Mez's Story is Still Loading
Balancing a solo rap career with being a creative right hand to legends — writing songs for Dr. Dre and Ye, directing videos for J. Cole — has left the Raleigh native hard to pin down. He's (mostly) OK with that.
It takes a particular mindset to stick with hot yoga.
Unlike Yin yoga, which is slow and contemplative, or Ashtanga yoga, a dynamic, moderately challenging flow practice, hot yoga is incredibly demanding. It’s designed to be difficult: The studio hovers between 85 and 100 degrees Fahrenheit, the flow gets the heart pounding, and you sweat. A lot. Practitioners tout its benefits — increased circulation, promoted flexibility — but it’s generally not recommended for those who want or need a more relaxing experience. You have to be willing to really push yourself.
When I reach Mez on the phone in late July, he’s climbing into his car after one such high-intensity session. He sounds refreshed and energized, his rich baritone voice simultaneously cool and commanding. People close to him tend to describe the Southeast Raleigh-raised rapper and creative as having a “Zen” personality, but he rebuffs that characterization slightly. “I can be very calculated,” he explains, pausing briefly before adding, “but it’s calm. I don’t have to be savage about it.”
That juxtaposition has led the 34-year-old Mez, born Morris W. Ricks II, to a pretty astounding level of success. If you're not sure you’ve heard the name, but have even a casual relationship with hip-hop, it’s almost guaranteed that you’ve interacted with his work. One of the driving forces behind Dr. Dre’s 2015 album Compton, Ricks’s name appears twelve times in the album’s songwriting credits; his is the first verse heard on the album. Ye brought him on board to work on 2016’s The Life of Pablo, and J. Cole — who had previously blessed the then-rising rapper with a beat in 2012 — invited him to the recording sessions that would become the 2019 Dreamville compilation album Revenge of the Dreamers III. Mez is an accomplished music video director as well, crafting visuals for Cole’s “Middle Child,” SiR and Zacari’s “Mood,” Isaiah Rashad’s “Headshots,” and more. His resume is enviable, at times even intimidating.
In between his various behind-the-scenes roles, he’s released his own music at a fairly steady, if sporadic, pace. Mez began his rap career as a teenager after hearing Lupe Fiasco’s 2006 classic Food & Liquor, quickly generating buzz as a talent to watch in the Triangle’s fertile hip-hop scene. His early material, like 2010’s The Paraplegics mixtape with Commissioner Gordon (now Asheville indie artist Sam Island), felt like the work of a rapper decades in, not a fresh-faced 20-year-old. You could easily picture a young Mez waking up with calisthenics and a smoothie before sequestering himself in a windowless room to write for hours on end. For a while, he was seemingly everywhere, holding his own alongside venerated North Carolina emcees like Rapsody, Sean Boog, and Phonte, appearing on projects as high-profile as 9th Wonder’s The Wonder Years or as niche as Abaltimorelovething: The Mixtape.
In 2011, he linked with Justus League producer Khrysis for the six-track EP The King’s Khrysis, followed by two mixtapes in 2012 and 2014, My Everlasting Zeal and Long Live The King, respectively. An impulsive decision took him to Los Angeles in 2014, where he inked a publishing deal with Warner/Chappell and, through a series of chance interactions — all the results of seeds he’d planted through his steady grind — ended up in the writers’ room for Compton. He’s lived in LA ever since, a perennially in-demand hired gun for creative teams in need of fresh eyes or a potent pen. Case in point: 10 minutes into our conversation, he’s interrupted by a phone call from Warner asking him to write for another artist. I don’t hear whether he’s agreed to the gig, but his matter-of-fact tone suggests it’s not a shock to be asked.
This past April, Mez released The Loading EP, a collection meant to whet our appetite for his debut album, which is due out sometime next year. The EP traverses a lot of sonic territory in its 18-minute runtime, the product of a restless musician exploring the bounds of his interests. He seems to be undergoing a new creative renaissance, eager to share the results with a public that’s perhaps more familiar with his sonic imprint than they are with him as a solo artist. “I just wanna write songs, man, I wish that people knew me,” he raps plaintively on the Leon Bridges-assisted “Around The World.” But in conversation, Mez seems unbothered — the vision remains as clear as ever, all he has to do is execute.
