Shortly after Subban ended his holdout and re-signed with the Montreal Canadiens, the team’s coach Michel Therrien announced that Subban would no longer be permitted to engage in the tradition of “triple low-fiving” goaltender Carey Price after victories. Therrien cited a desire to “pay more respect to the game” as the reason for his strange stipulation. During training camp, fans of Subban had protested against the frugality of Montreal’s front office and the Canadiens came to the realization that the cult of P.K. was too powerful. Bob McKenzie, the most respected member of the hockey media, reported that the Canadiens were making clear that their preference was for Subban to be referred to as plain, old Pernell.

Now, with Subban and the Canadiens winning hockey games, the petty noise that surrounded the contract negotiations is dead. The teammates who responded frigidly to questions about Subban’s return to the locker room are happy to have their backend spark on the ice. P.K. has answered the critics by playing like a man who deserves respect, if not adulation. At 23 years of age, Subban is pulling the trigger on the Habs’ power play, learning to limit his mistakes and solidifying his reputation as a premier defenseman.

Towards the end of the summer, before the prolonged lockout, I encountered Subban under the air-conditioned shelter of a hockey depot store in Don Mills, Ontario. P.K. was making an appearance at the release of his friend and Hockey Night in Canada analyst Kevin Weekes’ “No 5 Hole” clothing line. I didn’t see an oversized ego or a purposeful radical. I saw a self-assured young athlete, the son of strong parents, the eldest of three talented siblings. Subban is aware of his iconic status but he won’t let celebrity interrupt his drive to reach the height of his profession. That’s his decision alone. Before I got a chance to speak to P.K., a female store employee shyly approached her famous crush and gushed about watching his fights repeatedly on YouTube. The girl was almost in tears and, for a final show of affection, she presented Subban with her P.K. doll. Subban held up the puppet, looked his Sesame Street reflection in its fuzzy eyes and laughed, in awe of his image’s reach.

How do you feel about Montreal’s new players and the team’s ability to bounce back this season?

Alex Galchenyuk is a great player. I watched him for a few years before this season and had the opportunity to skate with him. He’s a real rising talent and I’m looking forward to seeing him develop. The playoffs should be realistic every year. In every season there are teams that you don’t expect to make the playoffs that do. It just goes to show that you have to have a good start, and that starts in the summer with training and making sure that you’re in shape.

You’re one of the faces of the franchise now. Though you’re still young, are you taking on a bigger leadership role?

I think that at this point I’m just focusing on getting better every day. Since I’ve been in Montreal I’ve been welcome there, it’s been a warm reception for me these past two years and I’m just trying to continue that as my career goes on. The next step for me is winning a championship and I hope that I get that opportunity in Montreal.

My favourite part of visiting Montreal is the food. I know you frequent Moishes steakhouse. What’s your favourite restaurant in the city?

There are so many to choose from, but I’ve got to go with Garde Manger. The food’s great and I love the atmosphere.

You spend your off-season training in Toronto. Do you ever miss Toronto during the season?

Toronto’s home for me and no place in the world will ever truly feel like home. I love Montreal but coming back to Toronto and seeing my family and friends is a great feeling.

Your brother Malcolm was drafted by your rival team, the Boston Bruins. Do you have any bets with him about whether you’ll snipe one on him?

He’s still got to make the team [laughs]. He’s got a lot of work ahead of him. He’s still young, only 18. I’m sure a lot of people are anticipating his first game in the NHL but I don’t know when that’s going to be and really, he doesn’t. He’s just got to get prepared and give himself the opportunity to make the NHL sooner than later.

Who would win a pond hockey game between the Staals and the Subbans?

[Laughs] Well there’s more Staals than Subbans right now – they’ve got four, we’ve got three, so they’ve got the advantage, but I have to say that we’d probably win because we’ve got a goalie. [laughs]

What sort of individual goals do you set heading into a season?

To be as strong as I possibly can. I was ahead of the curve in my training because I started in May. I’m always trying to improve my fitness level.

I’ve seen you be criticized for your fashion and for standing out. How do you respond to analysts and even opposing players who go at you over your style?

Everybody’s got their own style and reference and at the end of the day, I go to the rink dressed appropriately. It’s my job to come to the rink and look like a professional – I think I’ve done that. I’m a different person just like everyone else. Everyone’s entitled to wear different coloured suits. We don’t have two options – it’s not just black or white. Everyone’s going to have their own opinion about me and I don’t really care. I’ve never cared about what people think. That’s why I’m in the NHL in the first place. People are always going to have things to say. At the end of the day I just play hockey.

Casey hasn’t backed down since arriving in Toronto two years ago. A tenured NBA coach with a championship ring (won as an assistant with Dallas in ’09), Casey has brought professionalism and credibility to a formerly rudderless Raptors team. One of his first moves as head coach was to establish the “Pound The Rock” philosophy – an ethos of grinding every day to improve. The players, a motley crew of youngsters, journeymen and disillusioned veterans, responded. The Raptors are not a contender but the collective effort they show in every game has warmed the usually cold and cynical hearts of Toronto sport fans.

Now, with general manager Bryan Colangelo having pulled the trigger on a trade to bring star forward Rudy Gay to the T dot, there is real pressure to win. Casey couldn’t be happier about the expectations; he’s been a winner and a worker for his whole life and he’s making sure to imprint that personality on the franchise. When I met coach Casey after practice recently, I noticed one Raptors player who stayed in the gym long after his teammates had left for the showers. It was Alan Anderson, a 30-year old who has made stops all over the league and in Europe. In Toronto, Anderson has been granted an opportunity based entirely on merit. Dwane Casey rewards effort.

I walked with Casey to a secluded area of the empty Air Canada Centre (otherwise known as “The Hangar”) and asked the coach about the journey that has led him to Toronto. Casey is well-spoken and has a calming presence that gives you confidence in yourself, like a good grade school teacher. It’s hard not to respect a man who has the patience to maintain his cool while surrounded by microphones every day. After only a brief conversation, I felt like I was ready to fight on the frontlines for coach. In the gym, Anderson continued to fire off jump shots and curse his misses.

__________________

Growing up in Morganfield, Kentucky, what was your introduction to basketball?

My neighbours were Larry Johnson who went to Kentucky and his older brother Tom got a scholarship to Pepperdine university. I saw Tom go to college and get a free education when I was 7 or 8 years old and that was my awakening to what basketball could do for you. I said, ‘Hey, I want to be like Tom and Larry.’ In our little small country town in Kentucky, not a lot of people were going to college.  Larry was the first player from our town to go to the University of Kentucky  and I followed him there.

What defined your game as a high school and college player?

My hustle. I was a decent shooter in high school but I got more done with defense and scrappiness than anything else. In college I was the point guard, but all I was allowed to do was run the show and play defense. We won a National Championship at Kentucky. I was never a scorer but I was a playmaker and the captain of that team. My job was to be a leader and set the tone for everyone else.

