Bout to Blow: 10 Dope Songs You Should Be Hearing Everywhere Soon

We're at a nadir for great commercial music: for whatever reason, the big-tent veteran stars have thrown up bricks, give or take a pre-ordained Fat Joe smash. This month, we decided to take a closer look at some new artists on the verge of having breakout moments, just in time for spring break. Welcome to the April edition of Bout to Blow.

This column has two goals:

1. To use the many tools available to us today to get some idea of what songs were really bubbling with "the people"—in other words, to insert some science into the process.

2. To contextualize that information, because raw numbers in a vacuum would have you thinking an anonymous rapper dropped onto a stellar track was hip-hop's next big rap star when he was more like an empty, tattooed vehicle for a dope beat and a hook.

The post is obviously intended to be somewhat predictive. There's also an element, though, that is cheerleading. Many of these songs might be flourishing in certain markets but could use wider exposure. They're tracks where the metrics suggest some forward momentum, even if the clubs and radio play don't reflect that.

After a harsh decision-making process, we narrowed April 2016 down to the 10 best records you have to know. It's this month's edition of Bout to Blow: 10 Dope Songs You Should Be Hearing Everywhere Soon.

CupcakKe's first viral record, 2015's “Vagina” (its video was titled “Deepthroat”) was such pure slackness any reasonable listener would be forgiven for assuming her career might end up a viral gimmick—posted on gossip sites for its novelty value and forgotten a few days later. The release of the provocatively-titled full-length Cum Cake earlier this year, however, proved the 18(!)-year-old rapper from Chicago's South Side has a range and sophistication that eludes so many of her peers: from relationship torment (“Exceptions”) to the joy of devotion (“Darling”), a bold exploration of abuse (“Pedophile”) to a brutal diss track targeting Detroit rapper Kash Doll, the album takes a page from the blueprint of The Great Adventures of Slick Rick. Rather than sonically “cohesive” in the vein of, say, the typical OVO record, she makes versatility a virtue and executes with sharp humor and often startling insight. “Juicy Coochie,” the album closer and obvious “single,” is a return to the extreme explicitness that is her trademark set to an immediate dancehall groove.

A moment to recognize the incredible visual sensibility on display in the video for Rae Sremmurd's latest comeback vehicle, the slick, understated “By Chance”: few rap records take advantage of visuals to the extent that they could, and a great video can truly elevate the material. “By Chance” was always a great song, but it's matched by a video that anchors the sparse piano production with a visual event that sticks in the memory banks.

Kodak Black is hip-hop's most promising rookie street star; initially his sound felt indebted to Boosie, but since that time his verses have slipped from a raw, blues-inflected earnestness to a more elliptical, behind-the-beat cool. His most recent tape, December's Institution, was the first in which he felt completely confident in his own sound, even if it could also seem as if he were idling, reading the room before making his real move. His solo single “Like Dat” was the tape's highlight, but his single with French Montana seems liable to break on an even larger scale. “Lockjaw”—a song about the physiological response to molly—is the perfect conceptual match for two rappers whose sense of sprezzatura gives their vocals a laconic drag. It's especially apropos as Kodak's performance feels like a true—if inadvertent—spiritual descendent of French's longtime partner Max B, a rapper with a similarly effortless style.

Alkaline's latest album, New Level Unlocked, lives up to its promise with the surefire single “City.” Alkaline built his fame in part as a kind of Young Thug or Kevin Gates corollary, with lyrics celebrating “batty wash”—before you ask, that's what Urban Dictionary is for. But he's also a truly talented artist, no mere provocateur, and “City,” with its big, brilliant synth riff, has real potential to gain American interest if given the right push. If you hit the beach for spring break without “City,” did it really happen?

At first glance, Famous Dex—who I first posted back in January—can seem underwhelming: his manic style and tendency to lean on repetition and catchphrases (“Oh man god damn!“) suggests an inherent disposability, and his surface-level debt to Atlanta and Texas artists like Migos and Sauce Twinz suggests his sound may be redundent: how many rappers in this style do we really need? But Dex has something many in his bracket don't: a talent for songcraft. As a pure rapper, his style is fairly unspectacular, but his best songs come together as more than the sum of their parts. “I'm Paid” is only a recent example, a relentlessly replayable song that not only stands out in a crowded field, but makes it seem as if that field existed to provide Dex with inspiration.

Contrary to popular belief, “Kiss It Better” is not the best single from Rihanna's ANTI; surely that honor belongs to bold closer “Sex With Me.” “Kiss It Better” suffers—if a massively successful creative triumph can “suffer”—from its stylistic similarity to the last ten years of Prince pastiche—see The-Dream and assorted The-Dream collaborations. Despite its overly familiar aesthetic, down to the squealing guitar, “Kiss it Better”'s fuzzy bliss works in large part due to Rihanna's striking performance, particularly in the way her vocals tear in sharp motions at the advent of each verse. The song's true hook, in fact, is its verses; the chorus feels more like a return to home base after hearing the edge in her voice.

Do you feel that sensation? That's an underlying, urgent psychic desire for a Toronto hip-hop scene to produce bankable stars in the wake of Drake's unprecedented success. Thus far, one can't help but feel a sense of audience interest outpacing product: on one tier, sometime rappers like Tory Lanez and Jahkoy have found a degree of international success as R&B singers, and Jazz Cartier—though still rapping to an extent—seems intent on revisiting Travi$ Scott's sonic mish-mash with semi-anonymous lyrics. On the street side, teens have taken to post-drill tropes and clichés, filtering them through their own cultural lenses; thus far, the results haven't felt too radically different from their inspirations. Youthful rapper Pressa, however—whose “Deadmihana” has been played on OVO Sound—has landed on something with “TBH.” An effervescent gem of a pop record, its light, innocent sing-song and earnestly charming lyrics are tailor-made for international attention (or at least a really good remix).

With Chief Keef declaring his retirement, Chicago's street rap scene has witnessed a changing of the guard. Lud Foe is not the first rapper with a drill-indebted sound to take root on Chicago's West Side, but he may become the biggest; last year's barrelling “187” has been rapidly climbing in views since the new year. Each lyric hits like a Howitzer; “187” is one of the hardest songs to emerge from Chicago in recent memory. Like most Chicago rappers in this new wave, it shows a debt to Chief Keef, particularly in his vocal style and flow patterns. His innovation is to adopt that approach to the driving, uptempo sound of Detroit, an acknowledgement of a recent shift in the center of gravity towards the motor city. “Cuttin Up,” in essence a “187” redux which capitalizes on the latter song's long rise to acceptance, similarly weaves eighth-note melodies, forceful drums, and deft rapping from the West Side's latest hip-hop star.

YFN Lucci has been a major phenomenon in Atlanta without really transcending the region; his latest tape has been the first to gain outside interest. Despite a sonic similarity to the city's dominant style, Lucci veers blues-y, using melody as a tool to explore expressive emotion. Despite his documented conflicts with Rich Homie Quan, the two are stylistic peas in a pod. “YFN” is the tape's most affecting track, and has neared one million views on YouTube without a music video.

Kevin Gates' Islah is thus far the year's best-selling hip-hop album, and despite its huge popularity, discussion of the record has in large part hinged on his, um, exceptional interviews and the mechanics of his rise, rather than the music itself. Creatively, the album is more than “2 Phones” and “Really Really.” “Time for That” doesn't stand apart on the album on first listen, but over time has proven itself the most replayable song on an album full of them. Packed with quotable bits of wisdom, the song sounds at once huge and delicate, a neat illusion which lets his intimate emotions feel impossibly huge.