Don’t mistake Xavier Dphrepaulezz’s album title Last Days of Oakland for pessimism. Don’t even mistake it for some kind of eulogy. Because at the age of 40, the multi-instrumentalist has found opportunity in poverty and rebirth in tragedy.

In a typical story, Dphrepaulezz’s last, sad chapter would have concluded almost a decade ago. A prodigious young musician from the streets of Oakland. A man who’d seen both the beautiful and horrific sides of what it means to be black in America.  A huge record contract at a young age. But even after 17 years, the fame never came.

But then the epilogue. A tiny moment between father son. A G-major on a broken guitar. A viral setlist in an old freight elevator. Stealing the spotlight at SXSW. A rebirth that turned Xavier Dphrepaulezz into Fantastic Negrito. He took the time to talk about what being a father has given him as an artist, the drastic changes he’s seen of his home (and why they’re not all grim) and the realities of facing “murderous and terrified” police in America today.

Your album is called  Last Days of Oakland, which speaks to your time there in the eighties. What about that time and place shaped who you are as a musician?

1980s Oakland represents a lot for me. Firstly, it was an artistic explosion. You had counterculture movements that the music represented so well, with hip hop helping to amplify young black voices, and the harder-edged anger of the times coming through in the punk scene. I would personally encounter either of those types of music on a daily basis and that cross-pollination, which was unique to a place like Oakland, changed my view of music and of art.

Which about Oakland as you knew it is gone forever?

Well, I don’t want to let the album title mislead anyone. I believe that the end of something means the opportunity for something amazing to begin. That’s really what the concept of the album is.  As that applies to Oakland, the statistics are clear. Twenty-five percent of the black population is gone. That community shaped so much about that city – not just my experience, but the culture itself. So where did it go? Like other parts of the country, the Bay area got gentrified and parts of Oakland that used to be affordable just aren’t anymore. But as I say that, I also recognize that the newer residents are making their own artistic and cultural contributions. So The Last Days of Oakland means getting with them and being the bridge between old and new for them. I’m on a mission to embrace the good in the new, and the good in the old. I think I’m just this strange optimist who believes it can all be done. Take the bullshit and turn it into the good shit.

You grew up in the less privileged part of Oakland, but you refused to let anything get in the way of your passion to learn music. What were the barriers you faced?

You know, I used to change into fancier clothes and sneak into lectures and classes at Berkley. Of course I did it just to fit in and not get caught (laughs). And I didn’t think that was particularly interesting until people started telling me it was. I was living in a part of Oakland where the biggest barrier was survival. The money from the crack-cocaine epidemic was considered very lucrative, but of course it was more deadly than lucrative. And as liberal as that part of America claimed to be, it still shut out people like me – mostly out of fear; fear of a young black man. I’d sit in those rooms and just learn everything by ear.

At the same time, I was going to Berkley High School and one of my classmates was Joshua Redman. I watched him play every instrument – brilliantly – and his appetite and his passion is part of what influenced me. I watched him while he was just a kid in high school and he played the shit out of every instrument he touched.

It seems like your love for writing and performing music was rekindled by playing songs for your son when he was just an infant.

At that point I was completely retired. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I didn’t know what to say. My process used to be so full of fire. So session-based, but I got to a point where I just ran out of things to say, so I just kind of shelved everything and moved back to Oakland. At that point, I’d also sold pretty much all of my instruments. So then to make a bit of extra money, I started my own little farm. I grew squash and cucumbers and of course, marijuana. It was very therapeutic for me, but one day it was my son who needed something therapeutic. I was trying to put him down for a nap and he just wasn’t having it. I didn’t know what to do, so I remembered I had one last guitar in storage. It was just a terrible guitar, man. I had it because back in the day, an old friend was addicted to heroin and he’d pawned off some of my gear for his habit. To make up for what he’d done, he gave me this awful guitar. The only reason I kept it all those years is because nobody would buy it off of me. I picked it up and just hit a G-major and I remember how it just made him smile instantly. He looked at me like “what have you been hiding from me all this time?” I got chills from it. He didn’t speak yet, but that was a language we could both speak. It was a slow walk from there to playing him full songs, to writing my own, to writing an album to touring the world. I think of my son as a teacher who taught me how to love music again. It’s one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned.

Which of your life experiences do you hope your son will experience himself, and which are you hoping to shield him from?

I want to shield him from the obvious; drug trafficking. Guns. Violence. But then, I think of all the rough experiences I had growing up, and the tools those experiences gave me. I don’t know that I want to shield him from that kind of learning. I see so many black men being killed by police in America and I believe that it’s my responsibility to give my son the tools to deal with these murdering, terrified cops. I’ve been stopped by the police my whole life and while it’s easy to hate them for their actions, it’s important to know; they are scared. I knew it, my dad knew it and so he taught me that these people, and their irrational fear of us – is an obstacle and unfortunately it’s on me to teach him how to try and get around those obstacles.

Somewhere down the line, your son might say to you “dad I want to be a professional musician when I grow up.” What’s your advice to him?

He already plays the hell out of my drum kit. That kid has no lessons and he plays some stuff better than me (laughs). You know, I don’t care what he does in his life. I just hope that he loves whatever he chooses to pursue. But if he does want to do what I do, I’d tell him don’t try to be famous. Don’t try to write hit songs. Don’t try to be a star. Do it because it’s something that you love. Do it because you believe you’re contributing something. Do it because to create something real. When you do that, it builds you up as a man, and it builds up the community around you.

Listen to the album: