember.  I was off the Molly, though. I was happy as shit.

[Laughs]

MY: I look at the persona you have on social media, and even in person like I’ve dapped you up and you’re a rapper, so you have a hard personality, you know?  But you’re not a hard person.

Wifigawd: Yeah.

[Laughs]

MY: I can hear that in your music.  You break out in song a lot. I’ll just be frank because that is such a contrast from the person we see.  

Wifigawd: I do it all.  That’s just the swag. Gotta have the swag. That’s the most important thing: you’ve got to have the swag.

MY: Where’d you learn that swag?

Wifigawd: Growing up in D.C., my environment. I’m a product of my environment as corny as that sounds.  Everything around me—to my best friend being white.

MY: What’s his name?

Wifigawd: His name was Max.  He was a white boy--captain of the soccer team.

MY: This is high school days?

Wifigawd: Growing up, like sandbox days.  Putting me on shit like Phoenix and MGMT. I’m like ‘What the fuck is this weird-ass shit.  Let me show you Kid Cudi.’ He’s like, ‘Kid Cudi? This shit is awesome, bro!’ We used to be in the attic showing each other culture.  He showed me white culture and I showed him black culture. I fuck with all types of music.

MY: I just thought about the kids at your show at the Art House and who came to that.

Wifigawd: Diversity.

MY: There were black people, there were white people.  And those white kids, and I say kids because they were teenagers.

Wifigawd: Some of those kids, I probably used to be their basketball coach.

MY: Where’d you coach?

Wifigawd: They had this little program called Hoop Ed in D.C and I was coaching and playing basketball.  My father is a teacher, too, so he knows all the kids, and I just got to know all the young’ns. They fuck with me because I’m the cool coach, you know, so I knew all the kids.  And then going to Wilson, all the little kids that go to [Alice] Deal they are always gonna see you...I used to see Gleesh when I went to Deal at Wilson--standing outside and shit.  I want to play a role with the youth.

MY: You’ve been doing that.

Wifigawd: Yeah, but 2019 you’re going to see me reaching out to the youth.  There’s hot new niggas from D.C. that are young.

MY: At what point did you realize you wanted to be a rapper?  

Wifigawd: My man, he was certified.  Marquise Heem--another alias nigga that has bars.

MY: Who is that?

Wifigawd: See, if we are going to get into that we are going to get into the Heem Team.  The Heem Team was a whole group of niggas on some fly shit. They went to Duke. I went to Wilson.  I say Marquise Heem because we went to elementary school together. This nigga was in my fourth grade class.  My fourth-grade teacher was very close with my family. I went to a cultured school, an African school. My folks worked at the school.

MY: What was it called?

Wifigawd: It was called Tree of Life.  My fourth grade teacher was Grap Luva. You know who that is?

MY: No, who’s that.

Wifigawd: You know who Pete Rock is?

MY: The name sounds familiar.

Wifigawd: Alright, Pete Rock is a legendary hip-hop producer.  Worked with Kanye. Worked with Ninth Wonder. He’s worked with everybody.  Grap Luva is his brother--blood brother. He was my teacher. This nigga was going to Japan on tour during the school year, coming back with crazy-ass shit.  Little martial arts figurines from Japan telling me, “They love black people in Japan. Music is the shit.” And I was like, ‘Yea I want to be a rapper, too.’ We had that joint in class where everybody had to write down what they wanted to be.  Everybody had NBA, NFL, NFL, NBA, NBA, and I was the nigga who wanted to be a rapper. Very cliche, very typical, very real. I always wanted to rap. Ever since I figured out that you could fuck with words like that I fucked with it. I feel like every black kid growing up in tune with music rapped or has written a sixteen before.  Everybody. Listen, I wasn’t always fire. I just did that shit every day and learned myself and learned what I wanted to do.

MY: Yeah, you’re growing up with it.

Wifigawd: As black people, we’re in tune with art.  That’s a part of us for any black person. Go outside and find a crackhead, that nigga would probably be painting and probably has something to tell you, too.  We’re just in tune. That doesn’t mean perfect. Practice makes perfect. Look at the world. Look at the game.

