Lil Wayne, “Space Oddity” (Originally Published August 2008)

Lil Wayne has grown into a household name since releasing his monumental album Tha Carter III in 2008. On Monday, the album turned five and we gathered Wayne’s collaborators to tell us compelling stories on how certain tracks came together. It’s crazy to see how far Wayne has gone since his career-defining album. From the looks of it, the prolific rapper has continued to stay in work mode and received more accolades as the years have gone by.

As Wayne prepares for his America's Most Wanted tour with T.I. and 2 Chainz, we decided to take a look back at Wayne’s 2008 interview right after his album sold over a million copies. Sounding just as determined as ever, Wayne dishes on Kanye’s influence, drugs, and why he adopted the “martian” moniker.

Written By Datwon Thomas

Sure, anticipation was high. But no one saw this coming. Over the course of one week in June, 26-year-old New Orleans rapper Dwayne Michael Carter, a.k.a. Lil Wayne, did the unthinkable, selling 1.1 million copies of his latest album, Tha Carter III, in a music market way down on its luck and buck. With album sales off nearly 40 percent from their peak eight years ago, the feat stands as a sure-shot indication of a breakthrough to true superstardom: 50 Cent status, Eminem status, Jay-Z. Think about the list of artists who’ve never in their storied careers sold as much in such a short period of time: Madonna, Bruce Springsteen, U2, Mariah Carey—hell, Jay-Z!

Wayne’s rocket ascent might seem out of nowhere to mainstream onlookers (when Carter III’s lead single “Lollipop” hit No. 1 onBillboard’s Hot 100 in May, it was his first appearance on the chart’s Top 10), but rap fans have been following his story since he came on the scene as a teen—the youngest member of Cash Money Records’ late-’90s juggernaut the Hot Boys. Things have gotten most interesting over the past four years, though, as—in the wake of a Hot Boys break-up that imperiled the label—Wayne has undergone a creative blossoming unlike anything hip-hop has ever seen. The last of the original crew to remain with Cash Money founder Brian “Baby” Williams, named president of the label in 2005, and granted his own Universal Records–backed imprint, Young Money, the same year, Wayne embraced the wrap-it-up-and-put-it-out ethos of the mixtape era–turned–Web 2.0, recording at an astounding pace and flooding the streets with new material. And the more he worked, the better he got, his lyrics transcending the Hot Boys’ blinged-out gangsterism with mind-spinning wordplay and kaleidoscopic imagery. Shrugging off naysayers, gossip, drug arrests and competition, he just kept making music, keeping himself in a hazy, narcotic bubble of a mindstate. His uniqueness became hard to put into words. He famously claimed to be the best rapper alive, and then a monster, “the rapper eater,” and then, finally, a “martian.”

We find Wayne today in the makeshift recording studio on his tour bus, parked in a Los Angeles hotel lot. “Studio” is a stretch. The equipment consists of an old-school stand-up mic wired to a Macbook laptop that’s seen better days—much better days, cracked along its right side to the guts of a keyboard jury-rigged with (no lie) a Bic lighter jammed inside the plastic casing. “You got to have it in there to make it work!” Wayne says, laughing. (This is the trusty old back-up computer, apparently. A brand new model has been taken off the bus for data transfer.) Decked out in a white-on-black Adidas track suit with matching shell toes and a black New Era fitted, Wayne looks like a lost member of Run-DMC—a mouthful of diamond-encrusted grills being the only Generation-Y giveaway. He’s calm and cool, kicked back on a couch, watching the ESPY awards on ESPN—yet suddenly combustible if the conversation turns to a topic that raises his ire. Reveling in the afterglow of his phenomenal, astronomical, otherworldly success, when the red light on XXL’s digital recorder lights up, Wayne gets on his space ship and hovers.

So you’re the million-selling man. Were you surprised at the fi rst-week success of Tha Carter III, or were you expecting numbers like that?
Oh no, never. No, we wasn’t expecting it. No way planning for it. It was a surprise to us just like it was to everyone else. [Yet,] I wasn’t too surprised, ’cause you know, I am the person we are talking about; so my confi dence and motivation and all that stuff should be up to par. I should expect nothing less than great, because that’s how hard I work and that’s what I put into it. It wasn’t that surprising, but it was overwhelming nevertheless.

What do you mean by overwhelming?
Well, you know. It’s just like, saying you have a million dollars in the bank. But somebody putting that million dollars in front of you in all cash—it’s a big difference. That’s what it felt like.

