Interview 1 : by Black Dog
E-40: Grounded in Family, Driven by Common Sense
Interview
Did you think The Click and E-40 would blow up the way you’re blowing up right now? I always knew that we were going to prosper in some kind of way. If it wasn’t rap, it would have been something else. I’ve always been into different things and had my mind on a level where I just knew I was going to be somebody. So I pretty much felt we were going to blow up, and I’m not just flamboyant boasting—it’s just the truth on my scrilla. I didn’t know exactly how long it was going to take, but it definitely jumped off.
Where did you get that push to do what you’re doing? From my family—I was just born like that. My family always pushed me, gave me self-esteem, and tested my fortitude. Both my mother and my father were heavily into music. Plus, we were raised in the church, which is where a lot of people in this industry start out. No matter how hard you act, most people in the Bay Area have a solid church background because their families originally came from back South, where church is everything. My family is the main inspiration that showed me I could do anything, and I felt that within myself, too.
Your family came from the South to Vallejo? Yeah, they came from Louisiana. It goes all the way back to my grandfather. He was in the Navy or the Army, and he managed to get a job out here. Back then, a lot of people migrated from the South straight to Vallejo to work at the Mare Island Naval Shipyard. That’s exactly where my roots are, and that’s how everything jumped off.
What were you doing before you started The Click? Dipping and dabbing. I’ve been into music ever since I was a little kid. I played the drums when I was in school, and I’ve always been a highly creative and popular person.
I’ve heard that from the beginning you were a wild kid doing all kinds of crazy stuff in school and at home. You can hear all of that in my raps. I love putting comedy into my lyrics. I’m definitely not the only rapper doing it—there are a lot of us. But that’s what it takes: you speak the realness, but you package it in a way that makes fools dig it. It gives them something unique to listen to instead of your typical, everyday average style. I talk about the things people actually want to hear because I know what I like to hear myself.
I act as my own A&R person. I’m just projecting what’s inside of me. I’m not a comedian, but I love making people laugh and keeping them in a good mood. At the same time, I always show the realness behind me because, at the end of the day, I am a very serious brother all the way around.
Your first single, “1 Luv,” how did that song come about? That was entirely my idea. “One love” is a phrase that goes back as far as Bob Marley, but on my behalf, it’s basically penitentiary talk. To me, “one love” represents love for my folks. It means I’m there for you, you’re there for me, and it’s coming straight from the heart. I defined it exactly how I knew it in the “1 Luv” video.
With “1 Luv” you’re taking it to another level, and you’ve got to be really strong to show that side of life. A lot of folks don’t want to show love for their people. I’m not trying to sound like some kind of political Black leader, but by the same token, I’m just telling the absolute truth. I remember when everybody just wanted to rap about “shoot ’em up, bang, bang”. When I was growing up, we actually had to knuckle up and throw hands. I’d fight you with that raw gypsy slickness. You have to put down your pride because a sucker out here will kill you. A twelve-year-old kid doesn’t even have to be tough or a big motherfucker to take your life—he could just be a little kid out here trying to earn some stripes in the street.
When I was raised, we settled our anger by thumping instead of taking a brother’s soul, his life, and his breath away from him. A lot of times, people don’t even realize who they are sitting down having dinner with. I’m very brilliant and observant; I look out for things. First of all, all the real gangsters are dead. Any motherfucker can bleed out here unless you’re some kind of alien—and I don’t mean an immigrant from another country, I mean an alien straight from Mars. Humans bleed, man.
Do you think things will change in the hoods? What do you see for the future of Black people in America? The killing is never going to completely stop, but it can be tamed. For a long time, all the way from ’83 up until recently, I felt like the dope game was never going to slow down. But the “penelopes” (police) have put a massive stop to a lot of it lately. Operation “Sell That Drug” has really come down hard on cats. I mean, there are still motherfuckers in the game, of course, and you have to do what you have to do to survive. I’m never going to knock another man’s hustle.
It’s just like rap—rap isn’t going to stop either. All we can do is try to take our scrilla, invest it into something positive so we can prosper, and show the white man that we aren’t just ignorant motherfuckers. The white man can be sneaky. A white man could be standing on the corner or in an alley with a torn-up beard and raggedy clothes, but he can go cut his hair, put on a suit and tie, and instantly get a job through that system. But if a Black man does that, it’s a whole different story. People just look at him as a brother off the streets who put on a suit, but assume he’s still ghetto.
We have to learn to play their game. We need to take the scrilla we make—no matter how we have to get it—and flip it into something positive. There are so many brilliant motherfuckers out there in the streets with top-notch, A-1 brains. The number one thing you need as a human being in this world is common sense. If you have common sense, you’re going to prosper and go a long way. If you don’t have it, you’re never going to expand; you’ll stay at a complete standstill, caked up on the exact same spot forever. Common sense tells you what to do—if you see some hardheads flashing their straps at a party, common sense tells you to get the fuck out of there before people start acting wild. That’s just basic life survival.
How did you come up with your rap style—rapping fast over slow beats, the Mob style? Back in the day when I was a young guy dipping and dabbing, I was heavily influenced by about four specific rappers. One was Too Short out of Oakland, another was Freddy B out of Oakland, and then Calvin T and Magic Mike out of Richmond. Magic Mike and Calvin T were way ahead of their time. I was heavily in the ye game back then, and the folks I ran with would come out from Rich Town or Oakland and bring a new Too Short or Magic Mike tape. That music used to feed my mind early in the morning while I was out there trying to get my scrilla on.
