“The Last Word” from The Source: André LeRoy Davis’ contributions to Hip Hop and comics

ABSTRACT

André LeRoy Davis is best known as the creator of ‘The Last Word,’ a series of one-page comic illustrations that were featured on the last page of The Source magazine. They were published non-stop in countless issues of this Hip Hop periodical from September 1990 to January 2007. This article is a compilation of edited excerpts from an interview session conducted during the winter of 2020. It was held shortly after the Schomburg Center’s Annual Black Comic Book Festival in Harlem, New York. The conversation focuses on how André’s experiences during his formative and adult years inspire his comic art content. We discuss his family’s origins in Barbados; his experiences growing up in Brooklyn, New York; the Hip Hop culture within the High School of Art & Design when he was a student; his earliest experiences as a professional freelance artist; and the evolution of his creative process.

KEYWORDS:

• African American
• Barbados
• Brooklyn
• caricature
• High school of art & design
• School of visual arts

Introduction

Hip Hop culture officially began in a Bronx recreation room on 11 August (Allah 2018; Chang 2005). It has been greatly influenced by comics culture throughout its first five decades (Degand 2022). André LeRoy Davis is a key contributor to this relationship between the two cultures. Davis was born on 8 July 1965, in Brooklyn, NY and is best known as the creator of ‘The Last Word’ (see Figure 1). This one-page comic was published on the last page in every issue of The Source magazine from September 1990 to January 2007 (Howard 2017; ToFunky 2013). After a five-year hiatus, André independently relaunched ‘The Last Word’ in 2012 (see Figure 2).

Figure 1. “The Last Word,” André LeRoy Davis, 2001.

Figure 2. “The Last Word” (Inspired by movie poster for Rebel Without a Cause [1955]), André LeRoy Davis, 2014.

In addition to ‘The Last Word’ series, André has also contributed to other publications throughout his career. He illustrated a feature comic in MAD Magazine titled ‘Sean “Puffy” Combs’ Day Planner’ (Snider 1999). He produced variant covers for Marvel Comics’ Iron Fist #3 (Brisson 2017), Luke Cage #11 (Walker 2017), and X-Men Gold #1 (Guggenheim 2017). André has illustrated covers for independent comic book titles, such as Harriet Tubman: Demon Slayer #6 (Crownson 2017). Moreover, a sampling of his portfolio includes music album cover art and promotional illustrations for various artists, such as A Tribe Called Quest, Ja Rule, Method Man and Redman. André has also produced sports cards illustrations for Topps. He currently lives in Brooklyn where he works as an artist and high school art teacher.

The following is a presentation of edited excerpts from a two-hour and 15-minute interview session recorded on 17 February 2020. It was held one month after I met André at the Schomburg Center’s Annual Black Comic Book Festival (see Figure 3) in Harlem, New York. André’s interview session is part of a larger ongoing research investigation into the experiences of artists, producers, and other professionals in the media industry. This study was approved by the University of California, Davis’ Institutional Review Board. Each participant shares details about their upbringing, educational experiences, media consumption habits, and media production experiences. They are recruited via several channels (educational programs, media studios and labs, art exhibits, festivals, conferences, comic conventions, social media, and recommendations from participants). This interview was conducted over Skype, audio recorded on a Sony digital voice recorder, and transcribed for qualitative coding and analysis.

Figure 3. Promotional flyer, Illustrations by Kingman Huie & Design by André LeRoy Davis, 2020.

Family

Darnel Degand (DD):

Good afternoon. How’re you doing?

André LeRoy Davis:

Good afternoon. I’m good.

DD:

Let’s start with your family ancestry. How far back can you go?

André:

I don’t have all the titbits. My older brother does. He’s done the whole ancestry search. He [would be able to build on what I’ll share].

I knew my great-grandmother from Barbados. She passed in 1980 when I was 15. She was 90.

My mother and father are both from Barbados. They both came here [to the U.S.] in the 1950s. They didn’t know each other when they were in Barbados.

