As a man navigating the high-pressure world of hip hop, how do your family or close personal relationships keep you grounded, and what’s one value they’ve instilled in you that shapes your hustle?

“My family, especially my mom, is my rock. She’s the kind of woman who’d work two jobs—one at a daycare, another cleaning offices—come home with aching feet, and still cook dinner or ask me about my day. I can still picture her in our cramped L.A. apartment, counting out every dollar to make ends meet, never letting us feel that strain. That relentless work ethic she carried—it’s my lifeline. In an industry where you’re constantly chasing the next big moment, her example keeps me steady. I remember one time, I was stressing over a delayed mixtape release, ready to lose it, and I thought about her: she never folded under pressure, just kept moving. That’s the value she drilled into me—resilience. It’s not about avoiding the struggle; it’s about pushing through it with purpose. In hip hop, where the spotlight can blind you and the lows can break you, I lean on that. I stay grounded by controlling what I can—my effort, my output—and letting the rest fall into place. Her hustle wasn’t loud or flashy; it was quiet, consistent, and unbreakable, and that’s how I approach my own grind every day.”

Outside of music, what’s a hobby or passion that brings balance or inspiration, and how does it reflect who you are beyond Prince Angelus?

“The gym is my escape—it’s where I go to reset and recharge. It’s not just about building muscle; it’s about testing my limits. It’s the same mental toughness I bring to music. The gym mirrors my hustle: no shortcuts, just unfiltered talent and effort.

Then there’s audiobooks—I’m hooked on them. They spark ideas, keep my mind sharp. These passions and habits show I’m not just Prince Angelus, the artist. I’m a guy who craves discipline, thrives on learning, and finds peace in pushing myself, whether it’s a heavy squat or a deep thought. That’s me unfiltered—always chasing growth, in and out of the studio.”

Your 2021 single “FREE” featuring Kendrick Lamar was cinematic and vivid, capturing street poetics. What personal experiences from growing up in L.A. shaped its storytelling?

“It’s not just a song, it’s a snapshot of survival. I remember being 14, riding my bike past corner stores and graffiti-tagged walls, hearing sirens so often they became background noise. From gang life, police run-ins, to losing friends to the violence of the streets… That loss, that helplessness, it’s in the DNA of “FREE.” The streets taught me about loyalty, betrayal, and the thin line between making it out and getting trapped. It’s cinematic because life out here is! Every block’s a scene, every choice a plot twist. “FREE” is me spilling that reality, painting it vividly, as you said, so you feel the weight I carried.”

Collaborating with Kendrick Lamar on “FREE” was a major moment. How did that partnership come about, and what did you learn from working with such a legendary figure in hip hop?

“The West Coast scene is tight-knit. It started with Homegrown Radio, this hub run by Chuck Dizzle and DJ Hed where L.A. artists—big and small—chop it up. I’d roll through with my label, Blu Division Music. My mentor, Glasses Malone, had deep ties with TDE, Kendrick’s camp, so I’d tag along to their Carson studio. The real spark for “FREE” came when I hit up StreetGoddess, a mutual connect who’s got her ear to the streets. She bridged the gap, and next thing I know, I’m picking up Kendrick’s verse. Hearing his voice on my track was unreal—like a torch being passed.

He dropped this gem on me: ‘Always have 10 unreleased verses ready to spit.’

Working with him showed me the power of precision—every word he laid down was deliberate, heavy. That’s a lesson I carry now: don’t just create, master your craft and strike when the iron’s hot.”

As someone embedded in L.A.’s hip hop scene, how do you carry forward the city’s legacy while carving out your own space in the culture?

“L.A. hip hop culture is a living legacy—N.W.A.’s bold defiance, Tupac’s poetic fire, Kendrick’s layered genius—it’s all in the air here. I carry that forward by keeping my music real, rooted in the stories I’ve lived. I’m standing on the shoulders of giants, but I’m not mimicking their steps. I’m not here to redo history—I’m adding my chapter. I’m not chasing fame or a crown, I’m building my own kingdom, brick by brick, while honoring hip hop’s roots. —The culture is shifting it’s craving something new, and I’m ready to put out work that’s undeniably me. That’s how I keep L.A.’s spirit alive and still stand out.“

Your work with The Lab Ratz on “FREE” blended soul, funk, and hip hop in your production, how did that come about?

“Working with The Lab Ratz—me and my late homie Fee, rest in peace—was something special. He’d come in with this smooth, jazzy neo-soul vibe, sometimes blowing that saxophone like it was telling a story. I’d bring my soulful, funky hip hop energy, and we’d just vibe, blending it all into something fresh and unique. I don’t sit there plotting it out like a science project—it’s just in me, you know? Growing up on the West Coast, I was soaking up Snoop Dogg, DJ Quik, Ice Cube, Tupac—those beats were my heartbeat. Then there’s my soulful side, shaped by family cookouts where Marvin Gaye and Donny Hathaway were on repeat. Those days, with music filling the air, wired my ears for life. That’s what you hear in “FREE”—a big, cinematic sound that’s got funk’s groove, soul’s heart, and hip hop’s edge, all coming straight from who I am.”

After your hiatus from music, what inspired you to return with “FREE,” and how did that break influence your perspective on your hustle in the industry?

