DJ Nolita On Seeing Only Yourself And Being Afraid Of Nothing

@AbbyJasminexo " Trap Mom Release Party" for Cinematic Records

by Nadirah Simmons

A quick glance at DJ Nolita’s Instagram will impress you. The 22-year-old Brooklyn native is solidified as one of the hottest DJs in the game. But you don’t need to look at her near 13,000 followers to know that.

With a resume that includes spinning for TIDAL and on the Rolling Loud Festival stage, Nolita is poised and destined for greatness. What makes that reality all the more exciting is that just a few years back she didn’t want to be a DJ at all, instead hoping that she could carve out a career as a fashion designer. But after realizing it wasn’t what she wanted to do and learning her way around production equipment, Nolita thrust herself into the world of music-which should come as no surprise when you learn that her godfather is Aaron Hall and her uncle is Kid Capri.

A surprise DJ set that had her filling in for a friend and a boatload of performances later and “your girlfriend from GTA,” as Nolita affectionately calls herself, has her eyes set on traveling the world with some of the biggest names in music. We caught up with the DJ to talk about her transition into music, what it was like DJing on a bill that featured Beyoncé, her go-to songs to play at a kickback and navigating the industry as a young, Black woman.

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I know you live in Brooklyn right now, where are you originally from?
I’m originally from here but I traveled a lot growing up. I got a taste of a lot of different places which has a lot to do with my music, my variety and my selections.

I also have a lot of musicians in my family. My mom was always in artist management, my godmother was a songwriter my godfather is Aaron Hall my uncle is Kid Capri. And I’ve always felt like I had a good ear for music. That and moving around opened my up to a whole new world.

When I’m talking to people in the industry I often ask where they’re from, because their environment influences their art. Do you think moving around a lot was necessary for you to be the DJ that you are now?
Yes! In a lifetime everything that leads you up to today is what made you who you are. How my life went is how it was supposed to go as far as moving around a lot and learning a variety of languages and music. It broadened my spectrum.

You come from this musical family, what did your beginnings in DJing look like?
I initially wanted to be in fashion design! I went to the High School of Fashion Industries and I realized I didn’t want to make the clothes. I wanted to wear them [laughs]. So I decided one day that I wanted to produce music. I went home and taught myself how to produce and then taught myself how to produce. Then eventually I started learning how to DJ. 

I got tricked by one of my friends to DJ a set! He told me he was going to be gone for 20 minutes and he was gone for 45! I had no idea what I was doing at all, but it went really well.

And now you’ve DJ’d at some of the biggest festivals! What’s the different between Rolling Loud and a club?
I’ve also done TIDAL! TIDAL, Rolling Loud, they’re very on schedule. Everything is literally timed and on point. Rehearsals and all that with TIDAL. Whereas a warehouse or house party doesn’t have everyone running around trying to make everything perfect. And there’s no rehearsal!

It doesn’t surprise me that TIDAL would run a tight ship, which is why they do everything so well.
It was insane! I had to appear onstage from underground and I had to be there at a certain time. So I’m running from my fitting room to get there and I pass JAY-Z and I’m like “Hi Jay!” And he was like “hey.” Then I had to crawl under the stage in these 8-inch, thigh high leather boots to DJ in front of thousands of people. I went on after Lil Yachty and before Beyoncé.

Wow. Legendary.
[Laughs].

When I get on Instagram and see a lot of people popping up saying they’re DJs when they’re just plugging a phone into an aux cord or standing behind a computer and calling themselves a DJ, and I wonder how that makes people who treat it as an art form feel. To the first part, I’m not all for it. Because it is an art form and people forget that. Anybody can wake up and decide they want to DJ but you have to really do it and give it your all. You can’t treat it like something that’s not as important. 

People on social media want to do it because they see the hype around it. They see the people around you. They see that you get to travel. But they don’t understand how much work goes into it. It’s a lot of work. But I’m not against anybody deciding they want to do it, because that’s how life goes. Go for it, go for your dreams and be serious about it.

How do you separate yourself from those who aren’t serious?
I’m really big on keeping the focus on what I’m doing. When all you see is yourself you have nothing to be afraid of, nothing to worry about. 

So be open to new ideas and meeting new people and then leave room for yourself and your thoughts. When you’re consumed with yourself and your own work it only elevates you!

What’s crazy is you’re only 22 years old! What are your goals as a DJ?
I’ve gotten the opportunity to work with so many artists, but I have some that are set as markers and goals in life. Like Rihanna or Drake. I want to be the Rihanna of DJs. I want to dress my ass off and DJ around the world. 

Let’s say you’re DJing a chill, calm kickback. Who are you playing?
Kaytranada, Childish Gambino, IAMDDB, some Travis Scott and Banks. But I started out as a house DJ, so I would make a lot of remixes to the artists I just named or incorporate dance tracks and mix them in with the original tracks.

So, opposite end of the spectrum. We’re getting buck, who are you playing?
I’m playing Young Doloph, Cardi B, Playboi Carti, Travis Scott, Asian Doll, Rico Nasty, Matt Ox, Lil Yachty, JuiceWRLD, Future, Nicki, all of it! Let’s get into it. But I still have to keep my style so I’ll make remixes and incorporate those into my tracks. 

What has navigating this industry been like as a young Black woman?
I’m very particular about who I surround myself with. I’m very cautious…I think that’s why I’ve been able to dodge the industry bs. I don’t surround myself with people that will harm my brand and harm me as a person. I only keep around me that I have an understanding with, that are like family, that will ride for me no matter what.

What advice would you give to a young woman who wants to DJ?
Go into it with an open mind and a  strong mind. Make your own rules. Wonder but never worry. Live your truth and be yourself. Work hard. And be a boss.

Listen to DJ Nolita’s “Trap Mix” below.

Trap Mix

DJ Nolita

Introducing B Rocka: How Brandy Became Hip-Hop and R&B's New Muse

by Njera Perkins

Brandy’s first single rose to the top of the Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Songs Chart, but it was the addition of three emcees on the remix that transformed the track into one of the most memorable anthems of the 90s. “I Wanna Be Down (Remix)” proved to be a prime example of unity bringing together female powerhouses, but also the perfect balance of Hip-Hop and Soul.

Along with her peers Monica, Mary J. Blige, Mya, and Aaliyah, Brandy helped successfully mesh together two genres that previously seemed separate. But it was one of Brandy’s defining trademarks, her low yet airy pitch, which allowed her to differentiate herself the rest. Four years after releasing her self-titled debut album, Brandy would return with Never Say Never, an album whose themes created some of her most powerful music. Songs like “Have You Ever” and “Angel in Disguise” gave life to feeling of love and longing, while “The Boy is Mine” managed to make listeners groove to a song about dishonesty and jealousy in a way that only Brandy and Monica could. Much like soul singers before her, Brandy set out to create music that encapsulated everything she was experiencing from unrequited love and heartbreak to pure infatuation.

The mature offering that was Never Say Never showed Brandy’s growth as an artist also while adding a new flavor to her sound – which can be credited to none other than super producer Rodney “Darkchild” Jerkins. But it was Full Moon that presented a redefined Brandy four years after her last album. The intro song “B-Rocka” ushered in her alter ego that would position Hip-Hop next to R&B for the remaining 15 tracks. Songs like “What About Us,” “I Thought,” and “Full Moon” manifested as radio-ready singles that fused soul singing over drum and heavy beats, music reminiscent of the early Hip-Hop sounds of drum machines and synthesizers. “Nothing” and “It’s Not Worth It” were full of pure passion and gave listeners melodic tracks to swoon over. Full Moon asserted the strength of Brandy’s original sound and its staying power.

Fans watched Brandy mature from a young teenager into an adult woman, and as she grew her sound grew along with her. Fusing Hip-Hop and Soul together, Brandy refined a sound that would help inspire a new generation of artists to follow. And over the course of a career that includes television shows, movies, dolls and music her sound has transcended expectations and cemented her place as one of the most influential music icons of her time.

Give Sista's Debut All Of The Awards

By the time Sista released their promotional single “Brand New” in the summer of 1994, the subgenre that is Hip-Hop Soul had already gained popularity. I would be born a few months later, and was therefore too young to witness the rise of artists and groups like Mary J. Blige and Jodeci, whose successful fusion of rhythm and blues/gospel singing over Hip-Hop beats would top the charts. Nonetheless, a quick glance at the Billboard charts or the latest release by one of our favorite artists in the present asserts the impact the convergence of the two parent genres has on our music today. Yet despite its impact as a genre and its influence on modern music, Hip-Hop Soul remains largely understudied. And when you consider how the subgenre functions as a key site for the construction of Black women narratives you know how important Hip-Hop Soul is. How important the album 4 All The Sistas Around Da World is. And why it sucks that it was shelved.

The R&B quartet, which featured a young Missy Elliott, signed with DeVante Swing of Jodeci under the Swing Mob imprint after sneaking backstage at the group's concert and singing for him. After inking the deal the group and Timbaland were all moved into an apartment in Newark, New Jersey where they got to work on their debut album. Their single “Brand New,” which would peak at Number 84 on the Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Singles & Tracks chart, found the ladies singing about a partner that makes them feel exactly what the title says. On it Missy raps “You’re so fly and I’m gonna make you mine…Cuz it’s the sex that I get that makes me in love with you.” The song’s music video, which featured cameos from Ginuwine, Static Major and DeVante, saw Sista dancing and singing on a high-rise rooftop in between shots of Black people hanging out on the streets of their neighborhood. There was no extra fanfare, no gimmicks. Just the group and their music.

This same thesis is present on the album’s cover, which features the women outfitted in baggy pants, a hooded sweatshirt and plaid vests crouching on a porch in front a graffiti-painted wall seemingly playing a game of dice. This Hip-Hop style of dress, present on other iconic 90s acts like Aaliyah, Mary J. Blige and TLC, did not ask the audience to look away nor did it intend to distract them. Their garments instead positioned women as the rightful authority on the relationship between them and clothing, and affirmed that “boundaries” placed between sex, gender and what you wore could be crossed with gratification.