At that time, I wasn’t even thinking about rapping myself; I was focused on other things in the streets. Then around ’85, we started bullshitting around with it. Another major influence of mine was Kangol from U.T.F.O., and KRS-One. So if you look at it, Too Short, Calvin T, Magic Mike, Kangol from U.T.F.O., and KRS-One are all blended into E-40 as one. Plus, E-40 has natural character, slang words, and pure game. If you aren’t from that ’84–’85 era, you aren’t going to understand where I’m at right now because it’s a completely game-oriented situation. You just don’t know the depth of the game that’s being spit on tapes today. That’s how the style jumped off, and I’m going to keep doing it to the absolute best of my ability.
You were one of the first to run your own independent label, and you have taken it to a whole other level. What’s the secret to your success? We’re right back to common sense. Common sense told me early on that there was serious scrilla to be made in this rap game. I remember getting my very first check from City Hall Records, which was our independent distribution company. On our first tape, we sold about 2,000 cassettes. At $3.50 a tape, that first check came out to around $7,000 or $8,000. It wasn’t just for me—it was for the whole Click—but I remember looking at it like, “Shit, this is a whole lot of scrilla!”
Our Down and Dirty tape was a massive message to the Bay Area. It laid the absolute foundation for the entire Bay Area indie movement to do what they’re doing today. It set it off. That album was no small peanut, and it extended our reach across the map. It proved to a lot of motherfuckers that if you come out with the right product, you can independent-hustle this shit yourself and make real money.
Don’t get it twisted, though—I’ve had my major ups and downs. I’ve been broke for real before. When times got hard, nobody stuck behind me except my family. But even when I was struggling, I could never let a motherfucker know I was broke because I always carried myself with pride and looked sharp. Ever since I got into the ye game and transitioned into rap, I never let myself look torn down.
Before all of this, when I was just a kid, we had basic things, but we never had top-notch luxury items. Like, if a kid at school had a real brand-name Members Only jacket that was jumping off back in the day, I’d be rocking a cheaper knock-off version. If people were eating nice name-brand Top Ramen noodles, I was eating the generic brand in the yellow package. That’s just how it was back in the days. Ultimately, you have to have deep faith from within and refuse to give up. I’ve been heavily criticized and knocked throughout my career because my style was so far ahead of its time. But ever since that Down and Dirty tape dropped, nobody ever says anything slick to my face about knocking my music—never. Not one motherfucker has ever told me, “E-40, your shit is weak.” All I get are solid compliments, and I’m incredibly grateful for the gift to spit game.
When did Down and Dirty come out? It was officially released in 1992, but we finished recording the whole album in ’91.
Is Jive going to re-release the Sick Wid’ It catalogue? Yeah, we’re clearing the samples for everything right now. Down and Dirty will be re-released the second the samples clear. We’ve also got B-Legit’s The Savage, my album Federal, and Suga T’s It’s All Good ready to go. Right now, D-Shot’s The Shot Caller, Little Bruce, and Celly Cell are all officially out on the shelves rocking the Jive logo. My EP The Mail Man is also out through Jive, and it features a bonus track called “Ballin Outa Control” that a lot of people haven’t caught yet. If you haven’t heard it, you need to go fetch it immediately because it tells the absolute realness. It’s E-40 at his absolute best, and I know you’ll dig it. Then, I’ve got my new album In A Major Way dropping this February. Be on the lookout for it because it is definitely not going to be a peanut. It’s 16 tracks deep—13 tight songs and three interludes—and the whole project slaps.
Do you think In A Major Way will go Platinum? I certainly hope so. It is 100% Platinum-quality material, and I’m 99.9% sure it’s going to cross that mark. Jive is backing me to the utmost extent. We’re just out here big-timing and making our moves.
Who handled the production on In A Major Way? Studio Ton did five tracks for me: “1-Luv,” “Bootsee,” “H.I. Double L,” “Dhey Ain’t No” (which is broken English for ‘they didn’t know’), and “Spittin’ On The Microphone.” I also reached out to two production folks up out of Seattle. One is Funk Daddy, who actually raps and produces. He produced three tracks for me: “Fed X,” “It’s All Bad,” and “Sideways.” Another Seattle crew called Winetime Productions—Kevin Gardner and Samuel Redwine—laced me with a track called “Smoke ‘n’ Drank.”
Mike Mosley, who has done a lot of classic production for us in the past, also came through. While Studio Ton was our main go-to producer, I intentionally ventured out to get beats from these other guys just to add a different flavor to the project—but make no mistake, all of them are pure Mob. Mike Mosley produced “Sprinkle Me,” “Dusted ‘N’ Disgusted,” “Bump Da Bumble,” and the “Intro” to the album.
The intro is just letting motherfuckers know the recipe for that “Hurricane Ethel” shit we be fucking with. Hurricane Ethel is a devastating signature drink of ours. It’s a mix of Bacardi Dark, Bacardi Light, Grenadine, pineapple juice, and Triple Sec. You pour it all together into a big, empty five-gallon container of Arrowhead water, and you’ve got yourself some Hurricane Ethel. It looks exactly like raw gasoline once it’s mixed up in that water jug, and it hits so hard that a parental advisory is highly suggested.
What about the song “Da Bumble”? That track is just me spitting straight game. It’s basically E-40 doing his own signature style of freestyling—nobody else can match it. It’s E-40 at his absolute peak. The bass on “Da Bumble” knocks so hard it sounds like a literal gorilla is trapped in your trunk trying to smash its way out. Just picture a huge gorilla locked in the back of your car going boom, boom, boom against the lid. It’s exactly like that.
Some of the imagery you use in your raps—like mosquitoes buzzing and screen doors slamming—are very unusual. Does that come from living in Vallejo? Absolutely. I’ve seen it all living in Vallejo. We didn’t come from a completely dirt-poor family, but we were raised by a single parent after my mother and father got a divorce. Because of that, we saw the harder side of life firsthand.
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