Salma Slims Salma Slims

Interview: Delving Deeper Into Salma Slim's 'Ghetto Girl Dream'

Salma Slims stops by the VIBE office to discuss her most recent EP and her issue with the term "female rappers."

Salma Slims.

African. Muslim. Slim. Rapper. Fly.

These are things that describe who she is, but are only mere attributes in comparison to her humility when it comes to her talent and hustle. Slims’ visit to VIBE is in light of her September EP, Ghetto Girl Dream, which has catapulted her into a position she’s immensely grateful for. The 20-something artist came to terms with her grind at the age of six when she realized she wanted to enter the all-too-merciless realm of the entertainment industry. From throwing benjamins down on scoutings and auditions, Salma has always been about fulfilling her fantasy of being on stage, and now she’s finally in a place where she’s always wanted to be.

Slims describes this EP as her “second project, but first look,” with her first project, The Diary of Salma Slims, containing a variety of flirtatious, bossy and personal lyrics laced over trap-infused beats.

The “100 Racks” rapper speaks to us about her thoughts on women in a male-dominant music industry, what getting signed to Royce Rizzy's-guided Private Club Records meant to her, the grind, and of course her bringing her Ghetto Girl Dream into fruition.

VIBE: When did you start working on Ghetto Girl Dream?

Salma Slims: Right before I went on tour. I had to go back to Atlanta to get that sound and producers in there, since I’m out in LA now. I'm living in a house with everybody else from PCR (Private Club Records) and we’re actually getting our studio re-customized by someone from G.O.O.D. music. They’re going to deck the whole thing out for us so we can just record in-house instead of having to go so far.

Can you just tell us about how you got started with Private Club Records? How did they find you and how did you get signed?

Public Club has been around for a long time, but it took for one person to get recognition and to get looked at for us to finally be like "Ok, it's our time," and become that collective and bring to life the culture that we always had in mind. MadeinTYO actually started PCR when I was in a girl group. They just had their eye on me so, when I left, it presented the ideal situation. They were kind of like 'Okay, you're going to be the First Lady. You've already been going hard in ATL, you been had bars. So let's just do it.' Flash forward two years, and I feel like my brand is where I want it to be now. I’m killing it, I’m working hard. I’m branching out into modeling and getting into the fashion scene, for real this time.

Yeah, your style is really dope! But piggybacking off of how hard you’ve been working on your music, can you expand on the comments you made in your interview with Revolt.TV about your dislike of being labeled as a female rapper?

Thank you and yeah. It's crazy that you know that I said that. But, I think it shouldn’t be like, 'Oh, she’s a female rapper,' because when you think of female hip-hop history, you think of how there was only ever one certain female rapper hot at one specific time. This is a male-dominated industry where there can be like 5-6 guys out at one time. So why can’t there be more than one girl out at a specific time? It's kind of like when Trina was out and she was really, really hot. When these collectives have that “It Girl,”, they don’t really want to focus their time and energy anywhere else. If another artist comes out similar to me, it’s like, 'Why focus on her? They’re the same thing.' But, if you approach it differently and look at it like it can be successful, it will be. So, that’s where I think the male dominance comes from: where female MCs were in collectives and they took the role of First Lady. It comes from that era of the old school.

I love what's going on now, though. You have Dreezy that puts out an album, and then you have Kamaiyah who's doing her thing and it's being noticed. You got Young M.A. and then you have Nicki Minaj, who's rocking with her too. It's starting to slowly progress and come together.

Definitely. But what is it that you want to do to add to change this dynamic?

I just want to have my hands in different things. I have a niche. I'm young and I'm focused and I have a collective also. But just recently, I went to Japan, I did something for a cosmetic line, RMK. So, I feel like I have different things to offer to the game. You know, I'm not just rapping.

Middle of 🇯🇵 ... Until next time 💙 + @chenroy

A photo posted by SALMA SLIMS (@salmaslims) on

That’s dope. How do you think traveling adds to your growth towards trying to be one of the greatest--if you think it contributes at all?

It provides a new narrative. I grew up in a household that was Islamic so there are millions of girls out there who are Muslim and know the struggle it is to try to venture off into something that isn’t really present in your culture. Even if they're not Muslim or they're not African, or they're not Lebanese, they're from a different culture and in their culture, music may not be accepted. So, people will look at what I’m doing and be like 'Wow; different cultures are doing different things.'

Living the ghetto girl's dream, I guess. Can you tell us more your influences?