MY: We are the game.

***

Wifigawd: The best quarterbacks of all time have been black.

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: I don’t give a fuck what you say.  Put Mike Vick in his prime with that Belichick...stop it.  Who was that out there, Randy Moss? Stop it. Wes Welker? They would’ve been blowing niggas out by 40.  That’s why Tom Brady is where his draft number was picked, whatever, 12th round or some dumb-ass round. He is that type of player.  He got a stinger, but he’s been on good teams the whole time.

Chachi: But Brady is like that, his IQ…

Wifigawd: Fool, he’s a Caron Butler-type.

[Laughs]

MY: Chill, chill, chill...Caron Butler beat Pitt’s ass repeatedly.

Wifigawd: Oh, he said Pitt’s ass!

Friend: You chill out, bro.  Don’t play with my boy Caron.

MY: He’s a G for sure.

Wifigawd: What happened to Tim Tebow?

Chachi: I don’t know.  They jih played with Tim Tebow.

[Laughs]

Chachi: He was supposed to be like-dat.  He beat Pittsburgh.

MY: That’s true he did.  I think Tim Tebow got robbed. The fact that he beat Pittsburgh in the playoffs and the next year the Broncos moved on?  That’s not fair. The man’s a proven winner in college, that’s not fair. If you’re any franchise, you see what he did in college and you see what he did in the playoff game…

***

Wifigawd: It’s all about being high as a bitch.  I can tell you that. All the songs you heard are all about being high as a bitch.

MY: When did you first start smoking weed?

Wifigawd: When I was 13.

MY: Were you making music before that?

Wifigawd: Yeah, I used to be DJ Melly Mel.  My parents had 2,000 records. My nigga KO and I would be in the house just making rap songs.  KO is the main nigga who inspired me to rap. We were eight years old, bro, this nigga had full songs--on rat-a-tat beats--and that’s difficult to do.  A lot of niggas today, if you put on a rat-a-tat beat right now, niggas can’t touch that jont. My man was touching that jont the whole way through, with the hook, bridge, verse--eight years old.  I put that on my life. You can ask my parents. This nigga used to come through because our folks always knew we were into music, and this man, no fear, played a beat in front of my whole family and spit the whole shit.

MY: Going back to DJ Melly Mel, you produce beats, too.

Wifigawd: I just recently started to get into it, but I always heard the shit in my mind.  I rap so much I just know what the beat should sound like. I’m going to produce a whole tape for myself, some fire shit.

MY: As something personal or for the fans?

Wifigawd: I’m just going to make all the music and rap on them. Like “In My Mind” by Pharrell.  I’m gonna do “In My Mind” by Wifigawd because I fuck with that nigga for real.

MY: Was it N.E.R.D to begin with or Clipse?

Wifigawd: It was that Neptunes tape where they had all the features on it.  It’s him and Chad Hugo on the front, the black jont. This tape, no funny shit, I used to be in the house--my father had this jont on a sleeve--I’d be listening to it all the time.  Pharrell’s writing influenced me. Cudi is the biggest influence on my style, from the way I look at writing songs. I’d be like, ‘Would Cudi fuck with this jont? I feel like he would fuck with this jont.’  I ain’t gonna lie, I fuck with Ye.

MY: How do you feel about current Ye?

Wifigawd: I don’t give a fuck, man.  What am I supposed to feel?

MY: Does that impact your music listening?

Wifigawd: He did what he was supposed to do for me.  If we link up--real niggas link up--he’s gonna know what time it is when I’m in the studio with him.  He’s gonna hear everything that I’m saying. He knows what he does and everything he’s doing. Lupe got a song called “Dumb it Down.” You don’t have to be God level all the time.  For these new niggas, he’s dumbed it down, “You’re such a fucking hoe,” these niggas ate that shit up. He’s like, ‘All these fucking dumbass niggas.’ That’s what I think. He’s in the crib, he’s got kids, he doesn’t give a fuck.  He wants niggas to react that way.

