LL Cool J talks Jay-Z, accidentally hitting Lennox Lewis and hip-hop’s data problem on Carmelo Anthony’s podcast

The Queens Legend Brings Hard-Won Wisdom and Wild Stories to Brooklyn

LL Cool J sat down with Carmelo Anthony and co-host Kazeem Famuyide on “7PM in Brooklyn.” He delivered part sermon, part comedy special. The Queens icon warned that data now runs hip-hop instead of human feeling. He explained how he came to own his masters. He also credited Rick Rubin’s ruthless taste for launching his career.

Then the conversation got loose. LL admitted he once accidentally caught heavyweight champion Lennox Lewis with a jab on a sitcom set. He revealed his Deep Blue Sea character was originally written to die and calmly sidestepped every attempt to stir up drama with Jay-Z. Also, he drafted classic Black sitcoms against Anthony and celebrated the Knicks’ first title in 53 years.

Through it all, the 58-year-old sounded like a man with nothing left to prove.

Data Is Running the Show, and LL Wants the Soul Back

Asked about the health of hip-hop, LL refused to join the doomsayers. He split the problem in two. The industry side is real, he said. Streaming economics and shrinking label support are squeezing artists hard. The art itself, though, is still thriving. There are plenty of great records out there.

His real target was the numbers. “The data was running the show,” LL said, instead of the intuitive human spirit. He reached for a sports metaphor built for his host. Stats can’t tell you what happens in the locker room. They can’t measure how a player lifts teammates. They can’t capture how a song makes people feel.

He then delivered the line of the night. Some young artists, he said, are like fans who streak across the field during the Super Bowl. Using the sports analogy, LL said they skip training camp and they skip the whole season, accusing them of just wanting the moment. LL also mocked rappers who record a song and start promoting it 15 minutes later. Cookies, he joked, take longer to bake.

His prescription was patience. He passed along advice from Quincy Jones, who told him a bad song simply can’t be polished. Write the great song first, LL urged. If it flops, write another. Two fans become 12, then 50, then 500 who will fill a theater. He pointed to Bob Marley and Frankie Beverly and Maze as proof. Their catalogs survive on emotional connection, not clicks.

He also flipped the scoreboard on itself. A hitmaker can outsell a lyrical virtuoso today. Twenty years later, history often crowns the virtuoso. “Data can fool you,” he warned.

From a Dorm Room Demo to Owning His Masters

LL’s credibility on longevity is hard to argue with. He fell for hip-hop at 8, listening to the Furious Four and the Cold Crush Brothers. He started writing rhymes at 11. By 14, he was mailing out demos. One of them landed in the NYU dorm room of a college student named Rick Rubin.

That tape helped launch Def Jam. LL’s 1985 debut Radio became the label’s first full-length album. Famously, the liner notes didn’t say “produced by Rick Rubin.” They said “reduced by Rick Rubin.” LL explained the philosophy behind that credit. Rubin strips away everything nonessential until only the artist remains. The pair even buried vocals slightly in the mix so listeners had to turn the volume up.

Rubin, he noted, doesn’t play an instrument or program machines. “He just has great taste,” LL said. That instinct lets Rubin guide Johnny Cash through a Nine Inch Nails cover or pair Run-DMC with Aerosmith. LL credited Rubin bluntly. He gave LL his break.

The business lessons came early too. LL said his first publishing deal with Russell Simmons was a fair 50/50 split. Simmons could have taken everything, he admitted, and a teenage LL wouldn’t have known better. Today he owns 100 percent of what he writes. Later he secured his masters, a rarity among rappers of his era. When “Mama Said Knock You Out” lands in a film, LL personally approves the license and collects the fee.

He stayed humble about it. Sometimes you’re simply blessed and lucky, he insisted. But he also laid out a mental framework he lives by. He pictures a pendulum swinging between three zones: luck, logic and raw emotion. Seize the luck. Use reason where reason works. When emotion takes over, back away. That, he said, is exactly why he avoids arguing in comment sections. Doing so is like washing your car with a muddy rag.

Keeping the Peace With Jay-Z

The hosts tried more than once to pull LL into one of hip-hop’s most scrutinized relationships, Jay-Z. However, he wouldn’t take the bait. He and Jay-Z entered the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame together in 2021. Their history stretches back to the Def Jam era and the Canibus battles of the late 1990s. LL called the shared induction God’s work and said the two are “very cool” whenever they meet.