I have a 92-year-old aunt. She is the only one left on my father’s side. [My dad] had 11 or 12 siblings. But most of his family was wiped out with tuberculosis when a relative came from Trinidad. That relative brought the disease to Barbados and wiped the whole family out. Except for my dad, his older brother, and my aunt that I mentioned before [his sister].

DD:

Wow. I’m sorry.

André:

So, my dad became an orphan. My uncle left Barbados, worked on the Panama Canal, got his money together, and made his trek up to New York. Then he got my father.

But my mother was already here [in the U.S.]. She is the oldest of nine. She’s visiting me right now. My mother lives upstate with my sister. I’m head of a high school art department, but I have this week off from school so I’m getting some time with my mother.

DD:

Nice. And how did your mother’s side make it over from Barbados?

André:

Her grandfather [my great-grandfather] got her here. He passed away in the ‘50s, so I never got a chance to meet him.

DD:

How did your parents meet?

André:

It’s a small world, even when it comes to Brooklyn. Turns out my mother’s first cousin went to elementary school with my father in Barbados. And then, my mother met my father’s first cousin in school in New York. A small world connection was made. It was that type of thing.

DD:

What type of work did you parents do in New York?

André:

My mom … I think she was a nurse when I was born. I’m the last of four. I think … she left [her nursing job] because of the hours and worked at a laundromat. Most of my life, probably from [when I was] eight, nine, 10 and on, she was a McDonald’s manager … until she finally retired.

My Father worked at A&S [Abraham & Straus (department store in Brooklyn)]. Then went on to sell life insurance. Then worked in the [stock market] in the ‘80s, ‘90s, until he got sick in, like, 2000.

[My parents] were continuously working different jobs, like good West Indians. A couple of different jobs and stuff … maybe not seven at one time. But at least two or three.

[We both laugh]

DD:

What was it like growing up with your siblings in your neighborhood?

André:

I grew up in Crown Heights, Brooklyn for the first 10 years of my life [1965–1975] with my three older siblings. My oldest brother is eight years older than me. My second brother is five years older [than me]. And my sister is four years older [than me].

I lived on Maple Street. It’s almost like a movie setting. … It was a mixed neighbourhood and a non-mixed neighbourhood all at the same time.

Picture a capital ‘H’ sideways [with long streets at the top and bottom. And a short street connecting both in the middle]. You had Maple Street, right where I lived [at the top]. It was mostly Black families; some Hispanic and some West Indian.

And then in the middle of the sideways ‘H’ was East 48th Street [connecting the two long streets]. There were more mixed families [along East 48^th Street].

Then you had Midwood Street at the bottom. [On the north side of Midwood Street, there were] more Black families and mixed culture there.

[On the south side of Midwood Street,] you had condominiums. And in the early ‘70s, it was just White and Jewish [residents]. And guards. You definitely could not go into those apartment buildings. … It was straight up racist over there, in their own special way. … You could not come into their building. They were thinking, ‘You must be up to something [bad].’

I remember when my father was running for the Board of Education, or something like that, and we had to hand out flyers. It was hell just being there handing out flyers. This predates White women calling the cops because they [think they] see you doing something [wrong,] but it was that type of thing. [To them,] the fact that we even crossed [Midwood] Street meant that we had to be up to something.

So, that was the neighbourhood. It was real cool growing up. [We played games like] punchball, and hot peas and butter. All those kinds of things. … We had so much fun. Everything was open. Everything was cool. But we knew – even though there was no force field – we knew not to cross over onto that one little block or else [everything] would change. The racism was real [from those neighbours]. We left [Crown Heights] when I was 10 years old.

Elementary school years

DD:

When did you first start drawing? Can you recall your earliest illustrations?

André:

I don’t remember when I started drawing … When I was young, my mother would give me paper and supplies and just let me create. I heard stories about how they could just put me in the bedroom with some paper and knew I wasn’t going to get into any trouble. And I’d be in there for hours just drawing.

My oldest brother was always drawing, and I used to watch him … I might have been five and he was 13. … What I remember is he used to make caricatures of me because, I guess, I was annoying. But in my world, he was annoying. So, it was my job to be even more annoying.