Throughout the album, the women built upon traditions of storytelling when it comes to Black womanhood. In If You Look in My Life: Love, Hip-Hop Soul, and Contemporary African American Womanhood Treva B. Lindsey writes that Hip-Hop Soul women address abandonment, affairs, casual sexual trysts, sisterhood, men, romance, desire, etc. All themes that allow Black women to engage with and interrogate the world around them. On “I Wanna Be With U,” a cut that flips the classic Isley Brothers ballad “Footsteps in the Dark,” the women harmonize about what sex with the person they want would be like. “Out in my Jeep so I props up my two feet/Pull out my sheets so I can keep my seats neat see/Me and you can get it on until we have to break/Slide it in and out like some damn skates,” raps Missy. The lyrics were original, fresh and hypersexual, and fell right in line with the kind of storytelling their soul foremothers used to engage with gender and sexuality.

Then there’s "Sweat You Down," an upbeat and relatable groove about being “in like” with someone but not wanting to sweat them; "Feel of Your Lips," on which the women and a new artist by the name of Mary J. Blige sensuously crooned about their lover; “Sista Mack” which flips the nursery rhyme “Miss Mary Mack” and takes the listener back to their grade school days; and "Good Thang," a smooth track that sampled “Who Can I Run To?” by The Jones Girls before Xscape, with whom the group was rumored to have beef at the time. (On "Hip Hop" Sista sings: “you know you was dead wrong to use that song” and “why you tryna imitate and duplicate,” a supposed dig at Xscape for copying their style and music.

Despite being restricted in their progress as a group, the women of Sista were untethered in their music. They were equally authoritative and prone to feelings of longing and heartbreak. They created songs about pleasurable sexual encounters, men, and sisterhood and built upon traditions of storytelling when it comes to Black womanhood. They were multidimensional just as Black women were, are and will continue to be. Give their debut all of the awards please.

Kalin On Canvas: The Painter Putting Your Favorite Hip-Hop Artists On Display

What is the art community like where you live?
The art dynamic in Charlotte is a lot different than [where I’m from, Wilmington]. I came here to go to school and I ended up staying, because if I would have gone back home I wouldn’t have had the same support art wise. And after I graduated it took me two years to get back into art and get in touch with the art community here.

When you go to art school you either become an art teacher or go the fine art gallery route. They don’t teach you about the connections of a smaller art community. In Charlotte that community is very close-knit.

Was art your major?
Yes. An art major with a concentration in painting. So four years of painting.

Were your parents or your guardians cool with your major? A lot of our guardians, when we want to do anything in art or entertainment that doesn’t have a clear path to money, might not want us to pursue it.
My family is extremely supportive of my decision to go into art. Neither of my parents went to college so they didn’t have an expectation of what I should’ve be [doing there]. 

My mom has every single thing I’ve drawn since I was five. She came to every single one of shows, she drove three and half hours, even now she makes the same trip.  She sends me pictures of myself all the time and I wake up to texts from her about how proud she is of me. I wouldn’t have made it this far had I not had that.

Having your loved ones support your vision is so motivating. Did you always know you were going to share your art with the world this way?
I had been drawing and doodling stuff since I was really little. I always knew art was my thing. In third grade my rooms had dimensions while everyone else’s were flat. I knew something was different.

How would you describe your painting style?
It took me a long time to develop my style. It’s kind of scribbled, because sometimes when I’m working I’m working through something. I used to try really hard to make everything perfect. To make everything look very smooth and very blended and have sharp edges. But life happened to me and I was like okay, this doesn’t have to be perfect. I can show people and it doesn’t have to be “perfect.”

Oftentimes when people are creating they might say that they’re working through stuff. Is painting therapeutic for you?
It’s something that I’ve been doing for so long that it’s become a part of who I am. It’s not something I do to get through something or get past something. And honestly if I’m extremely upset I don’t produce anything. It’s a completely different style, it looks different.

So I don’t paint to work through things, instead I paint to explain stuff. Which is why I can look back at a painting I did at a certain phase in my life and it will make sense. 

It looks like it’s making sense, you have thousands of followers on your social media. Do you remember what painting you posted that set it off? 
Yes! It was about eight months ago when I painted Lil’ Kim. I had painted Chance the Rapper and Cardi B before that, and I wasn’t getting the response I expected. So I decided to paint Lil Kim, and I finished it in one night. It was the one I thought I should’ve done in the beginning.

When I posted it a few days later it attracted hundreds of people. But I realized people really supported my work with the OutKast painting. That one got posted on The ShadeRoom and my followers went up to 2,000 and then more overnight.

Walk me through your process when you’re creating a piece.
The first step is starting, because I’ll think about a painting I want to do for days. And I have to be happy, I can’t be upset. But I’ll try to find pictures that have different perspectives, then I’ll draw it on a canvas and paint. Depending on my mood I could finish it one night or it could take me a month.

A lot of the paintings on your site and your social media are of these prominent Black, Hip-Hop figures. Why do you choose to paint these people?
It takes me back to my childhood. I remember Saturday morning when my mom woke me up to clean and music was playing. Aaliyah, Diddy - they remind me of my childhood, of a time when I was really happy, of me. 

And being African-American, we all relate on a similar level when it comes to music. We all have the same vibe when we think of our childhood.

What advice would you give to a young artist?
Follow your dreams. If you don’t have the opportunity to go to art school, reach out to people. Artists I looked up to and would reach out to on Instagram would never respond to me, and now they follow me. Even if people don’t respond you have to keep pushing.

Also, say yes to everything. Don’t say yes forever and don’t say yes for free. Don’t say no when you don’t have any other options. In the beginning when I was being lazy I would look for every reason to say no, until one day saying yes repeatedly put me in a higher place. 

And be your own cheerleader. You can blow up. It can be you.

Chynna Keys Is The Photographer You Need To Know

Chynna’s name popped up on my timeline a few weeks ago. Her photos at D’Usse Palooza were getting a ton of retweets, and she was getting a bunch of shout outs from what seemed like hundreds of people on Twitter. It was one of my favorite things to see: the amplification of Black women and their work. She’s shot what seems like everyone, from Solange to Big Sean to Uzi to Goldlink. Just as amazing was the fact that she had been invited to shoot D’Usse Palooza alongside Ravie B, a seasoned photographer who has not only captured shots of some of the biggest names in rap like Future, Drake and Kanye, but even shot the tour of the goats themselves: Beyoncé and JAY-Z. Chynna didn’t decide to put her all into photography until two years ago. Talk about a come up.

We caught up with Chynna to talk about her introduction to photography, what actually makes a good photo and her dream people to capture.

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What is the culture like in PG County and how does it influence your photography?
It’s a mix of a bunch of people that come from a bunch of different ways of life. But the best part about it to me is that a lot of them are Black. You just see a lot of Black excellence.

When did you get into photography?
In high school-2010 is when I took my first photography class…I didn’t do too much with it camera-wise until 2014. Most of college I was just taking pictures on my phone because I had gone to an art exhibit and there was a woman who only took her pictures on her phone. And I thought “wow this is so cool I can do this too,” and I was doing it for a couple of years. Then I had a friend who was a photographer who told me to get a camera.

I shot my first festival in 2015 and I didn’t know what I was doing. I shot another one that year and I still didn’t know what I was doing. I say 2016 was the year when I decided to figure out how to actually do this. That was the year I decided to take [photography] seriously.

What makes a good photo?
Any photo that captures a moment and makes someone feel is a good photo. There is a technical side of photography that I definitely think about when I’m shooting, like the rule of thirds or composition. But taking pictures that make people feel something is not something everyone can do. People can take pictures of artists and take pictures at concerts, but if it doesn’t make you feel something that person hasn’t done their job.

Whether it’s the crowd wilding out or the artist throwing water at the crowd, music photographers somehow manage to always get shots that seem so difficult. How is music photography different from any other kind?
You don’t have the amount of time with music photography that you might have with other photography. You also don’t have control of [your client]. They’re not here for you, they’re here for the crowd. What they do you have to react off of. If they run somewhere or if you know they’re going to throw a water bottle into the crowd - there are a lot of things you have to pay attention to in a short amount of time.

Are you ever nervous when you’re shooting a show?
Sometimes yes, sometimes no. A lot of the time I’m so focused on getting what I need to get that I don’t have time to be nervous. 

When I went to Miami to shoot Rolling Loud I was nervous because of the actual experience. But when it comes to those moments, when you just have to go, you have to put your game face on.

There has been this boom in people who think they can grab a camera and go shoot something and call themselves a photographer. How does that make you feel?
I have mixed feelings about it. I’m always here for people prospering. But a lot of times with this music stuff people will grab a camera so they can be up front at shows. It can get frustrating when there are people that want to do it just for clout. If it’s genuine it’s going to pop for you. If it’s not, it’s not.

There are a lot of people that aren’t genuine, aren’t nice, aren’t reaching out to share their gifts with others. Something I found amazing was that you shot D’Usse Palooza with Ravie B. How did that connection come together?
Twitter! That was a crazy day. My friend Nick mentioned me under a tweet where she was looking for a photographer in DC for the event. And I threw some pictures in thread. That’s when she reached out to me.

I read an article about her in 2016 that talked about her quitting her job and shooting around a whole bunch. Reading that was so inspirational to me, because I still currently have a 9-5. And seeing her go from that to shooting Future to shooting a bunch of concerts to then going on tour with Beyoncé and JAY-Z-it was really amazing that she wanted me to help her shoot the event. She also talked to me about helping other Black women photographers and helping them win. Just a genuine personality that I love, because there’s room for everybody. 

