The Queens native has been making music professionally for over 10 years. Along with managing his solo career, our Artist To Look Out For is also a part of Children Of The Night (COTN), a group he started with high school mate, Nasty Nigel, and neighborhood homie Remy Banks. After releasing four projects with COTN, the group evolved to World’s Fair, “a multicultural Queens ensemble.” He says of the collective, “We’re like The Avengers of Queens rap. COTN plus three more of our friends. When you see us, it’s like you just got on the 7 train.”
In 2014, World’s Fair signed with Fool’s Gold Records and released “Bastards Of The Party”, which led to even more opportunities for the collective. Jones explains that although World’s Fair is no longer signed with Fools Gold, they are still on good terms with the label. If anything, he argues, this experience taught him that there is a small window of opportunity and consistency is key.
Jones grew up in a supportive, creative household. He recalls staring at the power plant outside his Eastwood apartment window as a child, always dreaming and allowing his imagination to run wild. The image of the plant is so cemented in his brain that it serves as the cover art for his debut solo album, Dangerfield. Dangerfield, in my opinion, is a representation of Jones’ journey meeting release. The album opens with the track “Ode to Big Allis” where he raps “I came to share my autobiography, chronologically”, and share he does. You can call the album a love letter to not only his roots but to himself.
A project Jones says speaks to his exasperation with the music industry, more specifically the “gatekeepers” in the industry, Dangerfield is Jones’ demand for respect. He saw how other artists and people in the scene were quick to switch up on him when they “make it”—people he’s worked with that all of a sudden act brand new. You know the type. Through his frustration, he created a body of work that simultaneously represents his talent and carries the spirit of Queens, New York. All you have to do is ‘press play’ and I’m sure Jones’ classic New York sound will resonate with you, too.
You mentioned that your involvement in Children Of The Night (COTN) led to the creation of World’s Fair, “a multicultural Queens ensemble” consisting of all three members of COTN (yourself included) and three other artists (Cody B. Ware, Jeff Donna & Prince SAMO). While you maintain both collectives and your solo career, do you find It difficult to move between the groups? How do you find time to sustain multiple projects?
It’s very hard honestly. To the point where we haven’t put out a COTN project since 2012’s “Queens…Revisited”. When we released the “Company Fair” video, we had no expectations nor were we prepared for it to go viral. It was a side project, we are a collective, not a group (and it’s still that way). But due to the project’s success, our manager thought it was best we nurture World’s Fair. Looking back, I realize you don’t do what you “think” the people want, you go with what YOU want. It’s easy for me to get frustrated and beat myself up about it, but at least we have four projects out there for people to get into. I love my brothers, but it’s just hard when there are so many cooks involved. Also, my personality isn’t necessarily tailor-made for it. I’m a control freak, not the biggest control freak, but a control freak nonetheless. It’s hard to have 6 control freaks in one room; no one ever fully agrees with one another, something’s gotta give and you have to sacrifice. I definitely took the reigns as Creative Director for COTN, but with the World’s Fair projects, especially New Lows, they weren’t my vision. With BOTP, I had serious writer’s block because of this and a multitude of other reasons. With New Lows, yes I’m on it more frequently, but I handed the reigns over to Nigel, Cody, and the two producers, Black Noi$e & No Life. As far as my solo career, I’m finally coming around to it after over 10 years in this. I played multiple roles in World’s Fair/COTN. Our foundation for it all was The Cave, my basement studio in Queens. Here we recorded all four COTN projects, damn near half of Remy’s stuff, as well as the early World’s Fair stuff, including Jeff Donna and Prince SAMO’s solo ventures in their early stages. I was so preoccupied with the artist’s individual projects and being a team player that I put my own career in the backseat. I also used it as a crutch, as I struggled to figure out the message I wanted to put out into the world. I was a skilled songwriter, and my hooks (as you can hear on Dangerfield) are usually catchy. But as far as my personality on a record, it didn’t all come together for me until recently.
Dangerfield is the first solo album you’ve released. What are some lessons you learned branching out on your own?
