Straight Talk From the Boss

With the surprise success of her hard-boiled debut album, Boss--the moniker adopted by Detroit native Lichelle Laws--emerges as the first woman to seriously challenge male rappers in the raunchy, anything-goes world of gangsta rap.

Other female rappers, including Bytches With Problems and Hoes’ Wit’ Attitude, have generated some notoriety with stark albums filled with sex and violence, but their appeal didn’t extend beyond underground rap circles.

Boss’ “Born Gangstaz” album, by contrast, has sold nearly 400,000 copies in just two months, and the rapper’s label, DJ West, predicts that the collection will pass the 500,000 mark if, as expected, she tours with Dr. Dre this fall.

What separates Boss from the competition?

For one thing, her raps are more convincing, probably because she has firsthand knowledge of the gangsta turf. Boss, 23, spent several years in the toughest sections of Los Angeles--literally living on the streets and earning money selling cocaine, she says, before signing a record-management contract last year with rap entrepreneur Russell Simmons.

Any skeptic who thinks Boss’ colorful background is some publicist’s fantasy should check with David Harleston, president of Def Jam Records, which includes DJ West. “She is,” he insists, “what she says she is.”

In an interview, Boss is as outspoken as her recorded raps, talking about her background, rival female rappers and rap in general in a barrage of expletives--which have been mostly deleted.

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Question: Why do you think you’ve succeeded where other female rappers have failed?

Answer: I’m the first female gangsta to do stuff men can relate to. That’s crucial in rap. I talk from a woman’s point of view, but I talk hard and tough.

And I’m convincing . Some female rappers try to talk tough, but they sound silly. They’re acting. Their hearts aren’t in it. But my heart, soul and everything else is in my raps. That’s why I’m as bad as any of these male gangsta rappers.

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Q: Do you think part of your success is due to the fact that some fans thought you were a male when they first heard the record?

A: That’s true to some extent. Some people say they thought I was a man, which might make it easier for them to accept what I say. But that’s just the way I sound. I rap like men do, which comes from hanging out with men when I came to L.A. This rap business is about appealing to the men. That stuff those other female rappers do is too weak and whiny for men.

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Q: What attracted you to gangsta rap?

A: It raises all sorts of questions if you’re one of those people who lives among all that s--- --with the bullets and the dope and the poverty. Gangsta rap really gets your blood rushing. It’s exciting, it kicks you in the butt. Good gangsta rap makes me feel like I just parachuted out of a plane.

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Q: Who were your main influences?

A: N.W.A. was my role model. Male rappers really influenced me. But no women. Most of the stuff women do is too weak for me.

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Q: Were you raised in the kind of gang areas you rap about on the album?

A: No, I had a very proper upbringing. I went to ballet classes, went to college (Oakland Community College near Detroit) for a while--did all that proper stuff. But it wasn’t me. I had this wild thing in me that drove me to rap . . . that drove me to the streets. I didn’t start living till I got out of that proper s---. That’s when the real me got out of the cage.

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Q: When did you get into gangsta rap?

A: I started liking it when I was a teen-ager in Detroit, long before I came to L.A. But gangsta rap wasn’t accepted anywhere but California at the time. People were listening to it, but you couldn’t get signed in New York to a record deal doing gangsta rap. They looked at it as strictly West Coast s---. That’s one big reason I decided to go to California--to the source, to the promised land of gangsta rap.

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Q: Did it turn out to be the promised land?

A: Not right away. It was hell at first. I was living on the street about two years in the tough gang sections of town--Compton, Inglewood, places like that. I was with Dee (Irene Moore, a friend from college who also raps on the album). We had no money. We tried to get a job, but it never worked out. We were hanging on the streets, drinking beer and trying to get into the rap business. We had to sneak into a hotel that had a community bathroom to take showers. We’d sleep at a bus stop across from this doughnut shop. We’d live on corn chips that cost a quarter.

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Q: What did you do for money?

A: We’d sell dope sometimes . . . cocaine and weed. Selling weed in the park was OK, but selling cocaine was dangerous because we’d do it in this hotel. We were in danger a few times, like this one time a bunch of guys were banging at the door to this room we’d rented, screaming they wanted to rape us.

We were lucky to get out of that. Sometimes I think I’m lucky to be alive.

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Q: Were these experiences the basis for some of the songs on the album?

A: Yes. The best part about it was getting the experience, which helps make my songs real authentic. Like the song “I Don’t Give a F . . . “ was inspired by those times we were sleeping on park benches.

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Q: How did you get out of that life?

A: We met a girl who let us live in her house free. We had a safe home base so we could concentrate more on getting a record deal. We’d had enough of that street life by then.

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Q: Did you have a hard time trying to convince record companies that the public would accept hard-core female rap?

A: Hell, yes! Two or three companies-- big companies--told me they don’t even sign female rappers, because females are too much trouble. Some women can do gangsta rap as well as men, but they don’t get the chance too often because men run the record business.

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Q: How did you get your demo tape to Russell Simmons?

A: Through this management company, which has DJ Quik. Several companies were interested in the demo, but we ended up going with Def Jam because of Russell. He was a big help at first. He came to studio sessions and taught us about the business.

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Q: One reason that women haven’t made it in gangsta rap--according to record companies, anyway--is that some people don’t like to hear women swear. How do you feel about that?

A: What a load of s---. That’s men talking. That’s just another lame excuse for not signing women rappers. A lot of men--particularly in the record business--think women should be quiet and have babies. They don’t want to hear what women have to say-- period .

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Q: How will any of this change?

A: By women like me getting some power. Women won’t abuse other women like that. Men get power crazy and try to do a sex thing on women. Women can get crazy with power too, but they won’t express it through sex. One of my goals is to have my own company. I want to do production and management. There are so many hard-core female rappers out there that need a chance, and I’d be in a position to give it to them.

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Q: Do you like other kinds of rap?

A: I hate that weak pop s---. It’s phony and doesn’t get into anything real, like the street stuff. Real rap is about the streets.

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Q: Looking back on your album, how do you feel about it now?

A: To be frank, I can’t stand it. It’s not me. The album may sound good to everyone else because it’s stronger and better than what they’re used to getting from women. But there was so much other stuff going on when we were making the album--business s--- that got in the way.

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Q: Was there a problem with Dee or was it just having to compromise?

A: Dee is my friend, but we’re not working together right now. When we were making the album the problem was the compromises. She didn’t like it either, but we both had to do it. I’d do a track that I loved and she hated. Or I’d do a track that she loved and I hated. So we compromised and compromised. Dee is doing her own album now, the way she wants to do it.

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Q: What about your next album?

A: That will finally be my solo album--the one it seems like I’ve been waiting a lifetime to make.