Spice 1 Talks Growing Up in Hayward, Running From Cops and Breakin’ at the Mall

Spice 1 is a Bay Area rap legend. Born Robert Lee Greene Jr., he first became interested in rapping after watching Ice-T in the 1980s movies Breakin’ and Rappin’. As a teenager, he was taken under Too Short’s wing, joined the Dangerous Crew and signed to Jive Records, releasing six albums under the label throughout the 1990s. Incredibly prolific since, his latest album is Platinum O.G. 2.

Ahead of his headlining set at the third annual History of the Bay party on Sunday, Nov. 9 at Public Works in San Francisco (which includes appearances by Too Short, Marshawn Lynch, Iamsu, Lyrics Born and others) Joshua Minsoo Kim spoke with Spice 1 to discuss his upbringing in Hayward, breakdancing at the mall, running from the cops, meeting Too Short and picking up the mic.

An abridged Q&A appears below; read the full, unedited interview at Tone Glow.

Joshua Minsoo Kim: How’s your day been?

Spice 1: Man, I’m good. I just woke up from a nap. I gotta take that OG nap, y’know what I’m sayin’? You don’t take that OG nap at 12 or 1 o’clock, you’re not gonna make it to 9 (laughter). You gotta get that extra energy.

I saw online that you were born in Corsicana, Texas. How long were you there for?

I was born in Bryan, Texas. College Station. Texas A&M, that area. It’s about 100 miles outside of Houston. I don’t think I even turned one year old before I got to California. And we was living in Oakland.

I wanted to ask about your family. I know your dad was a poet and that his dad was a poet, too. Did you grow up reading or hearing your father’s poetry when you were a kid? Was that a thing he would do?

Yeah, he’d show me his poems. His poetry was kind of like my raps. He was really militant (laughs). He would speak at Black Panther events sometimes. He would go to the Uhuru House in East Oakland and speak while I would be getting my haircut down the street. First time he showed me some poetry he was like, “I wrote a poem, I want you to hear it.” We were in the car and I was in the passenger seat. I don’t even remember the whole poem but I remember him starting off (in a loud, authoritative voice) “N****s die! N****s think they fly, n****s gon’ die tryin’ be cool.” When he said this I was like, okay, pops is crazy (laughter). I’m in the car trying not to laugh and he’s just like, “N****s die!” and I’m like, oh shit, if I laugh I’d be in trouble. Like, this n**** crazy! (laughter).

His poetry was very militant and he may have written other poems but it was crazy when he showed me that one. It was dope, though. When I got older, that’s what I seen. And you probably seen it too. N****s out here dying, and not just Black dudes. People. N****s. People are out here dying tryin’ to be cool. They gon’ be too busy looking good—when death come, they ain’t even gon’ know. What’s that song? “Imma be fly when the feds watch” or something like that.

That’s 2 Chainz. “Feds Watching.”

Yeah. Basically, my dad was tellin’ me, pay attention to this shit. Don’t walk around thinkin’ you the shit. Pay attention to what’s around you. You gon’ be too busy trying to look good when death come. It had a message to it—I just caught the message years later.

How old were you when he said the poem in the car?

I was probably nine (laughs). Shout out to pops. Real smart dude, real intelligent man. He showed me a lot. Shout out to Robert Greene Sr.

Did you know your grandfather? He wrote poems, too.

I didn’t know he wrote poems until my dad told me, and then my sisters, my cousins do spoken word. It was amazing to know that. My sisters and cousins do spoken word and they’re really good too.

Older or younger?

Older sister.

What was it like growing up in the Greene household?

My dad and mom split up when I was two or three, and when I was nine or ten years old, my mom remarried and I got my crazy-ass step-dad. My real dad lived in Oakland and we lived in Hayward. And it was like how Boyz n the Hood was. My dad had the same orange Volkswagen convertible. The same car. And he would act exactly how Tre’s dad act. He was like that to a T. That was Robert Greene Sr.! He’d come get me in the orange Volkswagen and I would come from Hayward to Oakland. I’d see my homeboys from Oakland and, just like Tre, I’d be waitin’ for dad to go in the house so I could play. They’d be like, “Chico! What’s up man!” And my dad would always say exactly what Tre’s dad said: “Wash my car and rake them leaves up before you start playing.” The same shit! When I saw that movie, it was like the spitting image of how my father and me were.

My sister, I would try to show her my raps and she’d be like, “That shit wack, n****! Get that shit outta here!” If I could impress an older female like my sister, then I could impress anybody. But she was just saying that shit was wack even if it was dope. She said she wanted to make me better by telling me my shit was wack. And it was like, okay… it worked (laughter).