You went at (former All-American and NBA player) Kyle Macy in practice, right?

Every day. We had battles. He was such a great shooter – I couldn’t stop him and he had trouble stopping me because I was a lot quicker back then. That’s what I remember about college, the great practices we had. There were twelve of the best basketball players from all over the country on our roster at Kentucky so sometimes our practices would be more competitive than the games.

How did you get your start in coaching?

When I was a senior, my coach Joe Hall asked me if I had thought about what I wanted to after college. I told him I didn’t know. He said, ‘Humana corporation, in Louisville wants to interview you, they want to hire you.’ I did the interview, then came back and saw coach Hall. I told him, ‘Coach, I just don’t know if I want to get into the hospital administration.’ He suggested that I consider staying at Kentucky to be a grad assistant and that’s what I did. I got into grad school for business administration and began coaching. At Kentucky, we had some of the top recruits in the country. We had Sam Bowie, then Mel Turpin. Sam Bowie actually ended up living with me. I took him under my wing, got him acclimated to Lexington, got him over freshman homesickness. We became great friends and are still friends to this day. We almost had (Hall of Famer) Ralph Sampson in that class too. The jet was on the runway in Lexington, ready to go sign him but he changed his mind at the last minute to Virginia. We could have had the Tri-Towers.

Can you explain how good Sam Bowie was to the people who only know him as ‘The Guy Taken Over Michael Jordan’ ?

First of all, he was one of the best shooting big men in basketball. Great hands, could shoot the outside shot, great passing, great basketball IQ. The only thing Sam didn’t have at the time was strength. Everybody today says they would take Michael Jordan, but Michael Jordan back then wasn’t the best player of all-time. Portland had Clyde Drexler and didn’t need a shooting guard, they needed a big. So they took Sam. It sounds like they made a huge mistake but anyone would have made that choice under the same circumstances.

You spent time coaching the Japanese national team. What did you gain from that experience?

Well, it was a different experience – the living, the food. Some of my best friends now are from the time I spent in Japan, not being able to speak the language. That was such a great education for me culturally and basketball-wise, studying under Pete Newell and coaching the national team there. It was like going to graduate school for basketball, being able to pick the brain of a legendary coach every day.

What have you learned about Toronto, since living here, that you didn’t know before?

How great a basketball city it is. This is one of the top sports cities in the NBA. Fans here are very knowledgeable and you don’t know that coming here a couple of nights as a visiting team. Being here, you realize that the writers, the media know the game well. The organization here is first class but the fans, for not having the success over the years, are the most loyal I’ve been around. That’s why I tell the players, ‘You give a heck of an effort and the fans will come.’ They deserve an effort out of us because they’ve stayed true all these years.

Why do you think so many players are wary of coming to play here?

Some players just don’t like being in another country. They have a fear of the tax implications, which is not true. You can pay just as much in taxes playing in California. People worry about the weather, even though you have the same weather here that they get in Chicago and New York.

When did you first see (Raptors rookie guard) Terrence Ross?

I saw him practice at University of Washington during the lockout. I live in Seattle during the offseason so I went to a few of their practices. I saw this active, very bouncy, shooting wing player. I e-mailed Bryan Colangelo and management already had him on the radar. I’ve loved Terrence from the first time I saw him work.

You worked as an assistant for the Dallas Mavericks, who very much value analytics in their game strategy. What’s the influence of statistics on your coaching here?

It gives you a back stop more than anything else. I trust my basketball eyes. Those instincts will fail you every once in a while and numbers can help support a decision. You can’t got strictly on numbers. Numbers don’t read chemistry, talent level, switches or pressure. You have to have a balance.

You were an assistant on the Seattle Supersonics during the Gary Payton/Grunge heyday. What would it mean for Seattle to get an NBA team back?

Like Toronto, Seattle has some great fans. I remember being there in the ’90s, when we were averaging 45-50 wins a year and it was the loudest building, the most rabid fans that you could find. If that comes to fruition it will be very exciting for that city and the league.

I remember being angry when Minnesota fired you in the middle of the season, way back in ’07. It seemed like you had that team performing above their talent level. As a coach, is it difficult to have things out of your control, to know that at any moment you can be made into a scapegoat for management?

It’s what we sign up for. It’s a lot easier to fire a coach than it is to change fifteen contracts. You’re going to get fired eventually unless you win a championship. It seems like eons ago being in Minnesota. We had it going, we were 20-20 at the time, right there in the playoff hunt but they made a decision to go their way and I’m sure that they had their reasons. I know we were doing things right, we were playing defense. There’s different reasons behind every decision – maybe some people like certain colours or whatever it is but it’s part of the business.

Did you view this move, coming from a championship team in Dallas to a building one in Toronto, as a challenge?

I love the challenge. It’s fun to see guys improve but in the end it’s about winning. Coming from a championship team to a building team, it’s a different approach but you know that going in. In Dallas you could skip over the smaller teaching points. Here, you know you have young players and not grizzled veterans so you can’t skip a letter of the alphabet, you need to teach the fundamentals from A-Z.

You’re one of the most stylish coaches in the league. Do you dress for occasion? Does Madison Square Garden get a certain look and etcetera?

[laughs] No, no, I mostly go with what’s clean. I try to represent the team. I make sure to look halfway decent so that I don’t embarrass the organization or my family. [laughs]

Now, on Kaleidoscope Dream, his superb second effort, Miguel has found his own voice and become one of the leaders of his genre’s reinvention. The album is smooth soul music with an underlying adventurous spirit. Miguel, who wrote and produced the majority of the tracks, unabashedly declares his deviation from the norm while alluding to an eclectic blend of influences. On the morning after Kaleidoscope was nominated for five Grammys, including the Song of the Year award for the standout track “Adorn”, we rang up the progressive melodist to talk about his growth as an artist and found him to be as sincere and halcyon as his music would suggest.

First off, congratulations on the Grammy nominations. What was your reaction to that news?

At first I was like “Are you sure?” But then the night went on and I had a couple of drinks and I realized that it felt fucking awesome.

When a new artist emerges, people naturally make comparisons. You’ve been likened to Prince and Marvin Gaye among others. Who would you cite as your influences?

It’s a broad range. Melodically, my main influences are the Beatles and Stevie Wonder. Lyrically I’ve been inspired by David Bowie, Phil Collins and a whole slew of emcees; A Tribe Called Quest, MF Doom, Biggie. But when it comes to the music, the production, I would say The Police, Queen, Funkadelic, Prince, Michael Jackson. Different artists for different things.

That’s a diverse list. How were you exposed to such a wide spectrum of music?

I grew up in a music lovers’ environment. My dad was always listening to really different stuff – I remember him introducing me to Kraftwerk, stuff like that. He was open to everything and I think that’s where my musical taste comes from.

Do you feel like you’re just now finding your musical identity, as a solo artist, or did you have this same vision when you were writing for others?