MY: I want to go back to your writing.  It sounds like that is an important part of your process.  What does that look like? Is it in the studio? Is that at home?

Wifigawd: Yeah, it’s very fast.  It’s damn near...my writing style is wild as shit.  Even if I have the beats, I can’t just pull them up and write to them.  I have to be in front of a mic because the shit I think I have to do, I’m not going to think of it again--this is how it should sound.  I have to do it right there. It’s serious for me when I’m writing. I can freestyle like it ain’t nothing, but writing, I fuck with it because it’s structure.  That’s how I understand my shit, the structure. Once I have the hook, the song is done. That’s the biggest thing for me is my hooks.

MY: I’ve been playing a lot of your music recently and I’ve been playing it at times to set a certain vibe.  It really represents that for me. I first heard “Told You” at the Art House, that set the tone for me as far as how turnt you could be.  But then when I was on Apple Music listening to these six projects, it’s a lot, but I’m trying to describe the vibe. Where it’s night time and I’ve just come back from being out and I’m going to smoke again and then I’m going to sleep, but I still want to feel and decompress from the night.  I put your music on and I’m gone.

Wifigawd: Yeah, my shit is definitely some void.

MY: Even walking down the street in the day time…

Wifigawd: Void.

[Laughs]

MY: The world is not there, yo.

Wifigawd: Definitely euphoric.

MY: Yeah, “How I Feel,” bro, euphoric.

Wifigawd: That’s what I like to call arena music, stadium music.  When I’m making songs like that I’m thinking about ten thousand people knowing the words to that jont in the stadium and me not having to say nothing, just standing right there like, ‘Damn.’  Some big epic-ass shit.

MY: What do those sets look like if that’s a Wifigawd tour? Is that a stage and a mic?

Wifigawd: Honestly, I would always want the crowd in front of me, so I could interact.  I just need a gate so niggas can’t rush me, I won’t have on any jewelry, I don’t know, just flexed out.  I want to be close and intimate and have a split stage through the crowd so I can get every part of the jont turnt.

MY: Have you seen Astroworld footage?

Wifigawd: Yeah, that shit is wack to me.

MY: How so?

Wifigawd: It’s just too much.  It takes away from the music--nigga’s on some circus shit.  If the music is hard you don’t need anything.

MY: I can appreciate the initial Travis Scott concerts.  Do you like Travis, though?

Wifigawd: Mmm, naw.

MY: Who do you listen to mainstream-wise?

Wifigawd: Nobody.  I don’t listen to anyone mainstream.  I listen to old music.

MY: That’s interesting because your music, yes you’re a contemporary and you understand that.

Wifigawd: Yeah…

MY: I call it bop music, like a Pierre Bourne.  Do you know him?

Wifigawd: Of course, he is insane.

MY: And your music sounds like that kind of style, so I can appreciate the modernity.

Wifigawd: I don’t listen to Travis Scott or Pierre Bourne, but I know he’s hard as fuck.  His production is insane.  He’s the top producer, mainstream producer, he’s the best.

MY: Agreed.

Wifigawd: He doesn’t miss.

MY: You carry those bops, though, too.  Who do you lean on for production?

Wifigawd: Shit, it’s a secret formula.  Dretti Franks, Trip Dixon, Cryjng, Hi-C, I don’t know, there are not that many producers that are going crazy like that anymore, so I just keep a core group.

MY: You said anymore.  What do you mean?

Wifigawd: I just feel like everybody tries to make the same sounding beats.  And the beats that I like, I don’t want them to sound like beats that other niggas have.  I don’t want it to sound like anything.

MY: That’s fair to be selective and also prolific.  How many songs do you have in the bank right now?

Wifigawd: I don’t know, bro, a lot.  I make a lot of music.

MY: Over 2018, are those songs made this year? How old do some of those songs get?

Wifigawd: I don’t know, but they are not that old.  I have some super tight shit on the way. I know motherfuckers love my turnt up shit, so I have a whole tape of turnt shit.

