G-Side Launch a Hardscrabble, Regular-Dude Revolution

Magazine; News

ST 2 Lettaz and Yung Clova of G-Side (Photo: Matt McGinley)
ST 2 Lettaz and Yung Clova of G-Side (Photo: Matt McGinley)

Aerospace hub Huntsville, Alabama, used to be about seeing stars. Thanks to G-Side and the rest of a tight-knot rap community, it's now about making them.

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An Insanely Obsessive Infographic Tries (in Vain) to Diagram the Hip-Hop Galaxy



"There it is," says ST, easing his beige Chrysler Concorde onto I-565 in Huntsville, Alabama. "The motherfuckin' rocket."

Just off the highway, a 363-foot-tall white Saturn V points toward the heavens, a beacon for visitors to the U.S. Space and Rocket Center. The Saturn V, manufactured here in the 1960s, powered all six NASA missions to the moon and still holds a storied place in the city's imagination.


Photo: Jason Nocito (click to enlarge)

"We ride past the rocket to test records out," says ST, who is one-half of the Huntsville rap duo G-Side. "That's what the city made its money off of."

In 1940, Huntsville, Alabama, was a town of 13,000, but when World War II ended, the city became home to the military's missile development program, and later NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center. "Rocket City," as it came to be known, is one of the nation's foremost technology hubs: Today, 180,000 people live here, sprawled across 200 square miles in north Alabama. The city's wide streets are lined with the sorts of strip malls, chain restaurants, and car dealerships that have erased the charms of small-town life everywhere, so it's easy to get caught up in the symbolic import of the Saturn V. The cover for G-Side's 2008 album, Starshipz and Rocketz, lays it out: The rocket rises toward the stars while two young black kids point to it, as if to say, We're following that motherfucker out of here. Across four albums, this has been the underlying theme not only for G-Side, but for the whole shockingly vibrant rap scene that has grown up here in the last decade.

Along with the G-Side duo of ST 2 Lettaz and Yung Clova, whose fifth album, Island, is out in November on the Huntsville-based Slow Motion Soundz, there is a gaggle of talented rappers who either call Huntsville home or did until recently, including the PRGz, Jackie Chain, Kristmas, Bentley, S.L.A.S.H., 6 Tre G, the Cole Boyz, and Zilla. Two veteran local producers, CP and Mali Boi, collectively known as the Block Beattaz, have provided music and guidance for these artists and have groomed a second generation of Huntsville producers that includes P.T., Bossman, R Dot, DJ Cunta, and Cees.

Most striking is not the quantity of music coming from Huntsville, but the quality. The Block Beattaz routinely match delicate, surprising samples (Enya, indie rockers Beach House, and Tame Impala) with airy electronics and trunk-rattling beats, creating a sonic tapestry that, at its best, adds emotional depth to rappers' verses — whether it's Jackie Chain's unrepentant hedonism, Kristmas' playful working-man laments, or the Cole Boyz's militant spirituality. This is less club music than riding music — a reflection of the city's enduring automobile obsession. And it's thoughtful riding music; Huntsville rappers often make staring into the cosmos feel pretty hardcore. As ST puts it on the haunting, poignant "Y U Mad," "The stars look so bright / When you come from a city with no lights."


Kristmas (Photo: Matt McGinley)

And Huntsville's rap scene is a genuine scene: The main players work, party, compete, argue, and learn together. Their successes, by mainstream standards, have been modest so far — critical acclaim, brief major-label flings, fleeting appearances on MTV and BET. But that's only fueled their underdog ethos. What they've built they've built themselves, by combining old-fashioned street hustle with considerable Internet savvy.

"In a city like this, all you get is small wins," says Codie G., G-Side's manager, Slow Motion Soundz's GM, and Huntsville's most indefatigable promoter. "If I see somebody here get some success, I feel like that's my success. All the things we're doing now are just seeds. We keep watering them and they grow."

Stephen "ST 2 Lettaz" Harris is not ballin'. He tells me this a few minutes after he clears papers and clothes off his passenger seat so I can climb in. It's a warm, gray afternoon in September and we're heading to Athens, a town 20 minutes west of Huntsville. ST met his partner, David "Yung Clova" Williams, in Athens when they weren't yet teenagers, and Clova still lives there.

The car is a shambles. The stereo is busted and the door locks grind loudly when used. ST cracks a window and fires up a blunt. The 26-year-old is wearing a black T-shirt, gray camouflage pants, and black Air Jordans. As a rapper, his charismatic swagger suggests a hint of wounded menace, but in person he's garrulous and easygoing.

"I'm trying to stop smoking so much weed," he says, exhaling out the window. "It's expensive."



Photo: Matt McGinley (click to enlarge)


Photo: Matt McGinley (click to enlarge)


G-Side has been a longtime favorite of influential rap bloggers, and their last album, The One…Cohesive, is one of the most exciting and heralded rap albums of the year. They've toured Norway three times (more on this later) and played this past summer's Pitchfork Festival. But money is still tight.

Clova, 27, has a barbershop where he cuts hair full time. ST ran a gas station and sold drugs until about a year and a half ago, when he started making low-budget videos for local rappers. He's since quit that to concentrate on music, but now with G-Side on a two-month hiatus from touring so they can finish Island, he's been surviving on the kindness of friends and relatives. He lives in a small house in Huntsville with his older brother and a friend.

"We try to live at the lowest possible level so I can not work, stay in the damn studio, and ultimately get us somewhere else," he says.

We pull into the driveway of Clova's tidy brick house and park amid multiple cars in various states of repair. Clova is built like a bulldog, short and compact with a gentle manner of speaking that recalls a less effeminate-sounding Mike Tyson. He's wearing a purple T-shirt, white jeans, and a large white cross around his neck. He shows me his basement studio; this is where he records when he's too exhausted from cutting hair all day to drive to the Block Beattaz's studio in Huntsville.

Later, we all ride around Athens. Near the town square, Clova points at two water fountains on the side of the old-fashioned ice cream shop. "They still have one of them water fountains they made black folks go to," he says.

As we ride toward the town's center, I ask Clova about his nickname.

"My mama was raped by my father," he says. "She was on the abortion bed and my grandma begged her not to do it. That's how I got here. So I knew I had a purpose. It seems like I would've been dead or locked up, but I'm still pushin'. So I call myself Clova 'cause I feel kind of lucky."