After that initial Little Brother/Justus League wave, the Triangle’s scene received national attention for the first time. Around the time The Minstrel Show came out, a second wave of young rappers was everywhere for a while. There was you, Halo, Tom Hardy, M1 Platoon from the DMV, and that whole Jamla crew. What was the energy like back then?
It was fun, man. No one was a professional except for Little Brother. They were the only ones who made it out. At that point, 9th had produced for Jay-Z, and all this other stuff happened. The rest of us were just really having fun, bro. I loved those times. I remember a lot about not trying to be perfect, just trying to keep it going. When you're a kid, you don't even think about business or anything like that. We just wanted to make music, you know?
Were you just taking every opportunity you could to be in the studio and play shows?
Yeah, it's funny because now I'm doing the exact same thing. Every single moment I can get in the studio, every chance I get to perform, I'm doing that right now. I tell people that I'm thankful because I feel like I've been living the same life for about 20 years. I've been doing all the same stuff since I was a kid, just watching anime and making music.
I feel like I'm in a transitional phase right now. It's nice when you aspire for shit because there's nothing like that feeling. There’s a little bit of fear, but you're not really scared, you're just anxious. It's fun. It feels like you’re jumping off of something high, trying not to hurt yourself, but you want to feel that flying part. It's worth it.
How would you describe this transitional phase? What are you transitioning from, and what are you transitioning into?
It's funny, it's almost like going backward in a good way, going back to being that same youthful person who's super inspired. Over the years, I became more calculated as I became more connected to the music business and [more successful]. But now, I feel like I did around those times when I was simply creating. I just want to express it, put it out, and make a cycle. I'm evolving into a system of “create, release, breathe in, breathe out”- type shit.
Are you focusing more on your own work as opposed to being more of a behind-the-scenes person?
Yeah, I guess that's part of the transition, in a way. I've gone back and forth through the years. The funny thing about being an artist is that you guys have a perception of me, whereas as an artist, I just feel the same all the time. I'm like, "Oh yeah, I'm obviously gonna put my music out. I'm just doing this right now." But it's not my job to talk about what I do; that's your job.
I'm in a place now where I don't want to think about what I'm doing. The motion creates balance. It's like riding a bike: You have to move forward to make it stand up. That's how I feel about putting out music — just being consistent or being a part of a system.
Have you ever had a moment when that motion stopped or at least felt on the verge of stopping?
Nah, hell nah. [Laughs] I'm so thankful, G. I haven't had a job since I was, like, 16 or 17, you know what I mean? I always looked at it like, “I'm gonna figure it out one way or the other.” Even when I wasn't putting out music, which really was because of some business constraints, I was like, "Oh yeah, I'm gonna do this." When the directing thing happened, it was whimsical. The first thing I ever directed was a [RIAA-certified] Diamond music video, you know? It gives me hope that whatever I put my mind to, I'm gonna figure it out.
Mez's directorial debut, the music video for J. Cole's "Middle Child" (2019), now sits at 308 million views.
What initially took you to Los Angeles?
Working with Dr. Dre on the Compton movie soundtrack.
So you weren't planning to go out there before you got the call for that gig?
Nah. I always knew I was gonna have to move to New York or LA, one of the two, but I couldn't fuck with New York. I visited [LA] once before I moved here. I came here to have a meeting with Warner/Chappell some years ago, and about a year later, I came back for the Dre thing. I had a tryout, and then they called me back and I went and worked with them and made a bunch of songs and stuff.
Did you feel like you were butting up against a ceiling in North Carolina?
Yeah, eventually, it started feeling like the way people around me were talking about what I was doing — and also the way I felt about it — I was like, I think the quality of my ideas needs to be met with opportunities of the same magnitude. I knew it would be hard to do that from home, even with the internet, even with being on blogs like 2dopeboyz and Nah Right. It was cool, and it was helpful, but there’s nothing like face time where people see you and want to work with you.
You've credited Rapper Big Pooh for helping you link up with Dre. Can you go into a little bit more detail about that?
I met a dude named Dawaun Parker on the internet. He wanted to work with me because he saw me on BET. At that time, I was going to New York a lot, pressing and pushing to get my music videos on TV. This is when I was about 21 — I had a video on 106 & Park one time, and I had another one on BET Jams.
