In the back room of an industrial art space in Brooklyn’s Bushwick neighborhood, A$AP Rocky is venting. Not about the muddled reaction his first official AWGE clothing collection garnered at Paris Fashion Week. Not about the devoted fans who keep asking what’s going on with A$AP Mob, the long-dormant hip-hop collective he co-founded nearly two decades ago. And, surprisingly, not even about the potshots Drake sent his way during the Rap Civil War that took place earlier this year.

Nah, tonight Rocky is venting about children’s TV shows — Cocomelon, to be specific. “That s–t is driving me nuts! Don’t tell my girl I said that,” he says before flashing his million-dollar smile, tonight speckled with platinum and diamonds, and letting out a laugh. “I’m totally joking, I don’t give a s–t. She’s tired of it, too, probably.”

His girl, of course, is Billboard chart-­topping, Grammy Award-winning, billionaire business mogul Rihanna. The two first met over a decade ago when they were rehearsing for their joint performance of her “Cockiness” remix at the 2012 MTV Video Music Awards. The following year, Rocky joined the North American leg of her Diamonds World Tour as the opening act; a few public appearances together later — 2018’s Louis Vuitton show at Paris Fashion Week, Rihanna’s 2018 Diamond Ball and the 2019 London Fashion Awards — speculation began swirling that the two were more than just friends. By 2021, after a series of high-profile outings including a Bajan vacation, the two stylish superstars made their relationship official when, in a GQ interview, Rocky called Rihanna “my lady” and the “love of my life.”

Tonight, however, Rihanna is simply a “great mother” — to their two children, 2-year-old RZA Athelston Mayers and 1-year-old Riot Rose Mayers — and an inspiring partner. “It’s crazy how we find balance with our chaotic schedules,” says Rocky (born Rakim Mayers). He’s wearing a custom black AWGE suit that he designed himself, complete with the multiwaist pants that he’s popularized recently. “[The relationship] is going great. I don’t think there’s a more perfect person because when the schedules are hectic, she’s very understanding of that. And when the schedule’s freed up, that’s when you get to spend [the] most time together. It’s all understanding and compatibility.”

That may seem a bit rich coming from one half of the couple who seems to relish keeping their fans endlessly waiting for their next project to drop. But despite not releasing an album since 2018’s TESTING, Rocky’s schedule has been surprisingly hectic — and music has kept him surprisingly busy in recent years. He went on his Injured Generation Tour and headlined major festivals (multiple Rolling Louds both in the United States and abroad; Montréal’s Osheaga in 2022) — much to the chagrin of the pundits and haters who wondered how a guy with little to no new music (and fewer plaques and Billboard chart-toppers than many of his contemporaries) was getting all these looks.

To be fair, it’s not as if Rocky hasn’t tried — if he had it his way, the streets would be flooded with his product. For one thing, there was the small matter of his July 2019 arrest in Stockholm, where a jury found him guilty of assault. (In a bizarre turn of events, then-President Donald Trump called for his immediate release but, according to Rocky, was unable to make anything happen.) And over the past six years, every time he’s gotten into a good creative groove and amassed a worthwhile collection of songs, they’ve been prematurely leaked to the public. “At this point I’ve been working on music for six years, but they leak my music and I get over it and say, ‘F–k it,’ ” he says. “They leak a lot of the music and it ruins it. Like my ‘Taylor Swift’ video. I was pissed off about it, so I never released it.”

In case you haven’t been keeping up, he’s not referencing a video featuring The Eras Queen — he’s talking about the trippy visual for a song named for her that found its way onto the internet last year. Directed by Vania Heymann and Gal Muggia, it would have felt right at home on The Eric Andre Show, while the music was Rocky’s usual brand of experimental, location-­agnostic, luxury rap.

Today, Rocky seems confident that he’s in full control of his creative output and says he’s finally ready to drop his long-awaited fourth album, Don’t Be Dumb. He’s only been working on it for the past year but he believes, like most artists discussing their new work, that it’s the best album he’s ever made. (During the course of reporting this story, he does push its release date from Aug. 30 to the fall.)

Don’t Be Dumb skews slightly heavier topically and goes deeper than Rocky’s usual vainglorious works. The 35-year-old jack-of-all-that’s-fly chalks this up to him getting older (“I’m an OG now”) and wiser and the world being bats–t crazy at the moment; one of the first songs he recorded for the album is a grim, experimental track called “Shroom Cloud” that deals with “current affairs and world wars and, you know, the world dying and whatnot.”

“At times like this, only two types of people strive and survive,” Rocky theorizes. “I’m not trying to sound like I’m glorifying wars, [but] I think artists and druggies, they make it through. I mean, what was the hippies doing? They was getting high at Woodstock and f–king and having a great time and having these hippie babies who subsequently had us.”