[We both laugh]

André:

He would draw me [but] I didn’t know they were caricatures. All I knew is that they made me cry. So, I wanted to get back at him. I wanted to draw, and it turned out that I could draw.

DD:

How did you learn to draw him, specifically? I’m assuming he wasn’t standing still. Did you illustrate what you thought he looked like or were you just trying to capture his essence?

André:

I was [creating] very bad drawings of him because, first of all, … I was drawing out of anger.

[We both laugh]

André:

My purpose was to make him look bad, but it looked nothing like him. When I was mad and angry at him, the drawings weren’t on point. As a kid, I didn’t realise you have to be calm. You have to be cool.

As I got older, I learned how to relax and calmly draw my brother from a photo or by sitting down and sneaking [glances] at him. … It was a whole different feeling as opposed to drawing [through] tears and seething anger.

[We both laugh]

André:

That worked later on during The Source years. I made it a point not to be friends with any of the Hip Hop artists during that time period because I didn’t want it to mess with [my creative process]. If they did something dumb and I had to draw about it, then you were going to get the truth, you know?

I credit my brother for the anger that was in me as a little kid. … Wanting to be better than he was [and eventually becoming as] good as I am now.

[We both laugh]

DD:

And do you have any memories of those early drawings? Can you remember your worst and best attempts?

André:

I had a lot of that stuff when I was a kid. I don’t have any of those drawings anymore. I can only slightly picture them. Only when I talk about them, like now, do I really remember the process that I was going through. I don’t remember what any of them looked like. I don’t remember if I put any colour on them. Probably not. They were probably all in pencil.

All I know is, [it started with my brother] looking at [my] drawings and laughing at me. [But later, I remember] drawing him one or two times and [he didn’t] necessarily say something, but I could see it in his face. [And I thought to myself,]

I got you!

And that would be around the same time period he stopped drawing me.

[We both laugh]

DD:

So, there was never any verbal confirmation from him. He never said,

‘Oh, you’re pretty good now.’

You only knew that you got him because he stopped?

André:

First of all, he is my older brother. Eight years older. He wasn’t going to give me any props. Like,

Oh, you’re a wonderful artist!

[We both laugh]

André:

That didn’t happen until later in life. … You’ve got to remember; he was 18 and I was 10.

And by 16, 15 he had started practicing karate. I wasn’t going to beat up an 18-year-old. And I definitely wasn’t going to beat up an 18-year-old who knows karate.

So, my revenge was making fun of him with drawings. I’m not saying I was better than him at 10 or 12 years old. But he saw that I was serious.

And with that, I would go to school, and I would draw in school. I went to P.S. 221 on Empire Boulevard. I remember my oldest friend, Kevin Greene, who I still work with. I remember coming to school and drawing Spider-Man and Godzilla, and he would follow me. He credits me [for inspiring his drawing career]. And at that time period, as shy as I was, the fact that people were coming to me because I could draw was a comfort zone. I didn’t feel out of character because I was doing something that I loved. That led to me being comfortable with any kind of assignment we did, art-wise.

Earlier, you asked about specific examples; I remember doing a drawing for a contest about spelling, but I don’t have the visual of it. I remember drawing a character called Letterman from Electric Company (1971–1977). That won an award. I [rarely] got any awards as an adult. But I was always getting tons of art awards as a kid.

I had work displayed in Jewish museums in the city. I had my work displayed in Chase Bank windows. They really worked on positivity … They had us create work and didn’t just leave it on a desk or put it in a pile. They actually had it displayed in bank windows in your neighbourhood and stuff like that. Anything like that is going to pump you up. I know it pumped me up when I was walking by the bank. I was a kid, and my artwork was in the window!

We don’t do that anymore. I remember when I started teaching, I went to a couple of banks [and asked] about having kids’ artwork on their windows. They had all that window space … but they said:

Nope. We don’t do that.

In the ‘70s, that’s the way they did it. And that could have only been a positive [experience] for young Black kids just walking by, you know? I was [thinking about] the effect that it had on me.

Junior high school years

DD:

Where did you move to after you left Crown Heights?

