You're Now in Good Compenny

The sun covers LaRussell's face as he lies down in his backyard one September afternoon. His eyes are gently closed, his fingers are laced behind his head, and blades of grass are poking out between his arms. If I hadn’t seen him lie down, I might have thought he was sound asleep. Birds are chirping, and a rooster is crowing under a cloudless sky. Tietta, LaRussell’s social media manager, checks the audio levels as she records our conversation. I’m wearing a long black dress, sitting on a tiny black stool underneath a pergola in LaRussell’s backyard giving a long winded pitch about a story I want to do on him, and his team “Good Compenny.”

“Let’s do it!” LaRussell says without hesitation. 

LaRussell Thomas spent the last decade building his music career, business, and community out of his parents' garage. What started locally has now gained international attention. LaRussell has become known for spearheading the independent music industry while putting Vallejo on the map. Everyone from Bloomberg to E-40 to the Breakfast Club are calling LaRussell the next big thing. And now, he is inviting me to unofficially join his team for the next six months.

I show up to his house the following Monday. The inconspicuous light pink paneled home is the nucleus for LaRussell’s team — Good Compenny. The garage is open. I pass by the white fridge that says “Don’t Touch Shit Unless You Bought It.” 

I follow the music to LaRussell’s office, which is filled with books: Deepak Chopra, Raising Good Humans, Practicing Mindfulness, Cry Like a Man, and A Fistful of Wisdom. There’s a cube organizer with Crocs and Sour Patch Kids. On the left is a tiny recording booth with a small white board on the door. Each month of 2022 is written out with titles of albums underneath. Arrows are pointing from one album to another month, suggesting there is some reorganizing. 

LaRussell stands up to greet me with a beaming smile and open arms. He’s a few inches taller than me, maybe 5’ 10.” He gives me a tight hug and says, “you ready?” 

In June of 2022, LaRussell reached out to his friend, Chalberto, asking for a gazebo for his backyard.

“I was like a gazebo? that's kind of weird to perform, because that's like for weddings and stuff,” said Chalberto.

Chalberto invited LaRussell over to his house to look at the pergola he had in his own backyard. It was perfect, LaRussell’s only request for it to be much bigger, and done in seven days. He didn’t care about the cost. 

Soon after, LaRussell’s backyard — which was nothing more than broken concrete, an old childs slide and weeds — was completely torn apart and turned into a concert venue that had news crews showing up to his house.

The Pergola, the official moniker given to LaRussell's backyard, is a place for artists to practice their craft. LaRussell often references a “10,000 shots” theory and describes his backyard as a court, where artists can take their shots. It's also been referred to as “the lab,” as artists are encouraged to experiment, make mistakes and try out new ways of performing.

By 1PM, LaRussell's home transforms to a full-blown production without him leaving his office. Tietta is manning the camera, Chow Mein is working the audio boards, Swaggy B and Phani are on the DJ tables, and Sarai is filming for Instagram Live. 

LaRussell walks into the backyard and instantly starts bouncing to music while taking a sip of his water bottle. He scrunches his nose and yells, “Oooooooh,” listening to the beat. Phani and Swaggy B burst out laughing. LaRussell walks around, saying hi to everyone with a mix of roasting and gassing people up. The roasting-to-praise ratio seems to shift on how well he knows you, and you can tell who he’s known the longest. 

“That nigga Chow got the frow today!” he exclaims.

Rappers DaBoii and ShooterGangKony slip through the back gate and musicians walk through the grass holding their instrument cases. Within an hour, it feels like a current is pulsing through the house.

“Welcome to LaHearsals! The greatest show in the world,” he says to the Instagram Live stream. Hundreds of new viewers join every minute, interacting with his video from across the world, sending a flurry of hearts, and commenting fire emojis.

Every rehearsal brought together a different set of people. Rappers, musicians, singers, photographers, NBA all stars, family, friends and children all traveled to Vallejo to take part.

Sacramento born rapper Kony who’s 2019 hit song “Charlie” went gold explains what it’s like to practice at the pergola. 

“It's a reset, because you're basically proven that you can rap again,” said Kony.

LaRussell managed to gather all corners of Bay Area hip hop to practice in his backyard on a weekday. Despite being at different stages in their careers, LaRussell encouraged each person to participate equally, without any favoritism or hierarchy. What seems to be an average day for LaRussell, feels like history in the making. 

This particular day the Pergola brought together rappers ShoorterGangKony, Symba, DaBoii, Poo$ie and Rexx Life Raj and singer Katana, along with family and friends. LaRussell’s mom is in the yard in a lawn chair, with a towel over her shaven head that’s dyed red. 

After getting a few minutes of practice in, LaRussell begins to charge up, shaking out his arms and pointing to the other artists and musicians. Anybody is liable to be thrown in.

“Oooooooh,” he says, “Who’s ready? Who’s ready?”

