LIL WAYNE LIVES BY HIS OWN RULES

Chasing a hip-hop legend across the country as he wraps up Tha Carter VI and says (and does) whatever the hell he wants

- BY ANDRE GEE

It's 5am in Georgia, and Tree Sound Studios is quiet. I'm in a side room of the vast, oaky complex near Atlanta, preparing to be the first person outside of Lil Wayne's circle to hear Tha Carter VI, the album he's been working on for six years. On this mid-January night, our listening session was supposed to begin at 1 am, but it took two hours for Wayne to show up. Wayne's manager, Fabian Marasciullo, an affable, stout Queens native wearing all black, told me that the hip-hop icon is doing some last-minute edits to songs before I hear them. It's been a long minute. I ogle the labyrinthine recording console in the room. I wouldn't know the first knob to push, but I have mastered the Keurig machine; I need caffeine. Most of my time in Wayne's orbit, chasing him across the map, has been an exercise in indeterminate waiting. I've already taken two trips to Los Angeles for interviews that didn't happen, the latter missed connection due to calamitous wildfires. Last night, Wayne headlined a concert at Atlanta's State Farm Arena. I got an onstage glimpse of his set, but we didn't talk. Our crosscountry game of cat and mouse will continue after tonight, resulting in missed interviews, late nights that turn into early mornings, and a postponed Rolling Stone cover.

But back at Tree Sound, I finally get the nod that Wayne is ready for me. Marasciullo escorts me into Wayne's room, and I'm smacked with a weed stench as I cross into his musky territory. He stands near the door in baggy, all-black Balenciaga gear, with a black band around his neck not unlike the "solja rag" he and the Hot Boys popularised nearly 30 years ago. A gleaming platinum Cuban chain sits atop his shirt.