I’ve learned lessons on a multitude of levels, be it technical or creative. As far as technical, the importance of having stems. As soon as you get a new beat from a producer that you really like, ask for the session stems. That way once you do get around to working on said beat, you have the stems to work with, to hand over to an engineer to mix or add onto sequence. I’m lucky enough to have had an audiophile like Paul “Bae Bro” Wilson serve as my engineer/executive producer to finalize Dangerfield. We only had the stems for like three songs, but he created an album that builds on top of all the 2-track instrumentals. Creatively I learned that you never plan anything too in advance. I named the project “Notes of a Native Son” when I was roughly 40% finished with the project. What happens when you name an album too prematurely, you start to try and shape songs to fit the theme, which constricts you. It’s almost like you are buying gift packaging for something, but still determining what the actual gift you’re giving someone will be. So, I say fuck that, at least be near completion before naming something, have an understanding of the contents of that gift before you have the packaging.
Why the name Dangerfield?
Frustration. I’ve been making music on a professional level for over 10 years, and still feel I don’t get the respect I deserve. Dangerfield is such an amazing album that all I need you to do is press play for me to earn respect. My writing prose is also very much in the spirit of a Rodney Dangerfield as well.
Speaking from personal experiences, there are some days where I just don’t want to write. I literally sit there and stare at a blank screen, like nothing comes to me. I’m sure you’ve had days like that too. How do you get into your creative headspace? Are you the type to try and force it out of you, or do you allow yourself that time to just be?
I need to either have a good conversation or go out and interact with people. It allows for different perspectives I would not normally draw from just being home and looking inward. I sometimes sit and force myself to write until the good shit kicks in, but I normally don’t have the patience for all of that. Sometimes I’ll play a beat on repeat, play some 2k or do something else, making the beat a secondary, sometimes tertiary thing. Sometimes I’ll even take a shower, while the beat is on and just hear the baseline and other parts of the beat I haven’t heard while the water is running. Then a melody begins to take shape, that I’ll immediately record a voice note of, and then I fit words around it.
You spoke on how the artist and the audience feed off each other’s energy, and how you see vulnerability as a means of connection. As someone who battles social anxiety before shows, what is your process to get out of your head and be in the present moment? I know not one answer fits all, but what are some helpful methods you could offer other performers that can relate?
I don’t know honestly; I wish I had an answer. If I did, I’d be a millionaire and the pharmaceutical biz would probably close up shop tomorrow. There are millions of band-aid routes you can take, and I’ve tried several. Weed has an adverse effect on me, where I feel like I want to disappear through a fuckin floorboard, but to others it’s the exact opposite. As far as the stage show, I tend to look through the audience as opposed to staring at individuals one by one directly in their eyes. I look at them as a gigantic ball of energy I have to direct. I want them to do this, do that, so I direct them into doing so to make it more entertaining. You must know your lyrics. I did an Eric B & Rakim show earlier in the year, it was last minute (literally got the offer four hours before the show), I never had the opportunity to rehearse so I was cramming it all in even moments before my set. When I got on, I was so focused on nailing my lyrics that I was looking at the ground, looking up into the mist, everywhere but the audience because I was trying to think of every line. Always be ready to go! When you have your lyrics down, they are in your head, it’s nerves that tell you otherwise, but ignore that shit! The lyrics are right there in your random-access memory. Don’t worry about them, get into what you’re saying as if you are being conversational with your audience and you’ll ace it. If you enjoy the music you make, that energy will come out organically. You can’t be self-conscious.
Who is your biggest inspiration?
New York and its inhabitants. I’m a firm believer and practitioner of GONZO journalism. I like to go out alone, get myself in strange situations, or at least a witness to, just to see what it’s like and how people act and communicate during certain circumstances. Then I draw from them when I hear a new sound and it reminds me of something. I don’t know if “getting yourself into strange situations” is the best advice, so as always, listen to anything that comes outta my mouth at your own discretion.
What are three things you think should change in the music industry?
I’d have the industry promote individuality. When you’re dealing with a black art form, most reach meteoric levels of popularity. That’s because it’s so different from what came before. You get these white guys in suits that will try to turn it into some formulaic thing, and this predates the Beach Boys and what they did with Chuck Berry’s tunes. I’d promote being original, and not following the currents of whatever is hot for a season. You go with your heart and that’s where the soul is, where you create something timeless, as opposed to following a trend and being seasonal. So, lastly, I’d want the industry to not hesitate to take chances.
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Interview by Rahel Tekle