LaRussell’s hands the mic to DaBoii, whose short staccato verses often end on a high pitch rings, and whose voice is familiar to anyone from the Bay Area. DaBoii stands in the center of the deck with a slight bend in his knees, one hand cupped on the mic and the other on his waistband. He has on panda dunks and a black sweat suit with the hood up. The pianist lays the beat for his verse in Calvin Cambridge. DaBoii gets comfortable rapping over the instrumental, with no vocals. He starts and stops a couple of times. LaRussell tells Daboii to uncup the mic with his hands, and turns to make some slight tweaks on the soundboards. 

In minutes, DaBoii is rapping a seamless verse instrumental. LaRussell is across the yard, moving his arms back and forth to the beat as he gets lower. DaBoii barely finishes the verse 

“Vallejo, California where them youngin's they be quick to bust

Ruthless!”

before people start going crazy. LaRussell is beaming from ear-to-ear practically yelling with excitement, the saxophone player is hitting the steeze behind him and Tietta is behind the camera going crazy.

LaRussell takes the mic again, ad-libbing and improvising between songs, before handing it off to the next person. Each artist goes verse for verse with each other, with no vocals underneath, and LaRussell orchestrates the whole thing. 

Larussell has some signature ways he brings energy to another artist on stage. Sometimes he’ll stand behind them and grab their shoulders like a coach to a boxer in a fight. Sometimes he’ll dust their shoulders off or bend his knees and bounce with them on beat. Or, he’ll be on the side lines with his head hanging, eyes closed, a smile and his hands up in the sky. All the while, he’ll be giving directions to folks on the audio boards, and slipping in quick tips for the performers in between verses. 

Four years prior, LaRussell was saving his paychecks in order to perform at the Empress Theatre in Vallejo for the first time. As an independent artist, he felt like this first concert really meant he was for real. He had just released an album with the help of Good Compenny. The crowd was the base LaRussell had organically grown over the years, mainly family and friends. Milli, his best friend since high school and manager, was at the first Empress show and describes what it was like.

“He had never had any previous like, any experience of doing that. Like he was in his room all the time on his computer, and in his studio is like to himself,” said Milli. “He came out there and rocked that joint. And it's very similar to his energy, like when he's around you like everyone's drawn to him.”

Since 2018, LaRussell has drawn in an even larger crowd, all while maintaining a core group of supporters.

The Empress filled with baby blue shirts that said, “You are now in Good Compenny.” Attendees range from toddlers to grandparents. People greet LaRussell’s parents — Russell Sr. and Yvette, with, “Hi Momma Tota,” “Hi Pops,” and big hugs. 

Russell Sr. didn’t grow up showing affection to his kids in the form of hugs and “I love you’s.” But watching LaRussell, it was clear he had changed. 

“That's what I got from him, how to embrace how to love people,” Russell Sr. said. “You know, it makes a change when you tell people man I appreciate you, you did a good job. And I see him doing that all the time.”

Angela Chavez was at the first Empress Show in 2018, and since then, has shown up for every event she could. 

“Coming to the show, I feel like family, he knows me by name, I feel so special. What artists know their fans by name? None,” she said.

Soulshine, a Vallejo native and poet, adds, “It makes me empowered to just know we’re from the same soil, it’s embedded in our DNA.” 

Russell Sr. remembers the first time he heard LaRussell’s music. It was in 2018, when LaRussell had just released his first album and had not performed a concert yet. 

“I'm sitting there listening but I'm saying to myself: is this him? I couldn't believe it. You know, I listened to the album and I started crying. I'm like, man, you know because he was so he was so dope. I haven't heard nobody's probably rap like that since I was a kid.”

Like LaRussell’s dad, his music resonated with older gentlemen, the OGs of hip-hop who saw its inception and its many evolutions. They respect the message he's putting out and are tired of mumble rap and only hearing about money and hoes. 

Fans found LaRussell through a myriad of ways. Twitter, TikTok, Instagram, Proud to Pay Brunches — a community event in Vallejo where people can eat for free and see a performance, or through plain old word-of-mouth. He was also discovered through his pickup truck “Sprinkle Me” video, his viral GC Live Sessions, his L.A. Leakers Freestyle, his podcast on Earn Your Leisure. Larussell’s content creation strategy had put him at the top of everyone’s timelines. It didn't matter if people were into music, business, entrepreneurship or something else, he worked on so much stuff it was gonna be hard for them to not see him. He didn’t care about the size of a platform, if he liked it, he was going to do it. 

Fans loved more than just LaRussell, or even his music, they loved Good Compenny and its business model. LaRussell’s spoke transparently about how he ran Good Compenny and why he did things, like his proud to pay method where fans get to set their own price for tickets, merch, etc. He wants to create opportunities for everyone in his community to come, and he knows not everyone has money for a ticket.

He’s also known for splitting song royalties with his friends and community, so as he grew, they would grow. He raps about his team in almost every single song. So those who know LaRussell, know Chow, Milli and Tietta too. 

“It's very community driven. And it's more — it’s more than just a singular goal of just only LaRussell blowing up to be the biggest whatever ever. It's also about highlighting all these talents from around the Bay Area,” said producer and live musician Hokage Simon.

