Press Photo via Bobby B, with permission
Audio By Carbonatix
G-Eazy’s new album Helium is finally here. At 35, it’s easily his most personal work to date.
You can listen to Helium on Spotify, or wherever you stream your music.
Fresh off a 26-date world tour aimed at reconnecting with his fans, G-Eazy’s new album Helium proves he’s swimming confidently into deeper artistic waters without losing the magnetic charisma that made him a star. The project clocks in at just 10 songs spanning a lean 30 minutes; a tight reminder that you don’t need to get long-winded to whisper “hey… here I am.”
In that regard, brevity is a beautiful thing. G-Eazy has always played with the line between persona and person. But now he’s fully embracing vulnerability, holding nothing back.
If you’re of a certain age, you remember peak G-Eazy. Just take a second and flash back to where you were in your life 10 years ago. It was back when Drake lyrics felt like philosophy. An era where matching on early-day Tinder counted as a romantic milestone, not a chore. Your biggest weekend worry was keeping a Snap streak alive. Steph Curry drained threes on every bar TV, bringing Oakland its first championship in 40 years, while you celebrated with another round of Fireball shots. The future felt perfectly messy, just like those late-night Uber rides home soundtracked by a playlist flavored by choice G-Eazy cuts like “Lady Killers” and “Almost Famous.”
He was the guy who soundtracked your messiest breakups, late-night Uber rides after getting a number, and overpriced Sunday Scaries brunches, all wrapped in a leather jacket and that too-perfect hair. You probably have a coming-of-age memory tied to a G-Eazy track. Tracks like “Me, Myself & I,” “No Limit,” and “Tumblr Girls” were millennial anthems that defined the era, alongside Drake’s “Headlines” and Wiz Khalifa’s “Black and Yellow.” At his height, he had over 25 million monthly listeners, and “Me, Myself & I” alone now sits at more than 1.4 billion streams.
G-Eazy was everywhere, not just on your playlist. He cultivated a fandom playing college frat parties at first, then scaled to sold-out arenas and festival bills. He became the slick, magnetic antihero who defined a moment, a millennial generation rap James Dean.
But stardom hits hard. When it unraveled publicly with tabloid breakups, an arrest in Sweden, and the devastating loss of his mom in 2021, G-Eazy pulled back.
Can you blame him? Who wouldn’t do the same.
In recent years, he left LA, listed his $3.7 million house in Hollywood’s Beachwood Canyon, and moved to New York. Not to reboot, but to be Gerald instead of G-Eazy, as he told me in an exclusive interview in March 2025.
He took a long breath, disappeared into the noise, and started making Helium.
Helium is a return to form, carrying pain, clarity, and a newfound psychedelic openness. On this album, G-Eazy feels looser. He’s wiser and genuinely self-aware. On the standout track “Kiss The Sky,” he slips into his feelings while paying tribute to vintage rockstar excess, name-dropping Teddy Slimane’s Celine designs, referencing iconic Hollywood shenanigans at the Chateau Marmont, and inviting listeners to “lick this LSD and fly.” Even “Nada,” built around Suzanne Vega’s hypnotic ’80s lounge earworm “Tom’s Diner,” feels dreamier and more emotionally grounded than his old party-rap days.
Helium dropped today, May 23rd, a date G-Eazy chose intentionally. “I picked May 23rd because it’s my brother’s birthday, and mine’s the day after,” he explains on Instagram. “Growing up, we were closer than close, and having birthdays just a day apart meant we always had to share parties. This is my way of keeping that tradition alive and sharing it with the world.”
We recently caught up on BroBible’s Mostly Occasionally podcast to go deeper, talking Helium, creative reinvention, betting on yourself in your 30s, and why moving to New York City shifted how he sees everything.
At least for now.
Watch it on YouTube here, or listen to it on Apple or Spotify. For more on the Internet, follow me on Instagram. Read it below.
BroBible: Gerald, thanks for taking the time to chat with us at BroBible. Really appreciate it. How are you doing now that you’re back from Australia?
G-Eazy: Yeah, man. It was my first real tour in six years. A huge part of me was like, “Oh, this is what I do.” I toured for eight or nine years straight. I lived on the road. It was my mission, my purpose, my whole sense of self. And then suddenly there’s this gap between 2019 and 2025. Just this time warp.
And getting back into it… I was like, “Oh yeah, I forgot—this is what I do.” Like, I don’t just hang out. I’ve got a job. I’ve got places to be. There’s structure. It’s discipline. It’s hard, but that relationship with the fans—the people on the other side of the music—getting to see them again? That was one of the most rewarding feelings in the world.