Yeah, [it started] when I went to a [TLC] concert. From there, I wanted to do school talent shows. I was performing with two friends in elementary school and we did Destiny’s Child “Survivor” in our little army outfits. [Laughs]

I was even on Craigslist looking for modeling jobs and things like that with my mom. I didn't know what I wanted to do, but I wanted to do something. As I watched Tyra Banks on TV, and I was confused about how to even get started. So, I was on Craigslist just looking at stuff and I came across an Universal Music Group casting call with blase-blah, and me and my mom go. I sign fugazi paperwork, pay like $600, just to watch Tyra Banks on TV tell me I don't have to pay for this type of stuff.

But, other than TLC, some influences are T.I.--he was one of my favorites, Big K.R.I.T., and Da Brat. I actually got the chance to meet her. That was like, “Ooop, another thing I can check off my checklist.”

So would Da Brat be considered a dream collab for you?

Man, yes. She put out a verse when she first got out of jail, and that went like [raps] "’I been off the scene for a minute/But I'm back in the back and the fact is I'm GREAT/Couldn't wait for the parole board/to go on give me a release date, February 28th/Now I'm home on the phone, twenty-fo'/Tryin to capitalize and get mo' dough, So So”

That's my favorite verse of all time. I spit that for her at the studio and she's like 'Ooouuu, you’re a fan.' I was like, 'Yes, I'm a fan! I rock with you. You’re lit.' [Laughs] If I can meet her, I can meet anybody, I can do anything. So that's how I looked at that.

That’s honestly the best perspective. But, besides Da Brat, what other collaborations would you like to get into (artists, producers, etc)?

Nicki Minaj, I want to work with her. I want to work with Kanye and M.I.A.

If only y'all knew 😬 📷@FilthyMcDave

A photo posted by SALMA SLIMS (@salmaslims) on

Just to trail back and acknowledge a possible connection, I realized that in The Diary, with the first song, “Chanel Baby,” you were talking about a ghetto girl's dream and that's the name of your next project and the intro track. Did you do that purposely?

I'll tell you the truth. We were all sitting around and you know how in the song ("Chanel Baby") it's like "it's a ghetto girl's dream, Chanel bags and things." So, every day this dude, Noah Wood$ would come up to me and be like 'It's a ghetto girl's dream.' Because I brought him on tour with me and he would hear that line every day, he would just be making fun of me like 'it's a ghetto girl's dream.' And he's a white dude, so it's funnier when he says it [Laughs]. And Dave (photographer), just randomly one day in the studio was like, 'It's a ghetto girl’s dream.. you need to stop playing and make that your next project name.' And it was just actually the perfect transition idea.

So in your music, you give off a vibe of how you were always alone and had to make it on your own. How do you feel that has played a part in who you are today?

It just makes me appreciate the people that are working for me because there was a point that I was just in a dark place trying to figure out what I needed to do next and how I needed to do it. I didn’t understand how to get to that next level on my own, but when I became a part of Private Club, I wasn’t alone anymore--I had people.

Just imagine, someone tells you that you can perform at a show and you ask the DJ, 'If I end up not being able to perform, can you just play my record, anyway?' And he's like, 'Well, we got blah-blah and they squad about to come perform so you need to like fall back.' So, it always felt like I was finessing my way through everything. And I was just waiting for the point where I wouldn’t have to finesse--and it's hard.

Where you’re in your own space? Because I know you said you were by yourself for awhile and you were your own manager.

Right! People are paying attention and they're respecting me now because I have dudes behind me. And I'm not saying it takes for everyone to be in a squad to get respect. Everybody got a different story but, it did take for me being signed to Private Club Records in order for people to actually respect me. So, now I just got to keep going and not fail the people and work hard and get noticed.

Yeah, that's really cool. I guess to refer back to what you brought up about being Islamic and African, you talked a lot about how your parents weren't that accepting of you transitioning into the music industry. And at the same time, you were going to school, working two jobs, and then coming back and recording at like 4 am.