MY: I think it’s “Gen” or “Big Flex” where you rap off a series of fashion labels and designers you like.  I have a question regarding your top five in fashion. Just the labels you list: Off White, Yamamoto, Solbiato…

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: I said all that shit in one song.  I was crazy for that. I don’t know, it’s a whole bunch.

MY: Both times I’ve seen you you’ve been wearing Solbiato decked out.

[Laughs]

Wifigawd: This is just some chill shit, some lounge shit, but still fly.  D.C. shit. But top five designers, that would be...I fuck with vintage shit.  I do fuck with designers, but only pieces... YSL, Gucci, Margiela, Rick Owens, and RAF that’s five.  That’s all demonic and intense.

Nate Gski's 'Uptown Story' Comic Serves as a Time Capsule for D.C.

Across four issues, Nate G has transmuted his Northwest, Washington, D.C. experience into a fantasized world populated with your favorite hometown musicians, wielding superhuman powers.

The artistic talents of some members of the DMV’s music community have been reinterpreted into super powers by Nate G.

Uptown Story is a comic series started by Nathaniel Benneton Gray, who was first introduced to InTheRough as an emcee. After purchasing several sketches as well as a t-shirt from his Niga line, the label “rapper” merely scratches the surface of Nate G’s creativity. The artist who has “UPTOWN” tatted on his belly, is time-stamping the people and the places who have contextualized the D.C. he’s known, lived, and loved.

“If I had a camera, a budget, and some actors, I would make this a movie,” he said, addressing the group of people gathered at Shopkeepers in October to learn more about the narrative of his comics. “But I have something better. I have my pen and my imagination.”

Although volumes are accessible via Instagram, Nate G presented a number of large-scale versions in the basement of the cafe/retail space on Florida Avenue. The vivid comic panels were reminiscent of Andy Warhol’s 1963 series, Flash, which chronicled the assassination of John F. Kennedy through screen prints of photographs and texts pulled from various news publications. Patrons took their time reading each piece, the stories developing as they advanced around the room.

Cap’n Uptown is the main protagonist throughout the series.  A sketch by Gray of an omnipotent God and Nubian angels descending a cherub from heaven into the D.C. streets birthed the idea of Uptown Story.  Illustrated shirtless with a red cape, golden bracelets, rings, chains, and the same “UPTOWN” tattoo that Nate bares, the superhero evokes images of X-Men  characters, Static Shock, Mr. T, Luke Cage, and of Gray himself.

“It feels like Saturday morning cartoons,” he said of his comics.

Pittsburgh by way of D.C. transplant Babyteeth drawn on a comic panel of Nate G’s Uptown Story. Displayed at Shopkeepers; Photograph by Maxwell Young

This sentiment is particularly evident in the way Nate composes scenes and expresses the underlying tones within Uptown Story.  In one of his panels at Shopkeepers, Cap’n Uptown and Afrovelvet, a long-time friend and frequent collaborator of Gray’s, are pit against one another in a heated tennis match before a surprise missile attack interrupts their set, and they have to spring into action.  Nate creates this drama because the reader is distracted by the intense level of competition we perceive that he depicts through command of angles and depth.  Moreover, the suspense is drawn out as the volumes end with cliff-hanging questions that harken back to the manner in which Dragon Ball-Z and other anime comics begin stories “en media res,” or, in the middle of things.

It is important Uptown Story reflects the culture and flavor of Washington, D.C., which is why Nate G draws people like Mista Selecta and Babyteeth encountering evil villains at places like the Uptown Theater—a landmark in the Cleveland Park neighborhood.  In a way, these Uptown Story volumes canonize the creative individuals, institutions, and identities that have contributed to District culture—from the vernacular to the Foamposites.

“There are small D.C. things I try to make that are very D.C.,” he said.

Uptown Story has invigorated Gray’s artistic output as a whole—the drawing and music-making now informing one another.  Not only are his latest EP covers self-illustrated, but he wants to tie the visual representation of Cap’n Uptown into a sonic one; Cap’n Uptown the album.  That’s what he’s refining these days.  In the first quarter of 2019, fans can expect a sensually immersive experience, consuming both Cap’n Uptown comics and Cap’n Uptown music.  Follow Uptown Story here and check out Nate G’s “Full Moon EP” here.

