Prince Paul wasn’t trying to reinvent horrorcore. He was trying to survive.
By the early ’90s, the man behind Three Feet High and Rising was struggling to stay afloat. His work with Stetsasonic had plateaued, his relationship with De La Soul was beginning to fray, and he was watching the industry pivot away from the kind of quirky, layered, left-field music he specialized in. “Everything was starting to look dim,” Paul told DJ Kenny Parker on The DJ Kenny Parker Show. “I was like, I gotta get a job. All the money I saved—thank you—but this is becoming a reality.”
Out of that fear came one of the most oddly compelling moments in hip-hop: Gravediggaz. And it didn’t come together like most rap supergroups. This wasn’t a victory lap—it was a therapy session with drum machines. Prince Paul called on Poetic (dropped from Tommy Boy), Frukwan (freshly ousted from Stetsasonic), and RZA—who was still Prince Rakeem, reeling from industry setbacks and fresh out of jail. “I was just so fed up with the business,” Paul admitted. “I was like, everybody hates me. My records are wack. I’m gonna show them. I’m gonna put together a group of guys who’ve been dissed, and we’re gonna combine our powers.”
The Gravediggaz demo sat for nearly a year, shunned by labels and A&Rs alike. “I would hear stuff from A&R meetings… ‘This is horrible. These guys are old. Why you wanna sign them?’” Paul recalled. One rejection came from Russell Simmons himself. The irony? Shortly after passing on the project, Simmons released Flatlinerz—his own horrorcore act.
Even Ruthless Records came calling. Paul met with Eazy-E and Jerry Heller, who offered a deal—one that Paul ultimately turned down. “That contract was bad. I’d rather have no deal than put that out,” he said. “It just wasn’t sexy.”
It wasn’t until G Street Records stepped in that the Gravediggaz album finally saw daylight. Released in 1994, 6 Feet Deep (originally Niggamortis) was dark, satirical, and wildly experimental. The sound was raw but cohesive—driven by Paul’s instinct to let things breathe, play with structure, and turn trauma into rhythm. “I thought I made the dopest thing in the world,” he said. “Like I’m playing this to them… ‘This is amazing. I did it.’ And they were like, ‘It’s all right.’”
But fans saw what critics didn’t. The album didn’t just introduce horrorcore to a wider audience—it validated its creators. “My main concern was Poetic and Frukwan,” Paul explained. “That they could establish themselves, tour, and make money. That meant everything.”
Paul didn’t stay on for the second album, choosing instead to step aside so others could eat. “RZA didn’t really need the Gravediggaz at that point,” he said. “So I told him, get your guys from your camp. Let them produce and make money. Let’s make sure everybody eats.”
Gravediggaz wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t marketable, wasn’t clean, wasn’t fashionable. But that’s exactly why it worked. It was honest, angry, funny, and self-aware. And it reminded the culture that real innovation often comes from the margins.
As Paul put it best: “You gotta believe in yourself. Nobody’s gonna hire you. You gotta hire yourself.”
