From Hell

Tech N9ne ain’t looking real wild these days.

Gone is the signature explosion of spiked, red-dyed hair — a look that was inspired during the rapper’s long affair with Ecstasy.

No longer rolling on pills but still riotous onstage, Tech’s rocking the close-cropped, sophisticated-older-guy look. Tech’s jutting, pharaoh goatee has strands of white in it — which is common for men his age, which, as of November 8, was 35. A ripe old age for a rapper.

“I had to cut it because it was falling out,” he says of his hair. “I cut it two months ago, and for me, that was a bad thing because the hair was an extension of me, and I know what people would think, but for a black man on tour, without a woman with him helping him take care of bleached hair …” he trails off, comparing the act of bleaching his hair to strewing weeds across his scalp.

“It was getting to where I was looking like a stupid clown,” he admits. “Do I look like a stupid clown, or do I cut it all off and start from scratch?”

And then he adds, “If I would have known how much female attention this would get me, I probably would have cut it a long time ago.”

We’re at the table in the corporate-looking conference room of Strange Music’s headquarters — hell, music and merchandise factory — at a small strip mall in Blue Springs. Among the people at desks and computers is Travis O’Guin, a large white man in comfortable athletic clothes and the business brain behind the operation.

The distribution center is in the back. It consists of high-ceilinged factory rooms stocked with boxes of CDs, clothing, posters and the like. A fresh shipment of Tech N9ne hoodies has recently arrived. Folded neatly, the Chiefs-red garments practically glow from the boxes, their logos crisp and artistic. In keeping with the fashion, there’s no elastic on the sleeve cuffs or waists of the hoodies.

“We do more merch than all other industry artists, period,” O’Guin says. Hoodies, tees and ski caps line the walls of the merch-guy training booth booth like a sporting-goods-store display.

“They call us a mini Wal-Mart on tour,” Tech says. O’Guin objects to this comparison to the world’s largest dealer of cheap crap. Strange’s stuff is quality.

They’ll peddle their wares at a projected 150 concerts this year, with support from the various other artists signed to the label (Kutt Calhoun, Krizz Calico, Scatterman & Snug Brim, among others). Last year, they did 134, and that was without a new Tech N9ne album to pimp.

Everready is Tech’s first album in four years, promoted in advance by thousands of giveaway samplers. (You’ve probably seen the customized truck cruising around town in the past month, album art screaming off the sides, street teamers passing out shrink-wrapped CDs to people on sidewalks.) Out November 7, the full album is being distributed by Fontana, the independent-artist branch of Universal Music.

O’Guin is a businessman. Before he hooked up with Tech, he ran a furniture company that handled warranty orders (he still owns it) and a clothing company.

“With a local clothing company, you want all the local celebrities to wear your clothes,” he says.

That’s how he found Tech.

The two endured two failed partnerships with record companies before Fontana and are now at a stable place. But even during the hard times, Strange managed to move a considerable number of discs — more than 550,000 copies of Tech’s albums Anghellic, Absolute Power and the retrospective CD Vintage Tech.

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“Everyone who’s in a major deal is envious of the type of structure we have,” O’Guin says.

Call it absolute power over your own operations.

The challenge is ensuring that your artists can pay their bills.

Tech N9ne loves his fans — and hardcore “Technicians” rabidly requite the love — and he talks with a mixture of joy and resignation at being “married to the road.” But what he really wants is to hang with his kids, who, he says, provide the old rhymer with a reason for living. He talks about this dilemma in terms he learned from his Catholic upbringing, saying that he’s between heaven and hell.

Double-click the video link above to hear Tech N9ne explain the inspiration behind “Riot Maker.”

“Purgatory has treated me really nice since I’ve been here,” he says. “Purgatory is the reason why I can feed my children. Everready is gonna give me heaven — I truly believe that. I’ve been in purgatory for a while. What is heaven? For me: peace.

“Peace, to me, is being able to chill with my children and being able to take them to foreign places and not have to worry about stupid bullshit every day from day to day or people not getting along,” he says.

He has two kids by his wife, from whom he’s separated (she lives in Sherman Oaks, California), and one son by a rapper named Agony who lives in the Kansas City area. To the former, he says he pays $5,000 a month in support; to the latter, $700. That’s why he has to tour constantly. Tech lives in California now but will look for a place here when the Everready tour’s over.

As for life on the road, Tech describes his fans as the best thing that’s happened to him since his children.

“My fans give a fuck enough about my life to go pay for a CD or buy a ticket so I can take care of my children,” he says.

Born Aaron Dontez Yates, Tech grew up in a Blood neighborhood in Kansas City, Missouri. He eventually joined a gang called the 57th Street Road Dog Villains. (He gives a shout-out to a fallen member on Everready‘s lead-off track, “Riotmaker.”)

These days, his life is distanced from that past —no drugs, no pimpin’, no beef with anyone in the industry or on the street. Still, he says, being in a gang made him the person he is.

“My family really loved me, but when I got with my gang niggas, man, they taught me to be a man,” he says. “This is the positive thing they taught me about the gang shit, man — togetherness. I love that those dudes stayed together through all those trials and tribulations. Through gang-banging, through drugs, through hatred from other people, they stayed together.”

Most of his old running buddies are still alive and out of jail, too. Tech has never been arrested, and he made his first court appearance just this year, sorting out child-support payments to his local baby’s mama. Maybe his gang survived because it wasn’t the hardest on the block?

“People are going to hate to hear this,” he answers, “but they [his former gang mates] are the hardest — they’re men, dawg. A bullet don’t give a fuck about how much of a man you are, but these guys are angels.

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“How can that be — gang-bangers are angels?” he continues. “I kicked it with these people, I lived with these people, and I know they hearts. Never mind what they grew up around.”

With that in mind, it’s surprising that today’s Tech N9ne is not a gangsta rapper. In fact, many of his fans are white — most noticeably, followers of his frequent tourmates the Insane Clown Posse, who paint their faces in clown makeup, like Tech, and call themselves juggalos. They’re quite the misfits in the world of fandom.

“I’m everybody,” he claims, “so my fans are growing rapidly. Juggalos are part of everybody. My fan base ain’t ever been just juggalos.”

Though his music isn’t for everybody (East Coast aficionados may not dig it), it has broader appeal than the haters say.

There’s nobody who sounds like Tech N9ne. His music spans from ominous rap-metal to sparse, heavy-drumbeat hyphy — the latter captured on the new single “Bout ta’ Bubble,” a party track that samples an Art of Noise song favored by B-boys back in the day. Present still on Everready is Tech’s penchant for orchestral, Tim Burton-movie-soundtrack gothic backdrops and his trademark, percussive vocal chah, which his producers seem to be able to summon at the push of a button.

Tech doesn’t brag through his songs, as some rappers do; he doesn’t rhyme about bling or cars. He tells stories from his life, and he does it with a literate, self-effacing flair.

Case in point: “My Wife, My Bitch, My Girl,” track 11 on Everready, which is preceded by a comical mock game-show skit that has the contestant (Tech) spinning a wheel in hopes of winning all three females. In the skit’s ideal world, he wins them all, but in the reality that unfolds in the song, he has trouble with all of them.

“I hate that that’s a true story,” he says. “I hate that it had to be that. I wish it could’ve been just my wife.”

Everready is full of similar stories, told with dexterity and cleverness. Tech can definitely rap. And though he still paints “Fuck Off” in decorative letters on his face at shows, the stories he tells nowadays are more profound than his past tales of sex, drugs and vampire strippers.

Hell, the guy’s 35.