Your photos are amazing and you’ve made some really great connections so far, where do you see yourself five years from now?
I want to keep doing what I’m doing. This year I shot more festivals than I ever thought I would in life. I feel like I’m on a ride and I’m just going to keep going. 

Then, I have a house. I have a mortgage. So I can’t up and quit my job and just leave.

You have a whole mortgage.
A whole mortgage! So there are pieces of my life that I would have to figure out before I do anything drastic. But if I could go on tour for a month, that would be cool. And the DMV is on a crazy come up so working with artists here. I would also like to give back here, as far as teaching kids how to shoot. 

In five years? I definitely want to have gone on tour, shot for a couple of brands and have been an in-house photographer for a couple of festivals.

How important is music to you? How important is Hip-Hop to you?
Hip-Hop is amazing and music in general has been my saving grace. I’ve fallen in love with the art of storytelling, not just the song but how Hip-Hop can do that.

Who is your dream person to photograph?
At Rolling Loud I took pictures of J. Cole but it was a struggle. I had to climb through the crowd during a Lil Uzi set just to make it to the front for [J. Cole]. I would like a do-over. I’ve been to a lot of his shows and I would love to get in the pit and really shoot him. Also JAY-Z. Like wow I actually shot a whole legend.

And if Kanye ever stops being crazy I would love to shoot him. 

KayCee Shakur On Growing Up In Chicago, Creating Hip-Hop Soul And Navigating Depression

by Nadirah Simmons

KayCee Shakur and I are miles away from each other-795 to be exact. Yet despite being separated by four states and this phone call being our first time ever speaking to each other, the conversation felt as close as ever. From trying to figure out what cheese tastes like on a bag of Hot Cheetos to promising to take her out to the best spots in New York City if we can go to Harold’s when I finally visit Illinois, it feels like we have been best friends for years. But through all of the conversation I was most excited to share with her how much I loved the video for “Yemoja,” a track off of her debut project Divination that pays homage to the streets of her hometown of Chicago and references one of our favorite movies, Crooklyn.

For so many Black girls and women the film is a favorite because of the lead character: nine-year-old Troy. While most movies by Spike Lee and other filmmakers alike center the male gaze, this film positions the life, motivations and perspectives of its Black women characters at the forefront. KayCee does the same in her music, as have many other Hip-Hop Soul artists before her.

The genre’s emergence created a new space for Black women to tell their stories and engage with the world around them. And with the exception of the intro and outro tracks, each song on Divination is named after an Orisha on which KayCee waxes poetic about similar themes of life, love and survival through the lens of Black womanhood.  

In honor of this month’s theme we spoke to the artist about growing up in Chicago, the dangerous extolling of Black women’s “strength,” creating music in the digital age and more.

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Are you originally from Chicago?
Born and raised in Chicago. East side of Chicago my whole life. Lived in the same house my whole life.

That’s awesome. How did this environment influence you being an artist?
Chicago is such a musical city and it's weird that we don't really have a music scene that's global and worldwide because I've always been able to just go to the train and see people performing. Or literally in the middle of our street we have bucket boys that bang on buckets. My city is filled with music. And my grandmother and my grandfather who raised me are Southern Baptist so all I heard all day was singing. Not to mention I went to schools that had really great music programs that kept music a part of who I was. 

Who are some of your biggest inspirations musically?
Jill Scott. I love her. Outkast. Just melodic Hip-Hop sounds. And people don't even really think Hip-Hop when they think Jill Scott, but it's like you've got to think again because sis be spitting! Her flows and staccatos are so dope. Her poetic lyrics. That's the kind of sound I really try to incorporate into my music. 

And that sound is Hip-Hop Soul.
Definitely!

What made you decide to share your vision of the world with other people this way? 
I was just talking to my friends about being 5 years old and getting my favorite Christmas gift ever: a VHS of The Temptations movie. I also got a purple turquoise and yellow microphone, and that entire year I did nothing but watch the movie over and over and pretend that I was a part of The Temptations. I would always get the solos in and grammar school and high school, that was just what I did. Everybody knew if there was a solo it was going to be mine.

But as far as sharing the art with the world, it honestly did not start until six months ago. An old friend of mine encouraged me, they were like “you’re so depressed because you're not doing what you’re supposed to be doing. You're supposed to be creating.” And just getting those words of advice from him really got me off my ass. They said make this happen for yourself. Do this. And that was only six months ago when I decided I'm going to make a project and I'm going to put it out. 

What was that process like?
I wrote most of Divination in my mom's living room. I was working a job I hated and I got fired on purpose so that I could collect unemployment for a little while. I wanted to take that time and collect my little $400 every two weeks to create my project. Turns out that being broke as hell like that will cause major depression. I went through a major depression. And my sister was going through things and I had to take my niece for a little while.

But I had it in my mind that I wanted to drop this project on 4/20, and I went into overdrive the last two weeks [before the date]. I was writing down everything that I was feeling. Everything that I was thinking. Revisiting songs that I started when I first got the drive to get back into music. All of that fueled me out of a depression and my unemployment ended literally three weeks before my project dropped. I borrowed $126 from my mom to get my project mixed and mastered and I just put it out. I started my new job a week after the project dropped. Everything came full circle. 

To have things come full circle while battling depression is a great feeling, and I love that we’re having more conversations about it within our community, especially since Black women are expected to be strong and have it all together.
We are like trained robots when it comes to pushing through pain. We will be going through the absolute worst and most trying times of our lives-still waking up everyday, getting to work on time, still taking care of our kids and fucking cry ourselves to sleep every night. Can’t get any sleep at night because of all of these things weighing on us. And that's honestly the worst, depression and suppression at the same time…Self care becoming a thing just now in 2018 is crazy! But I’m glad we are having these conversations about taking care of ourselves and focusing on ourselves. 

So am I! And a lot of people are turning to art and music to create and consume these discussions, sometimes I feel like everyone is creating something. How do you feel about the increasing number of artists on and offline? How do you remain unique?
I actually don't mind everyone creating now. I think that it just proves that we're creative people in general and that we should focus more on creativity. But in the same sense the market is very oversaturated. And when you are trying to create your own sound it is really hard because you’re wondering whether or not people are going to mess with it amongst everything that's going on. Focus on your sound and your audience will come.

That is so true, but we’re in a space now where it’s a bit harder to reach certain places in music if you aren’t utilizing the Internet or social media in some type of way. 
I feel like it's like 80% brand and 20% art these days. And when you focus so much on branding you miss out on a lot of good art. Back in the day you needed about two hundred thousand or a bill[ion] to create a brand for somebody. Today you can create a free Instagram page and create a brand for yourself.

We have all witnessed artist that should not be getting record deals, but they have a presence on the Internet, they go viral and they get record deals…Me as an artist I always have to make sure that I'm focused on the art just as much as I focus on the brand. In 20 years the people who have art are the ones that are going to still be talked about. Everyone is going to have a social media presence by then. 

On Divination you’ve focused on the art. You’re using Orishas to talk about themes that so many people relate to-love, heartbreak, strength. The song “Oshun” gets real deep. Does it make you nervous to put certain songs out there, either because they could be about someone or because they’re so personal?
Well “Oshun” isn't about anyone in particular, but honestly that's who I am as a person. I was really telling the story of the Orisha in that song and making that story real for girls in 2018 because that it’s so prevalent right out. There are so many women going through that exact story. So that's the story that has to be told in a way that we could relate to it and understand it.

All of the songs on the project are telling the story of the Orishas. But I rewrote the songs four, five, six, seven times because I had to make sure that I was saying this in a way that we could relate, we could grasp and we could understand. I didn't even want you to feel like I was telling you something about somebody. I want you to hear the song and say “yeah this is this is my life,” because the stories really are intertwined with who we are as women.

I know you have another project coming out on the 30th, what else do you have lined up for the rest of the year?
The project is going to accompany something really special. I can't wait to announce it. But for the rest of the year I’m just focused on performing and getting into meetings to make some real things happen.

What inspires you to keep going? 
I really want people to know that it's okay to not be okay, and when you're not okay you have to address it. I feel like sometimes with art, especially in the Black community we treat our misery as an accolade. Yes the hardships absolutely make us who we are but we cannot ignore them. We have to deal with it and get to the bottom of our pain and that's what I'm going to continue to make art about.

And I want to talk about where I’m from. About living in the hood, and that even though we live there we still have color and culture and life. It’s not all scary.

Where do you see yourself five years from now?
I don't really put too much high regard in awards and stuff because I don't even want to even put that in my mind and have myself trying to alter my art to fit in. And if that brings an award that's amazing and I'm grateful for that. But as far as the five years I see myself still creating and being happy with my art. That's all I can ask for. 

Breaking Down 10 of Our Favorite Mary J. Blige Tracks

by Brooklyn White

Discovered in the late 1980s while singing Anita Baker’s “Caught Up in the Rapture”, it’s fitting that heavy, stunning melismas and passionate belts are a part of Mary J. Blige’s set. Her ability to convey the lowest lows of love and her jazz-like live improvisations are reminiscent of Billie Holiday, but Blige will forever be unique. 

Before Faith Evans, Mariah Carey, and Ariana Grande, Blige mastered the art of mixing gospel-inspired vocals with uptempo cuts, often with the help of notable MC’s. Her 1992 formal introduction (as she had been working as a background vocalist for years), What’s The 411?, was sample-heavy, street certified, and full of sweet hooks - aspects that are now a staple in Hip Hop/R&B. The “Queen of Hip-Hop Soul” honed her signature sound over the course of her 25+ year career, giving us some of the most jammable, memorable songs in history. In honor of her legacy, here are our picks for her 10 Hip-Hop Soul tracks, with commentary by Brooklyn White. 

“You’re All I Need” Remix

Technically this is a Method Man song, but there’s no denying that it would not be the same without Mary J. The incorporation of Mary on the heavy-handed sampling of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell’s 60’s song of the same name made women gravitate towards the track, a crucial key to its success and Grammy win. In a talk with Complex, Method said, “I felt that song was putting me in that light. What I didn’t realize was, niggas was respecting that song as well as chicks was.”