Tough times have been occupying Rocky’s thoughts for at least the past year or so. German expressionism — the popular art movement born in 1919 that focused on the artist’s innermost fears, desires and turmoil — has been a major influence on not just this album, but all his recent artistic endeavors. When asked to describe who he is at this moment, he says, “Grim.”

“In this very moment, it’s very grim. That’s an abbreviation,” he explains. “It’s infusing German expressionism with ghetto futurism.” When making Don’t Be Dumb, Rocky tried to get one of its most famous American practitioners, director Tim Burton, to lend a hand and create the cover art. The two couldn’t align their schedules to make it happen, but Rocky was able to play him the album. “I sat and I played the album for Tim Burton, and he was f–king with it heavy,” he says. According to Rocky, when the Beetlejuice director heard it, “he was rocking his head and he’s like, ‘Wow! I didn’t know you made that kind of music!’ ” And though he couldn’t get Burton himself involved, Rocky did succeed in nabbing the director’s longtime collaborator, composer Danny Elfman, to contribute musical snippets throughout the album, including on a song produced by The Alchemist.

Don’t Be Dumb will still feature the kinds of collaborators Rocky’s fans expect, like rapper and friend Tyler, The Creator, and an all-star roster of producers including Pharrell Williams, Mike Dean, Hitkidd, Madlib and Metro Boomin, as well as some they most definitely won’t, like Morrissey. But getting such a crew on your album when you’re as famous and renowned as Rocky isn’t a feat; the hard part is making all of those disparate sounds work together to make something cohesive and accessible.

“You got to know yourself,” Rocky says when explaining how he connects everything. “You got to know, ‘OK, this is too much. This is too far. This is overkill. This is not enough.’ That’s what I think makes you a unique artist: when you could determine what’s needed. And what’s unnecessary.”

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A$AP Rocky knows himself very well. The painter Jackson Pollock once said that “every great artist paints what he is” — and the joy of discovering new artists is watching them figure out the best version of what they are. But A$AP Rocky entered the game seemingly fully formed, with a well-hewn aesthetic, image and point of view. Sure, some of his outfits and songs from 2012 may make him cringe today, but that’s the price you pay when you’re on the cutting edge of culture.

Few rappers have the innate self-confidence that Rocky has had since he first burst onto the scene in 2011 with “Purple Swag” from his debut mixtape, Live. Love. A$AP. Along with his Harlem-based crew, A$AP Mob, Rocky reenergized New York rap by melding the promethazine-drenched sounds of Three 6 Mafia with the swag and styles of his Harlem hood. New York rappers before him had hopped on tracks with Southern rappers — Jay-Z and Ma$e come to mind — but they all did so either on their own terms or those of the guest MC. Rocky, aided by his late collaborator and mentor Steven “A$AP Yams” Rodriguez, utilized the internet to break down geographical walls and make some of the first post-regional rap. Their style literally changed the game: No longer did rappers have to sound like the city in which they were born. Influence could come from anywhere your Wi-Fi could take you.

Even as his star grew brighter, Rocky never rested on his laurels, using his albums as laboratories to cook up what he felt the game was missing. His heavily anticipated studio debut, Long. Live. A$AP, expanded on the NYC-meets-Memphis amalgamation of his 2011 mixtape by bringing in a slew of collaborators from across the musical world including Skrillex, Santigold, Drake and Kendrick Lamar. The album cemented Rocky and A$AP Mob as the ones to push NYC hip-hop into a new era — and also proved, for better or worse, that Rocky knew how to swing for the fences for a pop hit. At. Long. Last. A$AP, released in 2015, five months after Yams’ untimely death at 26 from an accidental overdose, was another departure, with Danger Mouse and Juicy J joining Yams as executive producers. The album slinked from track to track, mixing psychedelic rock with modern trap and acoustic folk, the lattermost courtesy of a guitarist named Joe Fox whom Rocky met on the street while traveling in Europe.

It was a critical and commercial success, topping the Billboard 200 — Rocky’s second straight No. 1 album — and proving that he had a clear and unique creative vision. And he was concurrently demonstrating that vision wasn’t limited to his music. At a time when Ye (the artist formerly known as Kanye West) was revolutionizing sartorial horizons for Black men everywhere, Rocky was working to push the style game even further. He partnered with up-and-coming brands like Hood by Air that sold the kind of garments most fans never imagined they’d see a rapper wear. Before Rocky, it wasn’t common to see a rapper rock a kilt, or tight leather pants or a handbag (or a satchel, quite distinct from a simple “purse,” as he taught listeners on his and Tyler, The Creator’s “Potato Salad”). He helped make all of that not just cool, but normal.

“I grab inspiration from so many different places, genres and cultures, and I make it original. Originality is a skill set. I think I have a talent in finding and recognizing that in people,” Rocky says. That skill set helped him launch AWGE in 2016. A collective that’s part record label, part clothing brand and part creative agency, AWGE has allowed him to explore each of his diverse passions.

