The Fader

The Fader (stylized as FADER) is a New York City-based magazine that covers music, style and culture. It was founded in 1999 by two childhood friends, Rob Stone and Jon Cohen. American artists Lupe Fiasco and Jenny Lewis were featured on the cover of the #35 issue for January/February 2006."Issue 035: Lupe Fiasco / Jenny Lewis". The Fader. Fiasco's cover story was later published online in 2013.Ducker, Eric (January 22, 2013). "Lupe Fiasco: Grindin". The Fader. In July 2024, they published their second-ever interview with Fiasco, conducted earlier in the month, "at an undisclosed location."Helfand, Raphael (July 18, 2024). "Lupe Paints Amy". The Fader.
== Interviews ==
=== 2006 ===
Life on the ledge with Lupe.
It's only five minutes past noon in early November and Lupe Fiasco is already behind schedule. He'd meant to get his haircut and his stubble trimmed before he picked us up, but there just wasn't enough time. So with his older brother Huggy Bear riding shotgun he takes his two year-old Chevrolet Suburban to the westside of Chicago until he reaches Adams Barber Shop. It's a small, narrow rectangle that ends at a stack of white plastic chairs and a small TV playing the local news. Dirty Redd says they didn't have to spend all that money making Barbershop—if they'd put a camera in the store's corner for a day they'd have had enough material for a movie.
When the TV anchors turn it over to the guys in the kitchen who are going to show you how to make an amazing pesto sauce with roasted pumpkin seeds, the station is switched to BET where John Legend is tonguing down a model. Fiasco originally asked the photographer not to shoot him in here—rappers in barbershops being so cliché and all—but midway through he changes his mind and asks for a couple snaps. It might be nice to give one to his barber Mac and let him compete with Nero, who's known to have the most famous clientele at Adams and has the Scottie Pippen pictures to prove it.
After changing into a grey Maharishi T-shirt adorned with a camouflage Beethoven, Fiasco takes us to a nearby area known simply as Out West. "When we were younger I never used to come here," says Fiasco. "We didn't have the money to buy anything namebrand. I was 12 when I got my first pair of FILAs, then some hand-me-down Timberblands."
These days 23 year-old Lupe Fiasco (born Wasalu Maco) isn't interested in the new shipment of Pelle Pelle jeans that came in last night—he prefers Japanese selvedge denim—but Huggy Bear is in the market for a new jacket. In the first store we enter, a clerk asks the pair why they're being photographed. "That's Lupe Fiasco," Huggy Bear says pointing to his brother. "You know that song 'Kick, Push'? That's him. He's on the Kanye album too. 'Touch The Sky'. Track three."
This answer delights her and as we head to the exit she alerts every other employee along the way of the celebrity in their midst. "You know that song 'Kick, Push'? 'Kick...push…kick…push,'" she sings in a tuneless approximation of the single's chorus. "That's him. You know, that skateboard kid." Fiasco just smiles and keeps moving in his jaunty waddle as his pants hang around his thighs.
Since "Kick, Push" was added to the rotation of local urban radio powerhouse WGCI in the beginning of October, Fiasco's mostly been out of town. He's been bouncing between New York, Los Angeles and London to take meetings and do pre-promotion for his album Food & Liquor—all this during Ramadan, often breaking his daily fast on airplanes, judging sundown by the time zone he just left. Fiasco hasn't been around for his new hometown notoriety, so right now he's clearly enjoying the attention.