“Real Love”

Sporting her baseball jersey and combat boots, Mary showed herself as a regular girl from New York. Rocking round-the-way girl gear, a lot of Black women were able to see themselves in Mary. These same women were also into Hip-Hop and got their fill with the beat which took the drums from Audio Two’s “Top Billin’.” 

“Love is All We Need” Remix ft Foxy Brown

Brooklyn’s Fox Boogie laid down some sexy smooth adlibs and a verse of course over this Diana Ross interpolation. As Brown says in the intro, the sounds were handled by the Trackmasters. 

 “Family Affair” 

Dr. Dre produced this anti-holleration anthem. Those keyboard chords scream early 2000’s Dre. As the top commenter put it, “This is real Hip Hop”. Fosho.

“Reminisce” Remix ft C.L. Smooth

This is my absolute favorite Mary J. song. The original was more of a New Jack Swing ballad, but this version was produced by Dave Hall and Puff Daddy (yes, I said Puff Daddy) and had some flavor the prior one didn’t. Instead of a bridge, it featured input from C.L. Smooth, who was still getting a lot of spins for his ode to lost souls, “They Reminisce Over You.”

“All That I Got Is You” with Ghostface Killa

Taking a cue from fellow Wu Tang member Method Man, Ghostface enlisted the Queen of Hip Hop Soul for his debut solo single. For the grand occasion, RZA served up one of his world class beats, which takes its somber sound from “Maybe Tomorrow” by The Jackson 5. Mary sings the chorus that details the struggle of growing up with minimal resources and a single mother. This “child born in and of pain” set up is a long time theme in rap, with an early example including “The Message”. 

“I Can Love You” ft. Lil’ Kim

Kim and Mary have been soul sisters for decades-Mary was photographed holding the Queen Bee down during Biggie’s funeral and 1997 and they were cheesing side by side in a M.A.C campaign. “I Can Love You” is a physical cementation of their alliance, taking its winding piano from Kim’s “Queen Bitch” and is all about being a better lover than another woman. 

“Love Yourself” Remix ft A$AP Rocky

Digesting the truth, getting over obstacles and loving yourself no matter what is the theme of this track. Rocky replaced Kanye West in the video version, but they kept the trappy-horn laden backing. Blige rode the beat with ease. 

“What’s the 411?” ft Grand Puba

“Yeah nigga, what makes you different than the next nigga? Seen you last week and you couldn’t even speak.” This introduced us to Blige’s rapping, a side that we would see on other songs like Busta Rhymes’ “Touch It” all-star cast remix. Here she and Grand Puba share their thoughts on gender relations, and she finishes her verse off with a cover of “Very Special” by Debra Lewis. 

“Glow Up” ft Quavo, DJ Khaled, and Missy Elliott

I still think that this song was largely underdiscussed! Mary, Missy and a Migos all on one track? When will we ever hear that again? This cut from Blige’s latest offering ‘Strength of a Woman’ is all about leaving a loser behind. 

The Legacy of the Diddly Diddly D

by Kianna Alexander

Born in Jamaica but raised in the Moneyearnin’ Mount Vernon, we first heard Heavy D’s voice in 1987, when he and the Boyz (DJ Eddie F, G-Whiz, and the late Trouble T-Roy) released their debut album Livin’ Large. He came strong right out of the gate with tracks like “The Overweight Lover’s in the House” and “Mr. Big Stuff,” embracing his size and wearing it as a badge of honor. On “Don’t You Know,” with a little help from R&B crooner Al. B. Sure, he professed his love for a woman and waxed sentimental by imagining what their wedding day would be like.

“Got Me Waiting,” “Somebody for Me” and “Now That We Found Love” looked at relationships in a more pensive, thoughtful way. Love is not cut and dry, and Hev knew that. And anyone who’s heard “Black Coffee” knows it is a manifesto of sorts, on which he uplifts and edifies Black women during a time when most rappers were busy calling women distasteful names.

Even at times when Hev used two of the most common practices in hip-hop: sampling or collaborations, he did it a way only he could. The super sexy “Keep It Comin’,” one of his underappreciated tracks from 1997’s Waterbed Hev, is a prime example of sampling done right, as Hev lays down game over the Gap Band’s classic track “Yearning for Your Love.” And if you want to hear a hip-hop supergroup, before that was really a thing, “On Point,” featuring the late Big Pun and Eightball, is a must listen. That track goes hard, y’all.

From being one of the only men in Hip-Hop to embrace their larger size and stray from hypermasculinity in his music, Hev’s impact in Hip-Hop is apparent. Yet beyond giving us some of the best Hip-Hop to bless our ears, he also had a hand in the careers of some of our most beloved Hip-Hop Soul artists.

In the early nineties, he made the call to Uptown head Andre Harrell that secured an internship for Sean “Diddy” Combs. Combs would go on to produce the debut album of the “Queen of Hip-Hop Soul” Mary J. Blige. It was also Heavy who heard a demo by a group of four young guys from North Carolina and introduced them to Harrell. That group was Jodeci, who would go on to fuse Gospel, New Jack Swing and Hip-Hop Soul in their music.

Additionally, he would work with Soul for Real, Monifah, Guy, LeVert and Changing Faces. Hev is also credited as a guest artist, producer, and composer for industry giants and pioneers like Queen Latifah and the King of Pop himself, Michael Jackson.

“We’ve Got Our Own Thang” contains one of my favorite Heavy D lines:

In this life, I strive for improvement/Be your own guide, follow your own movement.

Hev succinctly encapsulated what he was all about. Whether he was working on his own music, or collaborating with another artist, he was all about individuality and being true to himself. With his words, he encouraged us to do the same. Rest in peace, Hev. There will never be another.  

Kianna Alexander is the author of more than 35 published romances as well as a serious music lover. When she's not writing, she can be found with her husband and two kids, being domestic, to the sounds of Miguel, Ro James, or classic hip hop. Find her online at www.AuthorKiannaAlexader.com.

What's the 411?: Hip-Hop Soul, Mary J. Blige and Black Women's Narratives

by Nadirah Simmons

In 1988, Mary J. Blige recorded an offhand cover of Anita Baker's "Caught Up in the Rapture" at a recording booth in a lmall. The cassette made its way to Jeff Redd, a recording artist and A&R runner for Uptown Records. Redd sent it to Andre Harrell, and after meeting with the singer signed her to the label in 1989. Fast forward to 1992, when Blige released her debut album What’s the 411? According to Entertainment Weekly's Dave DiMartino, the record's commercial success was attributed to Blige's "powerful, soulful voice and Hip-Hop attitude.” It was unlike anything done before. It was Hip-Hop Soul.

Blige was hailed as the queen of this new genre, creating a space for her alongside legends like Aretha Franklin, the “Queen of Soul.” Without a doubt the honor bestowed upon the young songstress was more than a moniker. While New Jack Swing fused Hip-Hop elements with R&B music, Hip-Hop Soul elevated the synthesis. Now, soul singers were singing directly over the types of sample-heavy cuts heard on Hip-Hop songs. Mary J. Blige carved out her own space as both an innovator of the genre and a designer of a new way to present narratives about Black womanhood.

The title of What's the 411? came from Blige's past occupation as a 411 operator, used to indicate that she was the "real deal.” The music was as well. R&B singers at the time covered themes of pain, suffering, relationship troubles and happiness, while the Hip-Hop artists wrote about violence, crime, poverty, oppression, happiness, etc. That’s not to say that all songs did this-anyone who is a fan of Hip-Hop and R&B and moreover music as a whole knows that no one genre is a monolith. There were various types of subject matter in both genres-particularly in Hip-Hop because of the experimental time was the Golden Age. But it was Blige’s influence by both genres that amplified revelatory themes that were trademarks of blueswomen like ‘Ma Rainey’ and Bessie Smith-abandonment, betrayal, physical and emotional abuse, romance, etc. The singer dubbed the ”tough girl persona and streetwise lyrics" by music critic Tom Moon drew upon her experiences as a Hip-Hop generation woman to deliver a dynamic form of storytelling. Rolling Stone noted that Blige’s songs provided “a gritty undertone and a realism missing from much of the devotional love songs ruling the charts at that time.” Mary didn’t just sing about her pain or happiness, she gave listeners an in-depth narrative on how and why she arrived at those emotions in the first place.

As Treva B. Lindsey notes, “Hip-Hop Soul artists challenge the invisibility of multidimensional African American womanhood within popular culture, and become conduits through which Black women of the Hip-Hop generation express personal aspirations, intimacy, and love.” The woman who started off sporting baseball caps and baggy clothes while singing over hard hitting drums and a piano is more than just an artist. She is a channel through which we explore. She is a channel through which we understand. She is a channel through which we heal. She is the Queen of Hip-Hop Soul.

Sources:

Lindsey, Treva B. “If You Look in My Life: Love, Hip-Hop Soul, and Contemporary African American Womanhood.” African American Review, vol. 46, no. 1, 2013, pp. 87–99. JSTOR, JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/23783603.

Moon, Tom (2004). "Mary J. Blige". In Brackett, Nathan; Hoard, Christian. The Rolling Stone Album Guide. Simon and Schuster. pp. 83–4. ISBN 0743201698.

Herstory: Thank Young M.A.

by Takia Gordon

Imagine coming out as a lesbian between the year of 2008-2010 and trying to be accepted. Despite Lil Wayne and Gucci consistently dropping mixtapes and being introduced to a woman rapper-Nicki Minaj-who spoke about kissing women in some of her songs, I realized there were not enough openly lesbian rappers who rapped about being with a woman - if there were any at all.

Men referencing girls kissing girls in their music was popular, but it did not shed a light on masculine lesbians. And as a masculine lesbian myself, the references were not for me. Instead they were for the femmes kissing femmes and the girl who will kiss another girl for a little attention.