His company has “Gold Card'' members who can place a bid — for him to accept or decline — for lifetime access to Good Compenny events. People were enthusiastic about the trajectory LaRussell was taking and even more inspired by that they felt like they were taking part in it.

LaRussell kicks off his crocs, jumps on stage, and goes on to perform for two hours without shoes on. He runs out and stands in the center of the stage, encompassed in blue light and framed by the mini Pergola he takes on stage with him. In front of him is a fan with “it’s different” — one of LaRussell’s taglines — tattooed across her arm. Behind him is a trumpet player, a pianist, and violinist. 

I had been to hundreds of shows in my life, most of them in the Bay Area, and I had never seen a rap show bring out a violinist, a trumpet player, or pianist, let alone all three. The performance moves like a jazz piece, with no formal start and end and no set list. 

LaRussell asks the crowd what they want to hear and layered requests quickly fill the room,

People yell out, “Cherry Skies!” “Boss Market Blues!” “10s, 20s, 30s.”

Some people are persistent, screaming at the top of their lungs to get their favorite song played.

“Person in the back! I hear you, I hear you,” LaRussell laughs.

Hokage Simon starts by playing chords on the keyboard, providing a foundation for the other musicians. Michael Prince adds sharp violin strokes that land on the beat, and Richard Cruz adds bold and brassy trumpet notes when he sees fit.

Kids are on their parents shoulders, many of them babbling the lyrics.

Tietta is on stage with a large video camera, walking with artists across stage for content that will later be cut up and used. She describes LaRussell on stage as god-like, inhuman, and doing something only the greats can do. For her, it's his memory retention, his crowd involvement, and the attention he commands that left her in awe. 

LaRussell switches tempos and begins to introduce a slower song with, “Can I talk my shit.” He stands center stage, moving his hands as he switches between verses, hitting his chest when he talks about himself, shrugging off the crowd when he’s speaking on some nonsense, pointing his finger in the sky when he’s rapping about something above him. His lyricism and pointed verses cast a stillness in the crowd. All eyes are locked in on him. The crowd’s attentiveness is affirmed by voices of approval. 

“Yep!”

“Mmmmhhhh.”

People sway and turn to the people they come in contact with, giving them a look like, “I see you.”

Others swell up with tears watching him perform, “Do That Lil Dance You Be Doing.”

LaRussell pauses to let the lyrics settle into people’s souls. After a few seconds pass, he turns around, takes a sip of his tea, gives Swaggy B a look, and turns the whole place upside down.

“Inhuman. It doesn't even make sense how powerful he is in life, but especially on that stage,” says Tietta.

The two hours go by in a flash. I’m tired, so I can’t imagine how LaRussell is feeling, but he instantly jumps back into talking to his fans. I catch up with the people who I saw at the beginning of the show. Every person reports back something similar: the energy is unmatched. Instead of people walking away tired, drunk and sweaty, it seemed attendees were leaving with an extra pep in their step, and a new connection.

Early Childhood

I walk into LaRussell’s living room and sit softly on the couch. There’s a sleeping baby on the opposite end, wearing a fuzzy red set with pink hearts. Plants are lined up against the floorboards and a picture of LaRussell Thomas with his siblings is under the mantel. In the corner, is a crate for Yvette’s two small dogs — Hennsey and Cognac. To the left, is a hallway covered in long laminated sheets filled with family pictures. 

Yvette’s in a rocking chair with her granddaughter on her lap. She turns off the The Price Is Right for our interview and I pull out my journal and pen. She rocks back and forth with her vision split between her granddaughter and the baby.

When Yvette was 9-years-old and Russell Sr. was 11, they both lived on Cherry and 94th street in Oakland. Russell Sr. had just moved from Fort Worth, Texas with his family.

Russell Sr.’s dad owned several gas stations in Texas and at a young age Russell Sr. began working at his father’s store. He quickly became good at numbers, learning how to run the cash register and how to work with customers. The store had several games, including Galaxy and Pacman. 

“Me and my brother that’s over me, we used to set scores all the time, and people never could break them, we were so good at it,” said Russell Sr.

At 11, Russell Sr. moved to Oakland with his family, although he never quite knew why. He was scared to ask at that age. He described his dad as really rough, but someone who always made sure his kids were taken care of. 

“I wasn’t one of those kids that always had to have name brands, I just wore whatever they could afford. I just went with it. Because I kept saying when I get older, I'll put myself in a position to have whatever I want to have,” said Russell Sr. 

Russell Sr. and Yvette’s brother went to Elmhurst middle school together and soon, he met Yvette. They hung out almost everyday, unless someone was sick and Russell Sr. played sports with Yvette’s brothers.

Yvette described growing up in Oakland in the 80s and 90s as “very busy.” Similar to other cities across the United States, Oakland was struck by serious drug and crime issues, but as Yvettte put it,

“To me, it was just fun,” she said.

Yvette loved spending time at the nail shop with her friends, listening to Too $hort and watching car drag shows. Russell Sr. loved all the same things, maybe minus the nail salon. They’d go to sideshows and watch movies, and their families grew to know each other well. Russell Sr spent a lot of time at Yvette’s house. 

