Scarface is one of rap’s most accomplished storytellers, an evocative writer who uses his rare understanding of the criminal underworld to complicate so-called villains and stain supposed heroes. For the better part of three decades, he has been a defining voice in Houston’s rap scene, a pioneer whose emphasis on interiority and realism influenced how a generation of rappers—including JAY-Z and Killer Mike—thought about character study. As a member of the Geto Boys, Scarface provided a glimpse inside the minds of killers in Houston’s dangerous 5th Ward, depicting a harsh reality where the only way to defy a broken system is to embrace the menace it made you to be. As a solo artist, he’s been even more empathic, finding compassion for both shooters and their victims, mourning the dead and the living alike.

Simply put, the man born Brad Jordan has seen some shit—first as a hustler, then as a rap up-and-comer working to put Houston on the map, then as a respected veteran, label executive, and weary old head. Throughout, music has given credence to his lived experiences, reflecting the truths of surviving on the street. Raised in a family of DJs and instrumentalists, he became not just a rapper, but a guitarist and producer too. As he puts it, “I was always music.”

His last proper album, Deeply Rooted, came out in 2015, but more recently he’s been honored with his own day for his impact on the Houston community, and he was nearly voted onto his hometown’s city council in December. The same problems he once rapped about are now ones he’s working toward fixing.

As he racks his brain trying to piece together musical memories from his eventful life, he summons stories about cosplaying as Prince, boosting cars, and stupid lil rapper names. In conversation, as in his verses, he is a master storyteller.