Ill One gives an interview at Manhattan-based offices of his publicist Double Xxposure that breeds the kind of ennui found in a restless character out of some Ernest Hemingway or F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. Lounging casually in the executive-style conference room alongside Zahirah Entertainment label mates and long-time friends, 803, Ill One responds to questions as curtly and politely as asked. Left alone in the conference room for a more consistently civil exchange, the rest of his crew grew bored and departed a long time ago.
At first glance a pen, pad and tape recorder are paltry equipment for prying into cranial depths of this young folk poet on the rise as he wears the look of a southern-fried hard rock. The bandana, the slouch, and the sleepy eyelids are the only visible hints of his status as Orangeburg, South Carolina
