For someone who has an ingrained shyness toward the media, Dizzy Wright is a damn good actor. He’s slumped in a school desk, looking around aimlessly until something sparks his gaze, which he directs towards his marble notebook. Most often, his scribbled thoughts materialize as song lyrics. Though “God’s” is tatted on his right hand, “poetry” on his left (aside from his face, his whole body’s inked), nothing about his demeanor rings holier-than-thou. He wasn’t this astute in high school, just six years ago; he probably didn’t even keep a notebook. Moments into the “Higher Learning” video shoot, though, it’s clear Dizzy’s days as a student aren’t over.

Two days ago, Dizzy performed to a sea of 10,000 friendly, but particularly rowdy, stoners as part of an all day party that included Method Man & Redman, Cypress Hill, and the Flatbush Zombies. It was 4/20, a big day for Dizzy and his fans alike. “I am 4/20 every day, but when 4/20 hits, I embrace what it represents.” Indeed– he was caught double-fisting quarter pound joints at the after party. Surprisingly, he looks fully recovered. He’s come to us straight off the red-eye from Vegas– making it home for one day, coincidentally his daughter’s fourth birthday, before coming to NYC for an intensive three-day press run. We expect today’s shoot to go ‘til 10:30 pm (it goes past), and he’s got Sway In The Morning tomorrow at 7 am. In fact, looking at tomorrow’s schedule, which ends with a freestyle on Statik Selektah’s late-night Showoff Radio, he has just one break, from 6 – 8 pm. “Nothin’ I can’t handle with the ganja,” he laughs, as he gives a furtive glance inside his backpack. Of course, he’s come prepared, and during those minute gaps in his schedule, he’ll supply himself with the necessary refreshments.

Dizzy’s latest album is called The Growing Process, less cheekily alluding to hydroponics than you might think. The title is based on a book by Mexican New Age spiritual writer Don Miguel Ruiz, “The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom,” which lays out four self-imposed “Agreements” one ought to live by. Dizzy titled his debut EP The First Agreement (“Be Impeccable With Your Word”), and over two years later, The Growing Process focuses on the second: “Don’t Take Anything Personally.”

Dizzy Wright released his first project on Funk Volume, SmokeOut Conversations, eight months before The First Agreement (on 4/20 of course). The album went on to land at number 42 on the R&B/Hip-Hop charts, becoming the indie label’s most successful release at that time. Funk Volume, founded by L.A. rapper Hopsin, reached out to Dizzy in late 2011, and, although initially hesitant, he agreed to spend a week in L.A. with Hopsin and then-lone labelmate SwizZz, the younger brother of FV co-founder Dame Ritter. A week was all he needed; it was an unexpected fit.

Search Hopsin on YouTube, and you’ll immediately notice his all-white irises and oversized pupils. Soon after Hop began sporting the “white-out” contacts, SwizZz took on the look of a demonic chinchilla with all-black lenses of his own. FV’s latest hopeful, 2014 XXL Freshmen Jarren Benton, won’t be seen without what he calls his “coon hat,” so looks-wise, Dizzy is FV’s least assuming member. All four Funk Volumers unite on one track off The Growing Process, “Explain Myself,” on which Hopsin takes the hook, singing: “Ain’t gotta explain myself to no nigga.” Dizzy himself has trouble explaining the group’s encompassing aesthetic– but talent is one obvious link.

Though Dizzy’s only been signed to the label for three years, he’s been rapping for almost sixteen– since he was eight years old. For most of those years, Dizzy’s had a complicated relationship with his craft.

Dizzy’s father went to prison two months before he was born. He met his dad for the first time 22 years later. Their first meeting inspired SmokeOut Conversations (Dizzy soon found out they have one thing in common). Dizzy’s mother was a concert promoter in Flint, MI before becoming the road manager for Bone Thugs-n-Harmony. When Dizzy was four, she moved him and his five siblings to Las Vegas, where Dizzy calls home today. From the stance of a social worker, “road manager” for a five-man gangsta rap group isn’t an ideal job title for a single mother of five. Nor from the bank’s perspective. In order to capitalize on her knowledge of the industry, and keep her two oldest sons out of trouble, she envisioned Dizzy and his younger brother KJ as the next child-rap sensations. She wanted to make her sons industry darlings, entering them in competitions across the country, and even signing them up as youth reporters at hip-hop award shows. She called them DaFuture. Mama Wright wrote all their raps.

“I think that she kinda seen a way for us to skip out on the struggle a little bit. She had a vision and fuckin’ thought her kids had the look.” There’s not an ounce of bitterness as Dizzy smiles, recollecting his days as Lil Ronnie, a name also given to him by moms. DaFuture soon became a trio, joined by Dizzy’s friend Young D. By the time they peaked the interest of several management companies, Dizzy was beginning to burn out. A few years into his childhood rap career, Dizzy wanted nothing to do with the music industry. And nothing to do with his boss, Ms. Wright, either. Times were tough outside of the music, and Dizzy knew his mother’s ghostwriting wasn’t reflecting anything going on his adolescent mind. In seventh grade, the family spent half a year in a homeless shelter, before Dizzy decided to move to Atlanta with Young D’s family. By the time his mom and family joined him in Georgia, Dizzy and Young D had a falling out. Mama immediately took Dizzy and KJ out West, but it didn’t feel like a fresh start.

Although Ms. Wright imagined further career opportunities in Los Angeles, the constant shuffling actually worked against the family. Dizzy ended up attending six different schools in 11th grade, five of them in California, before returning to Vegas once more and finishing the year there. “We couldn’t get too stable. I think my mom was always reaching for the next thing, tryna make something outta nothing, and it’d kinda push us back two steps sometimes.”

In 2006, DaFuture was officially no more, but Dizzy, for some reason, kept on rapping. Perhaps to shed his mother-approved image, he slowly picked up the pen and paper, this time on his own terms. It was a reimagining of a talent that he knew he already had, with no career ambitions attached. Now that mom wasn’t in the picture, rapping became a cathartic channel: “I was writing my thoughts down on paper, and I found a way to put them words together, and I thought that shit was tight.”

At age 17, back in Las Vegas, Dizzy was kicked out of the house and into the streets. It’s a time Dizzy is quiet about both in person during our conversation, and in his music. On his own, he still managed to finish high school, though due to his six-school junior year, he needed extra credits to graduate. He was up for school at 5:30 am, and often didn’t get home, to his own apartment, until 9 pm. Even with those hours, Dizzy was far from a Grade-A student. He did most of his learning after school. Rapping began to develop into, once again, more than a hobby. He began hosting parties with a friend at an underage club downtown, first playing his tunes, later becoming the headlining act. Two club nights a month was enough to scrape by, barely.

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