It’s a never ending process. When I signed, I began to find my voice as musician, my unique perspective and on this album the picture came more into focus. Now I’m making deliberate musical decisions and I have confidence in what I want to accomplish.

“Adorn” is a massive hit and has been nominated for the Song of The Year Grammy. Is there a ‘eureka!’ moment when you complete a song like that?

I’m not the best at picking songs that are going to be hits. That’s not my thing. I only know when a song is special, when it’s right, when it’s complete, when the emotion is captured. That’s my goal for every song; to communicate emotion. Even though music is all sonic,  it isn’t anything tangible, when a song has real emotion in it, it becomes tangible in the way that your body responds. It can be something as small as a change in breathing. When that happens, that’s when I know it’s real but I can never tell when a song is going to connect on a huge level.

Do you ever find it difficult to separate your song-writing persona from the reality of your relationships?

Those real moments are what art is about. To a certain degree you have to know what is and what isn’t appropriate to write about in detail but then again, that’s the beauty of creativity; it’s supposed to be a reflection of life. To not draw from real experiences would almost be sacrilegious to the idea of art.

You’ve said before that when you worked on your first album that it wasn’t really you. Do you feel like the current musical climate is more open to eccentricity?

Absolutely. In other genres it’s always been about individuality. In rock it’s always been about what separates you from the other acts. Somehow R & B became such a commercial thing and lost the purpose and that was to be true to the emotion and soul of the music. Everyone got caught up in trying to be commercially successful. I don’t blame the labels – it’s a business but at the same time the music became disposable. I’ve always wanted to be a timeless artist and all the artists that I look up to, that have survived, are all very unique. It was important for me to be true to that ideal, to my intention. Now there are a few of us in this genre that are finding success because of our individuality and that will only encourage the young kids that are aspiring to become artists to find their own voice. The labels are realizing that it’s worth it to take chances and seek out creativity instead of a certain mold, they’re seeing that there’s money in it. [laughs]

Kaleidoscope Dream is available on iTunes. Follow Miguel on Twitter @MiguelUnlimited

It’s a chaotic scene backstage in the green room, as well. Some 30 odd friends, close and loose, of the headlining act are bumping into one another and spilling vodka out of their red cups. Zack Rapp-Rovan and Dylan Mamid, the two electronic producers who comprise Zeds Dead, are sitting quietly in the center of the party. For the first time in months, they’re at home beside their girlfriends and their parents. The two young men appear to be drained, but they also share looks of relief and pride. This is the exclamation point to a long trip about the globe, it’s a homecoming and family affair. When the countdown to stage is just low enough, the duo gently order all the unrelated revelers out of the room. On the other side, chants of “ZEDS DEAD” beat against the curtain.

When they do take the stage and unleash their patented drop (Bruce Willis’ Pulp Fiction quote complete with revving chopper, baby), the big room rumbles like orangutan Louis’ crumbling temple. Omar, the emcee, announces, “The boys are back in town Toronto!” The moshing kids scream and roar. The two DJs work their monstrous tracks like two water taps, waiting for the perfect moment to turn the faucets and let the bass pour onto the thirsty masses. Samples of Redman, Rolling Stones, James Brown and Moody Blues are cut and flipped into the thumping dub – all tasteful tributes that do not go unappreciated. The music is instantaneously beautiful and gory. Moments of bright melody lead into mechanical plummets into the depths of the sub woofer. They’ve dreamed about a moment like this; to pack one of their hometown’s biggest venues, blast the music that plays in their heads and be met with untamed approval.

After the holidays, Zeds Dead are back to work, inside of an inconspicuous garage behind a small house in Toronto’s Junction neighbourhood. The producers are gathered around the light of the laptop in the hidden, heated studio, experimenting with top line sound equipment. Zack, a lanky joker who can at times come across as introverted, is laid back on the couch. He has a long flow of dark hair that makes for an easily flippable headdress during the more intense moments of a DJ set. Dylan looks a little rougher, more serious, though he too can display a humorous wit. He is often unshaven and wears a fashionable hairstyle befitting his profession. They both nod their heads to their latest sonic concoction and in that moment  look exactly the part of modern music stars.

It’s loud in the small space, but the rattling bass is insulated and so the snow on the exterior barely shakes. The setting is a more refined version of their origin as musicians. As teens they would knock hip-hop in Dylan’s garage, freestyling to beats that they created. The walls were tagged with graffiti. The music was inspired by old school East Coast champions like DJ Premier, RZA and Pete Rock primarily, but both Zack and Dylan had broader tastes reaching to the Beatles and Hendrix. Hip-hop was the current. Using computer programs and a keyboard, they put together instrumentals representative of their music consumption – rich with melody and unique vocal rearrangements

The digital diligence and crate-digging served them well when electronic music returned to the forefront in North America during the late 2000s. They admit having trepidations about making dance music, but the obvious connections to hip-hop helped to ease the transition. “My first experience with techno was this group called Grid, ” says Zack, “my dad made a joke in HMV saying he liked them and my mom took it seriously and bought him the album for his birthday. My dad thought it was a piece of shit but I would actually listen to it. That was when I was young and from there I grouped everything initially as ‘Euro’. But then I heard Daft Punk and was interested. I remember a friend of ours coming into the studio and playing that remix of ‘Satisfaction’ and 50 Cent’s ‘In Da Club’. Even though I didn’t really like 50 cent, that was my bridge between hip-hop and electronic music.” Dylan continues, “A friend of mine had an older brother who would always go to drum and bass raves when we were in high school. He introduced me to drum and bass and I always dug it because it had traces of hip-hop; Method Man acapellas and similar time speeds. That’s how I became aware of it, but I really got into it during the electro revival with Justice and Boys Noize. Around the same time, we heard the samples, like the ‘California Dreamin” remix and then we got really excited when we heard the darker side of electronic music, that’s when we decided that we should give it a go.”

After many, many hours logged on the computer, the pair began to find an electronic niche – a slowed mix of what they considered to be the best of house, hip-hop and drum and bass. The next step was playing the deep, dark music live. Their first shows were in a small room on the west side of Toronto where beer would spray onto the walls and there would always be an underlying fear of the whole place collapsing. The event, called “Bassmentality”, became a weekly fixture and eventually drew enough people to move to a larger, equally beer-stained room. On Wednesday nights hipsters of all ages would gather at a club called Wrongbar in Parkdale and lose their minds over the music of Zed’s Dead. In the dark, they would all syncopate with the growling bass, forget themselves and celebrate the harsh tones of an electronic existence. It was bedlam on a school night.

Dylan describes the reason for the music’s growth in North America;  ”I think there was a gap in the music industry that needed to be filled. Hip-hop was dominating for a long time over here [in North America], at least this is what I experienced, and that got stale. People were waiting to get into something else. Now the electronic scene is the mainstream.” Zack adds, “In Toronto specifically, there was a gap in electronic music. Drum and bass was what the old ravers would listen to and there were all these kids new to the scene, who wanted to party and wanted something to call their own. Dubstep became their sound.”

