Game up!

On a blistery and cold Michigan night, Detroit rapper Danny Brown emerges from his Royal Oak apartment dressed like some kind of hood hipster. Sporting a bone-tight pair of stone-washed jeans, black Chuck Taylors, an old-school flat-brimmed Detroit Pistons hat, and a shoulder-slung Spider-Man bag that has seen better days, it's hard to imagine that this is the same emcee responsible for crafting some of the most graphically detailed street raps for the last year in underground hip hop — in the 313 and nationwide.

The spindly emcee hops into the car and heads toward his beloved Linwood Avenue neighborhood in Detroit proper. A self-confessed White Stripes fan and sports and videogame junkie, he talks of the evening's Miami Heat game, playing NBA 2K Live for most of the day, and the glories of living with his on-again, off-again girlfriend: "I don't know too many dudes that can live on their own like that. Some might, but I bet they ain't got clean towels," he says with a wry smile.

The jovial 29-year-old rapper immediately gives an impression of a kid who's used to things going his way. He's a riot in person, and it's all wrapped up neatly when he flashes a tooth-deficient grin. He's got confidence, a sense of self-satisfaction, to spare. One thing is certain: He's not afraid to take career chances, and things do, inevitably, so far, work out in his favor.

Depending on his personal level of excitement, his voice sways easily between gruff and falsetto, he carries himself like a cocksure Snoop Dogg in his prime, one who doesn't give a shit what others think of him. By the time we ease off the I-94 and roll toward a house off of Linwood, where he partially grew up, the street lights are all out, prostitutes stroll along the curb, and a speeding cop car flips down a one-way going the wrong direction. As luck would have it, this is Brown's street.

As we stop in front his grandmother's house, two squad cars close in on an Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme parked a couple doors down. The cops bark at the occupants to put their hands in air. Brown's reaction: Just another night in the hood.

We walk into the well-lit home and Brown immediately hugs his mother, Toya, and heads for the kitchen. She's repainting the living room, holding a paint-roller in one-hand, and looks young enough to be the rapper's older sister. She gave birth to him at 17. Tonight, she looks pleased that her eldest son has arrived with a reporter in tow. It's a sign Danny is doing something positive with his life, by way of music.

Where exactly Brown fits into Detroit's musical lineage isn't easy to figure. The emcee shows glimmers that he could become one of the best street rappers in Detroit's history. His growing Internet celebrity is testament to that — but on an international level. Dude's clever wordplay, nutty-comical punchlines — often colored with commentary from his year-long jail stint — and his sometimes hardass disposition make Brown the wittiest hood rapper in the city, which says a lot, if you think about it. But Brown isn't interested in that.

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