It really shows you, and gives you a personal sense of your hardwork, when you see them checks and what the numbers say on that. That’s when you know, Yeah, I’ve been working hard and I deserve this… But to show you that real progress that you’ve done something is when you walk into that office and the name say “Carter” on the door.

Seems like you’ve stepped up the business side of your career lately. You’d always been the young prince of Cash Money; then you were named president; then you got your own label. Are you focusing more on that side of things lately, as opposed to just the music?
Of course. I’m growing. The money make you do it. That’s how you can tell a person that’s getting real money. ’Cause you just can’t be receiving no two, three, four, five million dollars every single time, and not acting and carrying yourself and showing that you are not into your business. That automatically puts you into your business side. ’Cause hey, my business is making three and four million a month. So I need to know what’s really going on. That’s the way that you spot somebody making some real money in this shit. They can say what they say on a song. That’s fine. And you do have enough money to buy you a nice house and nice car or take a woman out to where you want to. But do you have enough money for your future? Do you know where you stand in 10 years? Even if I die tomorrow, I do…

When the rest of the Hot Boys crew left Cash Money, they said it was for money reasons, that they were doing what they had to protect their future. Did you start to look at your own situation differently at that time?
Nah, I ain’t even gonna front, I never looked at anything different at that time. I actually had to bear a whole lot more responsibilities; so I had no time to fi gure, Okay, if they doing… You not rocking with them; stick to what you rocking with. My focus was on, Keep doing me.

What was that time like for you, as far as feeling pressure?
None. Not at all. I mean, I was still young. But at that time, I was younger, ambitious, ready—and felt like it been my turn. So there were no thoughts or emotions that went into it. It was basically what I been waiting to do. It was unfortunate that they left, but it was just my time.

Do you see that time as one when you advanced lyrically? Like, going beyond just “bling bling” stuff to really saying something. Where do you feel you took that turning point lyrically? Some
people mention the “Soldier” remix from 2005. Was it earlier?
I feel I took that turning point from the day that I started rhyming, ’cause when I got with Cash Money—and you can ask them—I rapped those songs ’cause they made me rap like that. They used to do interviews and say that Wayne is the most un–New Orleans, New Orleans nigga. Baby used to stay saying Wayne is better walking around in some Timbs and a backpack. ’Cause they favorite rappers was Soulja Slim, D.O.C.

My favorite rapper at the time was Missy Elliot. She was stupid creative. Nobody could fuck with her. There’s a difference between saying you on the block, knowing how to put what you did 10 years ago in a rap—that’s cool. But how about a person—not knocking Missy—but how about a person not having all the glitz and glamour of another muthafucka, but you on your block and they making you love what they say about themselves. At that time—and she still do—she rap about her style. She might throw her clothes in there or her money in there.

It seems that you started getting better when you had different influences come into the crew, like Gillie Da Kid and Boo & Gotti and them. Different people for inspiration…
It wasn’t really Gillie never. ’Cause at that time, I wasn’t doing the Cash Money thing. I was on my Sqad Up shit. Baby wasn’t too fond of us at the time. At that time, they had all them ’cause a nigga wasn’t around. But they had this one rapper, Mickey. If anybody had me really get on my shit, Mickey. By the time Gillie and them came, I was just a hi-andbye nigga. I’m just stopping by, “What up my niggas, blazay-blah.” Smoke one or two, talk about some shit and be gone.

Mickey, where was he from?
He from the Chi’.

What was it about his style that made you get on your shit?
You know them niggas from the Chi’. Like Kanye say his words right, you can understand exactly. But it was really a mental thing, ’cause after the 500 Degreez album, I was trying to fi gure out how the hell I ain’t getting recognized and I’m spittin’ better than every nigga I know. So I simplified all my shit. Like, [before] that shit would be jumbled. I’d listen to a song and be like, I totally didn’t have to use that word.

The “A Millie” beat has a million different MCs spittin’ on it. How does that feel, to hear everyone else go over your track?
It’s glorious. I like every last one of them, too. I’ll let you in on a secret: If you pay attention, I never say nothing about a mill but one time: “A million here, a million there…” I just keep saying, “Muthafucka, I’m ill…” I thought that bitch was saying “I’m illy.”

