With a new album set for release can a 45 year old rapper still fight the power?
“There’s two types of feminists. The real ones who like being women; they want us to open the door but they also want respect. The other type of feminist is ugly-ass women that are mad at every fuckin’ thing.”
Welcome to the world of Ice T.
Sprawled on the blue leather sofa in his penthouse apartment overlooking Manhattan’s Hudson River, it’s easy to dismiss the self-professed pimp as atypical rapper spouting standard sexist claptrap. However, dig a little deeper and the rhymer turned actor can articulate as energetically - and with somewhat more eloquence - on any number of subjects, from free speech to the futility of war. “They call me a gangsta, I ain’t never bombed no country, committed genocide on any people, so who’s the gangsta? These motherfuckers killed hundreds of thousands of people and we’re the trouble?” is one witty retort. It’s unfortunate then, Ice, 46, insists on interspersing more considered commentary with his bigoted braggadocio. “Journalists take him way too seriously. I just call him a grouchy old pimp,” sighs girlfriend Coco, a former Playboy model, as Ice orders her to scratch his back.
Known as the forefather of gangsta rap, with frankly titled fare like Lets Get Butt Naked And Fuck, Ice T has made much noise since the beginning of his career in the 1980’s. Then, in 1992, as lead singer of his alter-ego rock group Body Count, he released the incendiary song Cop Killer shortly before the Rodney King ‘not guilty’ verdict saw the streets of LA razed by riots. Containing such lyrics as ‘Die, die pig, die,’ the song infuriated right-wing establishment like Tipper Gore, George Bush Senior and Charlton Heston. Ignoring the fact the song was actually a rock record, the three attempted to pin every subsequent police death on rap music. Furthermore, as Ice points out, Cop Killer was never a call to arms, more a protest against the appalling police brutality towards young, black males. Regardless, Ice found himself banned from performing live, investigated by the F.B.I and ultimately without a record label. In his book The Ice Opinion, published in 1994, he commented, ‘Freedom of speech, yeah, just watch what you say...’
Still, it has been his continued willingness to speak out against the system that has kept Ice T’s name relevant in the rap game for far longer than many of his long-forgotten contemporaries. He’s toured universities lecturing on first amendment rights and civil liberties and is vocal about the billions wasted needlessly on the Iraq War. He insists, however he’d never get involved in politics. “Nah, I left behind a life of crime,” he smirks.
Born Tracey Morrow in New Jersey, it was after moving to Los Angeles following the death of both parents, that the youngster became embroiled in illegal activity. “Being stuck at 12 years old with no parents and having absolutely no idea where I was gonna go? That was an interesting time,” he remembers in his booming baritone brogue. “When my parents died, not being close to the rest of my relatives, steered me directly towards the streets and the gangs looking for a family.”
He soon found his kin within the notoriously tough Compton-based gang The Crips. Shortly after joining, Tracey Morrow became Ice T. A huge fan of the Iceberg Slim books, a series detailing life as a pimp in Chicago, the young Morrow would quote portions of the potent poetry to his friends. “Bitch dry your tears, the kind lover’s here,” he says slowly, still relishing the words. “People used to say ‘Say some more of that Ice stuff, T’ so that’s where my street name came from.” It’s a befitting title in many ways, he thinks; for instance he rarely gets angry. “They used to tell me I was so ice, that if a bullet came through a party, it would do nothing but part my hair.”
Rattling around the streets of Compton, the teenager’s life descended into violence pimping, hustling and jewellery heists, before becoming a father at 17. “When you live in negative karma you wake up in the morning with the intention to fuck up. As a youngster you don’t feel there’s any ramifications to anything, you just say ‘Fuck it.’ That’s why most brothers go to jail between 17 and 23, cos that’s when you think you can do whatever the fuck you want and nothing bad is ever gonna happen. Right then you’re a very dangerous individual.“ Still, despite the mayhem caused, he ‘never killed anyone. That I know of.”
The father of two believes a free education, legalising drugs and access to basic needs – a house, food and utilities – could eradicate much crime. His own moment of clarity came about after a stint in prison and the army. “All the cats I was fuckin’ with went to jail and got shot. One day it just hit me. It’s like ‘Wake up,’” he recalls. “Trust me, when Ice T turned his life around he turned around a nation,” - he’s partial to such self-important statements - “I refocused the word hustling to mean getting a job and going to school.”
Scoring a small part in the low-budget hip hop film Breakin’, put the then 25 year old firmly on the path to rap. Alongside his half-brother, producer Afrika Islam and local record-spinner DJ Aladdin, Ice T’s ’87 album Rhyme Pays became the first large-selling ‘reality’ or ‘gangsta rap’ record. “I gave hip hop a bad headache,” he laughs. “We put real stories and real life into it. So, ‘I’ll kill you with my mike.’ became ‘I’ll blow ya fucking head off.’ No more mike skills - it was street skills.”
Like many rappers, Ice justifies his prolific use of words like bitch and nigga, and the violent and sexually graphic prose, as merely a reflection of the life he leads. “Your definition and my definition of politically correct is not in the same box. In the hood, the same girl I call a bitch will be on the phone to her friends calling me a pussy,” is his simplistic, and not all together convincing argument.
It may be understandable to see how a young man, fresh from a life of crime could paint such violently vivid pictures. But, with years of wisdom and a life lived far away from the hustle of the streets, why must Ice continue to propagate such pessimism. His latest album, Repossession, as part of the group SMG (Sex, Money, Guns) featuring himself and cohorts Smoothe The Hustla and Trigga The Gambla, returns once more to the well-trodden gangsta rap arena he has revisited for the past two decades. “Basically, it’s just us bullshittin,’” he admits. For all his street smart-talk and twinkle-eyed savvy, can Ice seriously expect us to believe a man who’s now an accomplished actor in the long-running US series Law And Order (playing, ironically, a policeman) and successful business person (he endorses soft drinks and clothing lines), is still a hustler obsessed only with glocks ‘n’ girls? “Being from the street is like a religion. If you ever was on drugs, if you ever been through anything in life, you never lose that.” Doesn’t he feel, well, too old for music designed for and by the youth? “The younger artists will always win in hip hop because the basic core of the audience is teenagers,” he agrees. “But I don’t care who you are, you could be 50 or 18 - you gotta be able to rhyme. It’s a sport and it ain’t a sport where you need to be a certain height or age.”
Perhaps if he were to rediscover Tracey Morrow, he might find a man with much more to say musically than that of his arrogant alter ego? He pauses for a second as if to consider. “Nah, I can’t be Tracey Morrow,” he says. “I ain’t been him since I was in Junior High.” So where did he go? “I don’t know, even my son knows me as Ice T,” he says with a shake of the head. “ Once you get a nickname you become that nickname.” It seems unfortunate that while he may feel in many ways he’s stepped out of the box, Ice T still fits far too squarely into the role of a rapper. There’s a lot more to him than just that, surely? “If you take all the ornaments off a motherfucker,” he says with a final smirk, “then you really gonna see who’s in the house. You dig?” Er, no. “I may not got no ‘ho’s right now. But I’m always gonna be a pimp, always.” Were he to concentrate on the more politicised, provocative poetics, as opposed to his played out pimp-isms, Ice T may once more really be talking.
The SMG album Repossession is out now on Penalty Records
A version of this article appeared in the Guardian Friday Review
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