At Tops & Bottoms, Huggy Bear finds a butter leather jacket with elaborate stitching that outlines Harlem gangster Bumpy Johnson. While Fiasco talks with his credit card company, getting them to take off the precautionary freeze they've put on his account after expensive sneaker, clothing and art purchases appeared in different cities on concurrent days, WGCI sends "Kick, Push" over their airwaves for one of its eighteen plays this week and onto the in-store stereo. Producer Soundtrack's beat is all summer breeze strings and subtle bass as Fiasco's rhymes about a young skater finding love and freedom glide on top. Even Fiasco quietly sings along with himself to the chorus as if it was the hold music, So we kick…push…kick…push…kick…push…coooast…
We drop Huggy Bear off at Madison Terrace, the public housing low rises where Fiasco's mother, a clerk at the family circuit court, and many of his relatives live. The youngest boy of his mother's ten children—who range in age from four to the mid-30s—Fiasco stopped living here during high school when he moved in with his father, the former owner of karate schools, in the southern suburb of Harvey. A procession of sisters, cousins, nephews, nieces and his grandmother come outside to say hello, then rapper Twista pulls up in a metallic orange H2 with a mouth full of shine. After talking to Fiasco through the passenger side window, he beckons me to his side of the truck. He looks stoned. Taking his cell phone earpiece out, he wants to go on the record, "Lupe Fiasco is the shit. The next hottest shit in the Chi and if Twista said it, ain't nothing else need to be talked about after that. Fucking everybody else up in the game. Shitting on them with a skateboard song."
As downtown Chicago grows westward, this area is becoming prime real estate. Buildings are being bulldozed, residents are being bought out and Fiasco says early next year the eight buildings of Madison Terrace will be demolished. Everyone's remaining rent has been taken care of by the city and then Fiasco will be setting his mother up with a place back in Mississippi where she was born. He's not sure what's going to happen with everyone else.
One week earlier Fiasco sat in a hotel lobby on the border of Beverly Hills. On the coffee table was a bowl of decorative ostrich eggs and upstairs chilling was Reebok-endorsed skateboarder Stevie Williams. Fiasco was invited out to Los Angeles by Tony Hawk to perform at a $2000-a-ticket skatepark fundraiser, and after a one-song set of "Kick, Push" he ceded the stage to Pennywise.
Fiasco was explaining the progression of his career like a producer sketching out a film's narrative, skimming over the color with non-sensical syllables in order to get to the plot points faster. He said he started rapping in middle school and signed to Epic at the age of 18 as the youngest member of a collection of Chicago MCs called Da Pak. When a couple singles and showcases went nowhere, the group was dissolved and Fiasco linked up with Chill, one of Da Pak's co-managers. Together they created the label and production company 1st & 15th. Around the year 2000, Fiasco started to get attention as a solo artist and nearly signed to Roc-A-Fella. "Jay-Z actually was in Chicago," he says. "I rapped for Jay and [Kareem] 'Biggs' Burke, flew out to New York, came up to the house, said what's up, came to the offices, came to Baseline, da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da, and then the deal just fell through." Though Fiasco eventually signed to Arista, he's maintained a relationship with Jay-Z, landing the beat for "What More Can I Say" by 1st & 15th affiliates the Buchannans on The Black Album and having him cosign as the executive producer for Food & Liquor. But after LA Reid was fired as the head of Arista, all projects on the label came to a stop and Jive was given the right of refusal on the entire roster. Fiasco and Chill were able to persuade Jive to pass on them, and that same day he signed to Atlantic.
"So, here we are," says Fiasco. "Right on that ledge. Ready to rock. The album is done. And after all that, here comes Kanye, 'Guh-guh-guh-guh-guh. Jump on my album.' And then BOOM, I'm on one of the biggest songs on the album, BOOM! Then prior to that, Mike Shinoda was calling, Mike Shinoda from Linkin Park, 'Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh, Yo, I want you to jump on my album.' At the same time, 'I want to do something for your album,' so make that swap, boom-boom-boom-boom-boom. Then even to take it to real time to a couple days ago, Tony Hawk was like, 'Duh-duh-da-da, I want you to come and perform.' So like everything is falling in place to be a really good spring, a really good first quarter."
