SIR MIX-A-LOT IS AN OG
- Thembisa S. Mshaka
- Jun 24
- 7 min read
Updated: Jul 5
Sir Mix-A-Lot is an OG
Heavy on the original, but easy on the gangsta.
By Thembisa S. Mshaka
If you judged Anthony L. Ray solely by his suggestive, boastful lyrics, you’d never guess that he was taught not to move like the gangsters of Seattle by the Black Panthers. They kept their eyes on young Mix while his mother, a nurse, volunteered at the Black Panther Party’s Sidney Miller Free Medical Clinic on Yesler Way, where she raised him. In 1978, the clinic was renamed for BPP organizer Carolyn Downs, who tragically succumbed to breast cancer at 25. The clinic, now federally funded, continues to serve the neighborhood.
Back then, his parents were not together, so Mix spent most weekends with his father, who called him ‘Sport’. “He’d pick me up on weekends—but during the week, the [Black Panther] brothers start asking questions when I got off the school bus: ‘whatchu learn today, Youngblood? What do you believe in? When you see a woman walking down the street, what do you say to her?’ These questions, designed to test and to teach, were formative for the teenager hatching his own plan to avoid the quicksand of underworld occupations.
"I love doing music—I probably have a hundred songs no one has ever heard—but I like producing other people, listening to their cadence, and bringing out the best in them like Rick [Rubin] did for me. When I hit the studio, I’m doing the same thing I used to do: trying to find something. Sleep, wake up, BING!! There’s the idea. I make it, then I give it to someone to do their thing."
In the early ‘80s, Mix was putting DJ equipment on layaway with money from his paltry but steady Summer Youth Employment Program (SYEP) check. The money-making allure of Grand Master Flash appealed to him, and while Mix deejayed regularly at the Rainier Vista Boys and Girls Club, he started to lay away more production equipment. “Making the music was more fun because I liked to create from scratch. I wanted to be original.”
Pioneering rap radio personality DJ Nasty Nes of K-Fox (KKFX-Seattle) saw something in this unassuming, focused kid on the turntables at Rainier Vista. Nastymix Records was born from their friendship and love of hip hop. “Nasty Nes discovered me, and never bragged on it,” Mix reflects. “I had to be the one to tell people. Because of Nes, hip hop in Seattle began to grow. Seeing that mural of me with Nes…I’m trying not to get emotional. It will bring tears to your eyes.” Located at 4th Avenue South and Lander, the Desmond Hansen mural has cemented the legacy of the late Nes Rodriguez, who passed away last year.
Four decades, six albums, a GRAMMY, an American Music Award, multiple guest appearances as himself on animated series, several gold and platinum RIAA certifications, and a Seattle morning show stint later, Sir Mix-A-Lot comes full circle, producing for other artists from his state-of-the-art, mostly analog studio. Our conversation was lively and free-flowing, the kind you’d have in a classic drop-top on a warm Sunday afternoon. We talked about what kinds of art moves him as an artist, the prescience of “Baby Got Back”, his beef with AI, and how social media metrics and chatter aren’t a barometer for real-life perception.
TSM: We are now seeing non-Black women contort themselves to take on the natural attributes and bodies of Black women, features that were not seen as beautiful in 1988. Did you think that song would be an ironic foreshadowing of sorts?
MIX: I’m not knocking any other race, but people were knockin’ mine, so I said, ‘let me flip that. I’m gonna talk about something serious. This is what we as a culture love about us—and there’s nothing wrong with loving yourself, especially for our women. I love the fact that they [white women] love wanting to be you, the sistas of America—no matter what, you—and by you I mean Black women—are walking by wit a real one!
TSM: Even then, I appreciated that you weren’t calling us “bitch” like so many rappers coming out of the Bay and LA. Your nouns of choice were “girlies” and “freaks”.
MIX: The song got banned, and so many people called it sexist, it hit! I was raised by a strong Black woman. For me to call any Black woman a bitch—I would have been lying to myself, because my mom was a sista!”
TSM: What art has inspired you lately?
MIX: I love other kinds of music, especially people who write lyrics that make you think. I study lyrics from people whose music I don’t like, because that’s not what I’m listening for. The Kendrick Lamar vs. Drake battle was cool to see—that was pure hip-hop. People had their opinions about who won and who lost, and it was competitive, but nobody got shot, nobody beat anybody up.
TSM: When it comes to AI, what side are you on?