“Her mom was hella cool. She was everybody's mom. So yeah, she's right. It was almost like a party house. Everybody go over there. To kick it,” said Russell Sr.

When Yvette was 16 and Russell Sr. was 18 or 19 they had their first kid — LaRussell’s oldest sister.

“Was it a hard transition for you to have a kid at 16?” I ask her from across the living room.

“It wasn’t a hard transition. Because even when I was young, I had my niece, And I think I was about nine — not raising her — just having her. Yeah, I think I was maybe 12 then, if that. And I always toted her around.” 

“I knew I was going to take care of my kid because my dad, that’s one thing he did, he always took care of his kids,” said Russell Sr.

By 25, Yvette and Russell Sr. had all their kids and in 1998, they moved to Vallejo.

“And now I’m done, see I don’t have to deal with all this baby stuff no more, mines is grown,” Yvette says as our conversation is broken up with a baby cooing and her granddaughter in her arms. I look at her and laugh.

“Look, this a new addition,” referring to the baby on the couch. 

LaRussell described growing up in Vallejo as, “extremely f****ing hyphy,” a Bay Area term for very lit or rowdy. He grew up on Too $hort— his mom’s favorite artist. He described coming outside and seeing the living room TV on two crates in the front yard, with the chairs and tables set up for a boxing match.

“This was before big screens so you got a bunch of niggas just outside. And you know my cousin used to bring over the big ass speakers and wake the block up,” said LaRussell. 

Each place in the house had something different going on: boys wrestling and playing video games, kids jumping on a bed, people playing dominoes in the kitchen, a comedy show in the backyard.

“My kids grew up here. My nieces and my nephews. My god-kids. Grandkids now, this the house.” said Yvette, LaRussell’s mom. 

****

It’s 2009, LaRussell was in high school, on his bedroom floor in Vallejo, with a pile of CDs, a burner, plastic slips, and album covers strewn out in front of him. He was putting together a mixtape together for his group, MTL, to hand out at school. The name was an acronym for "more to life, more to love, more to live for," which LaRussell eventually got tattooed across his knuckles. Members of MTL included Phani, LaRussell’s DJ, and Milli, LaRussell’s manager.

His closet was filled with extra large jeans, a Randy Moss Raider Jersey, Vans and the 2XL white shirt that went under the 3XL black tee.

LaRussell and Phani would spend middle school afternoons playing hoops and then going back to LaRussell’s house where his mother, Yvette, would often be.

"They always went to the store and came here with 50 cent honey buns and cupcakes. They always had a lot of them. And I never really tripped, until one day Russell said they used to come in here high. But I'm looking at him like, 'nah, he ain't smoking yet,'" said Yvette.

By ninth grade, this had become a ritual for Phani and LaRussell. They would leave school, grab a snack, get high, and go back to LaRussell's house. 

LaRussell met Milli around this time. All of them went to Jesse Bethel high school in Vallejo. Milli and LaRussell would split headphones in class to listen to Lil Wayne, Young Money, Fallout Boy, and Tech Major. These were Limewire days and LaRussell was always the one downloading the music.

“Style wise it was the super thin eyebrows, working with what our parents gave us early in the year, still stretching the same clothes, trying to switch it up, big ol’ baggy pants,” said Milli.

“He wore a scarf, and glasses though, I just want to pinpoint that,” Milli laughed. 

At that time, LaRussell was rapping under the name “Tota” or “Tota Shakur.”

Phani often riled up rap battles between LaRussell and other people in his high school. The two pooled together the funds they made from selling Swishers to place the wager. For Phani, it wasn’t a matter of if, LaRussell won that kept him intrigued, but rather, how. It only took a few times before nobody wanted to go up against LaRussell anymore.

Right before senior year, LaRussell called Phani crying with news that would change his life. LaRussell was set to have his daughter, Mel, with his best friend and girlfriend at the time. LaRussell came home that day, with Phani. He cried and listened to J. Cole Lost One's, and then went on a walk with Phani.

“We’re just like bruh — we gotta make it,” LaRussell said.

Phani remembers that day well.

“After that he was very serious, very strategic, he had everything mapped out of what he wanted for himself,” said Phani.

LaRussell dropped another mixtape and handed it out to people at his school. Chow was one of the people who received it.

“That was honestly my first mixtape so I was like, okay, I felt special. I was like fuck it, I’m going to slap it when I get home. I went home, played it, and even though his sound is completely different from back then I was like yeah, no, this man is gonna be a star,” said Chow. 

Ten years later, I’m standing on a massive stage, looking out at a flood of 6,500 red seats with LaRussell, his parents, Chow and LaRussell’s friend/producer, Tope. Staff spray down the seats with disinfectant as music vibrates through every part of the venue, making the pens in my purse jump around. LaRussell’s mom walks past the dressing rooms holding her phone out as she passes by the paper signs outside of each door, “E-40,” “Ice Cube,” “Xzibit.” 

Xzibit had invited LaRussell to open his set for the “How The West Was Won” tour with Ice Cube, E-40, DJ Quik, Xzibit, B Real and Celly Cel at Shoreline Amphitheatre. 