André:

We moved to East Flatbush … [There were] probably even more West Indian [families in that area of Brooklyn]. But it was a mixed neighbourhood. A lot of Whites were moving out [of East Flatbush] because Blacks were moving into that area, like around Newkirk Avenue and 34th Street. You could see it changing. We stayed [in East Flatbush] for two years.

Then, we moved to Park Slope when Pops [my dad] was making dough [earning a high income]. This is when he started selling stocks. This neighbourhood was mostly White and Hispanic. But I was still getting bused to a White junior high school in Brooklyn for sixth and seventh grade. The White high school kids from South Shore High School would be waiting for us to get dismissed every day so that they could run after us. They were racist White folks chasing after us for no reason.

I used to always like to map out things for my first day of school. So, probably two or three days before the start of sixth grade, I remember my sister showed me which bus to take and which bus stop to wait at to get back home.

On my very first day of sixth grade, I followed the route that she showed me. But all the buses were zooming past me [and wouldn’t stop at the bus stop]. These buses were packed full of Black kids. So, I kept waiting at the bus stop. And the next thing you know, a carload of White high school kids pulled up, screamed out ‘N***er!,’ and threw a bottle of Coca-Cola and bleach on me. This was my first day of school. So, I went home sticky and spotted.

I learned which bus stop to go to the very next day. It was a bus stop [earlier on the route]. And that was my routine for two years.

Sometimes in my head, it felt like [those experiences] had to be made up … but I still have friends from that time period that I bumped into on Facebook, and they immediately told me the same stories I remembered. So, I was like:

Okay. Yeah. I knew I wasn’t losing my mind.

Those racist high schoolers would be out there just celebrating sh*t, you know? On Halloween, they were out there with eggs to throw at us. We just knew that when we got out of school, you had to make a beeline to the bus to get the hell out of there.

I mean, it wasn’t saint-like inside my school, but you didn’t get attacked. Cause everybody’s the same age and we could throw down with kids who are our same age. But when the high school kids would come, it was a whole different flavour.

DD:

And this was the 1970s?

André:

Yeah. This had to be 1976–1977. My first year of junior high school; sixth grade. … I got good grades, so I was bused. I went to Peter Rouget [Junior High School].

DD:

Were you bused in yellow school buses?

André:

No. These were MTA [Metropolitan Transit Authority] public buses.

DD:

Did you use a bus pass?

André:

Yes, a bus pass. Sometimes it was free and sometimes I had to pay a nickel; show my pass, put a nickel in.

DD:

Junior high school sounded hectic. Did you still have time for art? Did you receive any encouragement from teachers in that school?

André:

I was still drawing in junior high school. I know I would have gotten the award for best artist if I had stayed and graduated [from Peter Rouget Junior High]. A friend of mine got the award after I left.

That time period was madness, but my comfort zone was drawing comic books. So, whatever madness I was in the midst of, that was my protection. Mental-wise, it was keeping me sane.

When I left that school and moved to a new school in Park Slope, it was mostly Hispanic: Puerto Rican and mostly Cuban.

When I was younger, I knew a lot of Puerto Rican kids, but most of them looked White Hispanic.

This [new school] was my first time going to a school with kids as dark as me with bigger afros, but I couldn’t speak to them because they didn’t understand English. So, that was a realisation of New York and [all of its] different ethnicities.

DD:

Please share some more details about the comic art you were creating during this time.

André:

Like I said, I was shy. I didn’t do a lot of talking. So, the fact that people were approaching me … cute girls were approaching me because I could draw … was amazing to me, because it was something I was already going to do whether anybody came over to me or not.

In junior high school, this kid Frank Constantino and his brother collected comic books. He had Avengers #1 and Spider-Man, and he was always collecting higher quality versions of the comic books he already had. I remember he would ask me to redraw existing comic book covers. So, I would do big versions of those covers on oak tag paper. Payment would be old, kind of beat up, torn up, and taped together comic books. I remember one of them was Amazing Spider-Man #8 because he had just gotten another copy in better condition. I still have them; Spider-Man #8, Daredevil #16 with Spider-Man on the cover. Things like that. I was a comic book collector then but there’s no way I would have been able to get Avengers #5 or #6. The comic books he paid me with were terrible quality, but I actually got a chance to read them, look through them, and own them.

