Rapper and actor Eve looks back: ‘I was the only girl in the boardroom at major label meetings – this girl from Philly had to come out’ | Music

Born Eve Jihan Jeffers in Philadelphia in 1978, rapper Eve released her debut album, Let There Be Eve… Ruff Ryders’ First Lady, in 1999; it entered at number 1 on the Billboard 200. She followed her success with the platinum-selling Scorpion, which won a Grammy for the single Let Me Blow Ya Mind. As an actress, she appeared in the Barbershop films and starred in her own sitcom, Eve. She married London entrepreneur Maximillion Cooper in 2014; together they have a son and she is a stepmother to his four children. Eve will tour the UK and Europe in 2027.

This was taken in Miami, where I was recording Scorpion. I was obsessed with red because of its astrological affiliation with Scorpio – everything had to be that color. My hair is short because I convinced my hairdresser to put in both a permanent relaxer and color, which you’re not supposed to do. All my hair fell out, but luckily it looked good. I felt powerful and sexy.

I knew I wanted to be a rapper since I was 15 years old. I was that kid at school who tried everything, whether it was tap dancing or the violin. I started rapping when I was 11, and four years later I told my mom, “I know you probably want me to go to college, but I really want to do music.” » I thought she would be upset, but she wasn’t. There was only one plan B: makeup with special effects. Some days, I still think about retraining in this field.

Coming from Philadelphia definitely shaped the rapper I became. Philadelphia girls are known for being brave and not taking no for an answer. It’s the city of underdogs – close to New York, but people generally avoid us to get there – and as a result, people in Philly are used to hustling. Growing up, it was a lot more dangerous than it is today, so I saw a lot of drugs and guns, but the dealers were also guys who looked out for me – they were friends. I always knew I wanted to get out. I was determined that things would work out differently for me.

My rap battles started at school. I was fighting against the boysoften in patois, which is so ridiculous, because I’m not even Jamaican. I talked about the size of their dicks, but also about how they lived with their mother and were broke and took the bus to school, ignoring the fact that I was too. I loved words, and when I wasn’t destroying someone’s ego, I was also obsessed with poetry.

In my late teens, I met Ma$e. Like a bird on my shoulder, he started telling me that I should take rap seriously. After that, I signed with Dre’s Aftermath. At the time, I was called Eve of Destruction, because I really was that girl – I had attitude. Eight months later, I was abandoned. It was devastating to have my dream taken away from me, but if I hadn’t experienced that initial failure, I probably wouldn’t have had the success I later had. After spending a depressed month on my mom’s couch, Jimmy Iovine called me and told me I should meet Ruff Ryders (a hip-hop label and collective that included DMX, the Lox, Jadakiss, Swizz Beatz).

Ruff Ryders was my refuge. I’d had a lot of haunting experiences trying to get my music out there before – the kind of bullshit that all women in most industries go through. I was going to New York to play my demo to a producer, and instead of taking me seriously, he was hitting on me and saying, “Let’s go to dinner.” In comparison, the Ruff Ryders were the polar opposite. If anything, they were trying to cover for me, because I loved wearing kitten heels, shorts and tube tops. They were like, “Here, put on this vest! Put on these Timberlands!” They also taught me how to format a song. At first I was just a battle rapper, but working with them was hip-hop boot camp.

All this led to the success of Scorpion. I was a huge fan of all genres of music, from Biggie Smalls to No Doubt, and when I wrote Let Me Blow Ya Mind, I knew we should feature Gwen Stefani on it. I was the only girl in the meeting room at these major label meetings and this girl from Philly had to come out a lot. At first they were resistant because I was a rapper and she was a rock star, but I said, “Guys, this is going to work. Trust me.”

Even though I won that particular fight, the response to many of my suggestions was often, “Oh, that’s cute. We don’t do that.” I felt like I couldn’t be fully myself and excited because there were so many miserable assholes around me in these conference rooms. The atmosphere made me feel like I had to suppress myself and stay small. Decades later, my old A&R called me and apologized. He said: “I really wish we had listened to you a little more – you had some good ideas. » It was validation.

When things took off, there was no time to celebrate. I was at the next studio, the next show. But I remember hearing my voice in an SUV on Hot 97, one of the biggest hip-hop radio stations in New York, and thinking, “This is it. This is the time.” I met young women with the same paw prints tattooed on their chests as mine, who told me it had gotten them into trouble with their parents. “It’s amazing,” I said, “but I didn’t tell you to do that!”

The work was grueling and following Scorpion, I was exhausted. I struggled with anxiety and depression, but no one talked about mental health back then. Instead, I was encouraged to drink and do what we had to do that day. Like any young artist, I was definitely tortured. I hung out with the wrong people, did the wrong things to try to cope, and chose to self-medicate. There were many times when I would call home and cry to my mother and tell her, “I can’t do this anymore.” I was sad and alone and my friendships were falling apart. I always thought, “Wait, who’s changed? Have I changed? What about you? Have we changed?” I had lost the sense of belonging that I had always had.

I realized that being a musician was an exhausting ass life, and I had a period where I straddled the disciplines of rapper, actor, and television personality. But it was also exhausting. I would go to the club, get there at 2 a.m. and have to be on set at 9 a.m., which was unsustainable. One day I looked at myself and thought: “What life do you really want? I just want to be happy and healthy.” I started implementing things like therapy, acupuncture, and healing work. I still have days where I’m overwhelmed – life isn’t perfect – but at least I have the tools to deal with it.

Rapping at 40 is a different act than it was in 2001. What remains is my fire – it still comes out when it needs to. But this time, I am present. I don’t have anyone breathing around my neck and saying, “We have to sell these records.” » I am also totally amazed by my life, by the fact that it has brought me this far. I wake up and think, “Damn. How did a girl from Philly get here?”