Max B and the Plight of the Post-Prison Rapper

When Max B was first sentenced to 75 years in prison on June 4, 2009, I was still in high school. Last week, after having that sentence trimmed down to 16 years thanks to most of the original charges around his alleged role in an armed robbery that left a man dead being dropped, he walked out of Northern State Prison in Newark, New Jersey a free man. Biggaveli was truly larger than life at the peak of his fame, a street-rap icon with dozens of mixtapes whose melodies and fuck-it-all charm laid the blueprint for a generation of rap stars. Across the 2000s, he went from Dipset affiliate to Jim Jones antagonist to French Montana tag-team partner. To say he was missed would be an understatement—fans and fellow artists have been chanting “Free Max B” ever since he was first locked up. Kanye West even featured a prison voicemail from Max on his last great album, 2016’s The Life of Pablo. They didn’t call him The Wave for nothing.

Post-prison notoriety for rappers has evolved from dropping the obligatory First Day Out freestyle to making the rounds on every podcast couch, YouTube channel, and TikTok fashion or music page that draws ears and eyes. So there was Max, doing a fit check with an influencer at a Jets game before he could even stop at the jeweler. To his credit, though, his comeback also involves another, more old-fashioned strategy: appearing at clubs throughout the Northeast, culminating in two sold-out Brooklyn homecoming shows set to happen next January. But after seeing a clip of him in the club looking bewildered as someone yelled in his ear, I couldn’t help but wonder how it felt to be that perceived, that outside, after being locked away from the world at large for so long. Sixteen years is a while for anyone to be gone, but it might as well be three lifetimes in rap.            

Max is playing it cool, but pressure is coming in from all sides. We couldn’t go a day without seeing the “Max B should work with…” tweets and speculation about what kind of music he’d drop and when. I’d bet money on GQ, The New York Times, or some other big publication gearing up a triumphant profile, with the (probably white) journalist shadowing Max as we speak. Younger audiences who weren’t around for his prolific era will wonder what the big deal is; older audiences will be waiting for whatever new music they can hear. I’ve been running back Wave Pack and Coke Wave as much as the next guy, but I wanna take the time to remind everyone to chill and let the man’s return unfold on his terms.

As listeners, fans, and spectators, it can be easy to get swept up in the excitement of an artist coming home after spending years fighting the courts and prison system. It’s hard not to think about the world that awaited Bobby Shmurda and Young Thug when they both re-entered society. Thug’s RICO trial was among the most high-profile in hip-hop history, covered to death from every possible angle. Then, when he got out, the narrative went left into his crew’s intra-beefing, Thug’s tenuous relationship with Gunna, and drama surrounding Thug and his partner, the R&B singer Mariah the Scientist. The music that did come out, in the form of his not-very-good fourth studio album UY Scuti and a handful of loosies, was recognized more for the skin-bleaching meme on the album’s cover and whatever curiosity the post-trial breakdown still garnered. That, combined with some truly awful foot-in-mouth takes on a podcast or two, ended the homecoming excitement.

Bobby Shmurda went through a similar ritual a few years ago. The Brooklyn-via-Miami rapper, barely off the heels of his breakout single “Hot Nigga,” was arrested in 2014, along with several members of his GS9 collective, on conspiracy murder charges, which he formally pled guilty to in 2016. One of the biggest parts of that story was Bobby taking the lion’s share of the blame so fellow GS9 members like Rowdy Rebel would serve less time. It’s one of the reasons why his release was heralded, his loyalty rewarded by a handful of rap elites and even bookended with a GQ profile for good measure. Bobby came home with a ton of goodwill, did an extensive press tour, and had legions of fans excited to see his next moves. Unfortunately, the window for his redemption was small. The music he dropped didn’t stick, and earlier this year, a comeback tour was canceled because of poor ticket sales. 

Clearly, part of the downturn for both Thug and Shmurda stemmed from the music they released being bad, formulaic, or desperate. But another factor is the general pressure that comes with having to deliver on so much anticipation. Imagine spending years fighting your way through a carceral system that lives to make slaves of Black people and examples of Black celebrities, and then coming back to a public thirsty for new music, interviews, and exposure. Some, like Freddie Gibbs, Gucci Mane, Rio da Yung OG, and Hoodrich Pablo Juan have managed to turn that fallow period into fuel that revitalized their careers. But not everyone can pull it off. 

It’s still entirely too early to tell what will happen with Max B. As of today, he’s only been out for a week, and he seems to be moving at his own pace. He’s in the studio with Harry Fraud, French Montana, and A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie. He’s set to appear on old labelmate Cam’ron’s Talk with Flee podcast tomorrow, which I’m sure will set the rap internet on fire. He’s expressed interest in working on music with sexy drill pioneer Cash Cobain, and is taking to TikTok quite well. Whatever happens next, the most important thing is for him to be ready. We’ve seen how expectations and burnout have tripped up some of the biggest names in rap. The last thing anyone should want is for the wave to crest before its time.