The thing is like I said [raps] "There ain't no music in my family/there ain't no brothers around to tell me who to be with/so who I'm gonna curve?" So at the time, I was going from work to going to a show, to work to going home and then trying to do my homework. Then still trying to fit in studio time. A lot of times, I left work to go to a show and there would only be maybe 10-15 people there but I was so excited, I was so ready to perform in front of people and get the music heard. I was actually performing my song, “Journal” for like a whole year before I put it in The Diary of Salma Slims. So, that project is a lot of recycled music that I had, but just never had the chance to put out. That's where this project comes from because I feel like I've been living the ghetto girl's dream. I went from nothing to something--performing in front of a few thousand people instead of just like 15, and it's made a really, really, really big difference. It’s helped me to stay grounded and realize that things can happen. Now, I’m focusing on my music more than anything. Without having to worry about juggling so many things (school, two jobs, shows, recording time), I can give one hundred percent to my music.

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VIBE Vault: 'Dre Day: Andre Harrell' (December 1995 / January 1996)

In the business of music, there's no name with as much resonance as Motown. Former Uptown Entertainment president Andre Harrell—the man responsible for Jodeci, Mary J. Blige, and Heavy D—is taking over the legendary label and promising to bring the noise. But can he fight through the nostalgia and lead Motown into the 21st century? By Anthony DeCurtis. Photographs by Dana Lixenberg

"You know how Jeffrey Katzenberg became Disney? That's what I want to do. Like, how you felt Jeffrey had a passion about Disney—his Mickey Mouse watches, Disney sweatshirt, Disney tie. That's what I'm talking about. I will be at the Motown Cafe. I'll make Motown ties, watch­es, sweatshirts. I intend to make Motown the black Disney," Andre Harrell says with a smile. "You might as well start calling me Walt."

Harrell, 35, is obviously a man with a plan. Good thing, too. He's stepping into one of the most vis­ible jobs in the entertainment industry: president and CEO of Motown Records. "It's always been a dream of mine to head up Motown," he says.

Yet the lofty position confronts Harrell with a critical challenge. Motown has fallen far from what it once was. Aside from the monumental Boyz II Men, Motown has increasingly become a sound­track for nostalgia, much more redolent of the past than the present. It's so hard to say good-bye to yesterday, indeed. Harrell, a product of the hip hop generation, knows his job is to introduce Mo­town—music, television, film, video, animation, and new media—to tomorrow.

A Bronx native, he got his start in the early '8os as half of the rap duo Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. (He was Dr. Jekyll.) After moving over to the business side of the business, he hooked up with rap mogul Russell Simmons and soon landed a top spot at Simmons's company, Rush Communications, where he worked with the likes of Run-D.M.C., L.L. Cool J, and Whodini.

Harrell stepped out on his own in 1986, when he launched his own label, Uptown Entertain­ment, as part of a joint venture with MCA. At Uptown, Harrell defined a contemporary R&B sound for the hip hop age, bringing the world Guy, Heavy D, Jodeci, Mary J. Blige, Al B. Sure!, Father MC, and most recently, Soul for Real (with whom he had his first No. 1 pop hit, "Candy Rain"). He produced the 1991 film Strictly Business, and he coproduces the hit Fox series New York Undercover.

Successful as the artists on his label proved to be, Harrell has felt constrained in his efforts to make them pop superstars, both by his arrange­ment with Uptown's parent company, MCA, and by the troubling racial politics of the music busi­ness in general. Moving to Motown, which is now based in Los Angeles and owned by PolyGram, presents Harrell with the opportunity to put at least some of these issues behind him. At Motown, Harrell says, he'll have more people, more prerogative, more punch.

Seated on a couch in the living room of his Upper West Side New York apartment, dressed simply in a black shirt and white slacks, Harrell focused squarely through his blue shades on what must be done. A framed photo of a serious-looking Harrell arm-in-arm with Mickey Mouse sat on an end table.

Clearly a man who enjoys control, Harrell was soft-spoken and intent. He didn't want to be mis­understood. "Am I correct?" he would ask. "Do you follow me?" He leaned forward, and his voice rose with passion as he discussed his frustrations with MCA. Otherwise, he slipped back into the pil­lows of his sofa and spoke as if he was envisioning his future life in a dream.

Harrell knows he has as much on the line as Motown, if not more. All eyes will be on him. It's one thing to say you would've done something if only you'd gotten the chance. It's quite another to get the chance and have to do it.

"Every record has gotta be right," he said. "I'm trying to sign stars. I'm not gonna have wack-juice on me. Never did, never will."

What has Motown meant to you over the years? When was the first time you knew what it was?

The first true Motown experience I had was when the Jackson 5 were on the Ed Sullivan Show. I think it might've been, like, 1969, '70. They sang "Stand!" and "I Want You Back." I had never seen a black teenager on television—it was incredible. After that, I realized who the Motown artists were. My parents listened to them: the Supremes, Marvin Gaye, Diana Ross, the Four Tops, the Temptations.