The local buzz was strong but the true break for the duo came out of co-signs from the UK, where dubstep was born. “Skream [a popular British electronic artist] was one of the first people to support us. He played our song and said he liked it on the radio. Kissy Sellout [an influential BBC Radio personality] really pushed our stuff in the UK before anyone. Hearing our music being played on the BBC was massive. That was our first on-air interview and he’s a tough guy to do it with. [laughs]” Dylan then breaks out into a loving imitation of the fast-talking British DJ; “‘WHAT WERE YOU LIKE IN SCHOOL?’ ‘WHO WAS YOUR FIRST KISS?’” The pair joke about the unprepared awkward answers they gave.

It’s easy to laugh about the past when the present is so fruitful. Now Zeds Dead is a prominent name not just in the electronic scene, but music in general. The pair plays packed houses all over Europe and the United States, including stops at major festivals like Coachella, Lollapalooza and South by Southwest in Austin. The  music that was once reserved for Toronto’s wild youth has been spread to New York, Las Vegas, Berlin and beyond. Dylan recalls one stop in particular that he never would have visited if Zeds Dead didn’t explode like it did; ” We played this festival called Gottwood, way off in a forest at the northernmost point of Wales. Literally the middle of nowhere. It looked like Lord of the Rings, it was spectacular.”

Most artists in the EDM genre welcome Zeds Dead with open arms. Two of the big winners at last year’s Grammy awards, Skrillex and Diplo, are friendly with Zack and Dylan in a manner that recalls the intermingling of rock bands during the 60s. Still, in the wide open ocean of everything, every fan, every mark of approval can be met with a form of backlash. A progressive British musician named James Blake gave voice to the defensive hardcore dubstep fans on the internet last year when he ranted about the North American perversion of the genre. Zack understands Blake’s gripes, noting his own surprise that their music appeals to women, which it does, and recognizing that dubstep is “far from where it started,” but he sees nothing wrong with that change. “He’s saying that it’s unfortunate that it’s still called ‘dubstep’. Maybe there should be another name for it. People are too anal about the terms but I can understand a person who made that kind of music not wanting to be lumped in with music he doesn’t like. We get lumped into the ‘bro-step’ for sure.” Dylan agrees about their place in the middle of a petty terminology war; “We do make stuff like that, some stuff. We make stuff that’s far from where dubstep started in the sense that it’s hard – rave stuff. Half of the arguments on the internet, youtube are people trying to claim genres. I think people discover stuff and feel strongly attached to it because they discovered it themselves. People need to relax and forget about genres.”

Older generations, people like Zack and Dylan’s parents, who can be found dancing backstage at Toronto shows, also struggle to understand Zeds Dead’s sonic exploration. “My mom definitely listens to our more melodic stuff,” says Dylan, “I’ve never gotten an opinion from my dad.” Zack admits that his parents  ”don’t understand the loud noisy stuff but can appreciate the work that goes into it. They know that it’s not just noise, that I try to make it sound a certain way. I think parents should get that they don’t get it, in the same way that parents didn’t like Elvis when he came out. One of the big attractions to the heavy stuff is that it’s something your parents won’t like. Not to say that people don’t like it musically, but the feeling of rebellion is a bonus.”

Looking at them relax in their studio habitat, it’s difficult to imagine the two creating the kind of computerized rage that drives the crowd crazy. “It’s weird to think about releasing anger while we make music because we’re just sitting at a computer,” says Dylan, with a laugh, ” We aren’t rocking out on guitar or anything. We can only angrily click the mouse.” Zack continues; “As far as making beats, it’s often not during the emotion, it’s afterwards. You look back on the feeling and create something that matches.” During the creative process, Zeds Dead keeps the music to themselves. ” When you’re making music it’s important to think about yourself. As we go on, I find that there are less and less people listening to our tracks before we put them out,” says Dylan, “for the most part the crowd are the first people to hear to our new stuff, which is really the best test.”  That insular attitude helps to maintain the duo’s unique approach. “They do whatever they want and I have a lot of respect for that,” chimes Cody Chapman, Zeds Dead’s puckish booking agent,  ”I remember suggesting, when that Avicii song ‘Levels’ was big, that all they needed were some progressive chords and a catchy female vocal to make a hit. Zack laughed it off and said ‘brilliant realization, I’m going to keep doing what I do.’” As young men who grew up witnessing musical careers, both are keenly aware of outside perception, though they won’t let it govern their path. Dylan explains, “It’s impossible not to consider that stuff when you’re coming up. Those weren’t necessarily my main goals, my goal was to make the music I liked, but once you start developing and building a project you become conscious of certain things that you do.” Zack is especially critical of his own work; “Before I made music, I was critical of artists, quick to say if someone was a sellout and I still view myself with that eye. I’m very aware of what I would think of myself. I’ve already done many things that I would think I was a hack for doing.”

All that self-judgement and endless tweaking in the studio goes out the window when Zeds Dead are granted the seductive powers of rock stars on stage. Pretty girls fight against security and one another for a chance to dance onstage beside the DJs. Innocent looking boys turn into raging animals and shake the barriers, worshiping at the pedestal of the soundboard. It’s the most attractive group of zombies you’ll ever see. The musicians respond by losing control on stage as well. “The performance aspect is meditative,” says Dylan, “when you’re up there you forget about everything and lose yourself in it. Even when I’ve been sick on tour, I’ve gotten on stage and felt completely healthy.”

For all the extravagant parties and adulation, tour life can have its drawbacks – primarily exhaustion, both physical and mental. Cities start to blend together. Nights are forgotten entirely. Zack admits as much; “I wake up sometimes in the hotel room and I’m completely disoriented or think I’m at home.” Dylan goes further, ” I’ve gotten pretty out there and may or may have not said the wrong city on the microphone once. The worst for me was when we did a bunch of dates packed together with not a lot of sleep, a lot of partying, got back to Toronto and I was going through customs.  The first question they ask you is ‘Where are you coming from?’ I stopped and could not for the fucking life of me figure out where I was or where I was coming from. I stood there dumbfounded then started to panic, thinking this guy was going to strip search me or something. Thankfully he let me go through and as I was walking away I came to my senses, turned around and yelled ‘BOSTON! I’m coming from Boston!’”

With another year under their belt, another frantic string of flights, bus rides and gigs complete, Zeds Dead shut the doors of their studio to the outside world and return to the computer. It’s these late hours spent together that result in widespread acclaim, audience pandemonium. It’s the same dedication to the sound they’ve had since the hip-hop days in the old garage. Now they can easily sell out the stages Method Man would play when they were teenagers. They can show off a successful product to their parents, who try their best to grasp the phenomenon. Their songs play millions and millions of times over on the web. Sealed up in their den, which could be anywhere, Zach and Dylan sew together wobbles, vocals and explosions, waiting for the right moment to unleash their hard work on people that walk the surface. It’s cold outside but a pyre burns within that booth.