So, Dawaun had reached out and DJ Drama’s team was talking about me coming on tour with him. [I think] he was on tour with Wiz at that time. This dude Lake Sheezy reached out and was like, "Yo, Drama was talking about linking up, and it's a possibility you could do a Gangsta Grillz." Basically, I had this choice to work with DJ Drama or Dawaun Parker, who had worked with Dr. Dre. I was such a big fan of Dre, so I knew I wanted to do that. Being young, I didn't realize that I probably didn't have to choose, but I wanted to focus my energy in one direction.
I flew to LA to meet Dawaun and work with him, but he wasn't in town. That was younger me, just being a savage, hungry to be great. I got a buddy pass from my friend and flew out here. I didn't really make plans to meet with Dawaun properly — he wasn't even in LA, he was visiting family or something. I got a mysterious phone call a couple of weeks after being in LA like, "Do you want to come work with Dr. Dre?" And I'm like, "Damn, did Dawaun tell you?" They were like, "Nah, it was Rapper Big Pooh from Little Brother." Pooh had told Focus, this A&R at Aftermath, about me. I told [Pooh] I was going to LA, and he was like, "Let me know when you go because I'll tell some people about you." I didn't know who he was talking about, but come to find out, it was Focus. They had me come through and write some songs with like 40 or 50 writers. I ended up being the one that they chose, and I [ended up writing] like 15 or 16 songs.
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I think it's really interesting that when asked what brought you to LA, your immediate answer was "to work with Dr. Dre." But when we unwind a little bit, it was that you had the inclination to go out there and work and just jumped on a plane. It's an impulsive but very forward-thinking move.
I ain't gonna say my decision-making is always Zen. Sometimes, my approach is a little bit aggressive about things that I really want to do. My personality is Zen, so I'm putting myself in these uncomfortable-ass situations, but I can stay calm. I think what happens is — especially when I was younger, but sometimes these days, too — I put myself in a position where I have to be successful. Like, I flew to LA I don't know anyone, so shit has to work. It probably has a lot to do with how I grew up. I had a lot of stuff going on at home where I had to just show up at the highest level. That type of stuff when you growing up is heavy, but when you get older, it's like that screwdriver that always is with you. It's an extra tool that a lot of people don't have. I know that I have it. I can stay calm and solve the problem. [Defuse] the bomb type shit—that's the Zen part.
Are you giving yourself stress tests every now and again to work out that muscle?
I don't even think it's stress tests, bro, I just have crazy aspirations. My first film project ever was a half-a-million-dollar video. I never directed anything on a cell phone or anything. I tell people the story, and they're like, "Damn, you wasn't scared? What if you fucked that up? That's a lot of money." I definitely didn't want to mess anything up, but to me, the reward of trying and winning is so much more worth it than the fear of failure. Not trying—that's when I would be afraid, that's when I wouldn't want to be outside and show myself. People be more cool with that a lot of times than busting their ass, but that's not my style.
That's what I mean by stress tests—not necessarily being “stressed out” but setting lofty goals and forcing yourself to achieve them. J. Cole’s "Middle Child" was the first video you directed, and it was sealed with a conversation. You got a call from J. Cole, who asked you to write it, and you said, "No, I have to direct it."
Yeah, that's definitely how I've always been. I put the biggest hurdle in front of myself and be like, "Well, it has to be done now. You're here, you started it, you gotta finish it now." So that's really how I've been moving through life.
Was directing videos something you always had in mind?
Nah, I definitely thought it was gonna be a novelty thing. When I did the video for Cole, I thought it was gonna be like this one-off thing because I felt like it would be cool to show people I'm creative this way too. I never thought I would ever direct another music video after "Middle Child." I didn't even know if I would direct another video project [at all]. I didn't realize how good I was at it until after it came out. It really took other people to be like, "Bro, you're really good at this." I didn't go to film school or anything, but I think I have a taste for the crescendos and valleys of what it takes to entertain people. Whether that be in a verse or in a video, it's all the same to me. You need moments that make people feel something. Writing songs and directing videos — it's all the same, bro.
I like to make a motif the centerpiece of the idea. I did a video with Jack Begert for Isaiah Rashad's song "Headshots." The whole motif in the video is circles, so I was thinking, “How creative can we be with this circle shape?” Sometimes, I'll have songs where I'm like, "How creative can I be within the parameters of this concept?" "Hot Spot" on my EP is a song about me being in love with technology. How creative can I be about being in love with technology? I'm trying to execute an idea in these ways that no one would expect.
