There are two etymologies for the word "fan." The first is as a diminutive for "fanatic," as in, "intense, uncritical devotion." The second is a shortening of "fancier," a word used to merely describe "a special liking or interest." When you put "fancier" and "fanatic" in the real world, you get two very different types of people. A fancier might enjoy the music of Kanye West; perhaps he or she may even go see him perform live. A fanatic doesn’t just seeing West live, they get a "Yeezus" tattoo across their chest as a permanent emblem of devotion.
Left unchecked, a fanatic’s obsession can become extreme. But the converse is also true, that a fanatic can calm down, maybe not quite down to a fancier level, but to something in the middle of the fancier-fanatic spectrum—a follower, and, in the rarest of instances, a peer and lifelong friend.
Leon Neyfakh falls into this latter category. In his forthcoming book The Next Next Level: A Story of Rap, Friendship, and Almost Giving Up, the writer chronicles his enduring devotion to the music of Juiceboxxx, a 27-year-old MC from Milwaukee.
The perpendicular trajectories of their lives—one a college dropout turned struggling artist, the other an Ivy League grad turned, as he puts it, "a professional journalist with a wife, a dog, and a savings accounts"—propels this chronicle of unlikely and unwavering fandom.
Neyfakh wasn’t a likely candidate to drink the juice, so to speak. He describes himself as a "pencil-neck" adolescent, excelling academically while harboring a nascent desire to be a great songwriter. But aside from a mention of collecting Nirvana bootlegs, Neyfakh doesn’t tick off any particular musical influences. In a sense, he comes off as a generic American teenager, one who does well in school and recreationally plays in bands.
Cleverly, Neyfakh sets up the mildness of his teenage tastes as a counterpoint to being floored by his introduction to Juiceboxxx. It wasn’t just the rapper’s spastic performances—screaming in people’s faces and monkey climbing around—that won Neyfakh over, it was the first time he’d fallen for something completely on his own accord, outside the usual teenage cultural osmosis: "Seeing Juiceboxxx exposed me to a species of teenager I had ever seen before," he writes, "and in the years following his set, he took on the status of a mythical creature."
Neyfakh’s commitment to an underground artist’s work has the double-edged distinction of being a lonely endeavor: "I don’t think I’ve recruited more than one or two people over the course of twelve years as a Juiceboxxx evangelist." That job of preaching Juiceboxxx’s greatness comes, for Neyfakh, with a mix of enthusiasm, protection, and empathy. "I get it," he admits. "As defensive as I get when Juice’s honor is besmirched or someone doesn’t just get that appeal, I can understand why, unless you’re already on the rocket ship, you’d just want to get out of the way..."
This poignant realization also highlights the book’s Achilles’ heel: Neyfakh never describes his own ascent to becoming Juiceboxxx’s "number one fan," as he later claims. After that first show in 2003, Neyfakh fast forwards to Juice’s move to New York in 2013, leaving the relationship between the two during that decade largely unaccounted. We never learn at what point he made the leap from becoming fancier—buying albums and attending shows—to becoming a fanatic, "obnoxiously stealing people’s car AUX cables and forcing them to listen to Juiceboxxx" or showing friends the short documentary of the rapper during house parties, a documentary Neyfakh claims to "have watched so many times, I practically know it by heart."
Instead Neyfakh chooses a more philosophical direction with TNNL—to highlight what sets him and Juiceboxxx apart as people. Authenticity is a key element for Neyfakh’s devotion, and in one vulnerable moment, he acknowledges fantasizing himself in Juiceboxxx’s shoes and tearing it up onstage. "With no original instincts of my own," the writer concedes, "all I could think to do was try to copy someone else’s." It is this reconciliatory moment that allows Neyfakh to turn his idolatry into something more mature: respect.
This sets up the tone of book’s rousing latter half where, through a series of interviews and insider access, camaraderie develops between Neyfakh and Juice. Neyfakh hangs with Juice and his band at rehearsals and shows. Juice even invites the writer over to his dingy sublet—where the rapper sleeps beside a hanging pair of the tenant’s boxer shorts—to have a giddy Neyfakh listen to new tracks. When Neyfakh tells Juice how impressed he is, his friend replies: "I’m very aware that I’m still getting better. What’s crazy about music is that at twenty-seven, you’re not young anymore. But in so many other creative disciplines, I would just be starting out."
Here is the essence of TNNL, the enduring quality in Juiceboxxx that Neyfakh so admires: his unmitigated artistic bravery. "It’s like destruction and redemption," Juice says to Neyfakh, "This never-ending cycle of fucking up your life and hating yourself and then trying to move and do what you love. Figuring out how to live with yourself despite who you are, or despite the decisions you’ve made. Despite failure."
Neyfakh finally then performs his own act of heroism: he gets Juiceboxxx a day job. It’s a milestone in their relationship and a bittersweet conclusion to the book. We see it coming, for Neyfakh begins TNNL asking Juice if by helping him get employed, he had ruined the Juiceboxxx project. His answer isn’t revealed until the last sentence: "No," Juice says with a laugh, "It’s far from done, sadly. I’m still doing everything."
And, indeed, he hasn’t stopped. This month, Juiceboxxx releases his newest album, Heartland 99. It continues along the nervous path of Juice grappling with his artistic existence. "You’ve got to follow your fucked up dreams," he advocates on the album’s closer. With Neyfakh’s book, Juice has found the perfect fan to help him do that.