Since high school, LaRussell had been making music, creating community and bringing his friends with him. Ten years later, those same friends were riding with him on an Escalade to Shoreline Amphitheatre. 

SXSW

By 2023, it seemed the whole world was trying to work with LaRussell. He’d become the pinnacle of independent success, a hero in Vallejo and had amassed over 700,000 followers on Instagram alone. His growing audience had caught the attention of every major label in the country. On top of that, his performances created a reputation that made everyone want to show up to his shows. 

He had been on the Breakfast Club, had a Times Square billboard, had performed in front of thousands. Bloomberg made a short documentary about him. His song was on ESPN, and his following count was growing by tens of thousands every month. All the while, LaRussell centered his team. He would only agree to do photoshoots if his team could take the photos. So when people saw LaRussell, they saw the work of Jason and Bgiggz. And when they saw the photos they saw Vallejo, where most of his content is taken.

He was getting more opportunities to collaborate with big companies. As South by Southwest — a massive tech, film and media conference — was approaching Intuit, the parent company to TurboTax and Mail Chimp, reached out to collaborate.

They wanted to do an “open verse challenge” with LaRussell. He would make the first half of a song, and open up submissions for the second half. The person who created his favorite verse would receive $20,000 dollars from Intuit and would be flown out to perform the song at LaRussell’s first Pergola show in 2023.

On top of that, they would throw an event: The Breakthrough by Intuit. The event was in the name of financial literacy, independence and artists taking control. The SXSW event had LaRussell as the headliner and several other independent artists as the opening act.

LaRussell was also invited to do a panel the following day called "Earn Your Masters,” a panel moderated by Rashad Bilal and Troy Millings, the founders of Earn Your Leisure. This event was separate from Intuit, and featured a panel of music pioneers, including LaRussell, Jadakiss, and Ryan Leslie — a songwriter, and producer who has worked with Beyonce. The same person LaRussell watched a decade ago making beats on Youtube.

On March 15th, I arrived in Austin to the AirBnb before everyone else, because they missed their flight. The house has four or five bedrooms, a large sitting area and a small outdoor patio. LaRussell arrives with the team in two vans filled with equipment. Everyone gets inside the house and starts scoping out the bedrooms. 

The next morning at 9am we pile into the sprinter van to head to SXSW. 

There is a round of quick introductions, and the green room host makes sure we have everything we need. Before we know it there’s a slew of Yerba Mates in flavors I’ve never seen before. 

Splash, Tope and I are playing Jenga with only half the blocks. Hokage Simon is on his computer, with his Apple headphones on, LaRussell is sitting close to his book. Out the corner comes a blonde woman slips past the other production people while looking at LaRussell. She squats next to him. 

“I feel like I’m talking to my 3rd grader right now,” she says.

She goes on to say that they would like to limit LaRussell from cursing. In her words the “S-H” word was okay, but no “N” word, no “F” word.

LaRussell laughs with his typical big smile. 

“What do you mean? Have you listened to my music?” LaRussell asks.

The woman goes on to say the reasons why she doesn't want him swearing has something to do with using the recording later. LaRussell starts spelling out why that won’t work. People are coming to the event for him and his music. Not a watered down version of that. Tietta is sitting next to him at this point, and emphasizes what he’s saying.

“It seems like you guys really just want his audience, not him,” Tietta says. 

The production woman listens attentively, her affect indicates she doesn’t completely agree, but also doesn’t disagree on the statement. 

“If you just wanted to get Black people, you should’ve said that,” LaRussell says.

LaRussell goes on to say that he would’ve never done the deal earlier, if he knew these would be the contingencies. 

I can’t make out the rest of the conversation, but she walks away and we’re all left kind of looking back and forth at each other. 

From that moment on, things became tense. I sensed side conversations were happening. It felt like because LaRussell had already signed the contract, they now wanted him to act and perform in the manner that they wanted.

Later that day, we head downstairs to do the Q&A. Tietta, Splash and I are in the front row. The rest of the small room is filled with press and production. LaRussell is sitting on a chair with his legs criss-cross and a water bottle to the side. Behind him is a purple and blue backdrop with his name on it. Two people are getting mic’d up and I hear LaRussell make a comment. 

“Oh, so you two are the enemy,” he says.

They both laugh, and assure them they’re not the enemy. They exchange glances, before finishing setting up his mic and walking off set where I am sitting down. They start whispering next to me. 

“You don’t think he was serious, do you?” the woman asks the other. 

I hear the guy respond and say something to the effect of, “man that guy’s an asshole.” 

I turn to them quickly and defensively say, “Sorry, what did I hear you say?” 

But as they scramble to explain, I interjected.

“Umm, never mind, I thought I heard — you know what nevermind,” I said.

I shouldn’t get into it, I tell myself. I couldn't fully make out what they were saying, and things were already tense enough, I figured best to keep my mouth shut.

The host of the Inuit does some final hair and make-up touches and starts the interview.

“Now let's get Intuit!” she says.