And because I was drawing constantly, drawing other people’s styles, and drawing other characters, I was improving.

DD:

You are arguably the first person many Hip Hop fans think of when the words ‘caricatures’ and ‘Hip Hop’ are used in the same sentence. When did you first hear the word ‘caricature?’

It had to be junior high school. I was, like, 13. I think that’s probably the first time I went to Great Adventure [amusement park in New Jersey]. … My sister was going with her friends, and I was dragged along. … That’s where I saw a sign that said ‘caricature.’ Of course, I didn’t pronounce it correctly, but they had drawings of big faces. Kind of like what [artists] do now on 42nd Street [Times Square tourist area of Manhattan]. They have caricature drawings of big heads as advertisement [for their work].

When I saw that, I was like,

That looks kinda like what I do. So, I guess I must be doing caricatures …

That’s where my introduction to the name came from. But I had already been drawing [caricatures].

I went back to Great Adventures [a few more times] but on my senior high school trip, I saw the caricatures again and by then people were like,

Yo Dre! You need to show ‘em how it’s done!

[We both laugh]

High school years

DD:

What did your high school application process look like? How did your parents feel about your decision to pursue art as a career?

André:

Surprisingly, my father let me pick my high school. But it’s because my brother was the buffer. He went to [the High School of] Music & Art eight years before that and then went to the School of Visual Arts. [My brother] got good grades … and I think my father always saw that I was drawing.

But my father probably wanted me to do something else. That strict West Indian ‘Get a real job!’ came out every now and then. And I still heard that from other relatives.

[DD laughs]

André:

But my brother was the buffer. I think if he had not passed high school [and] did not go on to college, it probably would’ve been a whole lot harder for me.

[My father] made me apply to Music & Art because my brother went there. I also applied to the [High School of] Art & Design.

The [application] process for both was [like applying to] Art colleges. We had to have a portfolio to present. But we also had to go there early Saturday morning. They wanted samples of a variety of things. I remember you had to draw hands … one or two things from imagination, [and] … one or two things from reference. Drawing from memory … drawing fantasy, drawing reality. … They wanted a total of 14 [or] 15 things. And you had to take a test. They gave you a printout of what to draw.

I remember being in Music & Art’s auditorium. I had a piece of wood that I put in my lap, and I had to draw. I think [we drew for at least] an hour. It felt like an SAT test, now that I look back on it, because of the pressure. There’s a difference between drawing what you want and love and are interested in; and then a test where people tell you what you [must draw within] a time limit.

I was accepted to the High School of Music & Art, High School of Art & Design, and my neighbourhood school Erasmus High (which had an Art program).

If I [chose] Music & Art, I would have to get up an hour earlier to get there [on time from Brooklyn].

But my best friend Kevin Greene was already at Art & Design. He started in 9th grade and thought the school was cool. The junior high school I graduated from ended at 9th grade. So, I wound up going to Art & Design from 10th−12th grade [1980–1983]. I wouldn’t have to get up at an hour earlier because Art & Design was on 57th Street and 2nd Avenue [in Midtown Manhattan] while Music & Art was on 135th Street in Harlem.

DD:

What was it like to be in an official Arts program?

André:

I got my junior high school’s Best Artist award. But coming to Art & Design the following September … you had everybody else from Queens, The Bronx, Brooklyn, Manhattan, Harlem, who also probably got the best artist award [at their junior high schools]. So, you learned immediately to step your game up. You were good, but there’s somebody better. And you had to find your lane.

[We both laugh]

André:

When you look back at [my time in Art & Design], it’s History. But for me, it was just life. You had early graffiti heads [artists] who are now MCs [rappers].

MC Tee [Touré Embden from rap group Mantronix] sat next to me in biology class.

You had Fable from the Rock Steady Crew [break dancing and rap group].

We had the Mighty Shirt Kings [pioneer Hip Hop fashion streetwear brand] from Queens (Tobak 2021) who were two years ahead of me.

