On a gray early afternoon, in Prince’s George’s County, Maryland, on a block lined with used car dealerships, tire shops, and a hair salon gently running Rod Wave and Latto, the streets are quiet enough that the crunch of leaves under my sneakers sounds like thunder. It’s an unassuming setting, perfect for Paco Panama to stay tucked away in the studio he calls a second home. A short ride from his roots in Washington, D.C., he’s bumping Bobby Womack records on YouTube with his main producer and engineer, Coltcaine, by his side. They’re looking for one to flip into a warm beat to backdrop the tough crime sagas that have made Paco stand out as a seasoned veteran of the on-fire DMV street-rap scene.
Paco and Colt communicate almost telepathically, finishing each other’s sentences and telling comical stories as a unit. “All we been talkin’ about this week is Bobby Womack,” says Colt, clicking around FL Studio at his cluttered desk. “Let me tell you his story, bro. Well, he was cool with the singer Sam Cooke, and Sam ended up getting murdered in a motel room.”
“Then, a few months later,” continues Paco, peering over Colt’s shoulder, “Bobby Womack married Sam Cooke’s old wife. He even showed up to Sam’s funeral in one of his old suits and all that.”
They’re snickering, like it’s their favorite tidbit of musical history to tell to anyone who will listen. “Then, a couple years later,” Colt follows up, “it came out that Bobby was sleeping with Sam’s daughter.”
“Yeah, all them soulful niggas was slimy dogs,” Paco adds. “Crying and drunk and shit, going platinum on accident.”
