Nipsey Hussle, Bino Rideaux and the marathon behind ‘Prolific’

Just weeks before his death, Nipsey Hussle stopped by Power 106 in Los Angeles to speak with Justin Credible and DJ Sourmilk of the L.A. Leakers. 

The biggest takeaway from the interview, one of the last of his short yet transcendent life, was that Nipsey genuinely appeared excited. Already a legend on Crenshaw and Slauson and across Los Angeles, the 33-year-old was taking his star power on a national, upward turn.

His latest single, which would soon become a sobering prophecy in “Racks in the Middle,” had just dropped with overwhelmingly positive reviews. He was excited to reveal details about an upcoming collaboration with DJ Khaled — a song immortally remembered now as a self-delivered eulogy in “Higher.” Nonetheless, at the moment, he was still riding high off the Grammy nomination for his 2018 opus Victory Lap.

He didn’t win, but to Nipsey, that wasn’t the point.

“I felt a gang of ways about it. Happy and inspired,” he told the Power 106 hosts that day in early March 2019. “I’m not gon’ say you gon’ be validated by an opinion, but just being an artist, that [acknowledgment] means something. I felt motivated to do some more music, and get some more music out.”

Friday, a day before what would have been Nipsey Hussle’s 41st birthday, his first new body of work in eight years drops. Alongside longtime collaborator Bino Rideaux, the album Prolific exemplifies that eagerness to record and release new material. It’s a glimpse of where Nipsey’s mind was in both the immediate pre-and-post Victory Lap times of his life. The album is largely a stark mood shift from he and Bino’s 2017 classic, No Pressure.

Most importantly, it marks the key element of the grieving process: honoring purpose.

When Bino listens to Prolific, all he hears is the process: the nights spent in the studio with Nipsey, the meticulous craft behind each lyric and each melody, and the stress and hope of every syllable breathed into the microphone.

“I hear the real-life experiences that was the initial drive that created this project,” Bino told Andscape. “I feel like I hear the conversations, but what I’m hoping the public hears is the authentic Nipsey Hussle and Bino Rideaux project.”

Nipsey and Bino’s collaborative history spans a decade, from Slauson Boy 2 standouts such as “Clarity” and “The Field” featuring the late Young Dolph. No Pressure dropped in the late fall of 2017, just months after Nipsey’s close friend Stephen “Fatts” Donelson was murdered. The weight of the loss even appears on Prolific. On “Count On You,” Nipsey raps, Fatts died, he took a part of me with him/ Heart broken like my artery missin.’ Before the forthcoming album was renamed Prolific, though, the original title was Single For the Summer.

“I just hope [everyone] understands these ain’t just a bunch of verses we gathered and put together. This is something me and bro really worked on.”

Both Nipsey and Bino wanted to experiment with a new sound. Nipsey’s street-rooted odysseys combined with Bino’s melodic curvatures always had a way of making whatever they created sound like ghetto diary chapters. Entries such as “Make Believe,” “Miami Off The Plane,” “All Summer” with BH, “Just Like Me” with Buddy, and even the XXX-rated Cardi B and Ty Dolla $ign-featured “I Just Wanna Know” sound very much like records that belong in summer rotations.

They are soundtracks for after-hours kickbacks and cookouts, meant to be heard while driving the Pacific Coast Highway. They are best internalized with a half-empty glass and a blunt half-finished, ready to capture a night only Los Angeles can offer.

“This was the next plan after Victory Lap,” Bino said. “I just hope [everyone] understands these ain’t just a bunch of verses we gathered and put together. This is something me and bro really worked on.”

Another revealing wrinkle comes when Nipsey seemingly acknowledges Lauren London, the mother of his son, Kross. “Super Real” begins with a conversation between the couple. On it, he raps, I put my life in between these lines/ I got you breakin’ my music down/ I can put you on a pedestal and motivate on you a different level too/ I need your energy for what I’m goin’ through/ You can balance me, and I can balance you.

The result isn’t a portrait of a relationship in turmoil so much as a reflection that not every morning is blissful, but every disagreement isn’t the end. It’s a man balancing two vital parts of his existence: the life he hustles for and the woman he needs beside him.

On “Sacrifices,” the James Fauntleroy-assisted confessions read like a fly-on-the-wall admission to a therapist. Please just listen, I might just sacrifice everything for the mission/ As God as my witness, no malice in my intentions/ No skeletons in my closet, I broke your heart for these Benz’s/ You know I’m coming from nothing, you know I’m chasing this vision/ Don’t fall in love with no hustler, you know that come with conditions.

Later in the same verse, Hussle searches for peace through storms, rapping, That f‑‑‑ed you up, and I get it/ That f‑‑‑ed me up that I did it/ You ever been so conflicted you scared to make a decision?/ But fear ain’t part of my prism/ Love ain’t supposed to be prison/ This s‑‑‑ ain’t gon’ never die/ Just grew into something different.

Therein lies Prolific‘s entire ethos. To the world, this is new Nipsey Hussle music. To those closest to him, it’s intimate conversations they’ve sat with for years, and now the world becomes privy.

Nipsey’s tragic murder more than seven years ago represents a timeline-shifting moment. It brought a loss so unshakable that the world never quite found its equilibrium afterward. A moment like this, with the release of Prolific, is categorized as a daunting blessing, hoping to satisfy fans and ultimately one of Nipsey’s last living wishes.

That’s one thing I feel like I could say for sure that he would want. He’d just want us to keep running laps.

