I sat down with Tom P on the front porch of a house in Candler Park. It was mid- afternoon and he was just waking from a long night of drinking: hair askew, and shirt wrinkled, eyes weary and bloodshot. When asked if he’d like to reschedule the interview for a time when he was more alert, he shook his head. After swallowing a multivitamin and smoking a few cigarettes, he was ready to talk. And when Tom P talks about rapping, a tangible energy fills the room. He’s animated, articulate and focused—all the hallmarks of a person expressing true passion. Most of us would agree it’s that kind energy that manifests itself in good art. He describes rapping as an addiction, and says he remembers working in bookstores and coffee shops, pushing out and scribbling on receipt paper every chance he could get.
Kamal “The Element” Gillespie & Tom P
Thomas Peters—a 24-year-old white kid from Decatur, Georgia—got his start when he bought his first beat machine at the age of 12 and did his best to mimic those early 90s rappers like Snoop Dogg and Coolio. He made “shitty raps” with his middle-school classmates, and before long people were coming over every day after school to listen. Tom P has made it a long way since those prepubescent days, and on January 21 of this year he opened a sold-out show for Nappy Roots at Star Bar. He’s also worked with rapper B.O.B (you know—beautiful girls, all over the world), and has close ties to Aleon Craft, and D.R.E.S tha Beatnick. Tom started out by putting together warehouse shows, but after gaining some notoriety, moved to bigger venues as word about his talent spread like wildfire.
Tom P mounted the stage at the Spring4th Center to the tune of the Rocky theme song. He donned an American flag, surrounded by an entourage of scantily clad women wielding a stolen City of Decatur sign—true Atlanta style. At first glance, Tom P looks like the kind of guy you’d find at a Georgia Tech frat party or sitting in a corner booth at any bar in Virginia-Highland. Unsurprisingly, a pompous skepticism could be seen along the faces of the crowd—faces I assume had never seen Tom perform. But when he opened his mouth and spit the kind of mind-blowing, rapid-fire rhymes he’s known for, the skepticism turned to surprise and eventually to admiration. The event celebrated the release of his new record, Root for the Underdog, and nearly a thousand people were present.
Tom P’s new record adds a whole new level the phrase, “Rep where you stay.” While sitting in the bars of other cities I’ve experienced a surge of pride whenever a song that mentions Atlanta comes over the speakers. But Tom P’s songs don’t simply mention the “A”—they accurately describe my weekend itinerary. The chorus of his song, “Last Call,” proclaims, “In Atlanta we be drinking ‘till the sun comes up.” The verses in between describe a progression of parties and bar-closings. Tom mentions everything from Georgia State to the Earl and even mourns the burning of Trackside in Decatur. OK, so every weekend isn’t so eventful, but any Atlanta twenty-something knows the kind of tour-de-ATL Tom P is talking about.
All the songs on Root for the Underdog aren’t about partying, however. Many deal with the kind of resistance he faces due to his unassuming image, and I was delighted to hear feminist themes of unattainable beauty and media pressure on track 5, “Wake Up.”
Tom P has friends with varied talents—from those studying sound engineering at SCAD, to those who know how to build a stage or a website, to those who can offer a place to record or the knowledge to promote. The recent event at the Spring4th Center was just another in a series of shows that Tom P has put together with no financial assistance. And his recent success is a true testament to making something happen organically. He wouldn’t say that he’s exploiting the resources and talents of friends; rather, he has humbly relied upon the volunteered time of people who believe in his cause.
Tom P & Justin Padron
Tom P’s biggest fear is “being forty years old, working a shitty job, and still writing raps.” But, somehow, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I expect those rhymes that are continually flowing through his head—those rhymes he scribbles down on receipt paper to keep him sane—will one day be streaming through bar and club radios, giving us all another reason to say with pride, “Yeah, that’s where I’m from.”
