Rapper Pell poses for promotional art in preparation for his current tour.
Courtesy of Chris Cajoleas I The Daily Mississippian
The bartenders and bouncers are yelling and pointing toward the door. “Close your tabs and get out,” one calls from behind a yellow mop of beard. But the crowd is moving slowly, as folks pause and stall by a table next to the exit. It’s covered with T-shirts, CDs, stickers — merchandise. Behind it stands Pell, a 21-year-old Starkville-based rapper, who’s about to hit it big. He sports a flat-brimmed Mississippi RiverKings hat and a scraggly goatee and gives a genuine laugh as he types his number into a girl’s phone. He’s gone to Los Angeles recently with his manager, Chris Cajoleas, to meet with producers and discuss his next album. But tonight that doesn’t matter, because tonight Pell is performing.
An hour later, he’s in the basement of the bar he just finished playing in, which has been repurposed to serve as a green room. His crew are sitting on beer-brewing buckets and broken wooden chairs. The shelves are littered with boxes of sweetener, chocolate milk mix, enriched macaroni product, jars of mustard and one loan packet of Quaker grits. The ceilings are low, wires dangle and pipes snake above everyone’s head. There are lockers and a large cutout of an Italian chef tugging at his mustache and smiling. The room is thick with smoke and littered with Keystone Light cans. Pell is holding court.
“ I threw a party that brought on like 1,000 people,” he tells his friend who is busy twisting his dreads underneath a flowery hat. “It was a helluva fun night, and the cops never came.” The friend nods.
“I know. I was there,” he says. “Your mom was pissed, though.” And then they both start laughing. Pell is always keeping things light. He’s making jokes and high-fiving his buddies who have followed him on this tour. They’ve been driving around the country in his car, an old Suburban, for the past five weeks.
“I don’t even know what home feels like anymore,” Pell says later. “I’ve been on tour so long and before that I was on tour and before that I was on tour. I think I’ve spent three days in my ‘bed’ in the past six months.”
This is an ongoing theme in Pell’s life. Born in New Orleans, Pell and his family were torn from their home by Hurricane Katrina in 2005. The family was forced to relocate and settled in Jackson, a fair distance from the destruction and heartache. But Pell values what he’s received from New Orleans.
Pell started rapping when he was in high school, and he made beats for friends from a beatbox his dad gave him. He’d get home from school and dive into the solitude of his bedroom, constantly writing new lyrics. Then he went to Mississippi State and caught the eye of a young promoter, Chris Cajoleas. They signed a contract, making an official relationship.
“I thought he had a lot of raw potential and raw skill,” the mustachioed Cajoleas says outside of the green room. “That when he was put with the right people and continued to develop that it could become something really awesome.” He pauses to close his jacket as a car guns by — it’s a chilly night — then looks up. “We saw the potential in where we could help each other do what needed to be done to get to the next level.”
Pell started doing shows around Starkville regularly. But since he was still in school, he couldn’t fully dedicate himself to rapping and touring. Classes came first, and he worked hard, earning good grades. Still, he was torn between his dreams and school. This feeling was soon resolved for him as he discovered he couldn’t pay the tuition anymore.
“I got to a point where I couldn’t afford school actually, and it was smarter for me to do what I loved and do what my passion is. And that’s music.”
It was an anxiety-ridden time for Pell. He had to drop out of school and move back in with his parents, and he was about to apply for a job at a Subway. But then he realized that this didn’t have to be the end — that this could be an opportunity.
“I woke up and I realized, this is all I want to do and this all I’m gonna think about,” Pell says. “I’m eating, breathing, music.” He pauses here and smiles, showing a row of white marble. He’s looking back, remembering that period. He starts laughing. “And then I told my parents.”
His parents were surprisingly supportive. He was a man, they told him — he could make his own decisions. They said he’d have to support himself financially, though. So Pell and Cajoleas have taken on the touring methods of indie bands for the past year. They’ve driven around the country and played bars and clubs, opening mostly for rock ‘n’ roll bands, all in the name of chasing that dream. The sale of merchandise and their cuts from the ticket sales pay for gas and food, and they depend on the kindness of strangers to find accommodations. Otherwise they sleep in the Suburban.
But it’s worth it because it’s all for the dream, and soon that dream could be actualized. Pell sits and pensively takes another sip of beer. This is all he’s been working for.
“It’s unexpectedly expected,” he says, looking up. “It’s good to see that’s what happens. The result is we get to do all this fun shit and live out our dreams, but it’s expected because that’s what the goal is.”
Pell will be performing at the Lyric on April 24 with Cherub and Carousel.