What did the company represent for you?

Motown has always been the epitome of black excellence and artistry. Stevie sang about love in the most sensitive way, as well as telling about the plight of his people. Marvin sang about the plight of his people and his internal fight, but he sang about love in a very sexy way. They were major influences.

Speaking of Stevie Wonder, he made a strong album last year and nothing happened with it. Can Motown sell a Stevie Wonder record in this day and age?

The Four Tops, the Temps, and, especially, Stevie Wonder and Diana Ross—these are national trea­sures. You have to treat them like events. Stevie Wonder, he's someone I would do an Unplugged with. Or a couple of years ago, it was Stevie's 3oth anniversary in show business. You could have got­ten Stevie Wonder a television special. We could have had artists pay tribute to him—pop artists, rock artists, R&B artists, rap artists, everybody could have participated. And there's probably no other female, black or white, who's as fabulous as Diana Ross, who epitomizes the glamour and excitement of a star diva.

What about new directions? What makes Motown happen in the '9os?

Motown has to become the lifestyle label for the times that the active record-buying audience—the audience who's 15 to 3o—is living in. One of the ways you do this is by putting out records that are in the groove that that audience is living in. Like if Mary J. Blige was a Motown artist, Motown would have some of her imaging on it. It's that young, hip hop—soul, Generation X energy. Same thing if Jodeci was on the label. Back in the day, Motown talked to everybody in the ghetto—and it talked to the rest of the world too.


That sounds like the philosophy you espoused at Uptown.

The thing that [Motown founder] Berry Gordy led the way with is the idea that the label head becomes the image of the label. Myself, I allowed whatever celebri­ty occurred in my career to happen through the artists. I was so consistent with the kinds of artists who were on my label, after a while, it was, like, "Who's behind all this?" I was behind it.

Going into Motown, my plan is this: When you think of Motown now, you're gonna think of Andre Harrell. I'm not gonna work for Motown, I'm gonna be Motown—in the way I dress, the records I put out, the causes I choose to get involved in, the artists from the past, the artists who are there now, and the artists in the future. Like I lived Uptown Records, I'm gonna live Motown Records.

But you, Russell Simmons, Sean ."Puffy" Combs—and Berry Gordy before you—are entrepreneurs. You're identified with the companies you founded. With this, you're stepping into something—

—that's already existing. I'm gonna be Motown for this generation of young-adult record buyers. Motown was the blueprint. Berry Gordy was the blueprint for what I became.

Were you conflicted about leaving Uptown?

I had tremendous conflict. It was like I was walking away from my works of art. There will never be another Mary J. Blige—it's rare to find a queen. There will nev­er be another Jodeci. There'll never be another Heavy D. But I have to go, because Motown gives me the power I need to go to the next level. I have to make African-American superstars. At Uptown, I was able to make black icons, but they were icons only to black people.

[I was] trying to grow Uptown, to have indepen­dence, to be able to say, "This act is getting ready to be a worldwide star, and I'm gonna take all my resources, and we're gonna march to this one beat." I was trying to do that for nine years. Between me and the corpora­tion, I could never get it to happen.

In terms of support from MCA?

I think MCA, after a period, wanted some of these things to happen. For whatever reasons, though, the execution between the two sides never worked. The biggest record I ever had was Jodeci's [1991] Forever My Lady—3 million.

When [Arista president] Clive Davis got in the game, I felt myself shrinking. Once he got in business with LaFace [L.A. Reid and Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds] and [Dallas Austin's] Rowdy Records and Puffy [Bad Boy Entertainment], Davis's commitment and his exe­cution were taking those artists where I wanted my artists to go. I wanted Mary J. Blige to sell the 7 million that Toni Braxton did.

Jodeci came to me because I had Al B. Sure! So they figured, "He knows how to do this. We wanna be down with him." They drove 13 hours, sat in my lobby for eight hours just to meet me. Now, I feel like, with Arista being involved with LaFace and the other labels, they sold 7 million Toni Braxtons. They sold 6 million TLCs. I'm, like, if I can't sell these kinds of records, I'm gonna slowly shrink. I was catching heat from my artists, who wanted that kind of stature. I would bring that frustra­tion to MCA, and we couldn't seem to come to terms.

Was the idea, "Well, Andre's doing fine. He's doing a cou­ple of million here, a couple of million there. He's covered. Were gonna invest somewhere else"?