Tha Carter III doesn’t sound like a southern album. There are hardly any Cash Money references. The style is more reminiscent of projects associated with your new managers, Gee Roberson and Hip Hop, former A&Rs at Roc-A-Fella Records. Were they big influences on this album?
Yeah, they were. Them and Tez, they worked together like a threeheaded monster. But my [manager Cortez Bryant] was picking the songs, and I would record every night and just email him the songs. That’s why it’s easy for him to pick it, ’cause he’s not in there when we recording. Now if you in there when we recording, you gonna feel like every song should be out. But I look at it like my dream has been fulfilled. I just want to be heard.

How influential was Kanye on the rap side of things? During the BET Awards, y’all were like best friends.
Kanye is very influential; he’s in the same game I’m in. To play in the same game that ’Yeezy’s in, you have to play hard like he play.

Jay-Z passes you the torch on the song you did together, “Mr. Carter.” What’s it like getting that kind of accolade from him?
I was just speechless when I heard the verse. I can’t explain it. But to get the torch, I gotta maintain that focus of the eye-of-the-tiger. Thank you for the acknowledgment, but let me get back to work.

With all these newly formed alliances, is your business relationship with Baby solid?
Oh, it’s all love. When Universal gave me my own shit, Young Money, about two years ago, within that deal I didn’t have to depend on [Cash Money] to pay me. Now I can get paid through my own. You know how good that is, knowing they just had three people, four people that left and that’s what the big thing was? So, of course, they were quick to get that shit settled like that.

What kind of weight was that off your shoulders? To feel, Now everything is coming to me. That’s a big change, too.
No, I deserved to get my own money. I deserved to get more money. I deserve to make a hundred million dollars to a billion dollars throughout my lifetime. As a kid, I knew I was gonna be filthy rich, when I ain’t have shit. If you don’t think like that, you won’t be like that. Straight the fuck up.

Are you feeling like you’re on a different level now?
I am on another level. So rappers be scared.

It’s been reported you’re working on collabo projects: a duo with T-Pain called T-Wayne. And of course, I Can’t Feel My Face, with Juelz Santana, has been in the works for years. With all your solo work, how are you going to do them all?
It’s like you saying to me, “How did you walk over here?” How? The same way I did Carter I, Carter II, Carter III and any other song that you like, or may not like… The answer to how I’m a real musician is: Me. I am how. I can’t write it down for you.

Is that why you don’t write lyrics down?

Exactly. ’Cause I am what I say I am and what I do. Somebody asked me the other day, “Do you say what you mean and mean what you say?” I said, “Fuck no. I am what I say.” If you are giving me the opportunity to mean what I say, then I can also not mean what I say.

How often does that put you in a situation where you feel like you have to clarify yourself?
I’ve never been in a situation where I feel as though I had to clarify nothing. God knows who I am. My daughter smiles every time she see me, and my Momma still cook whatever I say cook. And my bitches do whatever I say do, and my goons shoot whoever I say shoot. I represent something way larger than life itself. I have [followers] I don’t even know.

You have followers. But with the kind of success you’ve achieved, does that pressure bring out more haters, too?
If you walk around thinking it’s pressure with muthafuckas hating you, then you are the most pressure yourself. Hate is hate. You feel pressure by another person, and that person ain’t God, you crazy. You shouldn’t even have mirrors in your crib. You shouldn’t look at that wack muthafucka that’s inside you. I go wherever I choose comfortably. My jab back at your hate is my success. You be the speed bag and I’ll punch the piss out you.

How about the arrests and criminal charges you’ve been subject to this past year? Isn’t that hate from the police?
Aww, that’s my skin color there. That’s having too much of that money and being black. Michael Jackson proved that even if I go White, that still ain’t gonna change. I’m the nigga that when they get the other niggas, they asking them about me. Muthafuckas behind the desk and deputies and all that snapping pictures with they phone. “Oh, my god, I’m in love with you! Can you talk to my…” I’m gonna make sure I’m not rolling with enough to do some time. That would be dumb on my part.

Let’s talk about drugs. What’s your position on why you sip what you sip and smoke what you smoke? Do you feel it enhances your talent? Or impedes it?
On a personal opinion, I say it don’t. ’Cause shit—the work speaks for itself. As far as why I do it: life, straight the fuck up. There is no reason to be battering your body or yourself so close to death. But who am I to change life? I can’t even change mine. I will some day, if I get that chance.

