Rapper Afroman brings the perspective of experience to Thursday concert

Joseph Edgar Foreman, better known as the rapper Afroman, and for such hits as “Crazy Rap,” performs Thursday at High Dive along with musical guests The Messenger and DJ Robzilla, The Crazy Carls, The Pinemount Kings and others.

On Tuesday, the longtime rapper spoke in a phone interview from his home in Cincinnati, Ohio, about the development of rap, being a blue-collar musician, his new material and the power of music after death.

Q: What are you looking forward to about performing in Gainesville?

A: I'm happy to have fans in Florida. I can't wait to get out there and read the group. I'm looking forward to them yelling out stuff. I've gotten to the point where if somebody yells out something, before long, I can have it playing.

Q: What are some of your favorite songs that you like to perform?

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A: Of course, I love my big hits, because that's what gets me recognition and gets the door open. Right now, I'm liking some newer stuff I've made. I made this album called Los Angeles and I kind of went back to my childhood and falling in love with rap music and trying to rehash there. I've loving all of them; I'm really not having a favorite right now.

Q: Can you tell me a little bit about your childhood?

A: Well, I grew up in south central L.A., and I got into rap music with the Fat Boys, Run-D.M.C. and all of that. And then I got into Too Short, N.W.A., Ice Cube, Ice-T. And it was all about rapping hot. I wrote my first rap song in '86, and after I wrote one I kept writing. I knew that I could pull it off. I could do what that guy was doing on the TV. I had that one song, then I kept writing more. I finally made a tape in eighth grade. At first, I was just writing them, memorizing them and quoting them for my friends at birthday parties and get-togethers. When we were too tired to play basketball anymore, we would start rapping.

Q: So you definitely started building a reputation early on.

A: Yeah. I made this little chain out of aluminum foil (laughs). We were little rappers trying to be like the big boys in the magazines.

Q: That first tape you put out had a song about a teacher you didn't like, right?

A: Yeah, I found myself expelled really quick, which they didn't want me there in the first place. So after I got expelled, I went home and I made a song about my teacher. My mom said she would buy me some recording equipment if I stayed home and stayed out of trouble. So she bought me some stuff, I stayed home and I made the song about my teacher. I started selling it. Everybody thought it was real funny, you know, real good. I was a rich little kid. I got a whole bunch of reflectors, like three new beach cruisers, some new shoes, you know?

Q: How much did you make?

A: Um, I think in the summer of '89, I think was seeing about $700 or $800. And that was a lot of money for a kid in junior high school.

Q: Do you remember what that song was called?

A: Yeah, it was called “Mrs. Hoebler.”

Q: You said you've been writing since a very young age. Have you always considered yourself a writer?

A: When I did my first song, it was a parody. Do you remember Slick Rick's “La Di Da Di”? He was real popular back then. There was a girl named Keri that had a lot of cool clothes. She picked on all the poor kids; she had new stuff every day. She was really notorious and I didn't know what to say to her. She had like a slight mustache and she was cute and had a whole bunch of new stuff on, so I made a “La Di Da Di” parody and called it “Hairy Keri.” And that was the first time I ever wrote a rap. It was funny; it came off real good — just like Slick Rick. You could tell his song was the motivation at the time. It was in elementary school; I was like LL Cool J. You know, like king rapper (laughs). Anytime some new kid came to school and said he could rap, the whole school would bring him over to me. I'd go to work on him.

Q: So you'd be on the playground challenging anyone who thought they could rap?

A: Well, no. A lot of them didn't rap. They just didn't rap. At that particular time in '86, everybody all knew what a rapper was. Now, rappers really don't have that much skill anymore like those dudes back then. You know, like, anybody can just say a bunch of stuff nowadays, and it's “Oh, he's a rapper.” But back then, you really had to really rhyme at the end of your sentence. You had to take people somewhere without taking them nowhere. Bring your story. I call them talking mimes, poetic mimes, like a mime that can talk and move his hands. That's what a rapper is.

Q: So back in the '80s, when rap was all the craze, it was more about poetic flow and more skill-based, as opposed to being more production-based now?