In 2016 as I scrolled through YouTube at work, I came across an artist I’d never heard before. One of her lyrics stood out: “You call her Stephanie, I call her Head...phanie.” I replayed that verse. Then I replayed the song. It was too hot. I immediately began searching for other tracks by the artist known as Young M.A. From the single “Ooouu” to “Karma Krys” back to her debut album ‘Herstory,’ Young M.A. was an artist who was finally speaking from the perspective that I always wanted. 

Her recent offering “Petty Wap” reinforces that she is not going to let up on who she is because she has made it this far. She's going to continue to speak and tell a story for those of us who are still misunderstood. She will continue to open doors for those of us who once did not feel accepted enough to talk about who we choose to love.

In the year 2018, after 10 long years I have seen an evolution in a community I can proudly say that I am a part of. I’ve learned so much about who I am and what I stand for and will always believe in myself because of it. I’ve seen more and more of the LGBTQ community in Hip-Hop breaking barriers and allowing their stories to be heard. Young M.A.’s music has and will continue to inspire me to chase my dreams no matter what circumstances I may face.

On Being 'Braless' and Creating Space with Her Music: An Interview with Ness Nite

by Najma Sharif

Ness Nite meets me in the East Village, in front of a cafe on a street with packed cafes, so we opted for sitting in Union Square. Her hair is up and she wears red earrings, a ribbed beige turtleneck and leather pants. As I caught my breath, and talked really fast to make up for the time lost from my lateness, Ness is as cool as her outfit. I met Ness Nite for the first time to do this interview, even though I’ve known about her and her music peripherally through my friends for two years. The night ‘Nite Time’ was released––Ness’s debut project, all of my friends shared it. Ness’s sound can’t be confined to genre, but that is because genre in in of itself is limiting and can barely account for the range of sounds we experience today. 

She has been described as untethered, but Ness Nite is tethered to her purpose. She takes deliberate pauses after what she says, not to weigh how it might be misinterpreted but because of her keen sense of self-awareness - she wants to let you know everything she is thinking and wants to leave you with a careful, complete thought. Ness Nite is a Sagittarius sun, has her moon in Scorpio and is an Aries rising: self-determined, creative and direct. 

Ness Nite’s debut album ‘Dream Girl’ is emotive but jaunty. Her voice floats over “Tightrope”a song about depression and maintaining balance, singing “I spend my whole life walkin' on a tightrope / Won't drop the ball, oh oh oh oh /'Cause I wonder where it might go.”I was curious to know where she finds her home, what it means to be braless ––a term Ness has used to describe the genre of music she creates. 

As society contends with existing in new ways and forming new realities, embracing and listening to Ness Nite’s music is embracing the future. Being placed and named means being bound to arbitrary things that make up our identity ––things that are evidently out of our control. Fluidity is futuristic and Ness Nite is the future.

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You were born in Chicago, grew up in Milwaukee, and when I first started following you, you lived in Minnesota - do you consider any one place home?
When people ask me where I’m from here, I always say Minneapolis. Just cause, I feel like I don’t feel as connected to Chicago or Milwaukee, even though I spent more time there ––I just feel like I spent more time there not being myself. So when I moved to Minneapolis that was the first time I was exposed to people being openly queer. There was a community of that, and queer Black people, and people I could relate to. The fucking reason I was so depressed this entire time, I didn’t feel like I saw anyone that reflected what I looked like.

As someone that moved around a lot I have to ask: where do you feel most stable? Most comfortable?
I feel comfortable there [Saint Paul] and I feel comfortable here too, just cause I’m an adult now and I feel secure in who I am.

Beyond that, where can you be yourself?
Anywhere at this point, I like being around young queer people.

You said that "Dream Girl” is not “I’m the girl of your dreams.” It’s the concept of having the ability, space, and opportunity to achieve our dreams.” What does it mean for you to have the space to dream?
I never felt limited, and I know that’s a privilege. I’m not ignorant to what I look like or anything either and that’s important. And I know that I come from people who didn’t have that opportunity. I think it’s important for people who do feel naturally comfortable exploring and expressing who they are to do that in order to encourage people to do the same thing.

Everything about you seems rootless ––your music doesn’t fit a box, your gender and sexuality is also fluid, you’re nomadic. Do you find yourself explaining yourself a lot because of that?
I’m at the point where I don’t bother explaining myself, unless I get a direct question. Especially with being someone that is mixed, I feel like a lot of mixed people overtly talk about that a lot. If you want to ask me something go ahead.

Even the way you describe your music as braless is interesting, are you relinquishing control by refusing to be boxed in or would you consider that inherent to who you are?
I go back and forth with this, but the bra is like expectations in general, and ‘braless’ is like ‘that’s not there’ and it is tied into my femininity. I consider myself gender fluid but I don’t reject my femininity at all. My music and my sound has feminine tones to it, obviously my album is called ‘Dream Girl’. Even so, I identify less and less with the title of the album, I came up with it a year and a half ago. I’ve definitely developed and evolved since within my identity. I do think ‘braless’ has to do with my rootlessness, just not being tethered to anything.

What drew you to music? 
I’ve always loved music. I was in an orchestra for ten years. I’m not even that good. [laughs]

What instrument did you play?
The violin, I couldn’t read music so I played by ear. I really liked music but I didn’t relate to it in the traditional sense. I didn’t have the desire or attention span to learn traditional things like music theory. I kind of feel it, and I also wrote poetry. It kind of came together in high school. My high school randomly had this music production class, we did beat battles every week and eventually I started getting good at it and adding words to the things I was making. Now I’m where I’m at because of a few random events.

What kind of mark, if any, do you hope to make with your art?
I haven’t thought about it specifically with just my music, but just my existence in the music world. I definitely want to create space for Black women, Black queer people, people of color. Just in whatever ways that I can. My manager is Black –– she’s amazing and it’s really cool to see her work in a space that is not typically a space that Black women exist in. Everyone I know has a white dude manager, or a dude manager. It’s awesome to see her kick ass. All of the people we’ve worked with so far ––we’re working with a graphic designer, she’s a Black woman and we’re putting all these shows together with Black women DJs and artist. It’s just about creating space ––not to say I did this but it’s just about making it a point to do that. That’s who I want to surround myself with, that is who I care about, and through that I think it will translate into other things too.

 Catch Ness Nite live in NYC on 10/29

Najma is a writer living in NYC with writing in Nylon, Paper Magazine, Teen Vogue, Vice, Highsnobiety, Lenny Letter and others.

Creating Synergy: From production to lyrics, this album is all women

Jovan Landry, self portrait

by Nadirah Simmons

Billboard called music production “the ultimate boys club of the industry,” and it’s true. Since the introduction of the Grammy category for producer of the year, non-classical in 1975, only a handful of women — including Janet Jackson, Paula Cole, Sheryl Crow, Lauryn Hill, Mariah Carey, and Lisa Coleman and Wendy Melvoin from Prince‘s band The Revolution — have been nominated. No woman has ever won it. Beyond shiny trophies, Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift are the only two women to land on Billboard‘s year-end Top Producers chart in the last decade. Yes, you read that right.

The disparity is just as evident when you look at Hip-Hop. Despite the presence of chart-topping women on the mic like Cardi B and Nicki Minaj, the majority of the producers are men. In fact, most Hip-Hop fans probably can’t name enough woman Hip-Hop producers to count on one hand.

Enter SYNERGY, a Chicago-based collaborative Hip-Hop album curated by Jovan Landry. The idea came to Landry, a filmmaker, photographer and emcee based in Chicago a few years back when she noticed the lack of opportunities for women to produce Hip-Hop music.

The album will not only feature some of the hottest women emcees in Chicago, but every producer, engineer, videographer, photographer and graphic designer involved with the project is a woman.

The Gumbo talked to Landry about her introduction to Hip-Hop, the importance of creating a collaborative album by women only and how the culture of Chicago influences the music of its people.

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The Gumbo: We haven’t really seen a major collaborative album like this yet. What made you decide to do this?
Jovan: It hasn’t been done which is crazy. Hip-Hop has been around for 40+ years, and we have not seen an album created entirely by women yet…And I was like this needs to happen, we’re long overdue. No one in the mainstream world has done it yet. So let’s make it happen.

You’re spearheading this entire project, when did you first get into Hip-Hop?
My mom definitely introduced it me. The Fugees, Mary J. Blige, all the Hip-Hop and R&B of the 90s. I was five or six years old. And I remember in middle school when I would print out lyrics and read along to them, and I never thought how that would impact me as an artist.

You are a well-rounded artist - a filmmaker, photographer and an emcee, when did you decide that you wanted to make music on your own?
Ten years ago. I’ve always been interested in music and I had a fascination with music production. And my cousin introduced me to Fruity Loops where I could make beats and stuff. I didn’t know I could download this software and create [music] at home, I thought you had to be established with a studio. Once I found that out I asked my grandma to buy me a keyboard and a microphone, and when I got those things it I started making beats at 16 or 17.

I was having fun doing what I loved to do, it kind of chose me.

Hip-Hop, as we both know, is not a space where women are often positioned at the forefront. Despite so many of us having this true love for the culture and origin stories like the one you shared.
I blame social media for that. You can get so famous so fast by putting out music. So when someone finds out that something works they do what works to get on and get famous without understanding the craft. 

And now you’ve created something to combat just that. When did you get the idea for SYNERGY?
In 2016, my mentor is a former emcee said she wanted to see a female rap album. And she wasn’t telling me to do it but it stayed in my head. So being in the Chicago scene or the music scene in general, you come across women that are doing it. So I started bartering with people saying hey if you become a part of my project I’ll take your photos or shoot your video.

Then in May of 2017 I checked one of my groups on GroupMe and there was an application for the WeWork Creator awards. They asked for a 90 second video on who you are, why you’re passionate about what you’re doing and what the idea is. So I made a video and told them about the idea and how I wanted to compensate women in these industries. A week or two later I became a finalist.