Limitation is what breeds creativity. That's something I live by and breathe by. That's how hip-hop was created. It was a four-track recorder, nothing more. We got four tracks, what can we do? We could put drums on here, we can put a sample on here, and we can put vocals on here. It's the limitation that even made rap music sound like that because it's not like dudes were playing piano and drums and stuff in the hood. It was like, "I like how this music feels, so I'm gonna loop it up," and you just build. You make a whole new genre like that.
How do you define those limitations and draw those boundaries for yourself?
Between two things that don't fit together, there's something new. Between rap music and rock and roll music, there's a blend in the middle. Jay-Z and Lenny Kravitz had the song "Guns & Roses;" Kanye produced "Takeover," which had this rock and roll sample; Rick Rubin did "99 Problems." There are a lot of styles of people putting rap and rock together, but it always made something fresh, I think, because it was unexpected. So, when there are worlds that don't really fit and connect, that's where I start most of the time. Juxtaposition and motif are probably two of the biggest principles in my art. Juxtaposition is cool because I'm about to find something in between these two things that doesn't normally exist, where I can start making concepts.
After Compton comes out and gets all this critical acclaim, I imagine that opens up a lot of different doors for you. What was the first one that you jumped on?
The first thing after that, which was a crazy door [opening], was working with Kanye West. I ended up working with him on The Life of Pablo for a little while after [Compton]. That was one of the craziest moments of my life.
When you're in the studio with someone like Kanye, what role are you filling?
[I was asked] to write songs for him. I walked into the studio, and he knew my name already. It's 2015; I'm like 25. All my friends are a couple of years out of college, figuring out what they want to do, and I'm in there. To me, that kind of was my college. I played a role in helping him, but I was also a student. I wanted to learn as much as I could.
For Ye, in particular, they needed songwriters, so I came through to write songs. CyHi the Prince was in there, a bunch of people whose names you would recognize. Every day, we would come to write like music, and at some point in the day, he would listen to what everybody had done. A couple of times, when he came in the back room, I played him what I wrote, and he really fucked with it. I remember he told me my writing reminded him of Late Registration. That’s my favorite Ye album ever. I was super happy when he said that, such a cool time in my life.
Specifically, what I was hoping to learn is — when you're in the studio with Dre and Ye as a songwriter, what does that process look like? Are you throwing out suggestions? Are you pitching ideas? Are you helping shape the way the vocals sound?
I spent years working with Dre, probably about a year and a half to two years before the album came out. Working with him really made it so that I got good at not caring that people were around when I was recording. The mic is in the room with you and everyone else, and everyone has to be quiet while you record. He would kind of test you and fuck with you a little bit, make you do takes over and over again. It was almost like going through a boot camp. And then Pete Rock or T.I. or someone would come to the studio, and he'd be like, "This dude is talented — watch this," and put you on the spot. You'd have to write a song right then and there.
The process would be me coming up with a concept, or [Dre] coming up with a concept, and then I'd write lyrics and help fill it in. [Sometimes I’d] produce his vocals. There was definitely a lot of recording. It was sonically his vision, but I was trying to pick different beats for the album. I wanted Metro Boomin and younger producers like Cardo. It wasn't exactly my sonic vision, but lyrically, I definitely helped a lot.
I remember, at one point, he was like, "I hope you're not put off by the fact that I sound like you on these songs." A lot of people go back to Compton and say that, too, but that's kind of the way Dre works with writers, right? When he worked with Eminem, his flow was more like Eminem. When he worked with Kendrick, his flow would be more like Kendrick's. He's good at falling in line with the artists that he's working with.
How does that compare with the process of working with Kanye?
Well, first, I didn't work with Kanye as long as Dre. Kanye had a microphone in the middle of the room where people freestyle, and they'd be recording. If he liked it, he might stop his conversation with someone else and start listening to what you're doing. "Oh, that's cool. Let's fuck with that." It was super free. We were at Sharinga-La, Rick Rubin's studio in Malibu. Bob Dylan's tour bus was in the back. Being at Shangri-La was crazy because there were beds in the studio, so if you needed to take a nap, you could just go to sleep. I remember thinking, "I'm never gonna do that. I'm never falling asleep in here." Imagine if n****s is working on the next "All of the Lights" or some shit, and I’m taking a nap in the next room. I was like, "It's not gonna be me." [Laughs]
How have those two approaches molded the way you work on your own personal stuff?