Back in Chicago, Fiasco drives north of the El train's Green Line into the Wicker Park neighborhood to show us some of his favorite stores. "This is Ken," Fiasco says, introducing one of the quiet dudes behind the counter at Uprise Skateboard Shop. "He's the inspiration for 'Kick, Push'." Fiasco explains that because of his sneaker obsession he had been getting deeper into streetwear culture, frequenting websites like Hypebeast and heading straight to the LES when he visited New York. One day last year while in Uprise he started thinking about the skateboard he broke when he was 12 and decided to finally buy a new one. As Ken assembled it he started going on and on about the life-changing powers of the sport. "It's the speech I usually give to the little kids," Ken says.
After the sun sets and Fiasco breaks his fast with roast chicken and mashed potatoes, he takes us to hear Food & Liquor. As the only MC on the record, he's created an increasingly rare hip-hop album where the artist speaks entirely for himself. The result is suitably, satisfyingly complex with horn-heavy party jams knocking against caustic politicalism. Following the path carved by Kanye West, Pharrell Williams and even Linkin Park, there is now a place in both the rap and pop worlds for someone like Fiasco to dig deeper into. And it's not just because he shops at Undefeated, releases internet-only mixtapes of him rhyming over the Gorillaz's Demon Days and knows who KAWS is. It's because he's smart, charismatic and he gets the details right. On the brief but hilarious "And He Gets The Girl", Fiasco tells the story of a kid who's "not the popularest of students" trying to kick game to a cheerleader. The protagonist, who's a lot like Fiasco, basically shoots himself in the foot as he approaches his crush, only to find out that she's his perfect match—Thelonious Monk is the wallpaper on her computer and she confesses "I love Final Fantasy, I hate first-person shooters."
Fiasco can also effortlessly switch from his nerd persona to honest consciousness, turning Jay-Z's hypothetical possibility of being lyrically like Talib Kweli into a reality. On "Hurt Me Soul" Fiasco discusses his own personal conflict with hip-hop, deploring the way it portrays women, only to find himself laughing along with Too $hort. He confesses to being unable to relate to a Jay-Z who worships Gotti not God, but then becomes obsessed with Streets Is Watching. His own struggles captured in the verses are framed by a changing chorus where he chants the problems that plague others—My mom can't feed me…My boyfriend beats me…I'll have sex for money…The hood don't love me…My teacher won't teach me..My massa beats me and it hurts me soul.
For our final stop, Fiasco has to host a mixtape for a dreadlocked young rapper and singer named Nikki Lynette. We meet his engineer Greg "G-Ball" Magers at The Attic—a home studio above Magers's apartment, which, in turn, is over the Burrito House near Wrigley Field. In the stairway up to The Attic are posters of Pink Floyd and Albert Einstein, next to the futon couch are framed tickets from Bonnaroo 2002, 2003 and 2004. The sparse space feels like the bedroom of a boy who has left for college. This is where Fiasco recorded most of Food & Liquor.
Fiasco agreed to host the tape because Lynette linked to his website off of hers, but it soon becomes obvious that she is unclear exactly what she wants Fiasco to do. "Just talk shit," she says. "But I don't talk…mess," he replies. Both Fiasco and Lynette wear headphones as Magers cues up the instrumental gaps, and whenever she thinks of another neighborhood or person's name to drop she raises her hand and blurts it out. "Featuring Juice," she calls out across the six feet of green carpet between them.
"Say what?" he yells back.
"You've got to shout out Juice."
"I got to shout out Juice? What's Juice's crew's name? What's his crew?"
"I don't know who he's cool with, he's trying to get signed to Interscope. So it's just Juice."
Magers starts recording again and Fiasco gets his DJ Clue on, "Shouts to my man Juice! Chitown collaboration! Nikki Lynette featuring Juice! You know what I'm talkin' 'bout!" Fiasco's already thinking the half hour drive home and his plans for the next day. He's going to try to make morning services at the mosque for the final day of Ramadan and he didn't get to the Apple store this afternoon like he'd hoped. Then he needs to pack and get to the airport for another trip to New York. And next week he's taking the long flight from LA to Singapore, where his friends from LMAC are throwing a big streetwear conference. He's going to set up some collaborations for his own company Righteous Kung-Fu and eat, like, five Halal Big Macs. And he's thinking about getting married to his girl real quick before he leaves the country…
Lynette takes off the headphones and goes to write some more notes for Fiasco. He's tired, he's been saying it for over an hour, but he wants to make sure she gets what she needs. "Don't think I'm in a rush," he tells her. "Even though I am absolutely in a rush." There's so much to do tomorrow.