But it took until earlier this year for Rocky to produce an entire collection worthy of a runway show at Paris Fashion Week. Titled “American Sabotage,” the collection featured pieces that looked as if they came straight out of an ’80s sci-fi flick. Rocky calls it “ghetto futurism” and, much like everything else he does, he believes that despite the mixed reviews the show received, it’ll be the norm sooner than later. (On the latest tease for the new album — the song “Highjack,” which takes Rocky back to the block with a woozy but airy beat that melts into a folk-rock ditty, assisted by indie artist Jessica Pratt — he reminds listeners that he was the one who started most of the trends they enjoy today: “Before we dropped ‘Peso’ on you n—as, you ain’t like Raf,” he raps in his usual laid-back lilt, referencing Belgian fashion designer Raf Simons.)

To hear him tell it, it took him these many years just to learn how to really make clothes. “You learn the game before you play it. Crawl before you walk. I wanted to do what was right,” Rocky says. “I’m from New York. I’m a Black man. The fact that we premiered my first show in Paris, France, with some of the biggest people in fashion? It was just surreal.” At that moment, he says — even amid a crowd that included some of the biggest names in art and culture — he was just Rakim.

“I’m not cocky in the sense where I’m like, ‘I got the president’s number in my phone right now!’ Until you sit back and say, ‘Oh, s–t. Pharrell and Pusha T and Malice is [at my show], man.’ That’s support,” Rocky says. “[Designer] Tremaine Emory is here to show his brother some support. Kris Van Assche, he gave me my start [as a face of Dior when he was artistic director of Dior Homme] and they signed me in 2015. [Tiffany & Co. executive] Alex Arnault was here. My girl was here! There were so many people, and I’m so appreciative of them coming to see me do my thing because I wasn’t about to fall flat on my face. We made sure of that. It’s like I said: Any critique, save it, ’cause my mindset is already like, ‘This is what it is. This how everyone should look. This is what it’s going to be for the next couple seasons. So get with it or get left.’ ”

AWGE’s most successful division so far, however, is its record label — and a lot of that success is due to the imprint’s first signing, Atlanta’s Playboi Carti. Rocky first met Carti when Carti was crashing at a friend’s house in New York. Carti’s 2017 debut mixtape became an internet sensation, spawning the hits “Magnolia” and “Wokeuplikethis,” and his debut studio album, 2018’s Die Lit, debuted at No. 3 on the Billboard 200, solidifying both his burgeoning star power and Rocky’s prowess as a music executive.

The success of Carti’s debut made him a sort of cultural folk hero, the inspiration for memes and entire subreddits dedicated to deciphering his coded language and Dracula-meets-­suburban Hot Topic fashion sense. But more importantly, he became rap’s new vanguard, with his next album, 2020’s Whole Lotta Red, spiritually picking up where Rocky’s third, TESTING, left off. Both albums eschewed popular rap tropes, sounds and themes for something wholly original; both got mixed reactions, but Carti’s transformed him into a cult hero.

When I ask if Carti is the future of rap, Rocky gets serious. “That’s where rap is. I knew that’s what it was going to be. What do people expect? We not just signing people to be signing people. We want to be the best of the best and that’s all it is, and his s–t speaks for itself.

“Statistically, what I’m saying is right. Sonically, theoretically, what I’m saying is right,” he continues. “Because there’s a Pharrell that comes with [each] generation. There’s a Jay-Z that comes with [each] generation. There’s a Kanye West that comes with [each] generation. There’s a 50 Cent that comes with [each] generation. The people that’s been most influential in the past 10 years, nine times out of 10 comes out of our camp. If not, we rubbed off on them or they picked up some type of influence. That sounds cocky, and I didn’t want to go there with it, but I swear it’s true. Behind the scenes. On the scene. I promise you.”

Not content with leaving his mark on music and fashion, Rocky looked to Hollywood early in his career. After landing a bit role in the 2015 coming-of-age indie film DOPE executive-produced by Williams, in which he basically played a fictionalized version of himself — a young, fly, street-smart dope dealer — Rocky began looking for newer and better opportunities. “I’m tired of being a gangster,” he says. “I guess because I’m so removed from being a gangster in real life. They always want to cast me on some gangster s–t.” He pauses for a moment, reconsidering. “I ain’t tired of being a gangster, I’m lying. But I need to play a doctor or a lawyer or some s–t. A therapist. Something.”

Outside of fashion, film is the art form he’s most serious about now. “When I do movies, I show up on time. I’m rehearsing. I’m practicing, I’m reciting. I literally take it as a real job. Nothing else matters,” he says. “I’m a Method actor, so I embody whatever character I’m playing at the moment.” His upcoming projects include Spike Lee’s much-anticipated High and Low, a remake of Akira Kurosawa’s 1963 opus starring Denzel Washington. It’s damn near impossible to not pick up anything when working alongside two legends like Denzel and Spike, right?