DD:

Did you have a specific major at Art & Design?

André:

[My major] was Cartooning. I also like to illustrate. But I just did whatever I needed to do to bring [my artwork] to life. For me, cartooning means doing panels and illustrations; illustration is a realistic-like portrait. And I had no problem combining them both.

DD:

Yes. I can see that in your work and I’m curious about your thoughts on stereotypes. Caricaturist playfully make fun of people, right? But do you avoid stereotypes? If so, how?

André:

In the late ‘70s when I went to Great Adventure … I saw a lot of caricature drawings with big heads and little bodies. Skinny necks, kind of like a lollipop. That type of thing. I thought that was amusing but I didn’t really want to draw the head that big.

When I was drawing caricatures in high school, I had a teacher who kept pigeon toeing me into doing it exactly like that. The rebellious part of me would always go overboard just to [mess] with him.

[We both laugh]

André:

Everything had to be exaggerated. The eyes had to be extremely big. The mouth. The lips.

And that made me examine my MAD magazines because they had funny drawings of people, but their heads weren’t humongous. They still fit their bodies. So, I [decided] I can add my own flavour.

I wasn’t even thinking about Black stereotypes. All I was doing was just drawing people as I saw them. Exaggerating certain things that I saw, but not exaggerating everything. If you had a bigger nose, I didn’t make it supremely big. I might have enhanced it a little bit more by making your eyes a little bit smaller, your lips a little bit bigger.

I think I became conscious of drawing Black folks and enhancing stuff as I got older because I had already experienced a lot of racism. But it wasn’t necessarily in art. I didn’t see racist visuals until I got older and saw different mammies with big red lips and stuff like that. And I was like,

I know that could be considered a caricature or they’re making fun, but it just feels straight up wrong to me as I’m looking at it.

I still wanted to draw caricatures of people who looked like me, but I just didn’t feel a need to go overboard.

And at Art & Design, it was like a rainbow coalition in there, like the friends that I hang with now; White dude, Asian dude, Black people. If they were a friend, I was drawing them because we had black books [sketch books] once we got to high school. So, you would draw in each person’s black book. Once I got comfortable and realised that caricatures were my thing, I was getting pictures from my friends and drawing them, caricature-wise, in their black books.

I drew Puerto Ricans, White folks, Asian kids, and fellow Brothas and Sistas. It didn’t matter. If I was friends with you, I was drawing you. It’s kind of like what I said earlier. There wasn’t a thought of,

Oh my God! We are in the midst of creating Hip Hop!

We were just 15, 16. Just living the life, listening to the music, and laying the blueprint for what some of us would end up doing.

DD:

Was there ever a moment in high school or during your professional career when you were concerned about accidentally perpetuating stereotypes? Did you ever think in the back of your mind ‘I’ve got to make sure I don’t accidentally offend anyone?’ I’m trying to get a peek into your thoughts during your creative process.

André:

People who I cared about, who I considered friends, asked me to draw in their books. So, my mentality was,

You know me, you know what I’m about.

I’ll give you one case. I had a friend named George who came to school and a roach came out of his bookbag. So besides him being teased, it gave me ammunition to draw in his black book.

There was a Marvel comics character, Taskmaster, who could adapt [to anything]. I took a drawing [of Taskmaster] and a picture of George, and I changed it into the Roachmaster. I had him holding a can of Raid [insecticide] in his black book. I would do stuff like that with friends.

So here I am now today. I’m drawing Hip Hop artists who I care about, who I appreciate, who I respect. But my mentality is, if a roach comes out of [a Hip Hop artist’s] bag, I’m doing a drawing somehow that gets the point across that a roach came out of your bag.

[We both laugh]

DD:

Were there any notable lessons that you received from your Art & Design teachers?

André:

The main thing I learned is to own your artwork. And they taught that early on. And it wasn’t necessarily a deep conversation. It was just kind of like breathing. You just learned and heard it from teachers, ‘Own your artwork. Do as best as you can to own your artwork.’ We learned that alongside the business of art. … advertising class … how to lay out an ad for a shoe … how to lay out an ad for makeup … photography … how to take pictures … how to go into the dark room … develop the film, make prints … sculpture class … architecture …

What else? … Oh cartooning, of course! We learned how to create comic books.