Did she ever give approval?

“187 Proof,” my first single—she was loving that. She was like, “Shit, well I couldn’t write like that. That was cool.” That song was a blessing to me because it raised a lot of eyebrows and turned a lot of heads my way.

You had this family who were into the arts, and I know that your dad showed you The Last Poets, too. How old were you when you started rapping? I know you were in the Dangerous Crew in high school, but when did it all begin?

I used to breakdance, and I was in my little breakdancing crew. We was hip-hop. We’d sneak out at night and spray paint our group name on the side of the BART trains. We’d sneak on the BART like we was from New York. We’d hop on the train from Hayward to San Francisco and go to Pier 39 and we would breakdance our way to some real good money. Next thing you know, we got two or three thousand dollars in the hat, we’d split it between all of us, and we’d be on our way back home. Eventually, I seen Ice-T in the movie Breakin’. He was on stage singing the song “Killers.” [Editor’s Note: This specific scene is from the 1985 movie Rappin’]. “Killers! Bloodthirsty killers!”

I was watching him and I was like, that’s dope, I wanna do that. Give me the motherfuckin’ mic and let me talk my shit! After I seen that I was like, man, Imma write some raps and I showed it to a few people and I kept on doing it. The next thing you know, I was standing up in front of crowds. I remembered all my songs and I was just gettin’ it. I had to tell my little breakdancing crew, hey, I probably won’t be doing this no more, I’m on the microphone now. And that was it. This was around 1986 I think. It was a lot going on. Hip-hop hit the nation real tough, real big. Crack hit the nation real big. Gangs hit the nation real big. Around that time, I felt like I was developing my style, so by the time ’90 came in, “187 Proof” was out. I couldn’t even buy alcohol back then.

What memories do you have of being in that breakdancing crew? Does anything stand out?

It gave me a sense of being on a team. Baseball and basketball is the same thing. When you’re in a breakin’ crew, you’re on a team and help each other make different moves, make up different stuff, and it shows you how to work with other people and get something accomplished. We was good. We won some trophies! We were called Video Numbers.

We was kind of crazy. I remember we were in a battle at the mall against Planet Poppers or something—I can’t remember the name. We had a big crowd and we was one of the hottest groups out there. We was hitting our moves and then we got into it with these dudes. A fight broke out and everything calmed down and I did a few moves and stepped out. I see my homie to the left and he’s like, “Come here!” I go over to him and he’s like, “I got a stolen car outside!” And I was like, “For real?” We go outside, I hop in the car. I’m not thinkin’. I’m on one. We’re in the parking lot of the mall in a stolen car doing doughnuts. We burnin’ that muthafucka (laughter). Figure eights and all that! I just remember hearing skrrrt and us laughing real hard and then the police got behind us. We parked the car, hopped out, and ran back into the mall and tried to mix in with the rest of the crowd. And it worked. I was like, wow, they’re probably looking for our group, we better take these hats off (laughter). Those years, everything was a learning experience. The bad shit and the good shit made me who I am today.

What’s the good shit that comes to mind immediately?

Definitely when I met Too Short’s manager, Randy Austin, through some friends at school. N-Tice and Barbie of the Danger Zone, who are on “Don’t Fight the Feelin’,” were my friends. When you keep good relations with people, you never know what can happen or who they know or how they may be able to help. I knew this girl and we were kickin’ it and we both switched schools at the same time and she was like, “I heard you rap, my uncle is Too Short’s manager.” I was like, “Oh shit, I been knowin’ you for years, I didn’t know that.” I was always cool with her. When Short would come pick me up from school, he’d pick them up too and we’d all be in the car ride. It taught me a lot as far as building relationships with people. Shit, you never know what you gon’ get when you don’t burn bridges. Shout out to the Danger Zone. Those are my homegirls.

Do you remember the first time you met Too Short and what that was like? How were you feeling?

It was Randy callin’ me on the phone and he was like, “What’s your name? MC Spice? We gon’ come pick you up at school tomorrow.” And I’m like, “Whatever muthafucka, who the hell is this? Fuck outta here.” I hung the phone up and then 10 minutes later, the phone rang again and my mom answered. She was like, “Chico! There’s someone named Too Short on the phone!” I get on the phone and it’s Short, saying (imitating his voice) “Hey man, what time you get out of school?” So now I gotta be cool. This is muthafuckin’ Too Short on the phone! I’m like (in the coolest, most nonchalant voice) “Oh, you know, I get out of school about 2:30, 3 o’clock.” And he’s like, “Okay, we gon’ come swoop you, just stand outside.” I was tryin’ be cool, and when he hung up I was like (five seconds of excited, cartoonish babbling). It was Too Short!!!!