He explained the restraint plainly. Any comment, he said, gets twisted the second it reaches the internet. He refused to pick up what he called the muddy rag. “We’re both doing well,” he said. “Let’s just leave it there.” He used the same discipline earlier, waving off questions about Jim Brown and a long-running Jamie Foxx story.

Viewers noticed. Many praised how carefully he chose every word, with almost no filler or verbal stalling. Several fans applauded him for refusing to hand the internet a viral fight. Others felt the hosts pushed too hard on topics he clearly wanted to skip.

Fans Hear Their Own Stories in His Lessons

The comment section quickly filled with people who grew up on LL. One fan said the “I’m Bad” intro first pulled him into hip-hop. “I Need Love” and “Hey Lover” gave him the nerve to talk to girls as a teenager. Another recalled a 1987 show in Indianapolis with Public Enemy. LL emerged on stage from a giant boombox and, nearly four decades later, it remains that fan’s best concert ever.

The music talk landed too. Viewers singled out the streaker analogy as the sharpest line of the episode. Several flagged his luck, logic and emotion pendulum as advice worth replaying. Others defended his point about Rick Rubin. Plenty of great producers never touch an instrument, one fan argued, pointing to the teams behind Michael Jackson’s records.

His “lyrical virtuoso versus a zillion records” comparison sparked a guessing game. LL named no one. Fans filled in the blanks anyway. Some saw Kendrick Lamar and Drake. Others named Common, Lloyd Banks and 50 Cent, or J. Cole set against prolific streaming stars.

Pushback From the People Who Were There

Not everyone simply nodded along. One viewer agreed the streaker comparison was sharp but said it no longer goes far enough. Today, he argued, corporations sponsor the streakers. Young artists now watch those streakers become more marketable than the players who earned their spots.

A self-described Bronx River Houses veteran went further. He said he witnessed hip-hop’s birth at community center parties from 1977 to 1982. He traced the culture’s commercial takeover to the Run-DMC and Aerosmith collaboration LL had praised as Rubin’s genius. It was a sharp counterpoint from someone who watched the genre start in his own building.

Others debated the people around LL rather than the man himself. Some felt the co-host pressed too hard on the Jim Brown and Jamie Foxx stories, while one fan said the Foxx tale has simply run its course. Still, the dominant mood was affection. Viewers marveled that he looks this good at 58, crowned him the GOAT and asked for a second sit-down.

The Day He Caught Lennox Lewis

LL’s own sitcom, “In the House,” produced the wildest story of the night. Heavyweight champion Lennox Lewis guest-starred in an episode built around LL’s character facing the fighter. During some playful horseplay on set, LL slipped a jab and accidentally connected.

Then the room changed. LL said he saw something shift in Lewis’s eyes. The 6-foot-5 champion seemed to grow an inch and a half while LL shrank. “Don’t hit me,” he recalled pleading. He believes the moment survives on someone’s old camera and begged fans to find it.

He saw the same transformation with Lawrence Taylor while filming Any Given Sunday. Off the field, they stood nearly eye to eye. In pads, Taylor became a giant. LL also named Shakur Stevenson today’s most skilled boxer. He called Mike Tyson and Roy Jones Jr. his all-time favorites, with Jones winning the night’s loudest laughs.

Final Thoughts

The show saved the biggest reveal for last. LL’s Deep Blue Sea character was originally scripted to die. Filmmakers decided the audience needed him alive, and the 1999 survival became pop culture legend. Fans flooded in with love for the film and his shark-fighting cook.

The finale turned into a roast. The hosts replayed LL wading into the ocean in denim and a Kangol. He declared himself “Aquaman” and then “Big Ellie.” A wrestling clip of him licking an axe sent the studio into chaos. Viewers called it one of the funniest episodes the show has produced.

His most meaningful work is happening at home. After 14 seasons as Sam Hanna in Los Angeles, he is bringing the character to a grittier New York. He recently filmed in his old Queens neighborhood, steps from the basketball camp he has run for nearly 20 years. Those episodes reach screens in the coming weeks.

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