Zeds Dead play the Kool Haus in Toronto on Saturday, December 22nd.

“When I first started off in the minors with the Yankees,” says Jackson, “I walked into the clubhouse wearing baggy jeans and a big white t shirt. Then I saw the whole team wearing suits. I realized that those guys were professionals and if I wanted to get there, I should start dressing like one.” By now he has learned to do more than just look the part. In his third full season as an everyday big leaguer, Austin has maintained a strong batting average atop the Tigers’ order and is arguably the best fielder, at his crucial position, in baseball. Jackson’s success is not a surprise, no reaching movie script. He’s proof that the big baseball scouting machine works. He was always damn good and everybody knew it.

Jackson was preordained for the pros as a young boy in Denton, Texas. He was a natural who also had the great boon of encouragement. “My brother played ball and everything he did, I wanted to do.  I used to go to the field to watch him play all the time. My dad kept working with me at a young age and he built a batting cage in our yard.” Jackson was a superb all around athlete, so capable that Georgia Tech offered him a scholarship to join both their baseball and basketball teams. Looking at his perfectly balanced and agile physique, it’s clear that Jackson could have excelled at any sport he chose. Tech made a good offer but The Yankees drafted him in 2005 and went down to Texas with a deal too enticing to pass on. Jackson would often consider the road not taken, but never regretted his decision. “I don’t have any regrets. I used to think about it a lot in the minor leagues when it seemed like I didn’t have a chance to go up, but everything ended up working out.” So the Yankees stowed Jackson in their farm system, far away from the Bronx, its cameras and voices in the bleachers.  New York is one of the few teams with enough riches to hold off on calling up sure-thing prospects. “Teams are put in a situation where they have to keep players in the minors, even if they’re ready to come up. If you have a veteran guy at that position, it’s hard to take that job away and hand it to a rookie.” Jackson says, noting that he probably could have been in the majors earlier than two years ago. “In my case they let me develop and then looked for a trading spot.” In the winter of 2009, coming off a World Series victory, the Yankees decided that a proven, older player would be more suited to their roster than the spark Jackson would provide. New York traded Jackson, who had yet to plant his feet in the batter’s box of the Bronx Zoo, to Detroit for all-star centerfielder Curtis Granderson. “I wouldn’t say I was disappointed, but I was shocked. I had made a new set of friends out of high school and they were pretty much the college friends I made because I never went to college. I grew up with those guys in the minors. Being traded meant starting all over again.”

Jackson’s now thumbing through old soul albums at a record store called Rotate This. I ask him about playing for his manager, Jim Leyland. This season in particular has been a media trial for Leyland, who is known as one of the last true baseball men. He is a smoking, cursing master who responds only with gruffness to the questions that poke at his strategies. Prior to a recent surge, the pricy Tigers lineup was at risk of missing the playoffs due to inconsistent play and the manager was the natural target. Between admiring Sam Cooke vinyl covers, Jackson adamantly expresses his confidence in Leyland, no matter how stubborn his mustached skipper can seem. Jackson’s belief in his manager is reciprocation for how Leyland greeted him in Detroit; “It was overwhelming when I came over, walking into a new system, but the first thing Leyland told me was ‘We want you to be yourself, we don’t want you to try to be something you’re not, we want you to play your game.’ That put me at ease.” Leyland’s in-game decisions have been skewered (rightfully) by calculating pragmatists on the internet but there is always the incalculable value of leadership, the intangible power of personality.  “He gets fired up,” says Jackson, with his Texas twang, “He’s a motivator and a funny guy, always telling jokes, keeping guys loose.” A look at how the Tigers are rolling now, during the vital stretch, backs it up. Jackson and his teammates are playing with grit, confidence and freedom.

The Tigers are only just arriving at their preseason expectation to be a World Series contender.  Last winter, Detroit’s ownership signed star first baseman Prince Fielder to a massive contract befitting the player’s girth. The financial commitment to a player of Fielder’s caliber, when the team already possessed a dominant slugger in Miguel Cabrera, was a clear message to the team and its fans. “It’s motivation for us as a team,” says Jackson, “to see that the organization is willing to take the necessary steps to win the World Series.” It seemed unusual for Detroit, a city locked in economic depression, to be zealous buyers but the Tigers are a big money team. With few other shows in town during the summer, the city leans on its ball club. Jackson and his teammates are aware of their role in the community; “This is definitely one of those situations where a city gathers around their sports team,” he says, “You can feel it. They’re selling out Tuesday night games, and the crowd is right in the game, they know what’s going on.”

Jackson’s drive to better himself is as impressive as his athleticism. Since he entered the majors, Jackson has struggled with strikeouts. This year he made a commitment to limit his whiffs and he has, by about 50. Being an aggressive hitter is a tough characteristic to unlearn and yet Austin has vastly improved his discipline, hitting for a consistent batting average over .300. The steady approach is crucial for the Tigers because Jackson’s visits to the base paths often end at home plate. Cabrera (likely the league’s MVP) is beating the stitches off the ball and Jackson, with his great speed, has been the beneficiary as he is set to finish in the top 5 in runs scored.  In the field Jackson constantly displays his work ethic, never giving up on the ball until it’s landed in the seats. When asked to name his personal favourite of his many highlight catches, Jackson mentions an occasion where he robbed Baltimore’s center fielder Adam Jones of a home run. I contend that it was his Willie Mays-like preservation of a perfect game. “It’s the biggest area out there,” Jackson says of playing center field, “You have to be in shape and know the park. Detroit especially has a lot of space to cover.” As a hitter Jackson uses the space to his advantage, driving balls into the pasture he otherwise patrols so that he can zip around to third base. From that corner of the path it’s only a short jog to cash in and high five.

We walk to a nearby cafe and Jackson admires the summer scene. ” The culture here is wonderful. And you have some beautiful women in Toronto. On the road you don’t really get a chance to explore. ” There’s something reassuring about a rich 25 year old appreciating the beauty of a street corner in an unfamiliar city. I can imagine Austin having the same grin on his face when he first saw that private batting cage as a child. The excitement Jackson displays on the field when he rounds third or chases a deep fly ball is not restricted to baseball, it’s an extension of his passion for life. He’s genuinely thankful. When you’re around him you start to realize that his talent is a product of his disposition rather than the reverse. Inside the cafe Jackson downs two espressos and enjoys a few more laughs. He’s due at the ballpark in a couple of hours for first pitch. To be young in the big leagues.

