Lil Wayne, head bowed under a black hat pinned with a flag button, gold brocade blazing on the crimson coat.
Editorial·August 4, 2011

Lil Wayne for Vibe Magazine

August 2011, Tampa. Lil Wayne was weeks away from another number-one record and deep in his rock-and-roll infatuation, so when Vibe Magazine booked the cover we built the shoot straight into the contradiction: a crimson military coat dripping gold brocade — Sgt. Pepper by way of New Orleans — a black hat pinned with an American flag button, and a sunburst Fender Stratocaster that he treated less like a prop and more like a hostage.

Full-length: crimson military coat, black hat, and a sunburst Stratocaster at his side as Lil Wayne throws a salute.
Full-length: crimson military coat, black hat, and a sunburst Stratocaster at his side as Lil Wayne throws a salute.

The full-length set the thesis. Coat open over bare tattooed skin, guitar standing at his side, one hand snapped up in a salute that manages to be both earnest and entirely insubordinate. Wayne is small in stature and enormous in frame presence; the camera reads him like a live wire, never fully at rest.

Tattooed fingers fold a peace sign into an American flag bandana.
Tattooed fingers fold a peace sign into an American flag bandana.

The flag ran through the whole session. Folded into a bandana and gripped behind a peace sign, his tattooed knuckles doing the talking, it gave the cover story its charge — an American icon interrogating American iconography, two fingers at a time.

My favorite frame is the quietest one. Head bowed, hat brim eclipsing his eyes, the gold embroidery igniting against all that crimson. After an hour of kinetic takes he dropped into stillness for maybe eight seconds, and the shot feels like the eye of the storm — the private Wayne that the public performance orbits.

Back turned, Strat slung across his shoulders, a peace sign thrown over the dreadlocks.
Back turned, Strat slung across his shoulders, a peace sign thrown over the dreadlocks.
Teeth bared mid-riff, wringing the neck of the Fender like a note he refuses to let go.
Teeth bared mid-riff, wringing the neck of the Fender like a note he refuses to let go.

Then the storm resumed: back turned with the Strat slung across his shoulders like a rifle, peace sign over the dreadlocks; then teeth bared, wringing the guitar's neck mid-riff, playing chords that existed mostly as conviction. Whether Wayne could technically play the thing was beside the point. He believed it, the lens believed him, and belief is what a cover sells.

Tampa completed a triptych for me that year. T.I. gave Vibe a study in stillness and typewriters; André 3000 gave me a single perfect gesture; Wayne gave the opposite — total kinetic performance, every frame at full volume. Three rappers, three completely different instructions for the same lesson: photograph the myth the artist is actively building, not the one the press already printed.