MIX: I don’t like it. I’m not trying to be the “old guy,” but I’m trying not to ever go to AI. Even as an educational tool, it takes away a kid’s curiosity.
TSM: And it’s only as good as the training it gets, and if the training is racist, sexist, homophobic…it’s working against all the progress we’ve made.
MIX: That’s right. It learns evil just as fast as it learns good.
TSM: Talk about celebrity versus visibility. You don’t seem caught up in “staying relevant” on social media.
MIX: I hate the "staying relevant” thing. It’s as if I have to mean something to those strangers…over there. I have no problem being different. Your song is one thing, and that’s great; that’s your art. But who are you? I did a private show with Rakim, and he was so down to earth, but he has no reason to be—everybody calls him the GOAT. You know what he never did? Call himself the GOAT. He never had to say it.
I’ve learned to get out there, do a few things, and then disappear. Stop doing so many shows; it shows desperation—and people don’t want to see you like that. After “Baby Got Back,” I released a ton of stuff. I was trying to compete with myself and beat its success. Couldn’t do it. Those albums died. Fast-forward to now: “Ride” and “Sweet Brown Sugar” are going berserk on social media. Then people start telling me to tour off of those streams. It’s cool for people much younger than me to hear it, but it would be stupid for me to tour off of that. That let me know I could still do it, but I don’t want to do it for myself; I want to find somebody else and help them the way Rick Rubin helped me.
TSM: Talk about the importance of building a team you trust over all these years. What would you say to artists about who to let go of or hold on to?
MIX: I went and got my homie Darcell, got Mike, my nephew Mark Jr., and shrunk it in. Thirty people on tour will suck up all the money. I really learned to study the fiscal aspects of music with my manager, Ricardo. He is sharp as hell, and he knows what I like. Even when we disagree, we don’t argue.
TSM: You’re comfortable, you have nothing to prove. Why keep going with music when you could travel, or just relax?
MIX: I love doing music—I probably have a hundred songs no one has ever heard—but I like producing other people, listening to their cadence, and bringing out the best in them like Rick did for me. When I hit the studio, I’m doing the same thing I used to do: trying to find something. Sleep, wake up, BING!! There’s the idea. I make it, then I give it to someone to do their thing.
TSM: Any wisdom for the artists that you’ve gained after 40-plus years in this industry?
MIX: The first thing you have to do is look in the mirror and ask yourself why you’re doing it. If you don’t have a good answer, and you’re just doing it because someone suggested it, but you’re not feeling it anymore…stop, because you’ll embarrass yourself. I wanted to put out “One Time’s Got No Case” because I was trying to be hard. Rick said, “I don’t think this song is you. I like “Baby Got Back”. I don’t give a shit about you acting ‘hard.' I give a shit about you being unique.
When artists do it for money, you can smell it. I can’t stand that. I wasn’t starving when ‘Baby Got Back’ blew up. I was on an independent label in Seattle and driving a Ferarri—in the ‘80s. But at my lowest point, I remembered what I did wrong: eventually, I bought seven cars, and I was still paying notes on my house. I could’ve paid the house off, but I had nine cars total, and had to build another garage for them. That was probably me at my worst because I knew I was smarter than that. I got rid of the cars.
As you get older, there’s a lot of potential demons coming. If you haven’t ever dealt with one, hurry up and deal with one before you become one. One of the things I am trying to do is to get the darkness out of my life.
TSM: And how do you do that—yoga, tai chi, meditation?
MIX: I mow my lawn a lot.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thembisa S. Mshaka is an author, essayist, award-winning creative, and co-founder of arts preservation brand Hip Hop Beauty Circa 1973. Thembisa’s writings have been published in print and online, and in textbooks (25 Hip-Hop Icons, Edited by Mickey Hess, Greenwood Press). In 2021, she was selected as part of the inaugural Black Muslim TV Screenwriters cohort by the Hollywood Bureau, Muslim Public Affairs Council, and The Blackhouse Foundation. She served as lead screenwriter for docuseries Running While Black, directed by Jenn Shaw and executive produced by Spike Lee for VICE TV. Her first feature screenplay, Islamic Speed Dating, is complete and adapted for series. She has pilots in development for multiple TV projects, including a docuseries with veteran makeup mogul Ashunta Sheriff (Rihanna, Alicia Keys, Ciara).
Learn more about Thembisa here.
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