It’s Autumn now and the last days of a long campaign are blowing away. The Tigers are peaking at the right time, which is what every team hopes for in the spring. Jackson is doing his part for the club by being himself; setting the table for the big boppers that follow in the lineup, patrolling the vast centerfield of Comerica Park and sparking the positive vibes. Detroit needs his skills in the playoffs. On desperate October nights, a lead off knock or a run-saving snag can be the difference. The weather is starting to sour in the north. Soon the fields will be covered and the gates will be shut. The American daydream will be locked away for months. The bats are weighty. As the sun sets, Austin glides through the outfield shadows with the same jump he had at season’s opening. For some, the summer never ends.

Photos by Jaz Panaguiton.

This was my first trip to a golf tournament of any kind. I have been watching the PGA, specifically the major championships, for my whole life. But the experience of watching golf on television is vastly different from witnessing it in person. The difference is not as pronounced with other sports in the high definition era, with the exception of maybe American football. From the couch you can watch a golf tournament in full as you are taken around the course seamlessly from player to player, shot to shot. In person you have to make choices about what you want to take in. There are the grandstands that wait on the greens, the comfy accommodations for patrons and media, the clubhouse on the 18th hole for members and the crowded gallery for all the rest.

I began my day sitting near the 1st tee where each grouping was announced to equal applause. Equal support until Rory McIlroy stepped up for his first shot. The Irishman, ranked second in the world heading into the Open, represented the British hope for glory. His trio was filled out by Keegan Bradley, a lanky American with a slight resemblance to Johnny Knoxville, and Louis Oosthuizen, a South African jostling with McIlroy for a position in the PGA rankings. McIlroy was the last to strut to the tee and was showered with yells of “Come on Rory!” Andy Murray received his share of that cheer when he finished second at Wimbledon a few weeks prior. Once McIlroy had teed off, I quickly decided that I would spend the morning trailing him to the 18th green.

It is taxing to pursue one playing group, especially at Lytham where heavy rain had rendered the hilly course a mud field. I sacrificed my boots to watch the Irishman’s round. McIlroy, unobstructed by sloppy ground and crowds, walked with swagger befitting a prodigy of his kind. His head was high and his arms swung with purposeful looseness. By comparison, Bradley’s walk was stiff and Oosthuizen carried himself with a calm that bordered on indifference. The aura that McIlroy projected on the early holes, with every spectator behind him, called to mind the same country club confidence that defines Tiger Woods.

The sky was split in half between clouds and blue. Depending on the direction of the hole, players were shooting either into darkness or optimism. A myriad of accents from all over the isles filled the spaces between the courteous silence for a shot. Occasionally, a marshal would call out a member of the gallery for taking photos or using their cell phones. Some spectators were smoking rolled cigarettes. A chip truck serving gravy and mince pies was parked steps away from the balcony where club members sipped champagne.

McIlroy’s round was uneven. He would rectify inaccurate tee shots with brilliant approaches out of the imprisoning brown bunkers but then his putter would fail him at the last. He contained his frustration in a professional manner that seemed unfit for his boyish looks and initial bravado. As each two-putt was recorded on his score card, his relaxed parade up the fairways tightened. On the final green, with members peering out the windows of the old clubhouse, McIlroy missed a putt for birdie. He exhaled all the air that had inflated his chest and stared up the brim of his cap to the cracked sky. McIlroy removed his cap and revealed a mess of sweaty curls. His caddy patted him on the back. With his round finished, he disappeared behind the 18th gallery. He would finish the tournament 8 strokes over par and the British glory would have to wait. Those damned slow greens.

The afternoon was owned by Tiger. When Woods is playing there is the sense that no other pros are on the course, that he is the only attraction. I moved along with the overflow that had emptied from the grandstands and trudged from all over the course for a glimpse of Tiger. The crowd for Woods was different than Rory’s support. Few of the masses came to cheer or hope, they gathered to witness an event, like gazing at a meteor shower through a telescope or watching the OJ car chase from an overlooking freeway. The noise from Rory’s gallery was encouragement, for Woods it was gasps and roars.

I navigated between the crevasses of a stampede towards the second hole. The ground offered only patches of flattened long grass between puddles. I kept jumping to watch Tiger’s walk; proud and angry – an imperial gait. He was wearing black and a goatee. Woods had no fear of revealing his rage when he screwed up a shot or left a putt just short of the cup. He would carry the frustration to the next hole, where he would drive the golf ball out of sight or use an iron to hit a stinger that hung low enough for the gallery to follow with their eyes.

Children had joined the movement, and the crowd became less monochromatic. We all marched together with Tiger.  ”This must be Tiger’s army,” an older gentleman remarked. There was such a furor over coming close to Woods’ celebrity that a golf ball, which had bounced into the thick rough, caused a rush to encircle the tiny, white sphere. A kid, no older than 12, laughed as he turned his eyes back to the fairway. “That isn’t anybody’s ball,” he said, “somebody just threw it to clear out the gallery. I can’t wait to see these idiots realize that it’s nothing.” Tiger inspires rabid fanaticism.

But to watch Tiger sink a putt of some difficulty is a great sight in sport. How he bends down and scans the plain with a predator’s eyes, how he slickly steps around his opponents while they line up their stroke. Then, he coolly sets into place and the whole show stops in complete silence; no clicks, no whispers. He lets that suspense sit for just an extra moment, then softly delivers the ball to the tin. The other two players (in this case Sergio Garcia and Justin Rose) watch the expected, like they’re playing the computer. The crowd pops up in applause. Tiger gives a gentle Jordanian fist-pump, retrieves the ball and raises his hand to the crowd. He can do it without us. We’re as ancillary as the trees.

Ernie “The Big Easy” Els won the tournament because the Australian Adam Scott collapsed. Scott bogeyed the final four holes to give the Claret Jug to Els, who had not won a major championship since 2002′s Open in Scotland. Woods finished third. On the last hole, Scott stuck his ball behind the fortress wall of a brown bunker and could not recover. It was another one of those tragic failures in the final act that go in hand with golf’s great victories. Men lose their nerves over the flight of a tiny, white ball and their competitors capitalize. The sport is not meant to be played in a crowd, but professionals play through, whether they kiss the trophy on the stage of the clubhouse or stand broken and alone in front of hordes of strangers. It is an anomalous sport. Consistency is the pursued rarity. Most are at the mercy of the bounces that separate Els’ two Open championships. Few walk with Tiger and McIlroy, with a strong chance at conquering every course laid before them. As a boy Rory followed Woods, now he threatens his idol. There was a cold breeze from the coast at Lytham and the sky changed from divine to dismal as it pleased. A crowd gathered to watch men be tested by the landscape. They left by rail when it was dark.

Photo courtesy of Getty Images.

