**THIS INTERVIEW APPEARS IN THE JUNE 2012 ISSUE OF XXL.

WORDS THOMAS GOLIANOPOULOS

El-P lives in a walk-up in South Williamsburg, Brooklyn, in a building that resembles a converted factory. The hallways are cramped, and the stairs creak like in a haunted house. The apartment itself is a nice space—rustic, industrial chic. There’s a space heater in the living room. The shower and toilets are in separate rooms. The living room is filled with vinyl and an eclectic assortment of books—Ayn Rand, Harper Lee, David Foster Wallace, Dr. Seuss. There’s a home studio, too.

“This is my dark and gloomy room,” he says, entering the, yes, dark and gloomy room. He composed the majority of the production on his new album, Cancer 4 Cure, here. A poster for the 1982 movie Blade Runner hangs on the wall. He looks at it and jokes, “I’m nothing if not predictable.” Over the years, El-P has repeatedly professed his love for the bleak science-fiction masterpiece. The director’s cut that is—not the original theatrical release of the movie. “That one sucks,” he says. “It has the happy ending.”

It’s not surprising that Jaime “El-P” Meline, 37, prefers the version that ends on a downer. As a member of the mid-1990s rap trio Company Flow, he railed against the happy-go-lucky mainstream, rapping, “I’m sick of your corny beats and your crowd-involved hooks ’cause I’m a thinker,” on their breakthrough record, “8 Steps to Perfection.” If that wasn’t direct enough, the group named their first EP Funcrusher. Company Flow disbanded after a few years, but El-P’s solo career didn’t veer off the dark path: His first two solo albums, Fantastic Damage (2002) and I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead (2007), were cynical, dense explo- rations of post-9/11 New York, George W. Bush’s America and, in general, the evil that men do.

He’s endured a particularly rough patch in recent years. His good friend, the rapper Tero “Camu Tao” Smith, died of lung cancer in 2008; he dissolved his label Definitive Jux in 2010; and he spent the past few years recording his new solo album, which, he says, was a grueling, emotional process. But, for once, El-P is looking at the bright side at things.

“I feel lucky,” he says. “I could just as easily not matter at all right now. I could easily be played the fuck out right now. I could easily be making music that just isn’t connecting anymore. I feel lucky that I’m getting yet another chance. People are paying attention. It’s not something I take lightly.”

***

A tumultuous Brooklyn upbringing helped shape his disposition. His father, jazz pianist Harry “Keys” Meline, left the family when El-P was seven. A stepfather briefly entered the picture, but he was an abusive alcoholic—El-P recounted the terror on the 1997 song “Last Good Sleep.” He was an angry kid, expelled from school twice before dropping out for good when he was 16 and deciding to pursue a career in music. Luckily, his mother was supportive and paid his way at audio engineering school. Within the next few years, he soon met DJ Mr. Len and the rapper Big Juss and they formed Company Flow.

After five years at the forefront of the New York independent scene, spats with their label, Rawkus Records, and solo aspirations brought about a split in 2001. El-P went on to form the label Definitive Jux—which housed artists such as Cannibal Ox, Aesop Rock and Cage—work with diverse acts such as Trent Reznor, TV on the Radio, Mars Volta and Beck, and release two solo albums, which were sonically and thematically different from Company Flow. The music had the same attitude but was a bit more personal, a bit more confessional, and it really took a toll on him. “I go to dark places on these records, and it’s not necessarily fun or easy to tap into that,” he says. “It’s like walking through flames.”

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El-P started working on Cancer 4 Cure soon after Camu Tao’s death in 2008. But the record progressed slowly, and he took a break to produce Killer Mike’s new album, R.A.P. Music. The pair really hit it off. “He’s a mean little fuck,” Killer Mike says. “He really is Brooklyn, New York. He is Brooklyn to the bone. A lot of artists are sensitive to not hurting each other’s feelings—a lot of White artists, in particular, are just too fucking nice. With El, he’s just a tough, nose-to- the-grindstone type dude.”

Working with Mike gave El-P a creative boost towards finishing his own album. He wasn’t feeling as emotive as he was in the making of his last two, he says, and instead went for a little more “punch-you-in-your-face energy.” But Cancer 4 Cure is a solid continuation of his previous work, which means it isn’t really for everybody. It can take multiple listens to grasp onto themes, and the lyrics are, to put it mildly, verbose. But El-P is a gifted MC, equally adept at kicking a double-time flow or slowing things down to a spoken word- like delivery. He can steer effortlessly from satire to self-assessment to story- telling, all within a verse. The production is just as sophisticated, with layer upon layer of moving pieces—heavy synths, drums and bass.

El-P admits that his music is an acquired taste. (“No doubt,” he says.) But now, nearly two decades into his career, he feels more respected than ever. “People are giving me my due a little bit, and hopefully I’ve earned that,” he says. “Over the years, I’ve grown to have a relatively Zen perspective on the whole shit. I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to change or flip my shit. It’s always been me; it’s always been genuine. I think sometimes the attitudes and what people pay attention to changes.”

Cancer 4 Cure recently leaked onto the Internet. Surprisingly, El-P shrugs it off. There are too many good things going on at the moment. He’s still getting props for his show-stopping verse on Mr. Muthafuckin’ eXquire’s “The Last Huzzah (Remix).” And after capping off a string of reunion shows at Coachella, Company Flow announced that they intend on recording new material.

“Everyone is paying attention to everything now and giving it its proper due,” he says. “I think that’s the way music fans feel right now. There is no real dividing line. A lot of rappers over the last six years have really started taking interest in other genres of music. Before there was this clear line; now I don’t see it anymore. I never believed the walls existed in the first place. I was waiting for everyone else to see that. I think it would be wrong for me to be anything less than optimistic. Don’t you think things are getting better?”

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