“Denzel is still a heartbreak kid,” Rocky says with a smile, clearly comforted by this discovery. “That man going to be 101 years old and he still going to have girls fainting and s–t. So I learned how to keep my pizzazz even when I’m his age. I’m like, ‘Oh, I’m going to be aight. I’m Young Denzel. I’m Himzel, you heard?’ ”

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On Sundays during the summer, Melba’s, a locally beloved soul food restaurant on 114th Street that’s been a Harlem staple for close to 20 years, partners with neighboring businesses along Frederick Douglas Boulevard to host big outdoor parties. Go at the right time, and you might catch some Harlem royalty partaking in the live music, food and drink and general good times.

On this particular Sunday, around 3:30 p.m., A$AP Rocky is strolling through the crowd, his hair in tight cornrows, his ensemble of a button-down shirt and jeans unusually unassuming. (His teeth, on the other hand, are adorned with enough diamonds to fund an indie film.) He slinks into Melba’s trying to go unnoticed, but even in his everyman outfit that’s a fool’s errand. He’s Harlem’s hometown hero, and as soon as he steps inside, people jump up to ask for a photo. A police officer approaches him and tries to convince him to attend a local event. Another Harlem legend, fashion designer Dapper Dan, just happens to be stopping by to grab a bite and embraces Rocky.

When we step back outside Melba’s, true chaos erupts. A throng of Harlemites encircles Rocky, clamoring for a moment with the local superstar. Despite it all, Rocky remains calm and courteous. He poses for what seems like 100 photos, even helping some elderly women with their phone cameras. Some people walk up just to tell him that they remember him and his mother, who grew up around this corner; one man sees us and crosses the street to tell Rakim that he’s proud of him. Rocky says the man once babysat him. “People calling me by my first name; he said ‘Rakim.’ That’s how I knew he knew me,” Rocky explains, still basking in the tumult of the crowd. “If it would’ve been A$AP or Rocky… But that man said Rakim. So you turn around and respect your elders and show love and grace, and I think that’s what’s most important. This is somewhere I would consider raising my family. You know what I’m saying? Seriously. If I found a brownstone nice enough to, you know what I mean?”

Rocky says he comes back here often, though the response from the public makes it seem like he’s an exotic whip you would only see in magazines or YouTube influencer videos. People lean out of windows screaming, “Harlem!” or “I love you, Rocky!” Cars zoom by and screech to halt; as we walk to Morningside Park, one slowly pulls up next to us — worrying, at first, though it turns out to be a group of women so nervous that they simply yell, “I love you! You’re so fine!”

It’s clear that Rocky revels in this. Being in Harlem brings him back to his childhood: to the days long before he became known as the Pretty Motherf–ker, before he became involved with one of the most famous women on the planet.

We walk to his first childhood home, an apartment building on 118th Street and Morningside Avenue. He says he would like his children to have a Harlem upbringing even if they’re not raised here. “I think being in Harlem allows you the freedom of walking to the store, walking to the park, getting clear in your mind, going to the swings, being more present and active,” he says. “I think if you live in a suburb somewhere, you’re probably more inclined to just go to work, go to the mall, driving and s–t. Here is just present. You are more in the thick of it.”

But surely Rocky and Rihanna’s kids won’t be able to live the same kind of childhood he did here in Harlem, right?

“Yes, they do,” Rocky snaps back. “Man, let me show you little RZA last night, bro. Look, this is my little man right here.” He pulls up a video of Rihanna and RZA walking and playing along a cobblestone street in SoHo, as if that indicates the type of life the child of a billionaire creative couple can live. “They still human. They human beings,” he tells me.

He doesn’t have a Range Rover (he drives a Hummer EV), but, to paraphrase Cam’ron, Rocky is a changed man. He’s no longer the rambunctious kid from Harlem who was trying to prove to the world how much iller than everyone he was. For a guy who already had a supreme sense of self, he’s even more comfortable in his own skin. For example: Instead of launching into a full-on rap beef when it was reported that Drake sent a few disses not only his way but Rihanna’s as well, Rocky simply hopped on “Show of Hands,” a bonus track on Future and Metro Boomin’s We Still Don’t Trust You, and threw a few light jabs his way.

“You got to realize, certain n—as was throwing shots for years. I ain’t in the middle of that s–t,” he says, looking off into the distance. “That’s not how I retaliate right now. I got bigger fish to fry than some p—y boys. It is real beef outside. It is real. N—as getting really clipped and blitzed every day. N—as sniping n—as every day. That little kitty s–t ain’t about nothing.” His voice trails off as he looks at the photos of his kids on his phone.

This story will appear in the Aug. 24, 2024, issue of Billboard.