Electronic music has long passed the spastic chaos of arrival in the collective consciousness. Skrillex’s three Grammy awards can attest to that. At this point, it does no good to challenge the form for its musical merits –  you’ll come across as a 1960s catholic father who’s just come home to discover his daughters bouncing on the bed, listening to the sexualized guitar licks of longhairs. This is the time to appreciate electronic music, to recognize it as an artistic progression because right now it’s the only type of music that has an upward trajectory. It’s time to celebrate the young talents like Porter Robinson. The signatures on Robinson’s high school yearbook have barely dried and he is already a worldwide name, touring packed venues with unique arrangements and mixes. A conversation with Robinson reveals the intuitive, mature intellect that lies beneath the thumping pulse of his music and a young man who has no intention of fading out.

How did you get your start producing and DJing?

I started writing music when I was about 12 because I heard electronic music in video games and stuff like that. I wasn’t listening to a lot of other music at the time and I just really dug it so I downloaded some programs online, first a program called Acid and then FL Studio which is what I still use now. I was mainly writing tracks to put out on the internet and to try to impress other musicians who I felt had high standards. I just wanted to share the sound. Eventually I started to gain fans here and there and then I got a number 1 on Beatport with “Say My Name”. I had never seen a DJ, I had never played anywhere but I started getting booking requests to go play shows out on the West Coast. I was 18 and had no concept of any of this. I taught myself how to DJ and flew out there, met my manager and played my first couple shows. I found that I really enjoyed it and that’s my story.

What was your first booking?

My first show was at a small club in Santa Cruz. After that I played at an event in San Francisco called Blowup. For that one I actually travelled with my dad, who was completely baffled by the whole thing. He wanted to feel it out and he ended up having a great time. Now he totally understands the whole scene; he can tell Skrillex from Wolfgang Gartner. [laughs] At first I’m sure it was very strange for him, and it was also strange for me. It would make more sense if I was going to see DJs all the time but I wasn’t doing that – I’m from Chapel Hill, North Carolina and we don’t really have a lot of DJs here. I was too young to go to clubs anyways.

What’s the biggest show you’ve played?

Probably the Electric Daisy Carnival in Las Vegas. I think there were some tens of thousands of people there. As far as my own headline shows I’ve sold roughly 1500-2000 tickets. My biggest accomplishment was probably selling out The Music Box in L.A. 2 months before the event. That was insane, it blew everyone’s minds in our camp. Everyone’s doing well right now so it’s not unique. This scene is just exploding.

What’s the craziest thing you’ve seen in the crowd at your shows?

It would have to be frosh week in Vancouver; the drunkest college students you’ve ever seen. These kids were so wasted that they were getting up on the stage and stage diving, trying to clear a gap that they just could not clear. They kept hitting the ground and so many kids did it. It was like a mass suicide, it was unreal. [laughs]

Do you have a pre-show routine? Do you make any strange requests in your rider, like 50 pastrami sandwiches on rye or 12 bottles of Zima imported from Japan?

I used to be kind of superstitious about it, you know I needed to drink some coffee or have a Red Bull, but I’ve come to realize that those things mostly don’t matter. Now I’ve got a more Zen approach, I just sort of let it happen. In my rider we ask for the standard technical stuff and send in a ‘do not play’ list for the opener but for the most part we don’t ask for much. I don’t want to eat or drink a bunch of bullshit before I start playing anyways. The crazy rider stuff is mainly a way of telling the promoters ‘you need to be really on top of this, you need to be paying attention because we don’t fuck around’. That’s why people ask for green M&Ms or whatever. It works and it gets people talking so it’s cool but it was never really my thing.

Branches of electronic music, such as dubstep and moombahton, have become trends in their own right. What do you think will be the next mutation of the art form?

What I’m really finding is that this style of hard electronic music, people are making in all tempos. Electro is 128 BPM (beats per minute), dubstep is 140 and moombahton is 110 but artists are exploring that whole range in between all those tempos and what’s happening is people can’t even distinguish them at this point. You could go on a dubstep video and the top comment will be “Hey you fucking idiots this is moombahton,” and no one can tell, they just want to be right. The next thing to emerge won’t be a genre, it’ll be an attitude because all these tempo-specific genres are so definite that they’re not very useful anymore. And who the hell would have predicted that dubstep was going to be the next big thing, that this super slow bass music was going to be the jam? It’s always impossible to predict.

Have you been approached about producing pop songs?

All the time. I’ve just got to swat them down left and right. [laughs] I don’t hate pop music and in fact I think one of the most detrimental and pervasive attitudes in society is the whole anti-pop, ‘fuck this because people enjoy it’ mentality. At the same time I don’t want to delve into pop production because I want to maintain a certain credibility and have that hipster sensibility. I think the one easy way to kill your career is to sacrifice coolness for money. You should always be about having the best look and then the money comes later, if you care about that.

You mentioned the issue of people having an anti-pop mentality and as the music continues to grow we’ve seen that reach electronic producers. For example, here in Canada the mob slowly turned on Deadmau5 as he became more well-known. It sounds crazy but with your rise in popularity, have you faced any kind of backlash?

I’m sure that’s very true in Toronto. If you look at the YouTube comments on Deadmau5, they say things like “this guy is so mainstream”, meanwhile he’s making 12-minute long tech-house which is the absolute antithesis of mainstream. Also, the way people have turned on Skrillex in the last year or so has been sad for me to watch. I’ve seen a couple people who I identified as my fans, who were really into me in the first two months drop off but for the most part I’ve experienced very little of that. I think people are still generally down and one way to keep people on board is that credibility I mentioned before. There are a lot of artists who have maintained mainstream success, like Ratatat for example, who people don’t reject for their popularity because they’ve stayed mysterious and kept their brand strong. As long as you’re consistent and your old fans can never say ‘wow, this dude’s really changed’ then you can hold onto your long-time fans.

When you made the track “The State” did you set out to make a song about that subject or did you start with the sample and build from there?

Man, every time I talk about “The State” I get in some type of trouble so I’ll be very careful about what I say. [laughs] I found that Murray Rothbard sample to be compelling and it was a nice crystallization of where I was at politically at that time. I made that song really, really quickly and that’s about all I have to say about it.

How would you describe your production space and process?

It’s always just me and it’s been that way since the beginning. I don’t really have a studio either, it’s just my bedroom. It’s my desk, an old crappy desktop computer, no hardware, no synths, all me and my software. I produced every song that anyone has ever heard by me on $100 Logitech speakers. It’s all been very low-fi and I think that’s still a totally viable approach in 2012.

You can listen to Porter’s tracks on his Soundcloud page and follow him on Twitter @PorterRobinson. Photo by Cody Black.