Transformer Auction Party - “Wherefore Art Thou, Olympus?”

Silhouettes of Ashley Shey (left) and Yacine Fall (right) during performance piece “Wherefore art thou, Olympus?” by Maps Glover at the 15th annual Transformer Auction Party. Photograph by Maxwell Young

Since mid-September, Maps Glover and Uptown Art House have been curating programs and experiences in conjunction with Transformer Gallery, a non-profit art studio in Logan Circle amplifying the work of burgeoning artists around the Washington, D.C. creative ecosystem. What began as a six-week exhibition dubbed What We Leave Behind: In the Name of Art, culminated in a final performance during Transformer’s 15th annual auction party on Saturday night.

"Wherefore art thou, Olympus?” was an exploratory piece considering the spectrum of value civilization has placed on black bodies and images. More specifically, “It was about reaching for an idealized sense of acceptance from white society,” said Jamal Gray, who was a part of the performing troupe.

Glover and Gray along with Yacine Fall, Ra Nubi, Ashley Shey, Sifu Sun, and Hipster Woods were clad in dark tunics and skirts, enshrouded by masks and headdresses made of metal wire. Fastened to a chain that ascended the temple-like steps of George Washington University’s Corcoran School of Art, the sextet moved up and down the grand staircase in tandem with one another, striking poses, tying one another up, and manipulating the chain with their bodies. It was a stark contrast to a predominantly white audience in a predominantly white space raising questions of what this performance was about.

Figuratively, this group of artists who debuted together in Uptown Art House’s audiovisual experience at The Kennedy Center last March, The Landing, transformed themselves into “black deities,” Glover explained, recounting his performance. Coupled with the neoclassical architecture of the Corcoran building, the piece alluded to the idea of white acceptance mentioned by Gray because of the white connotations associated with western mythology. Gods and goddesses represent the epitome of social constructs like beauty, power, and knowledge that black people have been historically disenfranchised from, whether through slavery, racism, or the erasure from history. It’s as if the masks and chains worn by the troupe symbolized the conformity and constraining that happens to black bodies as they navigate this white, western world.

“We can’t exist in this paradigm of America and not address it,” Gray said.

Oscar Cole pictured far right and members of Millennium Arts Salon. Polaroids by Maxwell Young

Oscar Cole, however, pictured on the far right, had a different perspective of the performance he witnessed at the auction party, telling me disapprovingly, “We must be aware of the images we project.”

Cole, who was sitting with several elder African American members of the Millennium Arts Salon, an organization promoting cultural literacy through art programming, was generations removed from the freedom of expression that he saw Saturday night. Born in 1943 in North Carolina, Cole fought for racial equality, participating in sit-ins. Cole is also an alumnus of Howard University and he also holds a PHD in psychology from the University of Michigan. He could not remove “Wherefore art thou, Olympus?” from his personal context in America—one of long-term resistance to oppression. He saw the six black bodies on the steps and he saw the chains they were bounded by and he was reminded of slavery, a topic in 1943 that could have close ties to his ancestral history. And in 2018 with President Trump condoning images of prejudice, Cole saw an insensitivity to the current times and intolerance minorities experience.

“We’re all slaves to something,” Ra Nubi told me after I shared with her Oscar’s story. “The idea of being a black woman, there’s a type of inescapable truth to what it is to be here and experience this black body. Just because I was born into this doesn’t necessarily mean that I claim it as my identity. However, showing these images is also reiterating a structure that people want to pacify. It’s like, ‘No, we can’t see this because it’s too painful.’ We triggered a sense of trauma in him. And I can understand why he believes that we shouldn’t, but it’s to make him feel comfortable and safe.”

But can black people make art that is devoid from racial context?

“To control the narrative fully, we have to know about the lighting, we have to know about the music, and we have to know about the entrance…” Gray finished.

Stay tuned to InTheRough for more developments on Uptown Art House’s theatrical productions headed into 2019.