That’s powerful. I mean, five or six years is a long time away. Did the crowd feel different?
Yeah. I think we’ve all grown up a bit. You know, I fell in love with this music at a certain age, and now I’m older, and they are too. The world’s changed. So it’s like—“Hey, nice to re-meet you.”
There’s definitely something to that. Millennials went from their late 20s to their mid-30s. It’s a big jump in life. Audiences can feel that.
Yeah. But it feels like we’re all in this together. We’re figuring it out. There’s a kind of shared evolution.
Congrats on the new project. It’s gotta feel rewarding to be opening a new chapter—musically, creatively, emotionally. How are you feeling about what you’re putting into the world with Helium?
Terrified. Every single time. Just like I’m nervous before every show. But my heart’s in it. That’s what it comes down to.
And this one feels really, really special. It was a crazy experience making it, just getting back to fun. Getting back to being Gerald in the purest, most essential way. I locked in. I focused. I worked with this incredible producer and coach, Radamiz McDonald. We did the whole album together, in one studio, in one city, over a few months. It was the most focused I’ve ever been while making a project.
You recorded it in New York, right?
Yeah. I made it in New York. I wanted parts of the album to reflect my time there and that decision to relocate.
There’s something creatively powerful about changing your environment and shaking things up. Was that part of the inspiration?
Absolutely. That’s one of the coolest luxuries of this job. Like being a poet in the 1800s running off to write in some cabin. Or like the Paris crowd—Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Monet—you find your scene, your culture, your rhythm. And for me, I’d just had enough of Hollywood.
We started BroBible in NYC back in 2009. That era had this insane creative energy—tech, art, nightlife, performance all smashing together. Did you feel that kind of spirit in the city when you moved?
Yeah, I mean, you get these moments in time when creatives cluster up. There’s this bohemian movement. Everybody’s pushing each other. Inspiring, intimidating, motivating. I didn’t come to New York to be a part of a scene, though. I just wanted to exist. I wanted to blend in. Go to restaurants, overhear stories, observe, just… be. You know?
And that’s what New York gives you. I’ve been G-Eazy for so long. It’s nice to just be Gerald.
Press Photo via Bobby B, with permission
You get to be a face in the crowd.
Exactly. And nobody gives a shit. No one asks for pictures. It’s democratized. LA has these rigid social strata—New York’s got its layers, too, but it’s different. And you can still design your life in both places. You can find your little scene.
But in LA, I hit a wall. I wasn’t fulfilled. I wasn’t growing. I had the resources to change it, so I told myself—stop whining about it and just go. And I did. And the idea that success would eventually let me do what I wanted? No. You just do it. That freedom doesn’t come after you go platinum again. It comes when you take the leap.
It’s liberating to take that kind of risk in your 30s.
Yeah, it’s the best thing I’ve done. I’ve been genuinely happy these last two and a half years. Because I bet on myself. And it’s so easy to just stay comfortable and never make a change. But comfort won’t get you anywhere new.
How’s the weather in LA?
Absolutely perfect.
I hate it.
You need some cold days to balance it out?
Exactly. I don’t feel sunny every day. As an artist, I think you need to feel everything and channel it. That’s the job.
I used to tell my friends when it was freezing NYC nights and we’d bounce around bars in Brooklyn that the cold makes us feel alive. The cold in New York in the winter is different from the cold in the mountains. It gives you an edge.
It’s a beautiful thing. It’s a beautiful place.
Okay, very serious question—do you have a go-to pizza spot?
Used to live around the corner from Prince Street. That’s the spot.
Yes. Our old office was right off Prince and Broadway. Rubirosa was a favorite. Lucali
Yup. Lucali. And Scarr’s—
…if they don’t burn the crust too much. See, I told you I can always find something to complain about.
But honestly, New York is the perfect city to be miserable in, wear all black, have an attitude, and complain about stuff. Just walk around fast with somewhere to go.
Let’s talk about how your life has been these past few years. Themes of love, loss, and starting over all bled into the DNA of Helium. I know love is a major theme. How did that shape the record?
I think as an artist, if you go through something major like falling in love, losing someone, heartbreak, or moving across the country, you’d be doing a disservice not to write about it. That’s what you sign up for.
There are parts of it that are the expression of the experiences I’ve been through over the last few years. Losing my mom. Resetting my whole entire life. Moving to New York. Falling madly in love with somebody. Getting my heart fucking broken by a beautiful New Yorker. And writing the album about that radical experience of the highs and lows of love and life, and how rich and exciting it all can ultimately be.
It’s the whole spectrum of it.