The next day at school, I’m tellin’ all my friends that Too Short called me. They just like, “Hell nah. No way Too Short comin’ to get you fool.” So we’re all standing there outside the school, waiting for him to pull up and sure enough, he pull up in a burgundy Biarritz convertible. White interior. He pull up and I said, “See! I told you!” He picked me up for the rest of the school year. We was hanging out and he’d take me to the studio. That experience of me being in the studio was an influence. The dude was cool as hell. I wanted to drive his car but he wouldn’t let me do that. And then I stole one and drove it over there and I was doing doughnuts in front of his house making hella noise. He opened up the door and yelled, “Chico! Get that stolen-ass car off my mama’s house n****!” I was thinking, why the fuck he think this car was stolen? But he knew damn well I stole that muthafuckin’ car. It was a Cadillac Biarritz. That’s uncle Short, man. I used to do a lot of things to impress that dude (laughter).

I wanna talk about that first tape with the Dangerous Crew. You had “Leave It to Me” on there and there were songs by Rappin’ 4-Tay and Crazy Rak. You went from the breakin’ crew and now you were with this rap crew. What was that like? And you were still a teenager at the time.

Going to school, I understood what haterism was at a very young age. A lot of my friends believed in me and was down with me from day one. But a lot of cats didn’t believe in me, even in my high school. They were doubting me and I would come through with my record and they would try their hardest to act unimpressed by this shit. It always bothered me. There’s this saying: “A prophet is never honored in his own space.” I felt the wrath of that at a young age. I felt how deep the hate could get. Many people would be trippin’ on you because they felt they should be in your position or they didn’t like that you were making it out and they not. You never know how deep it could go. And I experienced a lot of this stuff as a teen in high school. I was in school with my CD out, with Too Short and the Dangerous Crew. I was passing it out at school and you was getting a lot of looks like, yeah, whatever muthafucka. And I was like, no, it’s real muthafucka.

The point of that, of passing out your CDs, is to get everybody to be like, “that’s him.” But I didn’t get that from my peers at school. A few of my friends was with me, but the majority was like, whatever n****. That taught me a lot right there. And even coming back with my album and passing out flyers that says I’m opening up for Eazy-E and N.W.A. I was 16. A few of my friends was like, “We comin’ through.” They started to rock with me then. They witnessed it for real. I really get down. I rocked the crowd, there was no doubt. There was no boos. They might’ve tried to talk shit before I started rapping, but once I started spitting I turnt them crowd of haters into some muthafuckas who love me. Right there before your eyes. And that’s what you supposed to do.

Were you scared at all about opening for them?

I had so much energy at that point in time. I was just on one. I coulda jumped into a roaring ocean—I had so much energy in me. I knew I had outrapped a lot of rappers by the time I got there. I had a lot of confidence in me and my music. My DJ was dope. It was DJ Pizzo, and he used to DJ for E-40 and Too Short but he was my DJ from the beginning. He was from Hayward. We rocked that shit. They wanted to see N.W.A. and Eazy-E, they didn’t know who the fuck I was, but they knew who I was after I got off stage. Too Short came up and watched me get down. Rodney-O & Joe Cooley, I opened up for them too. We had these concerts at the skating rink. They got me a lot of exposure. Four years later, by the time I was 20, “187 Proof” dropped.

I love that you had all these people who were older than you who were really supportive.

That was cool, man. A lot of people felt like I wasn’t supposed to be in the position I was, but being around Short and the whole Dangerous Crew—4-Tay, J.J. Hard, even the homegirls—it was all a big influence to keep going. J.J. Hard still do his thing too. I saw him at the Tupac thing where they gave him his street. Hopefully I do some work with him still. We’re still pushing—it’s the Dangerous Crew! Everything and everybody who come into your life is either a blessing or a lesson. Every time you make a mistake, you gotta learn from it. Learn from everything.

Spice 1 performs at the third annual History of the Bay party on Sunday, Nov. 9 at Public Works in San Francisco. Tickets and more information here.

To read the rest of this conversation, which touches on Spice 1’s relationships with Jive Records, his dad, the city of Houston, reggae music, Bruce Lee and the remix to ‘I Got 5 On It,’ head over to the full interview at Tone Glow.