From September till June. … They gave us a dose of everything. It was a process of learning and finding your voice or what you were comfortable with. And then pursuing and learning it.

And you learned professionalism from the teachers. When we had assignments, we had deadlines. If you had a Monday deadline, you would get your full grade, if you got it in on time. If you submitted your assignment on Tuesday or Wednesday, you’d get a grade. But it’d be a lot lower than what it would’ve been. And the mentality was,

If you are a professional and your deadline is Monday, and you get it in on Monday, you get paid. And more than likely, that company will call you back to do more work.

[If] you get it in on a Wednesday, you’re not going to be working for them anymore. And you’re destroying your reputation. They were teaching you those kinds of things, without [explicitly] telling you.

Those lessons stayed with me. I like the fact that I still get nervous when I’m reached out to about an assignment because that means I still care. And I want it to be on point. I also like to take my time and do my research. … I expect [clients] to come to me with researched details if I’m doing a drawing. Even back in the days with The Source, if I would do a drawing about a specific MC [rapper] … what they said … how they said it … when they said it, I did my research. Or, I had been there, or I spoke to [an eyewitness]. No one could ever check me [about the events or depictions in my comics].

Assembling a portfolio

DD:

Art & Design sounded great! How was college at the School of Visual Arts?

André:

I remember I was looking through an Ebony magazine while we were in between classes. One of my classmates picked it up. She looked through it and she’s like,

‘Why are you reading such a racist magazine?’

And I’m like,

‘What are you talking about?’

And she’s like,

‘There’s no White people in here.’

[We both laugh]

André:

And I’m like,

Wait a second. Do me a favor. Pick up that Cosmopolitan, that People and that US magazine. Tell me how many Black people you see in there.

And that was the start of the whole process of me being a freshman in college. I realised that I was going to get stupid questions like that.

[DD laughs]

André:

Later, around 1987, I remember going around with my portfolio to see art directors. They wanted different pieces of work in your portfolio. I think I had six Black folks [and] six White folks.

[But] legitimate art directors, in charge of magazines and hiring artists, looked at my portfolio with six Black people and six White people and asked me if I could draw White people.

And I’m thinking to myself,

I’ve got six White people in my portfolio. … Do the six Black folks cancel out [the White folks]?

Even still to this day, that makes absolutely no sense to me. It would’ve still been a dumb question if I had all Black people in my portfolio. I can draw people.

But Visual Arts also crystallised the professionalism and importance of deadlines that had been drilled into our heads at Art & Design. Especially contracts. When is the assignment due? How much time? How much money are they paying you? Put that in a contract before you start doing the work. Meet your deadlines, own your artwork as best as you can. Retain rights, money, all those types of things.

DD:

What was it like when you graduated and started working full time?

When I got out of school in 1987, I thought I was going to take the world by storm because everybody loved my work. But it was a struggle. From 1987 to 1988, I wasn’t really getting any work. So, I had a regular job as well.

One of the first drawings I did was for a local Brooklyn newspaper. I drew a black and white drawing of Jesse Jackson and Mayor [Ed] Koch.

Then, I drew LL Cool J for a new magazine called What’s Hot. I think they had four or five issues. They shut down right before the artwork came out. It never saw print.

Around 1988, I got a call from Players magazine. … They called me up to do an illustration of Spike Lee (see Figure 4). That was my first [professionally paid] colour job where I got to really flex and just do what I do. [My portfolio grew as they continued reaching out month after month for more drawings.]

Figure 4. Spike Lee interview in Players magazine, illustration by André LeRoy Davis, 1988.

Then, I started getting work from Discover magazine and Emerge magazine in 1989. Work started picking up, but I wasn’t drawing anybody that looked like me because it was mostly White magazines, like High Society and Playgirl.

But then I discovered The Source magazine on a newsstand and called them from a corner phone booth.