Yeah, exactly. It’s all love and life. To fall in love with that, to experience those joys… It’s not just about a person. It’s about the experience. It’s everything. It’s all of it.
It’s been a journey since “Tumblr Girls.” Music’s changed a lot. Do you ever feel…
Nope.
Nope?
Nope. I don’t. I might just be a romantic about past eras, but I try not to pay attention to trends. I just write stories that feel true. Music is always changing—now songs have to be 90 seconds, the marketing is different, the platforms are different. But I block all that out when I write.
There’s always pressure to define artists by eras or discography chapters. Do you think of your career that way?
I was thinking about that on tour. We just did the U.S., Europe, Australia, New Zealand, back to back to back. I was in Sydney, walking around, and people always say, “Sydney’s the LA, Melbourne’s the New York.” But I’m looking around and I’m like… these hills remind me of San Francisco. The design reminds me of Tokyo. The weather’s like LA. But it’s not any of those. It’s just Sydney.
And that’s how we think. We try to categorize everything to understand it. Just like needing a trailer before we commit to a new show. But Sydney doesn’t need to be like anything. It just is.
It’s like when a movie tries to make Atlanta look like LA, and it feels off. There’s an uncanny valley when you fake it.
Exactly. There’s beauty in embracing a place or yourself as it is. Individuality and identity is powerful.
I keep coming back to your New York experience because it’s so creatively rich. Funny enough, while we’re talking, my parents are in NYC right now for my dad’s birthday. I lived there for years in my 20s. They’re doing Broadway and hitting all the shows. I don’t miss New York, but I miss the aspects of New York life that are so unique and enriching, man. Have you had any of those moments where New York just takes you?
Yeah. Going to shows at Blue Note, seeing jazz, man. Blue Note is the best. And the Comedy Cellar, too. I started becoming friends with comics and watching them, studying their cadences—how they set up a whole set, circle back to the joke they started with, and land the punchline at the end. And I’m like, alright, how can I apply that to my set on stage? You know what I mean? The way they slow down their pacing, the rhythm of how they speak. You know what I’m saying?
Who stood out to you?
Sam Jay. She’s a friend of mine. She’s incredible. Like, she’s already a legend. But yeah, I think we had met before, and one night I just went to the Cellar, and she happened to drop in and do a set. Oh my gosh, you know what I mean?
And that’s the kind of thing about New York. I just saw Dave the other night. He just dropped in. Yeah, like Dave. The Dave. There’s him and, like, maybe one or two others. But getting to watch greatness in a different space and appreciate it, and just be around it.
That kind of energy you’re talking about is special. I feel like when I lived in New York, I took it for granted. A lot of people do when they’re young and broke. It’s just all around you, so you fall into routines and forget how important it is to shake things up creatively.
And that’s why I love what you said about comedy. Because great comedy really does have the same cadence as great music. It’s rhythm, it’s timing, it’s delivery. It’s moments. Do you feel like those worlds overlap for you in how you think about performance?
Yeah, yeah. I can see how it applies. When I design a setlist for a tour, for example, I’ll put a big hit like seven minutes into the set. But I built up to it. Then I save another one for around 30 minutes in. And the biggest, biggest, biggest hit? That’s saved for the very end. You start, you hit them, then you break it all down. It’s all about the arc. It’s the same thing in film—I study that kind of rollercoaster rhythm too.
Totally. It’s a rollercoaster. You’re building an experience. That’s the coolest part. You’re designing an experience.
Exactly. And I feel the happiest and most content I’ve ever felt in my career right now. I think this show I’m touring is the best show I’ve ever done. I pride myself on being a great live performer.
Something happened recently—my friend Jordan Clarkson, who plays for the Utah Jazz, came to the Utah show. He comes backstage before I go on, and I’m putting on my pack and getting set with my in-ears, and he goes, “You nervous?” And I’m like, “Yeah, no shit I’m nervous. I get nervous for every show.” And he’s like, “Why the fuck are you nervous? Come on.”
And I told him, for me personally, if I wasn’t nervous, I wouldn’t be present. I wouldn’t be fully here.
Now keep in mind, this is one of the best basketball players on the planet. He’s a friend, and he knows the offstage version of Gerald—the one he saw helping me snap in my pack, getting dialed in. And I’m like, “Just watch what I do.” Then I go out, the music hits, and I become a different person.
After the show he’s like, “Fuck. Oh my god. I get it.”
That’s amazing hearing that from a professional athlete. Kind of wild that he doesn’t get nervous, right? Given the level he performs at.
I think we’re quick to compare art and sport because it’s obvious, right? It makes sense. There are mechanics in performance—breath control, physicality, step by step. And there’s art in sport too like those moments when you take the shot, or when something just clicks.
