Maze Overlay the Untold story
Circumvented in drama and foretold in the underground; Arizona’s music scene riddles itself with stories buried with every hatchet. Now, a new generation of artists have garnered the spotlight. While new doors remain open, old ones are unlocking themselves. Todays refined campaigns and venues came with a precursor of D.I.Y shows and brutish conflict resolution. Coursing through the Wild West are veins of cutthroat politics and egoism—a rift that cannot be mended by the very generation that forged it. Attempts will always be made.
Respect is earned, but the underground demands it. The older generation is now laying the scuffled groundwork for bridging the gap. A topic missed in every podcast, I'm dusting off the prehistoric bones that lie underneath the valley to retell stories unbeknownst to my generation. Bridging the gap starts here. Allow me to reintroduce you to Maze Overlay.
Before Take Back The Underground’s November run—30 Artists for 30 Days—I decided to do something reckless: crack open Arizona’s music scene and see what’s really moving under the surface. I rope in Maze as my guide, because if anyone knows the back alleys and ghost stories, it’s him. He didn’t start here—he’s East Coast born—but by fifteen he was dropped into the sun-bleached sprawl of North Phoenix. Now it’s 2025, and he’s carved out his own corner in the community, not by accident, but by surviving in this dynamic market long enough to be part of the story. And if we’re gonna tell that story right, we have to walk it backwards, down into the cracks, where the underground first started breathing.
QUOTES AND ANSWERS AND SUMMARY
Q: Let's get into the basics: who are you and where are you from?
A: My name is Maze Overlay and I'm from North Phoenix Arizona
Q: What are your earliest memories in music out here- what was it like?
A: I break my career into two periods. The first was the Vendetta Kings era, when I was younger and just starting in the underground scene. Justice had just come out of Cutthroat Logic, Society of Invisibles was big, and a lot of people were making waves back then. Around 2005–2006, we were really active—doing shows with Justice, throwing our own, and pushing that Wu-Tang, Jedi Mind Tricks kind of sound.
Around 2011–2012, I rebranded and created Maze Overlay. My early tracks as Maze were more traditional underground hip-hop, very reminiscent of the early 2000s. The first song I released under Maze Overlay was Universal Connoisseur, produced by Arza from Phoenix. That track felt like a rebirth for me.
After about 10 years with the group, one of my partners passed away, and we all went our separate ways. That’s when I decided to step back, reinvent myself, and focus on expressing anything I wanted as a solo artist. Around 2015–2017, I really started developing my current style—the whole connoisseur vibe and fly nature that defines who I am today.
Q: How did growing up in Phoenix influence your worldview and artistic perspective, and are there specific moments from your youth that continue to inspire your creativity today?
A: The climate and landscape here have a big influence… Phoenix represents rising from the ashes, and the Southwest has its own vibe—Native roots, Mexican culture, desert energy. When I made Aztec, my second project, it pulled from all of that. Even the heat plays a role. I remember doing time in County, waking up in a tent when it was 140 degrees. That kind of experience builds endurance, and I think Arizona artists have that toughness.
Q: What has the scene taught you? Moreover, how would you define the divide of Arizona's music world?
A: The scene itself is diverse but divided. There are Chicano rappers, Black rappers, white rappers, natives… lyrical artists, trap, drill, underground, old heads, young cats. It's beautiful, but everyone’s in their own pocket. It’s very dog-eat-dog, so I learned to be guarded and self-reliant. Even if you’re talented, people will call you trash… it’s just the nature of rap—ego-driven.
What holds the Arizona scene back is the lack of solidarity. Too much ego, not enough support. When I was younger, it was divided by areas—the south side, west side, whatever. It’s blended more now, but there’s still separation. Drill rappers don’t mess with lyrical rappers, for example.
Some people call me old for rapping the way I do, but the top artists in the game—2 Chainz, Larry June—they’re in their 30s and 40s. We helped build this scene. I’m not old school, I’m middle school. I grew up on Nas, Jay-Z, Pac, Biggie, Bone Thugs.
Q: How do you feel about the diversity of genres and talent in the Arizona music scene, and what do you think is needed for the community to come together?
A: What you’re doing is dope. I want to be clear—I support talent in any lane. I might not be a fan of drill music, but if you do it well, I respect it. That’s not Arizona’s sound to me, but if it’s your experience and you’re good at it, I’m with it. There’s so much talent here—north, south, east, west, Tucson, Phoenix, transplants, all of it. I want everyone to make it, and I’d love to see more solidarity. The problem is too much division by subgenres. People make lists based on their own taste, and it gets biased. We need to respect all lanes and cultures, put egos aside, and build a real community. There are no gatekeepers or kings here—just artists. I support everyone until we win. The new generation gets wild online, but in person, it’s different. People need to check their egos, focus on their craft, and help build something great together. Phoenix is the fifth biggest city in the country—we can do this.
Maze’s path runs like a wayward son through the desert—veering off the main road, following the dry washes where only the wind knows the map. In 2005–06, with Vendetta Kings, he was already riding the underground circuit, around the likes of Justus of RTU, in what felt like a dusty outpost just waiting for the storm to roll through. By 2014–15, he was digging into the roots of his craft, but a sudden death scattered the crew like tumbleweeds. Maze left the old banner behind, choosing to rebuild and rap without a filter, pouring out the pain, the wins, and the things he loved.
Prison came in 2016–17 after a DUI—a hard season that split the trail again. Both that loss and the time behind bars became the crucibles where Maze’s style evolved—deepening into what he calls his connoisseur shit. Before and after, he soaked up Bourdain’s worlds, documentaries, and holistic living—flavors and philosophies that sharpened his edge. Psychedelics in 2012–13 cracked open new sounds, and fatherhood led him down the right rabbit holes. His music, a blend of desert grit and fine dining, energy talks and fly dinners.
The heat breeds insanity, from hiding in walls to running in abandoned houses; There is an innate need in every story and finding security in yourself is the highlight of it all. Maze found that shelter in his rebirth. Distancing old counter parts came with growth and new opportunities. This article lays the groundwork for our in-depth conversation on Arizona's newest fad: Top rapper list of az. Releasing September 25th on TBTUAZ.COM
Article by @Killbillsbody