‘Black Dove’ by Elijah Williamson, Perfectly Imperfect

Elijah WIlliamson stitches back ripped canvas of his “Aunt Jemima” portrait, Black Dove. Photographs by Ashley Llanes

What do you do when the oil portrait you’ve worked on for a year falls out of the back of a pickup truck, onto the highway, and rolled over by oncoming traffic?

For artist Elijah Williamson, that moment was just the beginning of a beautiful journey to his installation, Black Dove at Maps Glover’s exhibition, What We Leave Behind: In the Name of Art—a six week endeavor that ended October 20 at Washington, D.C.’s Transformer Gallery.

Black Dove is a portrayal of “Aunt Jemima,” the matronly or mammy-figured black woman synonymous with thick, fluffy pancake batter and sugary syrup sold in any non-organic supermarket. 

“She,” as Williamson refers to his work, has an overwhelming pureness to her composition.  Jemima’s classic bonnet, usually plaid, is painted white while her brown face is bordered by more strokes of white, creating a stark contrast between light and dark.  The ear was a main focal point for the Corcoran College of Art and Design graduate.  In the decades that Aunt Jemima’s packaging has evolved, her ears have been omitted—stripped down perhaps for lack of necessity.  It’s as if  Williamson plucked this logo from his syrup bottle stashed in the cupboard and humanized “Aunt Jemima,” aggrandizing the black existences of Nancy Green & Anna Harrington whose likeness were manipulated by The Quaker Oats Company.

When you consider this exploitation—the allusion of Southern hospitality brought to you by the hot fixings of your loving ex-slave/negro cook—the rips, smudges, and tatters of the canvas, in a way, seem more fitting for a final piece than the clean, idyllic image Williamson had originally foreseen.

The commercial graphic designer spent the afternoon and evening of Glover’s final Saturday service in October stitching together the torn parts of canvas and re-stapling the composition back to a wooden frame.  It was ceremonious as bystanders helped to hold the frame in place.  During one moment, Williamson sang Sam Cooke’s “A Change Gon’ Come,” eliciting feelings of an antebellum period.

He reflected on this traumatic journey via email:

InTheRough: Working on a painting for a year takes a lot a of persistence. I find the endeavor interesting because I don't know you as a fine artist. I know you as a graphic designer. What was the impetus behind your undertaking?

Elijah WIlliamson: Yea it’s crazy, I’m actually a fine artist turned graphic designer. When I told one of my drawing instructors in college that I was a GD major, he responded,“I don’t know. I think you may be selling yourself short for a paycheck.” I’ve never forgotten that moment but now that I think about it, I’ve always found a way to marry the two.

For this piece however, it started as a response to my senior thesis project at the Corcoran College of Art and Design at George Washington University. I was investigating pieces of graphic design created during the Harlem Renaissance and was struck by the differences in how Black Americans were portrayed depending on the artist demographic.  I came across a number of stereotypes cast upon the African American community; the first was the “mammy” caricature. I began drawing sketches of Aunt Jemima and around that time, there was an ongoing lawsuit around royalties and proper compensation to the women who reportedly spearheading the morning and then it fed this brand. The story was all too familiar, yet ironic at the same time.  

Visually, it struck me that the representation of Aunt Jemima was never depicted with an ear. I also learned that the character was inspired by a song written by a black minstrel performer. These things coupled with other readings and conversations around Black women in America, I wanted to contribute something that attempted to fill the gaps created by negative stereotypes of black women. I also wanted to contribute to the commentary of costume. It was important for me to remove the headscarf. In so many ways it represented nothing of personal note. It was utility, almost costume. I wanted to challenge the visual perception of how we see “Aunt Jemima”, who for a long time, is how Black women are viewed in America.

It took a year to complete for a number of reasons, the main being my constant attempt to juggle a full schedule but mainly, I wanted to take my time. I was creating other Jemima pieces and I wanted the series to grow and express itself over time. Different portraits went in different directions and meant different things.

ITR: Walk me through the moments after your painting fell out of the truck. How do you rebound from that experience?

