On a journey from hip hop to jailhouse rock

FOR the past two years, Brooklyn rapper 6ix9ine (pronounced six nine) has used social media to build a larger-than-life reputation as a proud public menace, a self-described “super villain” whose presence seemed to attract drama and gun violence.

That persona was an act, he said, but it put him on a path to hiphop stardom. To gain even more credibility with his online audience, he partnered a year ago with Brooklyn men that police say are affiliated with the Nine Trey Gangsta Bloods street gang.

Now 6ix9ine, whose real name is Daniel Hernandez, has been arrested on federal racketeering charges, along with several of his former business associates. Even though Hernandez, 22, often seemed invincible during his turbulent first year in music, the charges that he participated in narcotics trafficking, shootings and violent robberies – some of which he live-streamed to his massive Instagram following – could spell the end of his once-meteoric career.

The arrest also may have saved his life: Days before the men were indicted together, Hernandez, who had recently tried to split from the gang, was warned by the FBI that his one-time associates may try to kill him, his lawyer said.

How Hernandez went from a lost Brooklyn teen, to a viral social media star, to an accused violent member of the Nine Trey Bloods is a cautionary tale for hip hop.

Hernandez’s rapid ascent, catalogued daily online, was tailor made for a new generation of websavvy fans hooked on non-musical content. The rowdy, scream-along tracks that 6ix9ine did make were more a symptom of his online success than the impetus for his fame: Hernandez only began rapping after he had achieved a taste of internet notoriety, and he appeared to pursue gang life to bolster his musical endeavours.

It was an inflammatory approach in a rap business stuck between an old school of hip-hop in which street cred still matters and a new wave of artists for whom clout on internet platforms has become a pathway to success. For some rap stars, gang life was an unavoidable means of survival, and music offered a way out. For Hernandez, who also goes by the name Tekashi69, it was reversed: Gang affiliations lent authenticity to a rap career rooted more in sensationalism than in biography or in raw talent.

For his critics, 6ix9ine represented the worst-case scenario of millennial hip hop: a digital brand built around bravado and violence, with little notion that the act could have reallife repercussions.

“Social media creates this illusion that there are no consequences for your actions,” said rap radio personality Charlamagne Tha God, host of the syndicated radio show The Breakfast Club.

In the courtroom, where Hernandez has repeatedly appeared since 2015, he has argued that the gangland character of 6ix9ine was just that, an exaggerated artistic act. In reality, Hernandez said, he was “Danny”, a nice kid from Brooklyn, who had struck gold by stoking beef and acting tough. “The scumbag persona is just for shock value.”

His lawyer, Lance Lazzaro, has contended that the associates who once lent 6ix9ine muscle and credibility were the real criminals. On Monday, Hernandez pleaded not guilty.

“An entertainer who portrays a ‘gangster image’ to promote his music does not make him a member of an enterprise,” Lazzaro said.

“Hernandez became a victim of this enterprise and later took steps by firing employees.”

It may have been too late. His relentless search for shocking material soon landed him in trouble.

Just before his 19th birthday, Hernandez was arrested on charges of using a child in a sexual performance. He eventually pleaded guilty. According to a statement he made to police in March 2015, Hernandez met a man at a recording studio who seemed to have “a lot of money” and followed him to a gathering in Harlem.

The group filmed a video with a 13-year-old girl that was posted to Hernandez’s Instagram in which other men had sex with her while Hernandez touched her and mugged for the camera.

He later told police he believed the girl was 19. “I was doing it for my image,” he said.

As part of his plea deal, Hernandez agreed to stay out of trouble for two years, get his high school equivalency diploma, attend therapy, and avoid posting any sexual or violent images to social media.

It was after this brush with the law that Hernandez turned increasingly to rap.

By spring last year, 6ix9ine’s cartoonishly extreme music videos and punk persona had caught the eye of young rapper Trippie Redd, who collaborated with 6ix9ine and introduced his music to Elliot Grainge, the founder of a small Los Angeles-based label, 10k Projects.

This put Hernandez on a relatively conventional career path. He had signed with Grainge’s company to distribute his music and booked a tour of Eastern Europe.

Hernandez returned to Brooklyn after his tour with a pile of cash and struck up a partnership with a local member of the Bloods.

Asked how he met Hernandez and became his unofficial manager, Kifano Jordan, better known as Shotti (or Shottie), could only chuckle.

“He from the neighbourhood, Bed-stuy. We had a mutual friend, one of my little homies brought him around. I wasn’t actually doing music at the time. I was just, um… around,” Jordan, 36, said of Hernandez in an August podcast.

As Hernandez was building his online persona in 2016, Jordan was skirting an outstanding warrant in New Jersey for narcotics trafficking.

It was a mutually beneficial business venture at heart.

6ix9ine needed the street cred and security Jordan could offer, while 6ix9ine represented a cash cow to Jordan. In less than a year, they began charging $100 000 a show, up from $1 000.

For now, Hernandez’s future remains uncertain.

Even if he finds leniency in the racketeering case, a conviction would likely be a violation of his probationary terms, which could lead to jail time.