Nipsey’s older brother, Blacc Sam, speaking with me several years ago for The King of Crenshaw “30 For 30” podcast, remained adamant about one policy: Nothing with Nipsey’s name on it would be used solely for clout-chasing. I asked if we’d ever hear of a new Nipsey project. He was unsure, still very much in the throes of losing his younger brother to the same gang violence they both sought so hard to escape.

Ask Sam, ask Bino, ask anyone within Nipsey’s inner circle, the one word that’s used almost like a crutch is “integrity.”

It’s what Hussle lived his life by — and what they attempt to personify his legacy with.

“Nip a cold n‑‑‑‑, bro,” YG said on a recent episode of the “Joe and Jada” podcast. “Nip one of the realest n‑‑‑‑ in my life, in my world that I knew. Nip the realest n‑‑‑‑ to walk planet Earth.”

Nipsey once deciphered to legendary radio host Big Boy what he called “the marathon.” Every emotion — from fear to self-doubt to hope — lived inside him. He just didn’t quit, as he explained in arguably his most famous soundbite. Those left to deal with survivor’s remorse in the wake of Nipsey’s murder grappled with identical internal battles. Even getting to the moment they’re embarking on now came with countless hours of soul-searching.

“Music was the last thing I wanted to think about, because it’s impossible to do anything music-related without thinking about bro, considering,” Bino said. “That turned into the fuel to keep going. That’s one thing I feel like I could say for sure that he would want. He’d just want us to keep running laps. I poured more into just executing the plans we had than selfishly wallowing in my grief.”

Moving on and moving forward are not, and never will be, mutually exclusive.

For Bino, music will never be an outlet to escape grief. It’s the polar opposite. Listening to the songs now, every note of every track is a reminder of some of his final moments with a man who changed his life.

“I feel like it’s always a moment when [I want to call him]. When it’s a new experience just on the road. It ain’t even got to do anything with music,” he said. “It’s situations where you felt like Nip had all the answers. He probably didn’t, but I just appreciated his insight so much that his answer always felt like the right one.” 

There’s a golden rule in life — not a comfortable one. If we’re blessed to live long enough, we’re going to experience a loss (or losses) that fundamentally change who we are and how we see the world — much like Nipsey’s death was to Bino, Sam, London, his children and so many others who intimately loved and still love him.

“The other side of grief” doesn’t exist. There is no expiration date. There is no moment or day when we awaken and life suddenly feels “normal” again. It’s the slow burn of a realization that life continually asks you to participate in until you’re no longer a part of it.

You somehow find a way to laugh again. To smile again. To anticipate happiness again. You fall in love, fall out of love and understand that until there’s no breath left in your lungs — there’s always still time to live a life worth living. You string together good moments and good days. And in fleeting instances, you forget about the pain — until you hear Nipsey’s voice in a song or interview and remember you can’t instinctively just call the one you so desperately need.

Forgetting who you love is impossible. Learning how to live alongside grief isn’t.

Looking at Prolific through that prism makes for a completely different listen than simply a posthumous album from an artist taken away far too soon. Nevertheless, it’s a proxy of the marathon Nipsey based his life around. Contradiction, loss and fear all live inside a fully formed life. Setbacks coexist with ambition. Losses do the same with wins. Carrying grief doesn’t mean goals become obsolete. Everyone lost something when Nipsey Hussle died 2,692 days ago.

That’s what makes Prolific’s 15 tracks so devastatingly poignant.

Alongside Bino, Nipsey recorded these records because — as he alluded to the L.A. Leakers — he wanted to give the world more art. He didn’t make the music knowing what his legacy would mean in 2026. This progress poetic, he rapped on “Bacc of the Bach,” I gotta express that. This wasn’t meant to be a memorial. This was supposed to be the next evolution of Nipsey’s hustle.

This isn’t Nipsey rapping from the perspective of knowing the world would have to interpret his words. This was a Rollin’ 60’s Crip envisioning hustling on a grander scale. About entrepreneurship and business that had taken him from cop-riddled raids in South Central L.A. when he was hustling T-shirts to Roc Nation brunches and multimillion-dollar boardrooms. About sex and the almighty pursuit of the next check. About capitalism and vulnerability.

The songs haven’t changed, because they can’t. We have, because we’ve been given the gift and burden Nipsey was robbed of: life.

Nipsey opines about sacrifices, never knowing he’d be making the ultimate sacrifice just months after these songs were recorded. That’s why Prolific is its own challenger to grief. The music reflects Nipsey to Bino and listeners alike. And why, all these years later, losing him makes no more sense now than it did on March 31, 2019.

Prolific isn’t built as closure, because closure doesn’t exist. Prolific, however, does give grief and beauty the rare opportunity to coexist.

“It’s a big responsibility that I take on honorably [to carry Nipsey’s legacy],” Bino said. “The example that Nipsey set by default, all of us around bro fall in line with that. It doesn’t necessarily change us, but it unlocks something in us that we didn’t realize before. Going forward, there’s nothing really I can do where Nipsey won’t be an idea or thought for anyone watching.”

The loss doesn’t get smaller even as the instant shock fades further and further into history’s rearview. Maybe peace is knowing that life doesn’t end with grief. We carry everything with us: love, hope, losses, wins, those who made us, those who wronged us and those who left us. Through it all, our only commandment is to keep moving at our own pace. 

Prolific isn’t a plea to anyone to stop missing Nipsey Hussle. That’s categorically impractical and devoid of what the purest form of human connection should feel like. Yet, missing him and living without him can happen. It has to because no other productive option exists. 

Shouldering it all and continuing to run anyway, it remains the ultimate description of “The Marathon Continues.”

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