The other Hot Boys had issues with substance abuse, too. Do you feel like you slid into one of their slots, like when they were going through their issues?
Nah, that shit was heavier what they were doing. I can’t speak for dope, brother. I might pop a Vicodin for a backache or something instead of Tylenol, or half of that. I keep doing my shit ’cause, muthafucka, I’m drinking cough syrup and smoking weed. Okay. I be like, man, Fuck the world. They just don’t got nothin’ else to do but point fi ngers. Like they ain’t about to go home and do what the fuck they vice is. So what. You might like to eat, you fat motherfucka. Stop fuckin’ eating. You might like to lie, you lying bitch. You need to stop lying. I am a multimillion-dollar artist and producer. I’m not talking about music. CEO. President. Chairman. Wonderful father. And by the way, I drink that and smoke this. I won’t say that that shit won’t ever change. That my status in this world, if it were to become more important, to make changes that I would have to make, I won’t say that I won’t do that.

A lot of people relate the drug use to the space-alien theme that’s been so prominent in your lyrics lately. You call yourself a “martian.” What’s your fascination with alien life forms?
Umm, I’m a big Cee-Lo fan. I’m a fan of anybody that’s out there like that. I’m different from y’all. So instead of saying, “I’m different,” I have a cool way of saying, “I’m a martian.” I’m so glad that I’ve developed into that type of artist. ’Cause I never could see that shit from the Hot Boys days, to become a nigga that’s just lyrically out there. And make a muthafucka love it. Even though you could talk about nothing and put something to it to make it mean something.

Being different is often frowned upon, though. Especially in hip-hop. People talk. People tear difference down. How do you deal with it? Like when the pictures of you and Baby came out? Or reports about your love life. “Wayne deals with this chick over here…” That stuff outside of the game. It could throw you off. How are you dealing with it?
I got my mind. And where I’m from, my city, is called New Orleans. I don’t know if you ever been there, but it ain’t one of the hardest places to go to. It ain’t one of the toughest places to go to. It’s one of the realest places to go to. What I mean by that is: The South, we simplify. Up there in New York, y’all got 131 adjectives, you know what I mean? We simplify. A New York nigga would hold a whole conversation and you wouldn’t know what the fuck he just told you, ’cause he ain’t never got to the point. Like, “Yo, son, that shit was drastic! Word to my mother, B, I’m telling you, son…” And you like, “Yeah.” That was stereotypical right there. But I mean, like, even when they are explaining something. “Shorty came down with the, the, the, crunchy Doritos blue face bag, yo!” In New Orleans, nigga walk up: “Nigga, I don’t like you.” Or, “Sweetheart, I wanna fuck you.” “Nigga, you fake.” “Nigga, I got a gun on me and I’ll bust your muthafuckin’…” New Orleans is real. So to answer that question: I’m real. What a muthafucka say about me ain’t gonna do me nothing. I’m real. I’ll let you know now: I’ll knock your muthafuckin’ head off your shoulder and go sit my ass in that chair. That’s where I come from. I’m gonna die a nigga.

When 50 Cent made disparaging comments about you, you didn’t go back at him. Clearly, it didn’t affect your popularity. 50 has complimented you for not taking the bait. Was holding your tongue a strategy?
My god didn’t send me here for that. My Momma ain’t birth me for that. That’s not me. I’m not a confrontational dude… I’m the New Age artist. I don’t beef. I do the song, smile, do a few dance moves, put on nice clothes, wear cologne. I don’t want my music to have to go towards how I feel about you or how I feel about your music. I’m dedicated to making your heart, making your mind feel a certain way when you hear me.

Did you appreciate it at the time? That 50 felt you were big enough to come at?
I said it before and I’ll say it again: Thank you. He catapulted me, in my eyes. Shiiiit, they ain’t even know who the hell I was.

Are there any steps along the way that you regret? People see the teardrop tattoos…
Uh, naw. I don’t regret nothing about it. I think that anybody that lives with regret, you might want to kill yourself.

Why is that?
For you to regret anything that happens to you, you are just dumb. Not intelligent. Intelligence is learning from what happens to you, instead of regretting it. Now, if you want to regret some shit, then go’n kill yourself, ’cause you gonna be regretting your whole muthafuckin’ life. You’ll be 60 with a life full of regrets, instead of a life full of learning.

Do you see yourself in the future expanding into other…
Seeing something in the future is expecting something. Expectations is for kids and bitches. As a man, you not supposed to expect a damn thang. Go get it. I never expect nothing. You take care of right now and see how long you can stretch right now. ’Cause if I’m thinking about that, my mind ain’t on this. If I’m thinking on then, my mind ain’t on now. So if my mind ain’t on now, anything can happen to me now. But if I’m focused on now, then I’m alright. ’Cause if I want to get to then, now is going to get [me] there. ’Cause once I’m there, there is now. So fuck then, ’til we get there.