A: Yeah, there's more production these days, there's more image; there's more distraction from what the art is supposed to be. But of course that's just my opinion. I'm sure The Temptations probably looked at N.W.A. and said, “Oh, you've got to be kidding me.” But N.W.A. can't sing “My Girl” and The Temptations can't rap, you know? You have to realize that even though somebody can't sing, or somebody can't rap, they do something well, and that's what I need to acknowledge and respect.

Q: Absolutely. Why do think that shift to what's being produced today occurred?

A: Because the '80s was the '80s and now is now. If anything, my son was playing with my phone and my daughter was, too. She knows how to download little apps and go to stuff. So it's something about being in another era. You don't have a clue about another era. In the '80s, it was more about rhyming and telling a story, or just doing whatever. And nowadays, it's all about bragging. And they were bragging back in the day, but it's a whole different creative thing. These youngsters have their own style, with the dreadlocks; they got these skinny jeans with their chains; the N-word every other word. That isn't really creativity to me, but, you know, they need money. Bottom line: There's a lot of jazz musicians who don't think rapping is talented, but they're in the unemployment line.

Q: Are you a big jazz fan?

A: Am I a big jazz fan? No. but I'm sure if I do some research I'd find several tracks I'd like. I like music from every category, except the categories I haven't had time to explore. I even listen to country. After I play country and listen to the words, I realize those are some of the greatest songs. I say clever — sometimes I think country lyrics are some of the cleverest lyrics I've ever heard, from the title all the way through, you know what I'm saying? Like “All My Ex's Live In Texas.” They'll get you with the title, before you can even get started. It's always something catchy.

Q: Is it reminiscent of the cleverness and catchy flow of the '80s rap and your generation's rap music?

A: Oh, man. My generation's music! It was spectacular. Every now and then I hear a kid say something. And I say, “You give me the best rapper today; they'll hand me like four or five good rhymes. Whereas the old rappers used to dazzle you when he opened his mouth until he stopped.”

You know, I don't know. Just rhymes that make people go, “Whoa!” I used to buzz off the way these guys talked. They had that little catch at the end that really made you laugh.

Q: There's always a nice clincher, or a little hook.

A: Yeah. There was always a catch, or a punchline. Sometimes I listen now and I'm looking for what word he's going to rhyme with. And I don't know what word he's going to rhyme with. He didn't make me laugh. Everybody's dancing; that's something. And the beat's nice. And you know, maybe he'll say something about the stuff he doesn't like. And there's a lot of stuff I don't like, and that's cool, but if they went line-for-line with some of these guys from the '80s, a lot of these guys wouldn't be employed back then.

Q: Do you think that your style is an attempt to carry that older generation into this one?

A: Uh, no. I want to be like a restaurant. I want to serve you what you want. I want to get with everybody, young fans, too. I upgraded myself to what I call “a youngster flow.” It kind of has that huffing-and-puffing feel; there's more lines per second, more rhymes, you know? I like to get my point across, as opposed to a bunch of gibberish that might not get picked up by a tired, civilian ear.

Q: Let's talk about some of your other musical skills. You've been playing drums and guitar for a long time and have the ability to produce all of your own stuff. Would you say that sets you apart?

A: You know, I was looking at The BET Awards last night (Monday night). One guy had his car onstage and a whole bunch of lights and stuff. And I was thinking to myself, “That's cool, but that scene isn't me.” Now don't get me wrong: If BET called me I'd go there and promote my albums and I'd try to make the best of it. But I can live without it. My scene isn't their scene, and their scene isn't my scene. You fix these guys with all of these lights and all of these velcros, and you put them into just a bar with some people. Put a mic up there on the stag. And a lot of these dudes; I don't think they could really work; like, really kick it. If they have a bunch of big sponsors that are paying for lights and paying for publicity, then cool stuff. But if all those people left them, and if that guy had to walk into a bar by himself, a lot of these dudes I don't think could do it. When I got my deal, when I blew up, I kind of let the record industry pull me away from that scene. And they put me into that fake lip-syncing scene. It was so artificial. I just like organic, blue-collar musician work.

Q: Afroman is your rap personality. How different is it from who you actually are?

A: I'm hitting 40 now. I was Afroman when I was like 18, 19, 20. You know, Afroman's a side of me, but it isn't 100 percent of me. Afroman is me dealing with all the negatives in my life. I think Afroman is a vent for my negativity. And I think a lot of people kind of feel what I'm going through and they're just on that page, too. Sometimes I say Afroman's a transitional phase. I think he's the average college student.