I felt like a figurehead. I had all this energy around me—like, I was the Man. I was the founder and chairman of Uptown Records, a major, culturally influen­tial entertainment company for African-Americans in the '9os. But I didn't feel like the Man, because I could­n't put my finger on the button that would really make it happen. I don't want to be in that position anymore. I need to have more control. I need to be responsible for the big picture. And being at Motown positions me to create a truly black pop company. I got a film divi­sion, a television division. I got green-light power for small movies. I don't have to ask anybody.

What are your plans with Gordy?

We're gonna do a series of commercials—print and television. He endorses me. We spoke yesterday for about an hour, and he said, "Any advice I can give you about where we go from here, feel free to call me." We're gonna spend time together and talk about his history with the elder stars. I feel as if I've had a tremendous amount of experience working with stars' drama and ego, but we're talking a whole 'nother level of stars. I've never built a superstar. There're superstars at this house.

How do you build superstars?

If black stars are gonna have a shot at becoming pop stars, it's gonna be because the chairman of the company is committed to them—and because their music is his personal taste. That's what I'm bringing to black music, to black musical stars. Not just their art form but their plight as African-American men and women.

What you're describing is a role that black executives play, but aren't they often frustrated in their attempts to rise at most record companies? 

I can't talk about it enough, how few black execu­tives get to control their playing field. Black music is becoming the music of the popular culture. Because of that, companies are repositioning their priorities and trying to get in the game. But as black music becomes more important, there should be more black presidents and black chairmen. As soon as the black executive's artist reaches platinum, suddenly the artist and man­ager have to deal with the president of the corporation, because he controls the priorities at pop radio. The black executive becomes obsolete. As his music gets bigger his power diminishes. He's more or less told, "Go find the next act and establish it."

It's an emphasis on the creative—

—as opposed to the business. That's why young black executives don't get to become the old chairmen—the wise men who've seen it and done it. They get to stay hot black executives so long as their instincts are hot. But this is a lifestyle business—only a few of us, black or white, are going to be cool enough to have great in­stincts our whole career.

The black executive is not given the opportunity to become the business and the music. Why not? Why shouldn't he be the one that everybody reports to? When you get an act that sells 5 million—at a major compa­ny—the black executive's out of the room. But when there's some sort of problem, the major label looks at the black executive: "Why can't you handle this act?" When the artist hires a violent manager and the violent manager is coming up to the record company, the label's, like, "How did it get to this?" How? Because they [the white executives] couldn't see it coming. Because they re not sensitive to his issues. By then the relation­ship between the record company and the artist is dys­functional. And then the black executive gets blamed and fired. But they created the monster.

When I had the artist, I talked to his mother, his girl­friend, his babies' mother with the two children, dealt with his drug counselor, and whatever other dysfunc­tional Generation X problems he has. He'd call me late at night.

But he feels like they're just businesspeople. And they don't understand. And they might be racist. He's comin' with all that energy. Even if they like him as a person, he still has goo years of issues he has to get over to accept them. And they have a lot of work to do to gain his trust and respect.

So what are your immediate plans?

I will be moving to Beverly Hills. I'll have a house out there for a 12-to-18-month period, and I'll be bicoastal between the New York and L.A. offices. Then I'm moving the company to New York. I'm going to have a satellite office in Atlanta—A&R-oriented. I'm going to build a recording studio in New York, Motown Studios.

Any new musical directions?

The sound I'm going for now is soul. I'm looking for voices that sound like 400 years of slavery and then some. I'm looking for that inspirational, take-us-out­-of-our-plight, Aretha Franklin, Bill Withers, Al Green voice. I'm looking to build those kinds of stars now.

What about the younger acts on Motown? Have you met with Boyz II Men?

No. Those meetings will come after I execute the deal. Boyz II Men are the biggest group I've ever seen. I don't know what I'm bringing to the party except to keep them from goin' crazy from the level of success they've had. They probably need a break, a little time out to lead their personal lives. Outside of that, that for­mula is working. Queen Latifah, I'd like to bring her record sales up to match her celebrity. Zhané I'd like to give a little bit more image. I'm gonna bring Johnny Gill back—he had a fabulous first album. And I'm excit­ed about working with Michael Bivins. He's tremen­dously talented, and if he and I get together, we can real­ly do some important things.

Are you apprehensive?