=== 2024 ===
The FADER 	You've always had an affinity for concept albums, it seems. What appeals to you about having a concise, stated vision for a project?
Lupe Fiasco	It gives you a foundation and consistency to work from and an opportunity to go down different rabbit holes, as long as the overarching concept is still attended to from time to time. It's a workflow thing, but it's also an inspiration thing: When you find something that's inspiring, there's a lot of untapped content and vocabulary. It's a cheat code.
The FADER 	Can you walk me through the process of expanding this germ of an idea — "What if Amy Winehouse was a battle rapper?" — into the album you just released?
Lupe Fiasco	If you start to ask a question like that, you have to answer it. And as you answer that question, there'll be another question. [In this case], I had to make a song about how [Amy] got her battle rap powers. And then what did she do with them? When did she do it? Where did she do it? How good was it? And what was the reaction? It's a chain of questions, and the album is how you choose to answer them.
The FADER 	You've said you're a deeper fan of jazz than any other genre at this point. What, in your opinion, makes a great jazz artist? And how does Amy embody that for you?
Lupe Fiasco	I don't know what makes a great jazz artist; it's up for them to decide. Different strokes for different folks, different ways to get to their skill levels. I just know what I like. Amy was a great songwriter, very technical. I never met her, but I got insight into her process through the documentary. She would practice writing to Thelonious Monk melodies. In jazz, you have these crazy melodies that aren't just freestyle expressions; they're actually charted out. The fact that she was attaching lyrics to music as abstract and asymmetrical as Monk's… That was fucking fire. So I appreciate the technical aspect of it, but it's also her tonal qualities, her voice, her attitude, her ability to perform.
The FADER 	Have you ever done that type of transcription in your own music?
Lupe Fiasco	Yeah. Transcription to melody is one of the courses we teach at SOSA. We try to find very complex melodies, or, in certain cases, [melodies] that are low-hanging fruit and well-known but have never kind of been transcribed. One we did was Dave Brubeck's "Blue Rondo à la Turk," which Nas actually did on one of his albums.
You do that [as a rapper]; you figure things out. It's a great way to challenge yourself. It's not something new. There are well-known hooks and choruses that are just transcriptions of nursery rhymes — I was thinking of one the other day, a Three 6 Mafia record. It's sampling. That's what hip-hop does.
The FADER 	Did you transcribe any of Amy's melodies while you were writing this record?
Lupe Fiasco	No. I went back and listened to Back to Black, and I was like, "Nope, not doing that." I wasn't trying to recreate Amy from a biographical or musical standpoint. There were some records that didn't make the album where there were some hints, like, "That might be something that she would do." But in the end, I was like, "Nope, pull that. Let's keep it very one to two, as opposed to being one to one."
The FADER 	What about the Amy documentary inspired you to create a portrait of her, beyond the voicemail where she said she was writing battle raps?
Lupe Fiasco	It was just that statement. I never wanted to do the Amy Winehouse biography or try to rewrite her legacy. That's for her estate. I've always respected her and loved her music, but in terms of making [the album] a portrait, it was just that. If that quote wasn't in the film, you wouldn't get Samurai. There might be references that would pop up here and there, but you wouldn't get a completely dedicated project.
The FADER 	What generally inspires you to make a portrait of an artist?
Lupe Fiasco	Portraiture is one of the units in the class I teach at MIT, and there's a set of rules and standards we put in play as to what it means to write a portrait. Some of them are self-generated, taking authority and liberty from me being Lupe Fiasco. We pull from other folks who've done portraiture as well — works like Nas's "Unauthorized Biography of Rakim" — and then we take those frames to the classical understanding of what a portrait is meant to be: How does that translate from the visual space into the aural space? What other elements can we attach to it [in place of] what you lose in that transition?