…[I went to Detroit] for the ceremony and I was waiting behind the curtains with all of the people in my category. And they were like “introducing all of the winners of the grant” and I was like “woah.”

That’s amazing! How did you find all the women for the project?
Well most of them I was already connected with. Finding filmmakers and artists was the easy part. But finding women who produce Hip-Hop music was hard, and I had to branch out of Chicago a little bit. 

What is the makeup of the team like?
Are you dope, can you flow and what’s your message? What can you bring artistically? And then I have queer women on here, it’s predominantly Black, women of different sizes, masculine and feminine - anybody that’s dope who can spit, has the delivery and can bounce ideas off of everyone. It’s all different types of women […]I just want women who agree with having a project like this, who are dedicated, who can commit and who are also willing to share a gift like this.

It’s not Jovan Landry featuring an artist, it’s almost like a DJ-Khaled style [album]. I’m not rapping on every track. I’m giving these women platforms to speak.

There are so many good artists from Chicago, for someone who is not from Chicago or who is an outsider how does the culture of the city influence the creative people that live there?
Our music is definitely based on the justice system and we definitely use it to write out our pain and what’s going on in the world. Our neighborhoods are super segregated-as diverse as they are…That influences it. Also the people that came from the city. Twista, Shawnna, Kanye West, Common, it’s so many influences. And Chicago is home of Blues. Just everything that is around us.

What makes Chicago different from all of the other regions when it comes to Hip-Hop?
That Blues and that Soul is really different…We’re also home of footworking so our beats are very different.

Aside from sound the culture of it-it’s hard. It’s hard to get people to rock with you in Chicago. I’ve gone to New York and people have shown way more respect and love. Being able to strip their ego and say “oh, I really like your music!”

How do you feel about the current state of Hip-Hop as a whole?
Even though there is some negativity mainstream wise, because we have social media and we can be self-sufficient and not have to join a label it’s very diverse. I really like where it’s going…I’m more about the message. Like what are we saying? Because art is so impactful. [The music] has to have some longevity.

I ask everybody this, who is in your Top 5?
Method Man, Left Eye, Kendrick Lamar, Common, Missy Elliott. They represent my style of rap.

That’s a really good list. I love Left Eye and I feel like people leave her out of their rap conversations.
I was a part of this show at Columbia College and I had auditioned as Eve and they said “oh, you’re going to do Left Eye.” I didn’t know that much about her but when I had to research her I learned so much and that’s how she became one of my Top 5. Not only her mind but her lyrics are really good too.

Where do you see SYNERGY five years now?
I would like to do workshops and go to New York and teach a workshop on how to make create something like SYNERGY. Having round table discussions and creating an event centered around women in Hip-Hop globally. I just want to keep the conversation going and keep the music coming out.

Inherent Exclusion: On Loving Hip-Hop As A Black Queer Woman

by Brittany Frederick

The summer of 2013, shortly after my nineteenth birthday, I drove to buy a copy of J.Cole’s Born Sinner. I popped the CD into my car radio and pulled out of the parking lot. Moments later I was cringing at his slurs in the opening verse of “Villuminati.” As a Black queer girl who grew up on Hip-Hop and R&B homophobia in music came as no surprise. Yet the presence of homophobic language on songs shocked me each time. Year after year, album after album, Hip-Hop artists continued to disappoint and exclude Black people like me. And while there are countless articles online that ceaselessly debate whether or not Hip-Hop is homophobic, I’m uninterested in entering that fray - although it is. But what I do know is that for queer people who love Hip-Hop, fitting in with a culture that inherently excludes you is a challenge. 

As a teenager I listened to Hip-Hop and searched for alternate meanings. I created my own “bisexual anthems” out of songs that could be rapped by queer and straight people alike. Thus, it makes sense that Rae Sreummurd’s “No Type,” on which Swae Lee raps “I ain’t got no type, bad bitches is the only thing that I like,” became an anthem for a queer girl like me. The same could be said of Lil Mama’s “Lip Gloss.” In the music video Lil Mama sports sparkly glitter pink lip-gloss and construction boots while she offers to help other girls with their lip-gloss by rapping: “I upgrade ya, show you how to use nice things with nice flavaz.” Offering to help other women with flavors and lip products? Must be gay. And while I am almost certain these artists weren’t explicitly creating pro-queer liberation music, as a queer Black kid attempting to fit into spaces that were inherently exclusionary, finding music that spoke to my identity was and remains important.  

That’s not to say the Hip-Hop landscape has not changed over the past few years. The presence of Black queer rappers like Janelle Monae, Azealia Banks and Young M.A highlights an increase in representation, but representation doesn’t bring with it a radical queer politic. More often than I wish were true, queer rappers reproduce the same problematic tropes and assumptions that have long existed in mainstream rap, such as portraying Black women as Jezebels or suggesting that giving oral sex regardless of gender, is inherently an emasculating act.  I’m more interested in the message than in representation by itself. For these reasons, newer, independent artists have been fueling my playlists, regardless of sexuality, whose lyrics challenge the status quo. Since I’m Boston born-and-raised, Oompa’s “I Deserve That” is a track for all the Black girls. In it, Oompa raps, “This is for the Black girls, and the brown ones, this is for the never-let-the-guys girls, and the ratchets.” Then, she proceeds to explain the diversity of ways to be a Black woman, (trans, pan, fat, corporate). Rather than chastising women who enjoy sex or calling women prudish for keeping their sexual activity private, Oompa celebrates women doing and being whatever makes them happy. 

The importance of truly liberatory rap that still slaps cannot be understated. Black Americans have always tied music to their journey to freedom. From work songs during the antebellum era, to blues, to rap in the Bronx, our people’s struggle has inspired beautiful art that served as a constant reminder that our spirits could not be broken down. This LGBTQ+ history month I hope we can amplify rap that uplifts our community and quiet rap that doesn’t. Because that is truly inclusive.

I Was Drowning, Mac Miller Saved Me

by Nadirah Simmons

It’s been a little over a month since Mac Miller passed away - the same amount of time it took me to write this. Grief is complicated.

When my coworker dm’d me that Mac Miller passed away I didn’t believe it. Just three weeks before his death he was at our job performing “Ladders.” Anticipating his appearance we spent a whole hour going through songs from when he was “Easy Mac with the cheesy raps,” breaking down our favorite cuts on Swimming, ruminating on his growth and the evolution of his sound since he dropped his first tape and then finally stressing about how (at the time) there were no VIP or meet and greet packages for the upcoming tour. 

Today is October 10, and I am still grieving.

Maybe because I’ve followed his career from the jump. Back when he was half of the Ill Spoken duo with Beedie and “Like Aay!” was bumped religiously on my Sony NW-E305.

Maybe because his “Under The Influence of Music” tour with Wiz Khalifa was the first concert I attended at the age of 17, where Kendrick Lamar, Shoolboy Q, Chevy Woods and Chiddy Bang opened. Where I finally got to rap curse words in public to the tune of “Lucky Ass Bitch.”

Maybe because “He Who Ate All The Caviar,” released under his pseudonym Larry Fisherman, was the soundtrack to every pregame my first year at Rutgers.

Maybe because he had such a profound reverence for the culture of which he became a permanent fixture, and it was reciprocated from peers like Chance the Rapper and YG-both of whom opened for him on separate tours-to veterans like Hov. 

All of those things are true. And his passing made it clear I wasn’t the only kid who clamored to get tickets to his shows. I wasn’t the only kid who changed their middle name on Facebook to “MostDope.” I wasn’t the only kid who stalked the fuckyeahmacmiller tumblr religiously. I wasn’t the only kid who would spend their nights after school watching TreeJTV (which made the ‘Mac Miller and the Most Dope Family’ television show a real treat). I wasn’t the only kid annoyed with Pitchfork for giving Blue Slide Park a 1.0 rating (“Of the Soul” alone made it worthy of at least a 7.5). And I wasn’t the only kid drowning that Mac helped save.

“Poppy” was essential to my grieving process after my grandfather passed my first year of college. “I’ll Be There” stayed on repeat as I watched my dad battle cancer. Faces helped 20-year-old me me feel less ashamed of being depressed, and walked me through the anxiety, sadness, change in energy level and self-esteem. The Divine Feminine served as the soundtrack to finding love. Swimming reminded me to do just that when I lost it. Somehow, Mac Miller managed to be there to help me through everything. 

It feels like I lost a friend, like we all lost a friend. The friend you had lunch with every year until you graduated high school, only to end up going to the same college. The friend that would drop everything to come see you if you were sad. The friend that would sleep over at your house even when you weren’t there. The friend that would call your parents “mom” and “dad” because that’s how tight you were. 

The friend whose absence keeps you up at night. The friend whose music feels a bit different now when their songs end. The friend whose cancelled tour notification made their passing that much more painful. The friend who helped you stay afloat, only to one day stop swimming themselves.

I tweeted that I was going to be sad about losing him for the rest of my life, and through the couple hundred retweets I was assured I was not alone. At my toughest, lowest moments, Mac Miller was there. And even in loss the one thing that brings me peace is that he existed. And he grew. And he taught. And he loved. And he kept swimming, from 92’ til infinity, and beyond.

Meet BLEMME: The Rap Collective On Their Debut EP, Queer and Transgender Identity and Staying True to the Game

Photo by Sakona Fitts

by Nadirah Simmons

I dialed into the conference call this past Sunday afternoon. One by one, the women of the rap collective BLEMME joined in - Caesher from Boston, Sekai from New York and Kee, originally from Los Angeles, calls in from Illinois.