I got a lot of work to do. But no problems. Making hits is not a problem. I'll be making some noise real quick. And I ain't gonna stop makin' noise until I'm done.


This article originally appeared in the Dec. 1995 - Jan. 1996 issue of VIBE Magazine | Written by Anthony DeCurtis | Header Photography by Dana Lixenberg

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DJ Khaled attends the 62nd Annual GRAMMY Awards at STAPLES Center on January 26, 2020 in Los Angeles, California.
Frazer Harrison/Getty Images for The Recording Academy

DJ Khaled Cuts Off Twerker On Instagram Live, Inspires "Talk To Me Normal" Remix

Like the saying goes: when you give an inch, they take a mile. DJ Khaled learned that lesson over the weekend after he had to cut off a twerking follower on his Instagram Live session.

The producer and recording artist hopped on his social media account on Sunday (May 3) to chat with his fans and followers. To make the moment more engaging and interactive, Khaled opened up his request lines for one-on-one chats and chose a couple of lucky followers. What he didn't realize was that one request would be from a woman ready to twerk on camera, Quarantine Radio style.

"Oh, sh*t, oh, sh*t," he said aloud with his hands up in the air once he realized what was about to go down. "No, no, don't do that. No, it's all love but you know what I'm saying? I've got a family and everything. I've got love," he stressed to the giggling blonde before she proceeded to pour water on her derrière.


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I have love for everyone please take it easy when I’m on fan luv ig luv . Again I have love for everyone please lets be respectful nothing but love BLESS UP !

A post shared by DJ KHALED (@djkhaled) on May 3, 2020 at 4:25pm PDT

"Just talk to me normal, talk to me normal," he requested as he covered his eyes from seeing what she was doing. But did she care to oblige? Nope, because 45 seconds of fame and "we live baby!" Khaled gave up on pleading and closed out the chat repeating, "I can't, I can't."

Shortly after, Khaled posted the incident on his Instagram account with the caption, "I have love for everyone please take it easy when I’m on fan luv ig luv. Again I have love for everyone please lets be respectful nothing but love BLESS UP!"

And like clockwork, the video made its rounds and inspired one producer to create a remix, because, that's what we do when we need another level of comic relief. Much like Brooklyn's own DJ iMarkkeyz, who gained momentum on Billboard's charts for his remix of Cardi B's coronavirus rant, producer DJ Suede posted a remix of the moment and it brought more laughs to probably one of DJ Khaled's most stressful moments.

Hear it down below. You're welcome.


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#IGotAFamily #IGotLove 🕺🏾💎#RemixgodSuede #AnotherOne @therealcocoabrown #Diamonds @sophiajamesxo

A post shared by Dj Suede (@remixgodsuede) on May 3, 2020 at 9:48pm PDT

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Matt Winkelmeyer/Getty Images

Will Smith Hosts Virtual Reunion With ‘Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air’ Cast

Ahead of the official 30-year anniversary of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’s debut, Will Smith hosted a virtual reunion with his cast members for the latest episode of his Snapchat show, Will From Home. Tatyana Ali, Alfonso Ribiero, Karyn Parsons, Joseph Marcell, DJ Jazzy Jeff, and Daphne Maxwell Reid reunited with Smith via the video conferencing app, Zoom.

“Reunited and it feels so good,” Smith wrote on Instagram on Wednesday (April 29). “It’s been 30 years since the first season of ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’ so I thought we should have ourselves a lil Zoom reunion!! Check us out.”

Smith posted a snippet from the Zoom reunion that showcases the special bond between the Fresh Prince cast. The crew also sent well wishes to Jeff, who recently recovered from coronavirus.

“Jeff you had us all scared,” says Ribiero.

“Not as scared as I was,” Jeff responds. “It was a little rough but I’m definitely happy to be on the other side.”

Marcell, who played the family butler “Geoffrey” on the series, appears to be enjoying life under quarantine. “There’s something amazing about house arrest,” he quips.

“This is probably not your first time [on house arrest],” Smith jokingly replies.

Loosely based on the life of show producer Benny Medina, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air premiered on September 10, 1990. The sitcom aired for six seasons before ending its run in May 1996.

Watch a clip from the reunion below.


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Reunited and it feels so… AHHHHHH! It’s been 30 years since the first season of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air so I thought we should have ourselves a lil Zoom reunion!! Check us out, link in bio. #WillFromHome

A post shared by Will Smith (@willsmith) on Apr 29, 2020 at 10:50am PDT

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