Hip-Hop Pioneer Thought the Award Call Was a Scam

Source: a16z | Published: 2026-09-20T14:30:23Z

Grandmaster Caz wrote the lyrics to "Rapper's Delight" and never saw a dime. Nearly fifty years later, a foundation finally bought him his first home.

That was nearly fifty years ago.

A Ten-Dollar Album and a Debt That Couldn't Be Repaid

Ben Horowitz paid ten dollars for Paid in Full. He later said that album gave him something worth, conservatively, more than five million dollars over the course of his career.

The mindset in those lyrics. The psychological framework for building a company. He wrote a bestselling book about how hard it all was, opening every chapter with a hip-hop lyric — because that's where the thinking came from. In Silicon Valley, people asked him why he put hip-hop in a business book, as if it were a gimmick. He said it wasn't. It was about giving credit where credit is due.

But he realized there had never been a mechanism to actually pay that debt back.

So he called Steve Stoute. Steve said this wasn't just a good idea — the timing was right. People in the industry had been talking for years about how hip-hop's pioneers had no money and were being forgotten, but no one was doing anything about it. Then they went to Nas. Nas brought a critical insight: in hip-hop culture, you can't just give people money. It has to be recognition. Honor. Placing people where they deserve to be. That's the only way it gets accepted.

That's how the Paid in Full Foundation began to take shape.

The Hardest Part Wasn't Raising Money — It Was Getting People to Believe It Was Real

In the foundation's early days, some people who received calls assumed it was a scam and didn't accept their awards — not because they weren't deserving, but because they couldn't believe anyone would actually do this. That fact alone says everything: this community had been shortchanged for so long that when someone extended a hand, the first instinct was suspicion.

They called Kool Rock-Ski. He stood on stage and accepted his award, walked off, and still wasn't sure if it had been real.

When the foundation held its first ceremony, Scarface was preparing for a kidney transplant — his son was the donor. Both the money and the medical care were a problem. Ben called him from the south of France and said: we're going to help you. Scarface just went silent. They hadn't spoken in two years.

That distrust, in a strange way, confirmed what Nas had argued: honor has to come first. People need to feel seen — not like they're accepting charity.

Grandmaster Caz: A Lifetime in the Bronx, Until That Call

Caz spent his whole life in the Bronx — except for three years in California, he never left. He said that over the past ten or fifteen years, one thought kept surfacing in his mind: he didn't want to die in the projects.

He was always out running — radio appearances, park shows, hip-hop tours — not because he wanted to keep running, but because he had to. He said hip-hop has no social security, no health insurance. You have to keep putting yourself out there.

The foundation gave him a five-year grant. He used it to buy a house in Pennsylvania. He and his wife moved in.

He said it was a feeling of security he'd never had before. Every single day had been a cash flow problem. Every single day he was figuring out how to get through the next one.

Hip-Hop Changed the Whole World — But the People Who Built It Never Got a Dividend

Steve Stoute wrote a book called The Tanning of America, specifically to document hip-hop culture's impact on the commercial world — because he was afraid those stories would be forgotten.

Adidas had a 2% market share in the United States. Three-quarters of that came from the Northeast. The company couldn't figure out why people there were still buying a particular shoe — and deliberately removing the laces. Hip-hop was holding the brand up. Run-DMC had an arena full of fans hold up their Adidas at a concert. That's what brought the brand back to life.

Tommy Hilfiger was selling ties at the time, trying and failing to be Ralph Lauren. His eventual brand transformation — oversized logos, placed prominently — was inseparable from how hip-hop communities wore and displayed brand identity. In 1994, Snoop Dogg appeared on SNL wearing Tommy without being paid or contracted to do so. It's widely recognized as the moment the brand truly took off.

Grand Puba appeared in Sprite's "Obey Your Thirst" campaign, endorsing the brand — no royalties, no licensing fee, nothing.

Felicia and Scarface's Day

Scarface later needed open-heart surgery — an aortic issue. He didn't want to go to the hospital. He came from a world where people didn't go to routine checkups, let alone get their chest opened.

Ben's wife Felicia runs the foundation. She knew he was terrified, so she flew to Houston. He still said no. She's five feet tall. Scarface calls her "the bully." She said: you're coming with me right now.

They had just walked into the hospital when his aorta ruptured. They got him in time. He survived.

Caz said this had nothing to do with awards or contracts. It was just who Felicia is — she'll call out of nowhere to ask how you're doing, you mention your wife is sick, and the next day a pair of Dior glasses arrives at your door, followed by flowers. He said he'd never seen anything like it at any foundation or any awards ceremony, ever.

Dr. Dre Had Never Met Slick Rick

At last year's ceremony, Dr. Dre showed up. He found the organizers and asked if they could introduce him to Slick Rick — he had never actually met him.

That detail makes you stop for a moment. Dre is one of the most influential producers in hip-hop history. Slick Rick is a legend from the same era. Two people in the same industry for decades, and they had never been in the same room together.

At the ceremony two years prior, Ice Cube took the stage and said that before dropping any album, he always makes sure Scarface signs off on it. Scarface debuted after Cube — but that's what Cube said. Then Scarface and Rakim got on stage and talked about writing, trading genuine respect. Steve said it was one of the most honest conversations about craft he'd ever witnessed — it would hold up in any field. Those two had that exchange for the first time on the Paid in Full stage.

"Start From What's Right, Not What's Possible"

Ben said he'd settled one thing clearly in his mind from the beginning: if you start by asking whether something is possible, you will never accomplish anything that matters. You have to start by asking whether it's right.

His logic was simple — the founders of hip-hop aren't a large group. The people who built this art form are a finite few. Why couldn't they be honored properly, just once?

The foundation is now in its fourth year. Every staff member is a volunteer. No paid employees. Ben and Felicia match donations at a 2.5-to-1 ratio — every dollar you give turns into $3.50 that reaches the artists. This year's Quincy Jones Award goes to Nile Rodgers. After the Grammys' tribute to Quincy following his death disappointed his son QD3, QD3 came to the foundation. The award became an annual fixture.

Caz is now on the selection committee, part of the conversations about who gets honored next. He said some names come up and there's no debate at all — people just argue over whose "yes" is more enthusiastic than everyone else's.