Despite the distance between each of the members I knew immediately I was in the midst of a sisterhood unlike anything I had ever witnessed before. Within an instant the women of BLEMME began chatting like they were in the same room. When one of them was done speaking, another member was quick to pick up where they had left off with an “I agree” or an “I echo that,” adding a chunk of knowledge that only enhanced someone else’s opinion. They also knew what each other’s answers would be to many of the questions, laughing at how obvious the responses would be to queries like “Who is your favorite artist?”

It’s the kind of camaraderie you would hope to see amongst any group in any business. Be it music or another profession, there’s no doubt that having a certain level of respect for and understanding of the people you work with takes whatever you’re creating to another level. This kind of community is especially important for Black LGBTQIA+ people, who face discrimination from the Black community and the LGBTQIA+ community alike. Bringing this reality into the heteronormative and hypermasculine space that is Hip-Hop makes that fellowship all the more necessary.

That’s part of what makes BLEMME so great. The women-two of whom identify and transgender and one of whom identifies as queer-are reframing the genre. Because if Hip-Hop is a product of Black culture then by default it is a product of all of its people-cisgender, transgender, queer, disabled, etc. And beyond this the women have created music not simply out of necessity, but out of a love and respect for the culture.

The Gumbo talked to the women of BLEMME about surveillance, the importance of writing your own raps, the release of their first project and why Onika Tanya Maraj reigns supreme. 

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The Gumbo: You are calling in from three different states, how did you find each other?
Sekai: We went to school together!

Caesher: And we were just friends before anything. That’s how we found each other. As far as the group thing we just had a love for rap and Hip-Hop in a deeper way than other folks around us.

Kee: That’s real. I was in my final semester of college when I met Caesher and got to know Sakai more. I think those moments we just bonded and connected. Caesher used to make fun of me because I used to rap random bars and lyrics to people’s songs and Caesher would be like “uh uh you should be a rapper, you should be a rapper!” 

So when did you all decided to create BLEMME and what makes you different from other groups?
S: We don’t really remember. I just remember Caes and Kee were like okay we’re in a group now. They were able to push me out of my comfort zone and I was like “okay we’re really good at this!”

C: I wanted to touch on the second half of the question. Literally everyone says y’all are just spitting and y’all are dedicated to the craft. That’s not what just makes y’all different, that makes you stand out. A lot of the time when you hear popular music from queer and trans artists it’s usually a pop bop or something heavily influenced by ballroom culture and that is great, but not every one of us is from that culture. So I think it’s very important to shine a light on all different queer or trans artists, specifically those who identify as femme or women because it’s more to it. We’re multifaceted.

It’s apparent in the music you have created. Who are some rappers who influenced you?
S: Go ahead and say it…

C: (Laughs) Everyone who knows me knows it’s Nicki Minaj!

I knew it, I saw her all over your Instagram (laughs)!
C: I cannot talk about me falling in love with Hip-Hop without mentioning Nicki Minaj. I think she gets a lot of flack. I think of being younger during the Pink Friday era and hearing my cousins and older brother say “this is for girls.” And I was like “this is where it’s at!” And I think a lot of other people who are in more visible places than us have been influenced by her too, whether they admit it or not!

K: I couldn’t give you an age [for when I fell in love with Hip-Hop], but the people I used to listen to growing up were Nas, Foxy Brown and Tupac. When Nas rapped: “Hit the Earth like a comet—invasion!/Nas is like the Afrocentric Asian: half-man, half-amazin’” I was like come through! … Then watching Foxy Brown embrace sensuality in ways that were really, really beautiful and to be dark-skinned. And one of the things I am obsessed with about her, her flow is unmatched. I feel like she is so underrated. I love Nicki Minaj too, me and Caes love her. We love her down! And even Nicki says she’s influenced by her so much … And then I love me some Tupac!

S: Also Nicki Minaj. I remember being in high school when Beam Me Up Scottie came out and only like three people knew it but we were rapping it in classrooms. Kendrick is an influence too, his storytelling. And I really like Leikeli47 as well.

Each of you named some of the biggest rappers in the game and rappers that people consider some of the best at their craft. With their presence in the culture how do you all feel about the current state of Hip-Hop?
S: I think there are too many non-Black people profiting off of Black vision and Black aesthetic.

C: I agree. A new trend is introduced by Black folks, it’s dragged on and usually non-Black or people who aren’t of the culture who perpetuate it. In the age of social media everything is so fast you’re just popular based on what sells very quickly and not on something that exudes longevity. 

K: I think there are so many, so many rappers who don’t write their own music. And the ones who do a lot are mediocre. So when BLEMME got together we really dedicated ourselves to writing our own music. So when we sit down we’re recording things, we’re mixing and mastering stuff-Sakai is a brilliant producer. Genius producer. But we can all get a beat from wherever we are in the country and we can do really, really well on it. We value writing and storytelling.

Each of you clearly has a respect for the culture, which I think should the barometer when it comes to acceptance within Hip-Hop communities. But we know how the culture is. Were you ever apprehensive or nervous about how you would be received as transgender and queer women?
C: I think yes, for me personally. Not so much as putting myself out there but more who would receive me and how I would be received. And I think I can say that for each member in the group.

K: One of the biggest things was that I was really afraid for my mom to hear my music! She’s an old-head and she likes music in general, and she’s always supported me. Once my mom told me liked my music and to keep doing you nobody could tell me anything!

What does it mean for each of you to be in a Hip-Hop group within a genre and culture that’s not always that accepting?
C: For me what it means is kind of a gaze and a hyper-surveillance. If you’re spitting music and putting it out regularly you’re not hiding. The gaze just increases because I am Black and I am trans and I identify as a woman. In Hip-Hop, at least nowadays, they’re going to stand out because that’s just the way it is.

K: I definitely echo Caesher’s sentiments. I feel like for me I’m always underestimated at any point in my life. In Hip-Hop and in college and all these different moments in my life where I was trying to do what I needed to do to get to where I needed to go. I think when people look at me they assume particular things and they’re often wrong. And the way in which race intersects with gender and the way that intersects with queerness is really important to Black identity and has been a focal point in the creation of Black culture and Hip-Hop. Hip-Hop was pioneered out of political moment back in the 70s which also arguably trans Black women and queer Black people were a part of too, because we were a part of that community. So I think it’s important that we are all visible in Hip-Hop because it’s not only going to push the culture forward but also shed light on what has already existed.

S: With representation in music comes money. And with money comes with survival.

Representation is everything, but sometimes there are artists who will put on queerness because it seems cool or fun. Or straight, cisgender men will write a song about girls kissing girls because it appeals to their hypermasculinity. And then they won’t actually be here for the LGBTQIA+ community in real life.
C: The first person that comes to mind is Young M.A., who is very talented. She stands in her truth and I appreciate that about her as an artist. But when it comes to her audience and who I tend to hear say they love her, it’s folks who are attracted to her. Which then makes her more marketable. It’s like the saying women artists will say that folks tell them, that you have to either want to be f*cked or women have to want to be you. That rings true when it comes to that situation, because when I hear about queerness in Hip-Hop on a popular level it’s usually like a Young M.A. Which is disappointing because yes, it’s pivotal and important and also let’s deconstruct masculinity. Let’s talk about what that means. Let’s also not just be here for somebody because we want to lay down with them. Let’s support everybody on the spectrum. Because I can name people who will support a Young M.A. but they won’t support a Caesher or a Kee or a Sakai.

S: I also think there’s a juxtaposition there. I also see cis men saying they’re going to turn her out, hypersexualizing her.

K: People fetishize these weird, imaginary queer relationships [of celebrities] and in practice they hate us. And we give all of them money. [These artists] benefit from queer communities invested in their music…It’s just really important to put out there that queer people, queer Black people, have influenced and made Hip-Hop what it is!

Now you are all here creating your own music. Take me behind the process of creating your first single “blkNblu.”
C: Sakai made the beat. And we were all in different places at the time when we got it and we each just wrote.

S: We kind of did it in a Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants way.

How does it feel to have your first project out there and for the world to see?
K: It’s intimidating as hell! It’s scary as f*ck. We talk about this often, being hyper-criticized and trying to develop ways to deal with that type of criticism. We all know there’s trolls online, and trolls exist to simply be haters. They’re you’re number one fans but they exist solely to wreak havoc. So what happens when those people start saying sh*t and you begin to take it heart? My goal isn’t to take it to heart. My goal is to let it roll of my back. But I’m human and I’m afraid. But also very, very ready.

S: We’ve been working on this for a year now, and it was very surreal to have it come out. Most people knew we were a group but no one really heard it until we put it out.

C: It’s very rewarding. And I’m very very proud to do this in a collective and to have this sisterhood.

Where do you see the group five years from now?
K: At the Grammys!

C: I see us having more visual projects and our music being involved in more visual projects like tv, film and online series.

S: I agree with both!

Listen to their debut EP Vol. 1 below.

Love of My Life

by Megan Ambers

My mother was a fan of the sounds of Anita Baker and Luther Vandross and growing up she was strict about the music I could listen to. On the other hand my father loved rap, and because of him I grew accustomed to Tupac and Dr. Dre. At the time Hip-Hop felt sinful. Between the curse words and the topics-I knew if my mother found out what I was listening to I would be in trouble. But at the same time, I believed that if it was bad for me to listen to it then I was missing out on something amazing. 

As I grew older my mother loosened her restrictions on the music that I could listen to, thankfully so. By the time I got to middle school I was listening to Juvenile, Lil Wayne and The Big Tymers-artists whose music would not have met my mother’s approval years prior. I was enamored by their music and the bounce sound created by synthesizers, drum machines, heavy bass, Mardi Gras Indian chants and call-and-response routines. Not to mention the gold grills and their accents intrigued me as well. 

In high school, everything I took in was influenced by Hip-Hop. Aside from listening to the music, I spent a lot of time watching films like Juice, Save the Last Dance and Dangerous Minds-all movies influenced by the culture in some way, shape or form. In a matter of years I went from being restricted from Hip-Hop to something like a full on ambassador. By the time I reached my senior year in high school I was an expert on the culture-the music, fashion, etc. Not to mention I mostly surrounded myself with rappers, musicians and spoken word poets. It felt safe. It felt like home. And through Hip-hop I felt alive. 

