Trading a badge for life as a Christian rapper
CHRISTOPHER ELLIOTT FINDS PEACE OF MIND AS A CHRISTIAN RAPPER
In the sleepy, pre-dawn hours of the New Haven Police Department’s third shift, Christopher Elliott would often sit in his police cruiser and slip into an existential funk.
“Every night I had these last hours of my shift where it was just constant emotional and spiritual torment. Feeling like I’m not in the pocket, I’m not hitting it on the head as far as my life mission or goals,” Elliott remembers.
On his six-figure salary, Elliott, who was in his mid-20s at the time, was able to provide for his family in a way he couldn't at his past gig, as a child development specialist. But he felt unfulfilled and, alone in his cruiser, yearned for a change.
“I guess you could say I had enough of those encounters with that demographic that I care so much about, those youths,” Elliott says. “When I was crossing paths with them it was either locking them up or giving them a ticket.”
Five years later, Elliott is sitting at a desk in a fourth-grade classroom at Bridgeport’s New Beginnings Family Academy, where he is an instructional assistant. He’s shed the badge, the salary and the lonely early morning shifts. In place of those things, he’s got a job that allows him to work more closely with children, piece of mind, and, perhaps most surprisingly, a burgeoning career as a Christian rap and spoken word poetry artist.
Before it became the moniker under which Elliott performed, FriiStyle Gahspol (pronounced freestyle gospel) was the name of the clothing line of an aspirational ex-cop in the midst of a career transition.
“I’ve always enjoyed listening to
music my whole life,” said Elliott, who was born and raised in New Haven, save for a sojourn in Virginia during his high school years. “But as far as things I was creating, I was a sketch artist and I liked fashion.”
Elliott created t-shirts — featuring a silhouetted man, book inhand — that he marketed to teens and young adults. He heard of a talent show at a New Haven church and was allowed to attend to spread the word about his brand, on one condition: he’d need to perform a talent.
He was 29 at the time and had never rapped or performed spoken word poetry. But thanks to his father, who on summer breaks would assign Elliott and his siblings lengthy reading lists and book reports, in addition to their school requirements, he had confidence that he could write something passable.
“I’m thinking everybody’s gonna be asking about this shirt and where’d I get that from. And everybody wants to know, how long have I been doing spoken word,” laughs Elliot, who looks professorial in dark-framed glasses and a blazer. “It was out of my hands from there. FriiStyle Gahspol clothing took a backseat and FriiStyle Gahspol the poet and rapper was born.”
What ensued was a rapid rise to local, then national and international attention in the world of Christian rap and spoken word. Within a year of the church talent show, Elliott was on stage at Harlem’s Apollo Theater. This spring, he toured Europe with the British band Kish.
He attributes the reason for his rise to a stylistic difference between himself and more traditional, less lyrically adroit, performers of Christian rap. In the same way that Christian rappers like Lecrae blend secular styles, like trap, with religious imagery — to massive success — on songs like “Lyrical Leprechaun” and “Machine Gun Sermon,” Elliott’s sacred message is communicated via an onslaught of bars, juxtaposed with hip-hop braggadocio. Whatever sounds the term Christian music conjures for you, FriiStyle Gahspol is not that.
“I think a lot of times with that content, the lyricism isn’t always there,” Elliott says. “I think because I was able to deliver content that they wanted to hear, and still have great lyrical ability, I think that’s what allowed me to stand out and break through so many doors so quickly.”
Weekday mornings, Elliott rises at 4:30 to start his two-hour commute — via bus, train and foot — from New Haven to Bridgeport, where he drives home the importance of reading and education to his students. Where once he felt existential dread, Elliott now fills fulfilled.
“I’m passionate about these young people,” Elliott says. “It’s been my life’s mission statement — if I could wake up every morning and just find new ways to inspire young people, that’s my dream job.”