For his part, Freddie Gibbs did not disappoint. When I called the rapper, our chat was almost exactly how I imagined it would be from listening to his music. Right from the start Gibbs was content to tell me that he was sitting in the studio at his house in L.A., “smoking a blunt.” His voice was the same deep and rusted growl that you can hear on his mixtapes Str8 Killa No Filla or Cold Day In Hell. The charisma, sense of humour and Midwest slang were all present. There was no drop off. This made perfect sense because much of Gibbs’ foundation as a rapper is his authenticity. Throughout his records he makes sure to detail his drug-dealing past in Gary, Indiana (the ‘blackest’ city in America) and proclaim how real his lyrics are. Gibbs has truly lived the street story that every rapper claims for themselves, whether they’ve earned it or not. Of course, a hardened past would mean nothing without talent and Freddie Gibbs has that in abundance; his lyrics, rhyme structures and cadence are impeccable. Gibbs’ ridiculous skills and prolific mixtape work have had his name bubbling for nearly four years, but recently his career took a significant leap. Young Jeezy, no stranger to the pop charts and a genuine gangster in his own right, signed Gibbs to his label CTE and announced plans to release Freddie’s first official album. At the moment there are few musicians with a character as compelling as Freddie Gibbs, and the spitter from Big Ten country made clear to me that his personality would never be cut.

You’ve been called the champion of Midwest hip-hop…

I am.

How would you describe the Midwestern sound?

All you have to do is pop my CD in, that’s Midwest gangster rap right there. There’s nobody doing it like I’m doing it where I’m from. There are a lot of copycats where I’m from who try to copy whatever they see on TV, whatever they think is hot to get them to the top. I came in this shit doing me and I’m going to finish it doing me. I’m never going to conform to what everyone else wants; I’m going to make what I deem necessary to make and I think that will be the true expression of where I’m from. The Midwest, we haven’t really put our foot down yet. We haven’t fully established our self as a region. We have some icons; Kanye, Common, Bone Thugs, but from a street side we haven’t been represented to the fullest.

Have any young rappers from the Midwest come to you for advice?

My little homies in Gary do but man, I’m still trying to make my own way in the game. I have no advice to give these young n***as – what am I going to tell these n***as? About selling crack? [laughs] Shit, all I can tell them is do what you gotta do, feed yours, and keep an independent mind state because this rap game is dirty. This pen is the best teacher, man, to keep it 100 with you.

When I first heard that you were signing with Jeezy, at first I thought that it came out left field – I had organized the two of you in separate columns. Were you hesitant to step into that partnership given your musical differences?

Never. Because, I be telling people I’m the most versatile rapper in the game. I’ve got songs with Jeezy, Euro acts, rock bands and I do all that and never step out of my zone. A lot of people try to do that kind of stuff and reinvent themselves every time they do. I keep it gangster on everything I lay down. It lets people know that you don’t have to conform to be tight. I just put out a song with Jeezy and put out a song with MadLib the next week.

What other rappers would you like to collaborate with in the future?

I don’t know man. If a rapper wants to collab with me, I’ll vibe with him but for the most part I don’t be fucking with these rappers, dog. They be some weirdos.

How did the collaboration with (dubstep artist) Joker come about?

That’s what I’m saying, that’s an example of what I’m talking about. It was a dude all the way from the UK who respected what I was doing and I showed mutual respect and we made a record. I’m an easy guy to work with.

Were you a fan of dubstep prior to doing the track?

I’m gonna keep it 100 with you; I don’t fuck with dubstep like that. But if the dubstep world likes the way I rap, I’ll rap on their tracks and we’ll get this money my n***a. I didn’t know what it was until they brought it to my attention. You learn something new every day, that’s all a part of growing musically.

The one criticism of your music, and it’s barely a criticism, is that you’re almost too good at rapping, meaning that your flow is so flawless it’s hard to extract memorable quotes or events within verses. How do you respond to that?

You’ll remember all those quotes when I die though. I don’t understand how somebody could be too good at rapping, that’s crazy. And you’re not the first motherfucker that’s said that. If that’s my only criticism then I’m cool with that. As long as you can’t call me a pussy or say that I rap about something I don’t know about or say I can’t rap. I can rap about what the gangsters rap about and I can rap just like Mos Def if I’ve got to. It ain’t shit to me.

As an artist who benefitted greatly from the Internet, I wanted to hear your opinion of the role of the web in hip-hop specifically. Given the simplicity of creating a rap song on your computer (all you need is a microphone and any instrumental) and the abundance of aspiring rappers do you worry about the genre becoming diluted?

Nah, you can’t dilute that potent shit, like when you’re cooking dope. That potent material will always rise to the top, that bullshit is gonna evaporate. It’s me and a million other rappers fighting for attention. I’m from Gary, Indiana – nobody’s checking for us. I have to make people check for me and that’s always been my mentality.

It’s clear that you take pride in creating cohesive mixtapes that are essentially albums. Do you treat every project like it’s a major release?
Some rappers will use a mixtape to give you some bullshit music but I don’t do that, I’m trying to give you quality every time. My mixtapes are better than most albums.

When did you first think ‘I can rap professionally’ ?
Probably around 20 years old. I knew I could rap better than anyone else in my neighbourhood. I used to hang in my homeboy’s studio and rap, smoke weed, sell weed, sell dope. I used to see everyone that came through, everyone in the city came through that studio. So really I just studied everybody else, studied what they were doing wrong and I was like ‘alright, I think I can do this.’ I spent a lot of time perfecting it. I wasn’t the dude in high school beating on the table, I was trying to get some women. I knew if I was getting into it I wasn’t going to play with it, I was going to do it the correct way.

What artist do you listen to that people would be surprised by?
That’s a good-ass question man. I listen to wide variety of stuff. I don’t listen to silly shit though. I like Weird Al Yankovic. I be bumping Weird Al’s shit, that dude is remixing people’s songs better than the originals.

The Palace Theatre is drawn in on the cover illustration of Cold Day In Hell. The Jackson 5 famously performed at that venue. What inspiration did you take from their success coming out of Gary?
Nothing, to be real. Zilch, nada. You can’t take away what the Jacksons did for black music, but what the Jacksons did didn’t do much for Gary.

I saw that the Big GhostFase blog tweeted at you, calling you a real rapper. That blog takes aim at ‘fake’ rappers, as do you. What is it that bothers you about these rappers? Is it that they’re disingenuous or is it more the music itself?
It’s a lot of the music that I don’t like. There’s a lot of fraudulent stuff going on but that’s been going on in rap forever. I’m not mad at these rappers for being fakeass dudes who know how to rap because they’re feeding their family off that shit. What I don’t like is the street culture getting exploited. If you’re making street rap, pay your dues, do something for the community. Overall I think the quality of rap has gone down. There just aren’t that many rap albums that come out where I think ‘I gotta go buy that’ and that used to be in high abundance when I was younger. Every month it felt like there was something dope coming out from the East or the West or the South, now when you turn the radio on it’s the same five dudes. Even on satellite radio it’s the same five dudes. The game is too fucking corporate, but the way I feel about it; I’m not willing to compromise my art just to get on the radio or to get attention. I’ll be the king of the underground.

Photo credit: Virigl Solis

Freddie Gibbs is currently on tour in Europe and working on several projects, including collaborations with MadLib, Ski Beatz and Alchemist. You can follow him on Twitter @FreddieGibbs. Download Cold Day In Hell here.