Twitter,” he says. “I just think, at the end of the
day, I don’t want them to see me as a celebrity;
I just want them to see me and say, ‘He’s like a
regular person at his job right now who’s mad.’ ”

BORN 25 YEARS ago to a cabbie father and nurse mother, Wale is a first-gen- eration Nigerian American. Riding around the city in the front seat of his dad’s taxi, picking up “single mothers, drug dealers, politicians,” exposed him to Phil Collins, Lucky Dube, LL Cool J, Fela Kuti—a wide swath of culture. And it’s all over his music; he’s as likely to freestyle over Justice (“W.A.L.E.D.A.N.C.E.”) as Jigga (“Jay Joint”). His taste appears unstudied. He says he likes what he likes.

He also hails from a city with no major superstars, no proper hip-hop heritage. In D.C., go-go music—a roiling, syncopated, localized subgenre of funk—still rules, and it has deeply informed Wale’s aesthetic. “The go-go is such a predominant part,” says Ronson. “He’s just used to live instruments, which makes you open to all different things. You don’t get scared if you don’t hear the 808 kick and snare.”

After a move, at age 12, to the decidedly downscale suburbs of Maryland’s Prince George’s County (“If PG was a city, it’d be on fire”), Wale began rapping seriously. In 2006, the go-go-driven “Dig Dug (Shake It)” broke locally, and by 2007, Ronson was spinning “Good Girls” on his East Village Radio show; he soon signed Wale to his Interscope-affiliated Allido label. By 2008, Wale was touted as a member of a refreshing new generation of MCs, along with Drake, Kid Cudi, and Asher Roth—regular guys with regular problems. Jay-Z’s management company, Roc Nation, bought in.

“When he first got on, this was before the flip-cam era of rap,” says Nick “Catchdubs” Barat, a DJ who worked on three of Wale’s mix tapes. “You weren’t expected to leak a freestyle every day to continue being a part of the conversation. He was at the forefront of that dynamic.”

It’s true––Wale’s online presence has kept him visible. But his mix tapes, particularly the reflective, Seinfeld-inspired The Mixtape About Nothing, reveal vast, malleable technical skills, a serious music fan’s eye for detail, and a buoyant flow built for hits. But so far, hits have eluded him. The first shot, “Chillin’,” from his Allido/Interscope debut, Attention Deficit, is a pop jaunt about foreign cars, sneakers, and, um, how to pronounce his name (that’s Wah- lay). Though catchy, it didn’t make sense for the wordy, thoughtful MC.

“ ‘Chillin’ ’ served its purpose,” Wale says now,
after the song stalled at No. 99 on Bill-
board’s Hot 100. “But everyone knows
that’s not me.”

At times, Attention Deficit (set for a November 3 release) is dark and full of risks. Producers Sean C & LV, Best Kept Secret, and Ronson create a hard, hazy sound while Wale kicks stories

“I DON’T WANNA BE THE NEXT KANYE OR JAY OR WHOEVER. I JUST WANNA BE THE FIRST ME.”

ON WALE G-Star coat, g-star.com; Louis Vuitton sneakers.

about love and confusion. On “Contemplate,” he recalls a night when his girl, out with her friends, stops answering her phone. Insecurity gnaws at him as he slowly loses his bearings. By the song’s second verse, he’s walking with Courtney Love as she learns Kurt Cobain has just killed himself. This is no party album. The most intriguing gamble comes on two collaborations with TV on the Radio’s Dave Sitek. “Triumph,” the album’s first song, has a swarming Afrobeat boom doused in ambient drone; it’s an astounding intro.

“He knew quite a bit [about TV on the Radio],” Sitek says. “I was kinda surprised. We met and literally started working. He’s a workaholic and so am I.” On “Triumph,” Wale forecasts a sad truth. “Only thing I fear is Iovine’s shelf,” he raps, alluding to Interscope head Jimmy Iovine’s rep for burying albums he deems uncommercial.

Wale’s release date has been delayed
at least three times this year.

Upon signing to Allido/Interscope, Wale got verbal commitments from a roster of top producers—Kanye West, the Neptunes, Just Blaze—though none appear on Attention Deficit. Even some of the producers he did

nab proved elusive. “When I had a session with Swizz Beatz, I wanted to dissect the music a little bit more, but he just left me with a beat,” Wale says, still sounding dumbstruck. “You think you’re gonna go in with Swizz and be creative. But no…”

get more
WatCh Wale
Perform
lIve In the
SPIn offICeS,
exCluSIvely at
spin.com/ wale

WE’RE BACK AT the salon and Wale’sphoneisbuzzing. It’s D.C. hip-hop and R&B radio power- house WPGC, wanting to talk Solange. Wale wants to talk “World Tour,” his new single. He grins, bears it, plays coy. It’s a rare hometown radio shout-out for him—strangely, he’s struggled to maintain serious support, or airplay, from his native city.

“It’s depressing when I go home and don’t
hear my record on the radio,” he says. “People
are like, ‘Why do you care?’ Because I made it
here. I didn’t leave D.C. to get on.”
By now he’s testy. Maybe Wale just isn’t cut
out for the spotlight’s glare. Which might not be
such a terrible epiphany, considering the sacri-
fices necessary for pop fame.
“I don’t wanna be the next Kanye or Jay or
whoever,” he says, inhaling deeply. “I just wanna
be the first me.”

StylIng by franCeS tulk-hart; groomIng by DanIela kleIn for maC CoSmetICS at See management

52 november 2009 / SPIn.Com: Where the elIte meet