LaRussell seems to have an insightful conversation, with a big smile and giving thoughtful answers. At one point, the interviewer asks if there was something he didn’t expect.

He chuckles, “This.”

We wait another six hours before the concert starts and energy is running low. It’s dark outside now and the green room is a lot more busy. 

The last opening act gets off stage. Hokage Simon sets up his keyboard, Michael Prince has his violin, KMS with his saxophone. I’m setting up the 360 on the DJ booth, and Swaggy B is getting on the DJ boards. Before LaRussell gets on stage, thunder and lightning begin to light up the sky. The next flash of lightning strikes only a few seconds after the last one passes. Production tells us that we’ll have to get on stage quickly before the storm becomes worse.

Within minutes a wall of water begins rushing from the sky, so much that it drowns out all the voices of the people in the venue. Everyone retreats inside and the musicians are left to scramble to get their equipment out of the rain and into the building. We are all crammed in the hallway of the kitchen, surrounded by chairs and tables stacked on top of eachother. LaRussell is waiting with a blank, tired, stare as people crowd around him, taking videos of them backstage.

After an hour, production decides there’s no choice but for LaRussell to perform on the tiny stage inside the venue, probably less than 10 by 10 feet. The security guard clears out arms worth of space for me at the front of a tiny stage so I can try and take pictures, but I can barely get my arm up. Everyone in the room was sweaty, and holding their drinks above their heads to avoid spilling them.

LaRussell opens up with the concert with,

The man behind me is screaming lyrics with so much force that his spit is hitting the back of my arm.

LaRussell says he was going to open with “10s, 20s, 50s, 100s,” but after the day he had, he thought that “Do That Lil Dance You Be Doing” was a better fit. Tietta is recording while LaRussell is performing. The two move like seasoned dancers, in sync giving and taking up space between each other gracefully, even on the tiny stage. The tiny screen on the camera illuminates Tietta’s smile as she watches it attentively, quietly mouthing word for word with LaRussell.

LaRussell closes the show dripping in sweat to a roaring applause and cowboy hat that someone tossed on stage. Getting off the stage was just as hard getting off and everyone was ready to go home.

We show up the next day for the panel hosted by Earn Your Leisure, a separate event from Intuit. Intuit advised against LaRussell doing it, because he had already done their event. LaRussell moved forward with doing the panel.

We get to security, but this time they won’t let us in. They ask for LaRussell’s name, he tells them, then tells them again. They still won’t let us in. I can’t help but interject. 

“His name is on your badge,” I say, as I point to the plastic lanyard hanging around his neck. 

They finally let us in, and we went back to the green room filled with Yerba Mates. 

We go outside and wait for the panel to start. The team is sitting down eating ramen, and LaRussell and Tietta are off to the side. I can’t make out their conversation, but his brows are slightly furrowed and he’s not smiling. He lets out a deep sigh and Tietta hugs him tight.

LaRussell eventually ends up on the panel, and goes on to have a conversation with greats, inviting Jadakiss to the Pergola, and chopping it up with Ryan Leslie. 

We leave the Belmont shortly after, and decide to walk down 5th street, the main stretch of SXSW. Instantly LaRussell is stopped by fans and asked for a picture. We walk a few feet and it happens again, and again, and again. We didn’t move past the block for half an hour.

LaRussell answered every question, hugged every person, snapped every picture. He sat down and let them mic him up. He listened to people pitch him their ideas, all with a big smile on his face. I stand to the side, feeling overwhelmed. He couldn’t walk a foot without being stopped. Tietta is off to the side as well, but her sight rarely leaves LaRussell. Finally we break away from the crowd. 

“That was crazy,” I say.

“Ya, but I knew what I was doing,” he said. LaRussell went on to explain why he stopped for every single person, and every single interview. 

“Now, when you see SXSW, you’re gonna see LaRussell! There’s no way you won’t!” he said.

On top of that, LaRussell made every person walk away feeling seen, and that’s something people won’t forget. If he acted like an asshole, or shrugged off even a single person, there’s a possibility that that occurrence might be the one people hear about.

A week after SXSW is done, LaRussell is to announce the open verse challenge. I see him post on Instagram:

“ANNOUNCEMENT, OPEN VERSE WINNERS,” the title reads. The picture is of LaRussell, at the pergola, with his mom in a black beanie with his face printed on it and a red Good Compenny hoodie.

The caption reads, “PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT! My blackness can not be bought.”

LaRussell goes on to say he will no longer be working with Intuit, and denounce their actions, and tells everyone that he will still be doing the challenge, but he’ll be funding the contest out of his own pocket. I've heard LaRussell talk about retiring a few times. 

“This is gonna be my last year,” he would say.

Tope would quickly interject, “Man you’re not gonna retire.” 

From the outside I couldn’t tell why he would contemplate such a move. He was surrounded by his family, his friends, he had more impact and following than ever before. But after an exhausting weekend I got a glimpse of how draining being an artist could be— let alone an independent one. 

There was always the option of LaRussell signing a label. He has a massive discography, several offers already, a clothing line, a concert venue, a YouTube channel, but there was something about seeing if he could do it on his own that felt more fulfilling. 