It helped me execute a lot better. Working with Dre [increased] my vocal range. Dre makes you animate yourself a little bit more. You can hear it with Eminem, [listen to] the difference between him on Infinite versus [The Slim Shady LP]. Kendrick, too, became more of an animated performer after working with Dre. Dre really pulls that out of people. Now, I'm a really intentional type of artist. I know the sound of music that I want to make.
Mez's self-directed music video for the new song, "Hot Spot," ft. Isaiah Rashad.
Even as far back as 2010 on The Paraplegics project [with producer Commissioner Gordon], you always sounded fully formed as a rapper. You're also quite chameleonic and have moved through a variety of sounds. The Loading EP is 18 minutes long, but it traverses a few different styles. How would you describe the Mez sound?
At this point, that's for other people to discuss. It's just for me to make. If you and I were in the studio, I could give you the instructions on how to make what I'm feeling, but I think that it's not even for me to say. My music definitely has a vibration to it that's unique to me, and on my album that's coming out, it's even more specific, more particular song-to-song. But I like the idea of people coming up with their own ideas about my sound.
Go back and listen to The King's Khrysis. There's a song called "Reaching Out" on there. Listen to that, and then listen to "Bat Phone" on The Loading EP. To me, those songs could be on the same project, and they're like a decade apart. My music is definitely moody, but I think it's good that it's not easy to pin down. All the best art is not something you can easily describe. I wouldn't be happy if you could easily describe me or my ideas. I think it should be kind of difficult.
So, maybe to narrow it down to your work right now, what sounds are you most drawn to?
I love rock and roll, I love rap, I love Caribbean and soul music — I love so many kinds of music. I think the things that are drawing me right now are definitely things that feel good. Funny enough, 90's R&B is a great inspiration. There’s a lot of that on my album. You'll also hear contemporary drums, but then you'll hear some shit that sounds like Tame Impala. It's interesting, it really blends properly.
You're a songwriter, a rapper, and a video director. Do you ever go into other modes, like painting or drawing, to keep your mind fresh?
I'm actually kind of retiring from [music] videos unless they're mine. Now, as far as directing goes, I'm getting into TV, film, and commercials. As far as other things, people don't really know I can draw. I don't really practice at all, but I can definitely get my ideas out. I also design fashion, which comes very naturally to me. I'm trying to relax on that, though, because if I get all the way in, I feel like I'm gonna be super into it. I really love clothes, but I can't divert my attention right now.
How do you save your energy for different creative outlets? If you find yourself coming up with more ideas for film and television for too long, is there a moment when you have to course correct and go to the studio to work on music?
I’ve started to realize I'm more of a quarterback. I'm a creative dude, and I'm good at explaining my vision to people. I understand that delegating is how you get a lot of shit done. That's really what I learned from Dre and Ye. I'll be in the studio and it's like 10 or 15 people working on the same song. With Ye, it would be 10 people in different rooms working on the same song, and he's taking his favorite parts and piecing the song together. He's a great quarterback, you know what I mean?
With the music team, I ain't gonna lie, I still haven't really figured out how to delegate the same way because I'm so hands-on. That's why I have a film production company. We have four directors on our production company roster. One of them did an MTV thing [recently], another one got a Supreme job in New York coming up. I have a vision for how I can connect them with opportunities that fit their gifts, and there are other people who own the business with me who help me with that. I can still be a part of these film projects and not even be on set. For instance, my company did a commercial for Supreme in [Rio de Janeiro] with the Christ the Redeemer statue. I wasn't even in Brazil, but it's cool that I still get to be a part of it. It's a blessing because I feel like we are all on the same level, and I'm learning from them the same way [they’re learning from me]. That's the point that I'm at now, where I'm trying to be that great quarterback.
Editor's Note/Disclaimer: Super Empty is an in-kind sponsor of the upcoming Mez show in Raleigh at Kings, this Thursday, August 8th. There was no editorial collaboration on, or advanced screening of, this piece.
Dash Lewis has written for Pitchfork, Bandcamp, The Guardian, Resident Advisor, The Sun Magazine, Passion of the Weiss, and many more. When not thumbing through his record collection or stressing at a blank Google Docs screen, he spends his time petting his two cats and searching for a great sandwich. He grew up in Durham, NC and now resides a couple hours north in Richmond, VA.
