I ask him if it's a goal to be signed to a major label again. A long pause, then he says, “That's a good question.” Another pause, and then he decides, “Yeah. It is.” His approach now, however, is vastly changed from the Ruff Ryders days — acknowledging that the industry, too has changed. “Now, I'm not in the mind-set of 'I'll do anything to sign, whatever deal you give me I'll take.' At one point, that probably was the reality. I was just thirsty for a deal, whatever kind of deal it is.”

Carl Choi, Jin's manager, says “some sort of collaborative deal makes sense,” which means retaining creative control, but with a major label's financial resources. Though Jin has been under Choi's management for years now, the Great Company is a startup venture; XIV:LIX was made in part through crowdsourced funding via a successful Pledge Music campaign.

Choi is no neophyte, however. He has previously managed another Asian-American rap act to platinum success. For years, he was inseparable from the dance/hip-hop group Far East Movement. The relationship imploded after the quartet signed with Interscope in 2010.

At the time, Choi felt strongly that Far East Movement should've gone it alone, without the mainstream label deal. “Their songs were getting picked up on the radio, we had traction with touring,” Choi says. “I told the guys, I think we can do this indie, but because I was trying to get them out of that deal, I became the enemy.”

Since breaking with Choi, Far East Movement has gone on to open for Lady Gaga, Calvin Harris, and Lil Wayne. Their hit single, “Like a G6,” has sold over 2 million copies. Kevin Nishimura, one member of Far East Movement, declined to speak on his relationship to the group's former manager, though he allowed that upon signing with Interscope, the label suggested a name change for the band.

“Right then and there, it really struck us, that's something that's not negotiable,” Nishimura says. All four members of Far East Movement are Asian, but their lyrics have never explicitly referenced race. Nishimura explains that that's partly why the foursome from L.A., with deep roots in Koreatown, have insisted on keeping their original name. “It's been our way of representing,” he says.

Jin, on the other hand, has never shied away from discussions of race. “People always want to debate, are you black enough or not-black enough, are you Asian enough or not-Asian enough. Like, how do you gauge that?” He chuckles, and continues: “These last few weeks, I've been at the OC Night Market, [which is] predominantly Asian. I'm there speaking Cantonese, being myself. And then there's the Christian music conference I attended in Tampa. Completely opposite, totally not Asian, a good diverse mix of folks. To me, that authenticity, people can feel it. I don’t feel like I have to turn off or on something.”

Though he no longer suffers the comparisons to Eminem (“Number-one reason people don't call me the Asian Eminem anymore is because he went on to sell billions of records, build this magnificent career, and I went the opposite way,” he says, with a wry laugh), Jin acknowledges that he is a “stan” of his, as well as Macklemore. But he distinguishes himself from another popular white rapper who’s been at the center of recent heated debates in hip-hop: Iggy Azalea. Last year, Azalea was derided by many rap purists, including Q-Tip, for being dismissive of the genre’s cultural roots. “I'm very vocal about saying that we have to remember hip-hop is black culture,” Jin says. “It can grow and evolve, yeah, but my own personal take is that we can never get to a point where we forget that, or not acknowledge it. It comes from respect, and I'm big on the history of hip-hop.”

A couple nights after his album release party, Jin is feted by chef Roy Choi at POT, the hipster Korean restaurant at the newly revamped Line Hotel. The comedic female rapper Awkwafina is there, eating dinner with Dumbfoundead, the Korean-American emcee who's now going by the stage name Parker. Both are featured in Bad Rap, a documentary on Asian-Americans in hip-hop, directed by Salima Koroma.

In a glib deadpan, Parker says, “Asians in rap? That shit is a very hard mix.”

“If you don't address race, then people are like, why don't you talk about the elephant in the room,” says Awkwafina. She adds, “But you have to do it right. It can't be gimmicky.” A native New Yorker, she calls Jin a “hometown hero,” and she remembers seeing him years ago, “rolling around Flushing with that Ruff Ryders chain, just chilling with friends.”

The two sit at the bar, drinking beers and sharing several plates of food between them. A few feet behind them, an Asian family tucks into their meal wordlessly: grandparents, parents, and two teenage daughters. Jin is on a break. In the meantime, the DJ spins old-school rap songs and cuts from Jin's XIV:LIX. When he returns behind the bar and grabs the mic again, one of the teenage girls, her hair dyed a shocking pink ombré, turns around in her chair and starts recording with her phone. Jin freestyles a few bars, then leads off chanting, “What's for dessert, Chef Roy? What's for dessert?” The entire restaurant chimes in; one of the waitstaff dances exuberantly for a moment by the host stand, popping and locking.

Later, Choi answers by handing Jin a round cake with white icing. The rapper grins, then looks around, and asks innocently, “What do I do with this?” His eyes widen, as if threatening to dump the cake over one of his team. Someone takes the cake from him, and then Jin runs off again, ready to grab the mic and entertain the restaurant's staff and guests.