“Stepping back from music wasn’t easy—it felt like pausing my heartbeat—but it was essential. Life was pulling me in a million directions, and I needed to breathe, to figure out who I was beyond the mic. During that time off, I locked myself in my room with a stack of books—music theory, philosophy, anything to stretch my mind. I’d spend hours breaking down chord progressions or dissecting old Motown records, finding new ways to hear the world. Then 2020 hit—the protests, the anger over police brutality, the cries for justice—it lit a fire in me. “FREE” wasn’t just a comeback, it was a necessity, a way to scream what I’d been holding in. That break reshaped me. I came back hungrier, and more focused. I realized hustle isn’t about burning out—it’s about pacing yourself, growing quietly, then striking with purpose. I used to think I had to be everywhere, doing everything. Now? I know the power of patience, of crafting something that lasts. “FREE” is proof of that shift—it’s sharper, deeper…because I took the time to evolve.”

As a rapper, singer, producer, and engineer, which role feels most authentic when creating music, and how did that shape “FREE”?

“Every hat I wear—rapper, singer, producer, engineer—is a thread in the same fabric. I grew up broke, no studio budget, just a cracked laptop and a dream. I’d watch my mentor, flip a beat, record a verse, mix it down, all in one night. That hustle became my blueprint. For “FREE,” it was all hands on deck. I wrote the bars in a notebook because I couldn’t afford a laptop growing up, let alone studio time. I remember staying up ‘til 3 a.m., adjusting levels, chasing that perfect rumble. No single role feels most authentic—they all are, because they’re all me. “FREE” wouldn’t exist without that control—I shaped every note, every echo, to match the vision in my head. It’s like building a house: I’m the architect, the carpenter, the painter. That self-reliance? It’s my soul in sound.”

The hip hop landscape has evolved since your time with Blu Division Music. What’s one change in the culture you’re excited about, and how does it influence your work?

The Kendrick-Drake battle flipped the script—it woke everybody up. “Back when I was with Blu Division, it was about grinding for respect, but now? Fans are starving for substance over flash. That clash—Kendrick’s dense, poetic jabs versus Drake’s slick, melodic counterpunches—proved bars still matter. I was glued to it, replaying every diss track, feeling the energy shift. It’s exciting because it’s a throwback to when skill ruled. For me, coming from the same L.A. soil as Kendrick, it’s a call to arms. I’m writing tighter, digging deeper—every line’s gotta hit harder now. I’ve got a track on Hawthorne inspired by that vibe: layered storytelling, no fluff, just gut punches. The culture’s demanding more, examining lyrics again and I’m here to deliver.”

Your stage name, Prince Angelus, carries a regal and spiritual vibe. How does it reflect your journey, and did it play a role in the themes of “FREE”?

“Prince is my birth name—shoutout to my mom for that—but Angelus? That’s the mission. It’s Latin for “messenger,” and it’s a sly nod to Los Angeles, my heartbeat. My journey’s been about finding my voice. Angelus is me claiming that for myself by delivering stories, truths, warnings, hope. In “FREE,” it’s front and center—I’m the messenger of the streets, the guy who’s seen the traps and still sings about breaking out. I remember picking the name late one night, staring at the city skyline, feeling like I had something to say. It shapes everything: my music’s got this duality—royal confidence against spiritual weight. “FREE” is me stepping into that fully, using my platform to speak on bondage and liberation, personal and collective. The name’s a compass—it keeps me pointed toward purpose, not just noise.”

For Men Hustle Too readers, what’s a lesson from creating “FREE” that aspiring artists need to hear to succeed in hip hop?

“Here’s the real talk: don’t sleep on intention. Making “FREE” wasn’t just throwing bars together—it was a mission. Every lyric, every beat, had to mean something, had to carry weight. I’d scrap verses that didn’t hit the mark, even if they sounded dope, because they didn’t fit the soul of the track. Aspiring artists—listen up! Hustle’s more than grinding ‘til you drop. It’s about knowing why you’re grinding. Build your network with purpose, not just to flex. Write with a goal, not just to fill space. I’ve seen too many chase clout and fade out. Take it from me: I’d rather drop one track that lasts than ten that get skipped. Stay relentless, yeah, but make every move count—that’s how you carve a lane and keep it.”

How do you stay connected to the community and culture that raised you while pushing your music forward?

“L.A.’s my pulse—I don’t just rep it, I live it. I stay connected by keeping my feet on the ground: hitting up local spots like Leimert Park open mics, chopping it up with producers at after-hours sessions, or just vibing at a taco truck with folks who’ve known me since day one. Recently, I linked with this young cat, a rapper barely out of high school, and we traded bars—he’s raw, hungry, reminds me of myself at 16. I’m mentoring where I can, passing down what Glasses and others gave me. Online, I’m active too—Instagram Lives with fans, hyping up new acts. The scene’s chaotic, lacks structure, so I’m trying to build some: hosting cyphers, linking talent with opportunity. It’s a two-way street—I feed off the energy of the streets, then pour it back into my music, keeping it fresh, keeping it us.”

What’s next for Prince Angelus in terms of new music or projects, and how do you plan to redefine hustle in hip hop?

“I’m deep in the lab working on “Hawthorne”, my next album that’s like a Polaroid of my life—gritty, beautiful, all L.A. It’s almost locked. Expect it soon—full of visuals too, like short films for each song. Then there’s Off Prairie, my podcast relaunch—I’m sitting down with artists, OGs, even poets, unpacking hip hop’s soul, from street tales to big-picture dreams. I’m showing that hustle’s strategic—authentic moves, not desperate ones. It’s leaving a mark that’s more than streams, something kids in the hood can hold onto. That’s my next chapter…music, stories, and a legacy that sticks.”