Q: In a lot of your songs, you do endorse suggestive behavior. Is it just something that doesn't bother you?

A: Doing stuff? Like what? Drinking and smoking?

Q: Sure, yeah.

A: Oh, well. When I first started, rappers were rapping about out-rapping other rappers. Does that make sense?

Rappers rapped to other rappers. Then, when gangster rap came out, rappers rapped to society, and people they didn't like. So I invented myself. My whole album was about drinking and smoking. Finally, I thought people had music they could listen to if they didn't want to get killed in the song, or if they don't want to hear two guys outrap each other. I just got my own niche.

Q: Do you feel like you're starting to grow out of that niche?

A: Well, that's the thing. I'm not going to say I'm not ever going to do it, but I am going to slow it way down.

Q: Where do you think rap is going in the future?

A: You know what? With rap there's no joint direction. Whoever writes and gets people to feel it — it's going to go in that direction. You know, it's so funny. I used to think a rapper had to be a certain way. But anybody can rap. Anybody can rap. All they have to do is describe themselves, and their lives, with whatever they want to talk about with rhymes. They don't have to act tough; they don't need pistols, they don't need little chains. Just like our fingerprints are different, we're going to rap differently. I tried to be a gangster rapper, but after I got through, it was just me. Anybody that starts rapping, even if they try to mimic someone, they're just going to end up being themselves in some way.

Everybody's going to write and be themselves and certain songs are going to take off. But, you know, I don't know what direction rap music is going to go in. Hopefully, it gets better. But life goes on, and life gets worse. We used to have Bugs Bunny and now we have “South Park” and Adult Swim. We've got global warming. So sometimes it looks like everything's going to get worse.

I'm just going to enjoy the ride, keep doing me, keep eating Kentucky Fried Chicken and wave over at the people in their backyards flipping burgers (laughs).

Q: You were mentioning that South Park and Adult Swim have replaced innocent things like Bugs Bunny. How does that bother you?

A: It shows that things that weren't acceptable back then are acceptable now. It shows that the lack of morals — that sounds funny coming from me — everybody has now are out of line.

You know, I didn't even know about this. I was sitting down one day, watching “Family Guy.” I didn't believe what I was hearing. It was funny, but give me a break. My kids were laughing at the jokes! It was messed up. It was cool because they know what's happening and they're not stupid. But it just makes you kind of shake your head and say, “Man.” I think about it when I get depressed. I was the biggest dirty rap fan when I was about 13 years old. So I guess things today really aren't too much different.

Q: Dirty rap music?

A: Oh, dirty rap music. Too Short was the first X-rated rapper I ever bought. So just when I think the world keeps getting worse, I stop and remember, I was about the same. I talk to others and remember. You know, Richard Pryor was a comedian, and he was out there. I had Pryor records when I was 14, 15. I guess sometimes I'm just a little boy that just wants to laugh. Sometimes I don't think this stuff needs to be too mainstream. I don't think Afroman needs to be too mainstream. Just for the good of all around society. One side of me wants to be real famous, but the other side of me is real content with just hanging with the boys in the alley, cracking a few dirty jokes, laughing, going home and talking nice around the kids. You know what I'm saying?

Q: I know this is a sad thought, but if you were to drop off the Earth tomorrow, stop making music and stop touring, would people genuinely miss Afroman?

A: No. That's what I like about music. Music is here. You're there! When you sing, you're there. Marvin Gaye came on the other day — I was singing like he was still here. Your music lives on. You can die, but your music lives on. Your music gets more valuable after you're dead. When you're not dead, that's all people got of you. I'm sure that people say they'd miss you. I think my immediate family and people who truly know me would miss me. And I think fans would a little bit if they thought I wasn't putting out records anymore.

Q: Sounds like there's not a lot to be afraid of if your music lives past you.

A: Right. Your music is worth more dead than alive.

What: Hip-hop star performs with The Messenger, DJ Robzilla, The Crazy Carls, The Pinemount Kings and others When: Doors open at 8 p.m. Thursday Where: High Dive, 210 SW Second Ave. Tickets: $12 advance, $15 day of show Info: Ticketweb.com

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