Also, these moments reflected the importance of what he had built at home. As he always said, “You can’t block a road that I’m not on.”

LaRussell was fine with breaking his relationship with Intuit because he was forging a path that naturally weeded out vulture practices of the music industry. 

People respect LaRussell. They see his value. Almost every person who meets him, leaves with wisdom, knowledge, and often more money, and more opportunities. But when they see something of value, especially in this industry, they’re often concerned with how to exploit it to benefit themselves.

MUSIC

Blue lights cuff LaRussell’s black hoodie as he stands in front of a sold out show in Oakland. He turns and quickly takes three energetic steps towards Tietta — his social media manager and videographer who is holding a large camera on stage with him. Without looking, she crosses her right foot over her left, avoiding the wooden structure behind her and maintaining the perfect capture. LaRussell pivots, turns back to his original position, before repeating the process.

The two of them move across the stage like experienced dancers, gracefully giving and taking space between each other whenever they perform. Tietta is on left stage, LaRussell is on the right. Tietta has her head slightly tilt. The LED screen illuminates her warm grin in the dark venue as she watches LaRussell’s performance through a 2-3 inch monitor. Her smile only falls as she starts to mouth LaRussell’s lyrics and rises again when LaRussell cracks a joke with the crowd.

A young boy stands front row at LaRussell’s concert, bouncing at the knees. His sister is right next to him mouthing the lyrics to LaRussell’s song. Their grandmother is behind them, with her fingers laced and her hands held at her chest. 

Their mother is standing beside them with her hands raised up towards the sky. Her head is tilted downwards as she nods slowly in affirmation.

Talk your shit!

Tears stream down her face.

The young boy jumps joyously to the next song.

Over the course of covering this story, I came to know this family. There was Jayla, her mom Sondra, and her 11 year old twins, Rainbow and Brave. They were at the front of the line for almost every show. The first time I saw them was at the Empress Theatre. Then New Parish in Oakland. Then the Fonda in LA, then the Midway in San Francisco, then in Reno, Nevada and most recently at the last Pergola show. 

Jayla first discovered LaRussell in summer of 2020 through radio host Charlamagne tha God. She reflected on the first time she heard him,

“I heard LaRussell singing Nigga, and that song in particular is really touching for me. Because my father, that was one of his favorite words. That, and motherfucker,” said Jayla.

She forwarded the song to her mom with the message, “Mom, this is my anthem!”

They went to their first show at the Roxy Theatre in Los Angeles in July 2022. It was the first event of its kind where Jayla could bring her whole family along.

“I told my family. I said, ‘Listen, right? Don't be surprised if LaRussell meets us. And your energy is just like so magnetic that you become family, and it literally happened,’” Jayla said.

Almost a year later, I see Jayla and her family at almost every Good Compenny event. They came so frequently that at first I thought they were family and lived nearby. I later found out that they had been driving for six hours each way, or taking planes to attend. 

LaRussell had a smaller concert in Reno, Nevada. Jayla and her family arrived early at the venue to meet everyone. I walk outside to see Yvette and Jayla lighting up their joints, and laughing. Rainbow and Brave, along with the other kids, are off to the side having a snowball fight wearing Good Compenny hoodies with sleeves that were too long that are getting wet.

Jayla explains what this is like for her.

“I wasn't able to be a kid and so watching my children, do age appropriate things. From a place of love is like, the most amazing feeling for me,” she said.

Jayla is a suicide and a sex-trafficking survivor. She has four businesses, and is a single mom by choice. She’s helped her own mom retire, and actively speaks about breaking generational curses in her family. She doesn't have much contact with most of her own family, so Good Compenny has allowed her to foster genuine relationships with them.

Jayla explains her relationship with Yvette, LaRussell’s mom.

“She and I have, you know, a great relationship because we're both real ass niggas. And, you know, real recognizes real,” she said. 

When Yvette’s sister passed away, Jayla left Yvette a message on Instagram with words of support. Yvette later on told me that Rainbow made her a card. 

Rainbow regularly gets on stage and open’s LaRussells concerts rapping Baggage Claim. LaRussell gives an opportunity at every concert for someone to get on stage and sing one of his songs. Then he pops out and surprises them on stage, singing right next to them. Often, it's adults who have never held a mic before, so sometimes their audio cuts in and out of being heard, or they try to run across the stage and realize how hard it is to sing and perform at the same time.

But when Rainbow gets on stage, she goes bar-for-bar singing Baggage Claim, with near perfect breath control and a natural stage presence.

“It makes me feel happy because they're responding to me in a good way,” Rainbow says.

Her twin brother, Brave, is more introverted, but still occasionally gets the courage to go up there.

“I just get down and Boogie. I dance,” says Brave.

Their mom appreciates that LaRussell has the ability both energize her, and bring out her deepest emotions.

“My mom didn't have the tools, she didn't have the tools to help out,” said Jayla

“Boss market blues makes me cry every time,” said Sondra, Jayla’s mom.