I met the editor-in-chief Jon Schecter. He asked me if I could come up with an illustration of the FBI phone tapping Eazy-E (see Figure 5). I had to do it in three days. It was black and white. They only paid me 50 bucks. But I was drawing people that looked like me, so I was happy.

Figure 5. Andre’s first comic for “The Last Word,” André LeRoy Davis, 1990.

I thought that was it. But next month, he called me and asked for another drawing. That continued every month (e.g. Figures 6–11).

Figure 6. “The Last Word,” André LeRoy Davis, 1992.

Figure 7. “The Last Word,” André LeRoy Davis, 1993.

Figure 8. “The Last Word,” André LeRoy Davis, 1993.

Figure 9. “The Last Word” (Inspired by the 1964 cover of Avengers #4), André LeRoy Davis, 1998.

Figure 10. “The Last Word,” André LeRoy Davis, 1999.

Figure 11. “The Last Word” (Inspired by the 1963 cover of Tales of Suspense #39), André LeRoy Davis, 2000.

The last Word

DD:

I was surprised that your relationship with The Source was month-to-month for nine years. I appreciated the Soulitude Urban Expressions (2017) interview where you explained why they eventually signed you to an exclusive contract:

I had a friend named Allen Gordon who … started working at The Source. He was a writer [1992–1996]. … He got hired as Editor-in-Chief [1996–2000] at Rap Pages [magazine]. … He reached out to me and was like, ‘Yo, I want you to do some artwork for Rap Pages.’ … I drew eight different [illustrations] and they were supposed to be featured in one story. But what happened was, he got into a beef … with Dave Mays, the owner of The Source. So, to f*** with Dave, he took the first one that I drew for him and stuck it on the last page in Rap Pages. And [Dave] lost his mind. … So then the next month he took the second drawing and stuck it on the last page in Rap Pages. And [Dave] was like, ‘What the f*** is this?! … I don’t want you doing any more work for them.’ I was like, ‘I’m not under contract with you … if you want me exclusive, you’ve got to pay me exclusive money.’ … It turned into a positive. In 99, I was under contract, and I couldn’t do work for VIBE or Rap Pages … (00:30:09–00:32:00).

[We both laugh]

André:

Yeah, that interview was from a while back.

DD:

That’s directly related to your lessons from Art & Design and Visual Arts!

André:

Yes, exactly.

DD:

I was grateful when you released new comics for ‘The Last Word.’ What inspired the comeback?

André:

After I left The Source in 2007, I started teaching and doing other things. I really wasn’t drawing. But every month an idea would come into my head … because I got used to doing it for all those years.

In 2012, I decided to start drawing ‘The Last Word’ again. But I was going to do it independently. I was going to self-syndicate … I didn’t really have to abide by what I knew couldn’t get published in The Source. So, I could just do more of whatever I wanted to. I could be intense. I could quote artists who said dumb things. If I used that in The Source, they might be afraid that the artists wouldn’t want to do interviews with them anymore.

DD:

Where did your ideas for the annual ‘Who Failed Black History Month Awards’ come from?

André:

I started hearing artists like Trinidad James … and I was like, ‘Lord, these artists are coming up with some terrible sh*t.’ And then I started hearing more artists just saying dumb things about Black folks.

So, I decided to create nominations for ‘Who Failed Black History Month Awards’ (see Figure 12). Around that time, Jesse Jackson Jr. had stolen some funds, Little Wayne had made some comment. And Trinidad James just irritated me.

Figure 12. “The Last Word,” André LeRoy Davis, 2012.

[We both laugh]

André:

I used exact quotes. … I did it for four years straight. People have wanted me to come back to it. I even [included] artists that I really appreciated at the time [because] they said some dumb stuff. I did one with RZA and I had one with comments from Will Smith (see Figure 13).

Figure 13. “The Last Word,” André LeRoy Davis, 2015.

So, it’s like what we talked about before. I’m not making fun of you. … I’m just finding a way to broadcast [what you said] through a visual of you and your own quote.

DD:

And your readers really appreciate all the laughs you’ve given us throughout the years. Thank you for everything you’ve contributed to Hip Hop culture and comics culture. Thank you for sitting down with me.

André:

No doubt. Thank you.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).