EW: Ah.. wow. I had a buddy of mine help me transport it from my place in Virginia to the Gallery. I was constantly turning my head to make sure things were good. One moment it was there, the next it was gone. We pulled over and I immediately took off running back up the shoulder of 395 against traffic. I ran maybe a quarter mile before I saw the piece on the ground, off the stretcher, being ran over by traffic. I remember hearing the wood rolling against the asphalt as it was hit by the rubber of rolling tires and the crashing of vehicles against the canvas. I screamed, “No!”. I was waving my hands trying to stop the traffic until I was able to retrieve the canvas as the cars responded to my hysterics on the side of the highway. After I quickly gathered the remains of what was left of my piece, I headed back up 395 to find the truck. I remember taking a breath on the guard rails on the side of the road and thinking, “What The Fuck!?”

It really was the support and encouragement of my close friends who, in a way, carried me through that experience. I was in a state of shock for some time and really didn’t want to discuss the incident. There were a number of other factors going on that weren’t exactly encouraging. My name was omitted from the list of artist on the first set of postcards for the show, and Maps Glover, my best friend and curator of the show, had been having concerns about whether the exhibition was the right show for this piece. Needless to say, I wanted to drop out of the show. I was pretty shook. A lot of emotions were at blows with each other; shock, anger, pain, wasted time, shame, embarrassment - it was rough. We didn’t know how it was going to work, but I had already been compensated and made the commitment. It was a horrible situation to be in. But we pressed on. The opening was that weekend and it was a hit. My performance wasn’t scheduled for another six weeks. I don’t think I was able to really move pass the fall until the day of my performance. It was still fresh - for me - up until that day.

ITR: How did you arrive at the idea for your performance, which closed out Transformer Gallery?

EW: That performance was about as organic as it gets. I knew I wanted it to be interactive and I wanted to engage the audience. Outside of that it was just about telling the story in a way that was as complete and authentic as necessary. It wasn’t lost on me that this “feminist attempt to present a whole image of black woman” was being lead by a black man. In an effort to subdue myself in light of the content, I chose to have excerpts from the artist statement read aloud by the participants of the show.

Visitors at Transformer Gallery helped Williamson reframe his painting. Photograph by Ashley Llanes

These excerpts were taken from the Combahee River Collective Statement. A document written by a group of black feminist and lesbians responsible for one of the first introductions of intersectionality into political and social conversations. The name, ‘The Combahee River Collective’, refers to the Combahee River Raid - an expedition of 150 Union Troops lead by Harriet Tubman. The raid lead to the destruction of several South Carolina Estates and plantations. Harriett Tubman is the only woman known to have led a military operation during the American Civil War.

ITR: What songs were you singing? I was eating, so I only heard. Your portrait and your voice transported me back to slave times, especially looking at the images Ashley caught of you sewing it back together. It truly was a spiritual moment. Jemima plays this mammy role and to be canonized in an iconic brand image is very much exploitative.

EW: Yes it is. And the act of revealing that kind of exploitation was what I was trying to execute; exposing this disenfranchisement towards Black Americans, specifically, Black American women—and that does date back to slavery.

The song I sang was ‘A Change Gon’ Come’ by Sam Cooke. It had been with me for a few days that week and it just made sense to perform it. The lyrics really captured a part of what I was trying to say in relation to the subject matter.

ITR: Watching you perform all of these exercises around the portrait: sewing it together, framing it, and celebrating it--the whole experience seems like that's how it was supposed to happen. How do you feel removed the experience?

EW: It’s still pretty surreal. From like the fall to the stretching. I do find a lot of symbolism in the different phases she [the painting] went through. I don’t know if it was ‘supposed’ to happen like that (laugh). But I do believe what happened happened for a reason. I’ve definitely learned a lot from the experience as a whole. I’m extremely grateful, man. It was quite the journey but I’m glad I stuck through it.

ITR: What’s next?

EW: Right now I’m getting settled in DC. Moving in the district will be a big move for me. I’m still painting.  I want to get through this series.