“And so when I hear that song, and it's like, we didn't have the tools, he's right. We didn't have the tools because we were only taught by a generational pattern that may not have been the best. So it's — and then it also brings me optimism that we could do better,” says Sondra.

The Pergola

It’s the first Sunday of April, the first pergola show of the year, and the last Good Compenny event I’m reporting on. 

I hear the sound of crackling bacon and the edge of a spoon scraping over ridges of a tin can as I make my way to the kitchen. LaRussell’s parents are both there. Yvette is on the left, laying strips of bacon across a mini grill, and Russell Sr. on the right is pouring nacho cheese sauce into a crockpot.

Yvette tells her grandchildren to start getting up and ready or to go sleep in her bed. She repeats herself a couple times before going into the living room to warn them more sternly. They both get up and begin to get ready, with the help of Yvette. 

She yells at them across the house, “Brush your teeth! Make sure your sister brushes her teeth! Put your dirty clothes in the hamper in my room. Make sure to help your sister.”

Occasionally, she steps away from her bacon to check on them.

“See you are such a good big brother,” she says to her grandson. 

The rest of Good Compenny starts showing up. First Jacob, then Chalberto, then Tietta, and then others follow. LaRussell starts bringing amplifiers from inside the house, to outside in the backyard and the whole team starts setting up the equipment. 

Everyone who walks past Russell Sr. and Yvette stops and gives them a big hug.

I had spent the last six months at the pergola, on and off, but had never been there for an official pergola show. Today was the first one of 2023 and there was an exciting energy in the house. LaRussell’s dad had set the garage up with tables and food warmers for the event. He prepped chicken, carne asada, nachos, rice and beans for the taco bar.

A Pergola Show is like an elevated family barbeque or a cookout. It’s a reunion. It’s like a kid’s birthday party.

The space slowly gets filled one-by-one with speakers, audio boards, balloons and flowers. A fan is whirring in the background as a big inflatable bouncy house fills up in the front yard. It’s 58 degrees, sunny and with a slight breeze, and a familiar rooster is crowing in the background. 

Doors open at 2pm, and people start filing in a bit early to get good seats. People walk through the back gate with their phones held out as they pass. The bouncy house already has kids shoes lined outside it, sparkly black boots, and small Nikes. 

Milli’s daughter see’s a friend out her peripheral, “Is that Rainbow?” she says to herself, before running up to the other young girl, giving her a hug, and guiding her to the front of the yard where the bouncy house is.

Rainbow’s mom, Jayla, stays behind with Yvette. The two embrace, get comfortable on benches lining the backyard, and begin to smoke and chat. 

Two hundred and sixteen tickets were sold, plus friends and family. LaRussell had a lineup of people from his hometown, and around the country, who were set to take the stage at 2PM for the first show of the year, a few of which were the winners of his open verse challenge.

It wasn’t long before the empty backyard was filled with children, tacos, paper plates and Good Compenny merch. 

In the garage, LaRussell’s dad is serving food. There’s a full buffet of rice, beans, meat and toppings. 

“You pops?” says one of the people in line.

I can see a wide grin hidden behind Russell’s Sr.'s mask. 

“Yep that’s me,” he says to the young man. 

The young man thanks him with a big smile and moves on in the line. 

LaRussell went on to have a jammed pack two hour show, where he switched between his own music, and letting his other guests go bar-for-bar over it, including several people in the crowd, who he encouraged to get up on stage and rap. 

About half way through the concert, LaRussell calls for his mom to get on stage. She pops out fuschia purple heeled boots shoes, a teal and purple shawl, and a purple crown royal bag hanging from her belt loop. She’s ad libbing for LaRussell, dancing to his call and response to LaRussell’s new song.

The crowd roared as LaRussell called to his mom, “Go mama, go mama go, go mama, go mama go.”

“Go fishing, go fishing, go fishing,”

“Now throw it back, throw it back, throw it back.”

I see Ricki Leigh Flores in the crowd, another supporter and LaRussell whom I met at the first Empress Show.

Ricki is a Gold Card member, meaning she has unlimited access to all Good Compenny events. She made an offer, and at the time, it was all the money she had. In her opinion, it wasn’t very much money, but it was all she had to spend. 

She sent LaRussell an offer, and he accepted. Ricki tearfully told me about what the membership meant to her.

“Up until probably like, a month ago, I just felt like I didn’t deserve everything that he gives through the Gold Card. Because what I paid should have been so much more. Does that make sense?”

But listening to LaRussell’s music and being in community with Good Compenny has taught her a valuable lesson. 

“Ricki, when people are inviting you into the space, they're inviting you into the space, you don't have to work to be there. You don't have to do anything extra other than to just be yourself,  she said to herself.

When Ricki shows up to the Pergola, she’s not just saying hi to LaRussell, she’s saying hi to Milli, Chow, Yvette, Jayla, Manny and everyone else she met through Good Compenny.

“So, I am not afraid to — or I'm working on not being afraid to — be shy to be myself, or, you know, wonder, do I belong and that's a beautiful thing for someone to give another person. So thank you Good Compenny.”