Rap Convos: An Apartment Owner Confirms That Cozz Is The Real Deal

New York City is a glamorously unglamorous place, overflowing with people (and rats) from all walks of life. It’s beautiful one block, disgusting the next. Often, the two polar opposites coexist in the same place, the same moment. The result, aside from being a fascinating melting pot, is a dynamic haven filled to the brim with creativity, stories and incredible individuals.

For the first time in my life, I embarked several weeks ago to the city that never sleeps without plans of shortly returning home. I was given an opportunity to intern for a company I admired, and am living here for the remainder of the summer. Where to stay for a couple months in a city with sky-high rent? One room, in a small apartment owned by a total stranger. Fortunately, that stranger turned out to be an OG hip-hop head who grew up in Queens with tall tales to share and a formidable knowledge of his birthplace. We bonded through music: I made it a daily routine to show him up-and-comers to hear his thoughts, and he, as an adult who watched the genre grow up, brought me further into the history of hip-hop.

A tour through his iTunes library — two years’ worth of tracks, largely compiled of aged classics and hard-hitting bangers — told an evident truth about his taste, which he would explicitly confirm days later: lyricism and street-hardened cadence outweigh all else. Similar to recent comments made by Troy Ave, the apartment owner-turned-friend found artists like Young Thug “weird” (can’t blame him) and disliked Chance The Rapper. “Call me when these cats are stars,” he told me. In many ways, his mindset couldn’t have differed more from my own, that of a 19-year-old blogger. Since my arrival, he found nothing that I had showed impressive. That changed today.

Before moving on with the rap convo, let’s briefly revisit March of 2014. We had just experienced a slew of new music from newly established industry heavyweights (ScHoolboy Q) and new New School hopefuls (Rome Fortune; Michael Christmas); the brute cold continued into the year’s third month across much of the country, and more than a few of us were wishing for a free flight to a warmer location. March’s first week also brought to the attention of many hip-hop websites and avid rap listeners a new name: Cozz.

“Dreams,” as a solo video and the powerful song it portrayed, paved a wave of curious interest for Cozz that washed over the deep corners of rap internet and industry; months later, of course, we now know that J. Cole wisely swooped down from his Dreamville offices (do those exist?) and snatched the 20-year-old L.A. emcee with a signed contract — good news for Interscope, and a move that forces us to reconsider a stance we took regarding Cole’s decision to sign Bas.

I had admittedly forgotten about the record until Cozz resurfaced several days ago, following news of his allegiance. Able to recall nothing about “Dreams” other than that I loved it, I pressed play; yet again, I was blown away. As lazy as this sounds, the rookie rapper possesses the cliche “it” factor, something practically palpable in the very first pair of bars.

“Always had dreams of being rich, huh/Mama never thought I’d make it this way”

If someone made a vine replaying those two beginning lines, tied me to a chair and replayed it for hours on loud speakers, I wouldn’t complain. Cozz’s echoing, reverberated words ring out above the slow drum roll with prophetic momentum. His voice, seemingly on the verge of mania, and timely delivery demand attention, if not reverence (whether Cozz can live up to his jaw-dropping introduction remains to be seen, but his signing suggests heat in the bank).

Expecting success this time around, I sat the apartment owner down earlier today to show him “Dreams.” If Cozz can send shivers down my spine and resonate with an old head, he’s got it. After some banter between us, during which the tenant excitedly showed me some of his CDs from the 90s, I started the video.

As lonesome pianos and clips of California signaled the song’s intro, he leaned back on the couch. Then came the transitionary gun shot. On cue, he began nodding with approval to the drumbeat; that infamous grimace, perhaps a face of pleasure and excitement only used in hip-hop, flashed across his face. “Sh*t…” he muttered, his entire body now rocking along to Cozz’s flow, his face contorting after every other line.

I laughed, not only because he finally appreciated a new song, but because Cozz’s promising future became even more obvious. It was a collective moment of recognition.

“Not bad, huh?” I asked, grinning.

He remained silent for a minute. Finally: “Man, play that sh*t again.”

And so I did.

Rap Convos is a new feature at Potholes in which we write about conversations with people about hip-hop.