The song "Samurai" was the original portrait of Amy, and it turned into a record beyond that. The original version of that song follows the standard rules of portraiture we teach at MIT. It had those pieces in there, but we had to remove them for sample clearance reasons, so [the final version] doesn't.
I [make portraits of] people that I appreciate. That's one of the rules. What I try to instill in my students when they do portraiture is to investigate, interview, be with the person as much as you can. A portrait is supposed to express appreciation; it's not a survey of a person or a list of their attributes.
If you don't have an experience with a person, you can't make a portrait of them. But if you have to generate or curate that experience, that's fine. That's the thing: It's not just sitting back at home and writing a rap based on your own thoughts. You have to engage with the person in a physical sense. I'm unable to do that with Amy, but the documentary acts as a stand-in for that.
The FADER 	Did you use any source materials other than Amy's music and the documentary when you were researching this project?
Lupe Fiasco	A lot of the project is imaginary. Even the samurai is reframed as this opera house thing. Taking these kinds of liberties in portraiture is fine to do as long as it's grounded in a certain reality. Beyond that, the album is personal experiences, relying on my own expertise and authority from being a professional artist since I was 19 — record label dramas, awards, fan interactions, stalkers, heartbreak, the whole shit. You can apply that to many, if not all, artists.
When you don't have much insight into a person's life, you're not trying to create a biography; you're imagining new worlds to populate her in. If I didn't tell you it was about Amy Winehouse, it could be about anybody.
The FADER 	Did you always plan on revealing that Amy was the inspiration for the album?
Lupe Fiasco	I mean, I revealed it as I was doing it. Samurai is a pandemic baby. We started in like 2020, so it was already known that I was writing a piece about Amy Winehouse. Was it ever meant to be released? Not really. It sat stagnant until my manager Chilly got out of prison and we sat in the studio and went through all the little projects I had in various stages. He was like, "No, that's a record, that's the joint," so I was like, "Alright, cool, let's finish it." In terms of revealing the conceit, the only hesitation was not wanting it to infringe upon any type of intellectual property, or for people to look at it like I was just coming up off of her.
Whenever I do a portrait in this resurrective space, like a "Jonylah Forever" or an "Alan Forever," or my portrait of Dick Gregory, it's coming from a space of injecting new life and new spirit into something, as opposed to hijacking somebody's legacy for my own benefit.
But then what are the limits of doing that? Are you authorized culturally? Legally? We did reach out to get clearances, and we went back and forth between the estate and the producers of the documentary, trying to figure out who to go to for a sample of a particular moment.
It got into a limbo space, so we went through the album and pulled out the direct samples and things that were too on the nose. We decided to take some creative liberties, and to let people know that while it's inspired by Amy Winehouse, it's not about Amy Winehouse's life.
The FADER 	Since we're taking creative liberties here, can you tell our readers what they've been dying to know?: If Amy Winehouse was a canonical battle rapper, who would she be?
Lupe Fiasco	Nope. She'd be the samurai.
== Gallery ==
File:The Fader Issue 35.jpg
File:Todd Cole - Lupe Fiasco.jpg|Photo by Todd Cole
File:Todd Cole - Lupe Fiasco (2).jpg|Photo by Todd Cole
File:Todd Cole - Lupe Fiasco (3).jpg|Photo by Todd Cole
File:Todd Cole - Lupe Fiasco (4).jpg|Photo by Todd Cole
File:Todd Cole - Lupe Fiasco (5).jpg|Photo by Todd Cole
File:The Fader - Lupe Fiasco.jpg
File:Karl Ray - Lupe Fiasco (9).jpg|Photo by Karl Ray
File:Karl Ray - Lupe Fiasco (10).jpg|Photo by Karl Ray
== References ==
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Category:2006 interviews
Category:2024 interviews
Category:Magazines