The story of G. Dep could be thrown in with all the other failed Bad Boy Records experiments that saw Puff Daddy sign respected street rappers and leave them high and dry a few years later. Okay, so technically, many of these albums weren’t failures financially, but nor did they launch the next superstar. After The Notorious B.I.G. passed away in 1997, Bad Boy peaked with the massive Puff Daddy album “No Way Out” followed by Mase’s “Harlem World”. Both went platinum. After that, though, Puffy had an identity crisis. The L.O.X. sold a lot of copies of 1998’s “Money, Power & Respect” but it didn’t feel like the same cultural earthquake. Mase famously found God in 1999, which put a huge dent in Bad Boy’s momentum. Without a superstar frontman, Puffy signed Shyne, who sounded like Biggie, and Loon, who sounded like Mase. I have a soft spot for the Faith Evans album “Faithfully” and Black Rob’s “Life Story”, and I was actually surprised to see that both of them went platinum. That’s how strong the Bad Boy brand was, pretty much every release went platinum. It’s wild, looking back, that Black Rob (God rest his soul), Memphis Bleek over at Roc-a-Fella, and Drag-On over at Ruff Ryders, were all shifting over half a million records. Different times. This brings us on to Ghetto Dependent, or G. Dep as he’s more popularly known, a Harlem emcee that signed to Bad Boy in 2000. His album “Child of the Ghetto” didn’t do those sorts of numbers despite being well-received by us 24 years ago, and despite him being a far superior rapper to most of the names I mentioned earlier. Of all these emcees, G. Dep was already familiar to rap fans, having built a reputation in mixtape circles with his classic singles like “Head Over Wheels”.

Dep has a smooth delivery, combining the depressive nature of Mobb Deep with ponderous observational raps not dissimilar to Kool G Rap, who is clearly an influence. The (wonderfully named) record label Gentleman’s Relief Records recently restored and remastered a selection of rare and obscure G. Dep tracks, and that’s what we have here on the conveniently named “Head Over Wheels”. The promo cites Dep as one of the finest MCs of his generation, which is a tad overblown (like any bit of promo writing) yet not that far from the truth. In a sense, he is the very defintion of underrated. When most people talk about underrated emcees, they jump to Pharoahe Monch, Ras Kass, or perhaps Chino XL, who are all, in fact, highly rated. Those are some of the greatest emcees of all time. But you don’t really hear G. Dep’s name come up in these discussions. Or any rap discussions for that matter.

It’s no surprise this record is named after its most notable song; “Head Over Wheels” remains a classic example of immersive New York Hip Hop – it’s hugely nostalgic, from a time where fans played tapes in their cars, or cycled through late-night radio stations as they drove home. There are superior lyrical performances – but the beat still sounds supreme.

The way “How” is written highlights why Dep retains a strong reputation (aside from him being a convicted murderer, let’s put that to one side for now):

“I be the best shit since Manamal
More plans than Hannibal, bitin’ ass cannibals
Even every animal, vegetable, mineral – I be killin’ you
Roll like a general then I will flex, continue bendin’ you
How I’ma put this through your vest
Say I’m the Buddha best
Without a desk I put you to the test
Always way for your to ‘fess though
Mentally tempt me
They act like they don’t know and they ain’t even emcees
Be immensely cautious, best bring your forces
Smoke a L for losses, dead like the corpses
And of course it’s on, I drop ’til the morn’ sun
Who you crossin’? I toss ’em, I’m bionic like Steve Austin”

A couple of tracks remain rough, and I wish they were blown up to match the levels of other songs. “Blow More Spots” sounds like a gem, but if you whack the volume up, be careful to turn it back down before the licks of bass blow your eyebrows off as “Automatic” stomps all over your ears. “Reflections” is similarly scruffy, while the bonus track “Dollar Bill” may actually benefit from the rougher mix. The latter pulls from the famous “C.R.E.A.M.” hook, and that’s something that also highlights the unsigned nature of G. Dep’s output at the time. He’s playing with his hooks, trying to find who he is, over some more familiar production. There’s an EPMD beat on “You Ain’t Nobody Baby”, a Big Pun beat (or same sample at least) on “Don’t Really Wanna Stop”.

You can’t really acknowledge the full G. Dep story without acknowledging what he’s been up to since his Bad Boy days. After going independent, he released a record in 2007 with Loon called “Bad Boy”, but in 2010 he handed himself in for the shooting of a man in 1993 during a robbery. Dep spent thirteen years in New York state prisons, and was released in 2024 after he impressed the parole board, so while he has killed someone (and I don’t condone or approve this), the “Head Over Wheels” compilation is a reminder that his talent for rap may still yet flourish and influence a different generation. He comes across better in interviews, and his rhymes possess a more positive, yet still reflective message. I am actually looking forward to new music from G. Dep; hopefully it has the creative freedom and raw poetic qualities of his earlier material.