But I think they’re actually more different than we make them out to be.
Right. Music isn’t always just adrenaline. It’s not always dopamine and that chemical rush we chase It’s also about the lows and quiet. The moments in between. And you gotta be able to sit in those. You’re so good at the quiet moments. But I imagine they’re hard to pull off live.
It’s not always Friday night. Sometimes it’s Tuesday at 2 p.m. But when it comes to the live show, people want to have fun.
Of course. You’ve still got to bring the energy.
Yeah, and those introspective songs are hard to fit into that setting. You can’t show up at a spot like the Wynn and play all the sad shit. People are like, “I came here to drink, I put an outfit on.”
Right—this is a bachelor’s party crowd, or a bachelorette party crowd. They’re not trying to sit in their feelings.
Exactly. They’re like, “Where’s ‘No Limit’? Let me get some money, bro.”
You’ve done a wide range of venues at this point. Is there one dream stage that’s still on your list?
I’ve done Oracle Arena in my hometown. I’ve done Red Rocks. I want to do Madison Square Garden.
Yes. The best thing about the Garden is how the whole place literally bounces.
And then there’s the Phantom of the Garden, the guy who plays organ at the very top of the arena. I’m not even joking.
Yeah, he’s up at the very top, way up in the rafters.
Exactly. Just like you’d imagine him, up there in the shadows, playing organ like it’s a movie.
The first time I experienced that was at a concert. The floor was bouncing like a trampoline. It was insane.
First time I went to a Knicks game, I remember thinking—it’s lit like a stage. All the seats are dark, and the court is just glowing in the middle. It’s literally theater.
It’s the biggest Broadway room in the city, honestly.
Objectively speaking, yeah.
Exactly, dude. Hell yeah. You’ve gotta play the Garden. Kind of funny though. The first time I saw you perform live was almost 11 years ago. You played Whatever, USA in Crested Butte, Colorado. It was that Bud Light thing, this tiny alley setup, and man, you had the whole crowd locked in. It was such a cool moment.
Actually, wait. I think I got that wrong. It might’ve been Catalina, not Colorado? I don’t know. I went to both. I think you played at both.
That was 11 years ago?
Yeah, 11.
Yeah—and Charlie XCX played that too, right? It’s crazy, I was just thinking—I said Michigan, you said Colorado, now you’re saying Catalina… I’m trying to backtrack.
But in all fairness, I do meet and greets before every single show—like a hundred fans early—and it’s hard to remember every detail. I want to, but think about trying to remember 100 people every night. It’s impossible.
And that show you’re talking about? That was probably like… 458 shows ago. So for me, yeah, that was show 458. For someone who was at one of my shows eight gigs ago, that one’s recent. But for me, they blur.
Still, every show, I try to be present.
That’s what’s so cool about it. Hearing how you’ve built your sets now, with these highs and lows, it’s inspiring to think back to those earlier days. You had a smaller catalog, a more intimate vibe, and now here you are thinking about what a Madison Square Garden show would look like. Growth is amazing to witness.
Yeah, man. I’ve been everywhere. Played anything I could get my hands on. I did shows in garages. Opened for hardcore bands in Florida. Like, what the fuck am I doing here? I opened on Warped Tour. I opened for Shwayze.
I was just taking any opportunity I could get to get in front of people. That’s how it starts. Then you headline and sell eight tickets. Then 200. Then 500. But if you can win over eight people? You can win over 8,000.
It’s the same muscle. That never changes.
That’s the work. So what comes next? You’ve got Helium dropping, you’re heading back on the road… are you already looking ahead, or just focused on what’s in front of you?
I see myself going right back in the studio. When that window opens, when the creativity is flowing, when it’s electric, you’ve gotta catch it. And that’s how I feel right now. I’m excited to write. I’m excited to make songs.
It doesn’t always feel that way. This is a job. People clock in and clock out. And I treat it with that kind of respect. Every day isn’t gonna be fun. It’s not always a party.
Making stuff is hard.
Exactly. It gets even harder when you’re not inspired, but you’ve got deadlines. You’ve got a schedule. Maybe you’ve booked a producer and they’ve only got that one day. Doesn’t matter if you just had a huge fight with your girl and she stormed out crying. You’ve still got to show up. You’ve still got to make something.
And you can do it, yeah, but when you’re in it, when the inspiration is actually there, when the fun is back, that’s the best feeling. That’s where I’m at now.
The essence of all this, the thing that makes it worth it, is back. Those sparks remind me of why I started. They’re so precious.
I just want to keep creating and keep putting music out…