I became so entangled with the world of Hip-hop that I wanted to share exactly how I felt about it to everyone. As a result I pursued a career in music journalism, where I realized that despite the number of women in media that loved Hip-Hop as much as I did, our opinions were are often passed over in favor of a man’s. The misogyny that my mother didn’t want me listening to in the music didn’t only appear in my favorite songs, but also in journalism. My breadth of knowledge on all aspects of Hip-Hop didn’t stop me being overlooked to do certain jobs and interview certain artists. But through this realization emerges an important truth: I’m not the only woman who feels this way. I’m not the only woman who has had these experiences. And, if I’m not alone, I am certain that this time I am not the one missing out on something amazing. They are.

The New Kid

by Sabrina Holder

I was never able to enjoy the beauty of Hip-Hop as a kid. I was an Air Force brat who lived overseas for the first 15 years of my life. Couple that with being raised in a Brazilian household where there was no Hip-Hop to be found. The only American artists I was exposed to were Michael Jackson, Prince, Destiny’s Child, Whitney Houston and Will Smith-dear God, please don't judge me for having the Willennium album in my collection. And while I would occasionally hear Eminem and 50 Cent while living in Thailand, it was an iconic group that really woke up my love for Hip-Hop. 

I was getting ready to start my first day of high school in Bangkok as MTV blasted in the background playing Hip-Hop 90’s hits. I remember the second I heard the introduction and had to run to see who it was: A Tribe Called Quest’s “Electric Relaxation.” Their unique style made me fall in love automatically, with their gritty monochrome music video, unique sense of fashion (all I saw were school uniforms -- give me a break), Q-Tip’s unmistakable voice, and the song’s sampling of Ronnie Foster’s “Mystic Brew.” Hip-Hop blended with Jazz was an eargasm for me. I had to find more like it.

And I did.

Suddenly a genre that was previously nonexistent to me became a part of every stage of my life, my humanity and my growth.

When I experienced my first encounter with depression, lyrics from Kanye West, Nas, Fabolous, Missy Elliott, Common, Notorious B.I.G., Ice Cube affirmed what I was feeling. When I moved to Virginia I dug into Kendrick Lamar's Section.80 and Good Kid, M.A.A.D City, which featured the jazz-hop instrumentals I fell in love with. When I met my husband we connected through Hip-Hop. When we got our dog we named him after rapper Tabi Bonney. And my career has allowed me to work with Hip-hop greats, including The LOX, Bad Boy Entertainment, Kid Capri, Camp Lo, and more.

My husband always says “Hip-hop saved my life and gave me my wife,” but I can't figure out a catchy phrase to explain what it did for me. It will always have a place in my heart and be important in my growing family. Years later I am no longer the new kid.  

Hip-Hop: A Love Story As Told by Lauryn Hill

By: Njera Perkins

The film Brown Sugar showed me how great Hip-Hop was. Not only did the movie perfectly chronicle the beauty of Hip-Hop from its roots in the Bronx to its evolution in the present-day, but it also positioned the quotable line “When did you first fall in love with Hip-Hop?” at the root of a love story. The answer to this question is different for everyone. For some it was a single track that changed their entire perspective on Hip-Hop. For me it was The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill that showed me a whole new world I never knew existed. Her album gifted me an unconditional love for Hip-Hop that only her talents could produce.

Her timeless offering evolves around independence, self-worth, and most of all love. On each track Hill explores every form of love there is to know - heartbreak, toxic love, self-love, loss, and motherhood. Songs like “To Zion” exemplified the pureness of a mother’s love for her child, while “Nothing Even Matters” and “When It Hurts So Bad” reminded us that love could bring us our highest highs and lowest lows.

Hill positioned Black women as complex, multilayered individuals and also affirmed our right to feel, think and challenge without hesitation. She encouraged us to have pride in ourselves and reject notions that Black women are creatures incapable of experiencing true, healthy love. She challenged us to embrace every part of our identity-even the parts society wasn’t ready to accept. And, in the face of misogynoir that aims to silence our womanhood and Blackness, Lauryn Hill’s album provided the soundtrack to combat it. 

Yet her impact didn’t end there. Her willingness to speak on taboo narratives paved the way for others to expand their palettes. Black women were given a blueprint to defy the status quo and write our own, authentic truths. It was made for women like me, who need sincere messages in a genre that isn’t always so affectionate. Who need symbols of love that came from compassion and tenderness instead of exploitation and abuse. Who need affirmations that they too should demand the attention of everyone in a world where the genius of Black women is often overlooked. 

Everyday I fall more and more in love with Hip-Hop, but it was Lauryn Hill’s debut that taught me how to love Hip-Hop and how Hip-Hop could love me back.

Y'all Tucked In?

by Kayla Pearson

I’ve always had an appreciation for detail. The more details, the better. That explains why in Kindergarten I would always be called on last during story time, because as my teacher told my mother: my “stories are always the longest.” And they were.  If I couldn’t visualize and feel every word being spoken, you’d be hard pressed to keep my attention. Thus, it was only right for me to fall in love with Hip-Hop through a story.

The year was 2009. Christmas came and went, and I planned on spending the remainder of my break glued to one of the most life altering gifts I had ever received: a Philips MP3 Player. Thanks to my brother, Limewire and Bearshare, it was preloaded with more music than I could have asked for. With the press of a button the palm-sized device took my ears through the sounds of artists like Angela Bofill, Minnie Riperton, and Jeffrey Osborne, every single banger involving or produced by Pharrell, and songs by Floetry or my girl Jilly from Philly (Jill Scott). But it was one classic that would change my perspective on music forever. 

I would start the song. Stop it. Rewind it. Then play it again, over and over. It was this sequence of actions that allowed my love for “Children’s Story” by Slick Rick to grow with every rhyme.

For winter break's remaining days, I spent hours in my room analyzing every detail of Slick Rick’s twist on a not-so-child-friendly narrative about two kids robbing people. I envisioned the entire story. The boys running around the city. The cops. The train station. The smelly crackhead. The pregnant hostage. It wasn’t until I got older that I really understood what was happening.

“Children’s Story” is a reflection of the hardships Black inner city youth have and continue to battle with, simply to exist. I see these boys in my family. I see these boys in my friends. I see these boys in every Black person trying to function within a system that was never set up for them to win. I see these Boys in every Black person lacking the fundamental necessities and guidance to live a life like their white peers. The lyrics positioned the harsh realities of being young, poor and black in the city over an upbeat tempo that shifts the feeling of the song into a frenzy and pleasure. The two contrasting emotions ultimately produced one legendary song.

With the absence of a hook, a bridge and an unwavering tone, “Children’s Story” remains my childhood nostalgia and the reason I became the Hip-Hop head I am today. In 2018 that song evokes the same exact feeling it did when I first heard it years ago. That alone proves that Hip-Hop is the one element of music that I will never outgrow, forget or disconnect from.

‘1999’ to Infinity: How Joey Bada$$ Put Me On

by Anijah Boyd

As a child I would fashion dresses and wigs out of pillowcases at the approval of my grandmother. The makeshift clothing served as my wardrobe for countertop performances, where I would dance to the sounds of Earth, Wind & Fire, The Isley Brothers, Bobby Womack and more as my grandmother cleaned our home. Growing up much of my time was spent with her while my mother worked to provide a better life for me than She had envisioned for herself. As a result, my musical knowledge was confined to classic soul and R&B artists like Curtis Mayfield, The Gap Band, G.Q., Bobby Womack, Marvin Gaye, DeBarge and many more. And though these artists influenced it through melodies, harmonies and samples, Hip-Hop wouldn’t appear on my radar until many years later-2012 to be exact.

It was that year when “Righteous Mind$” by Joey Bada$$ slid across my Twitter timeline. The cover intrigued me so I listened, and after diving into “Snake$” and then 1999 in its entirety I knew one thing: boom bap made my heart skip a beat.

Joey was unlike any artist I had heard before, and even more unlike any rapper at the time. His beats were reminiscent of the drums and hard-hitting snares that defined the East Coast in the 1990s. His lyrics were original and versatile. Few at his age rivaled his respect and passion for the genre. And, let’s be honest, hardly anyone else was freestyling over Dilla beats.

Joey Bada$$ was authentic, unique, and my introduction to Hip-Hop. His work-coupled with that of his fellow Pro Era members-provided me with the one thing humans desire most in a state of sadness or sorrow: comfort. 

I remember sitting on the side of my bed bawling as Capital STEEZ’s “Infinity and Beyond” and “HYPE Beast” played in the background. But it was “Wave$” that made my connection to Joey Bada$$ stronger.

My mom was working a 9-5. Our landlord was fed up. And I too, prayed to Allah. Through the music I felt supported, because everyone needs a place where his or her struggles are affirmed. Where they’re guided to familiarity when they feel lost in the world around them. Where they’re consoled when they feel alone. For me, every time, Hip-Hop was there.

Once I learned that Hip-Hop was my missing peace, I dug into the whole Beast Coast movement and other New York artists like Bishop Nehru and Ken Rebel, the sounds of J Dilla, MF DOOM, Lord Finesse, and the music of A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, and Souls of Mischief. I owe a lot of my own knowledge to Joey Bada$$ and my discovery of his artistry, so much that I often feel like I got an introduction just as special as the people who were with DJ Kool Herc back in ‘73. 

Thanks to Joey I discovered a genre that gives a voice to the otherwise voiceless. To Hip-Hop, I am forever in debt for giving me the courage to use my voice and reminding me that I’m not alone. And, if I ever lose focus or become unsure about where to go next, I’m comforted when I hear Joey Bada$$ say: 

“Since ’95, mama been workin’ 9-5…”