Rap Fandom Was Complicated in 2021
There were many great things that happened in the rap world in 2021, but death, tragedy, harmful stigmas, & other issues made it a complicated year to be a fan.
Image via Getty/Timothy Norris
In theory, we’d be able to just press play on our favorite music and enjoy the experience without any guilt or conflict. But that’s becoming more difficult than ever, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to change any time soon.
There were many great things that happened in the rap world in 2021. High-profile projects from artists like Tyler, the Creator, Drake, J. Cole, and Kanye West asserted the genre’s commercial dominance. The internet gave independent acts more resources than they’ve ever had to sustain direct-to-consumer operations. Artists took advantage of the NFT craze to crowdsource projects and make quick windfalls from digital media. Rappers found exciting new ways to market their music and stir anticipation for releases, from creative billboards to social media savvy. Westside Gunn and The Alchemist were just a few go-to figures who helped a slew of previously unheralded lyricists gain more notoriety. Women in rap are thriving more than ever. Verzuz has been an exciting celebration of rap icons. There’s been room for genre-bending, boundary-pushing music of all kinds to thrive. And live music returned after venues were shut down for most of 2020.
At the same time, many of us are feeling conflicted about going to concerts and festivals because of the spread of COVID. And even with all the game’s positive trends, it feels like too many new music Fridays were surrounded by a week of bad news.
The community experienced widespread loss, from the violent deaths of rappers like Young Dolph and Drakeo The Ruler to the fatal health crises of rap veterans like DMX and Black Rob. The justice system ensnared acts like Casanova, 9lokknine, and YFN Lucci, and the genre is continuing to be scapegoated to stir “crime wave” propaganda by cities using lyrics and videos as evidence. These developments have many fans reckoning with how they engage lyrics depicting violence. Acts like DaBaby and Kanye West dominated headlines by offending entire demographics of fans, which has some listeners mining the balance of enjoying music from artists accused of violent statements and actions.
The calendar reset isn’t bringing a cultural reset. The external factors behind these letdowns are still too entrenched in society, setting a tenuous tone for the rap game as we head further into the 2020s. Enjoying certain music entails climbing obstacles to do so. Now, more than ever, we want our music rotation to be a refuge from real life. But too much of it has become a cruel reminder of what kind of world we’re in.
None of the aforementioned ills are new to the rap game. Unfortunately, the genre has had violent headlines before, from shootings and fights at award shows to abusive artists. But the volume of rappers, the acceleration of the news cycle, and the echo chamber of social media are inundating us with disheartening news more than ever before. Seemingly every day brings a new challenge that has us re-considering how we engage the genre we love.
The year’s biggest musical extravaganza, Kanye West’s Donda, was ground zero for mixed feelings. Despite all of the rap icon’s dangerous comments and alliances of the past several years, even detractors can’t seem to ignore him. He took advantage of his cultural plot armor with three highly-streamed Donda listening sessions. The album stoked controversy during its gradual unveiling because of appearances from accused abusers Marilyn Manson, Fivio Foreign, and Chris Brown, as well as DaBaby, who had been removed from a slew of festivals for homophobic comments at Rolling Loud Miami. Kanye invited both DaBaby and Marilyn Manson to sit with him on a replica of his mother’s porch at the Chicago show, marring her tribute with proximity to largely unaccountable artists.
But despite the public outcry, the album performed well. The RIAA-certified gold album had the most first-day streams of any project on Apple Music or Spotify. Donda could very well win Kanye four Grammys, including Album Of The Year and Rap Album Of The Year. It’s a sonically pleasing album with a glut of impressive guest appearances, but it’s also true that too many Donda features are clamoring for refuge from an environment of their own making. People have good reason to not like some of the guys on this project. It’s impossible to ignore that the album was curated by a Trump supporter who ran a GOP-backed Presidential campaign to reportedly steal votes from Biden. It’s hard for one to merely press play and nod their head through all of that.
If the community of rap listeners was really a culture, we’d be trying to protect each other, and those with authority would resolve that even if Kanye’s a musical genius, his harmful opinions don’t deserve to be amplified. But instead, the Drink Champs podcast was relentlessly praised for garnering the “interview of the year” for letting him talk recklessly for several hours. This is where we are. Donda did impressive units, as did the clothes, and the Kanye West Show powered along like a tanker running over picketers. The entire album cycle highlights the deep links between patriarchy, power, and violence against women, from a rap lens. In other words, the rap game is still a boy’s club. Hoards of artists have been accused of assailing women, but they’ll have no problem finding collaborators willing to prioritize their next buck over the women they claim to love. How are women consumers supposed to feel about that?
DaBaby’s “Jail” feature and Soldier Field appearance were the first signs that the Charlotte artist wouldn’t face long-term consequences for telling the Rolling Loud Miami crowd to put their lighters up: “If you didn’t show up today with HIV, AIDS, or any of them deadly sexually transmitted diseases that’ll make you die in two to three weeks” and “If you ain’t sucking dick in the parking lot.” After a short period of defiance following the comments, DaBaby posted a text apology. And then he met with a slew of LGBTQ organizations to make nice. The saga became a daily spectating of how deftly (or densely) he could get out from under the comments. But Twitter jokes about how stressed his PR people were diminished the plight of the human beings that he offended. He had many LGBTQ listeners that ended up being disgusted by his comments.
Now, more than ever, we want our music rotation to be a refuge from real life. But too much of it has become a cruel reminder of what kind of world we’re in.
Harmful stigmas about the LGBTQ community exist on a spectrum of othering that, on the extreme end, fuel hate crimes. The groups that DaBaby met with may have told him that—but he didn’t keep up much correspondence with them, or donate to them, after their initial meetings. The Daily Beast reported that the organizations—who put out a joint statement saying he had met and apologized to them—admitted that he essentially ghosted them. “Since then, we have not received any outreach, partnership, or funding from DaBaby,” one told the outlet. He only needed them to a point.
He navigated the ire by first collaborating with Kanye, then taking the Rolling Loud NYC stage as a guest of 50 Cent. In November, he even announced a Rolling Loud-backed Live Show Killa tour with the brand’s backing. The festival mainstay told TMZ that it “supports second chances and believes DaBaby has grown and learned from his experience.” Or maybe he just learned to watch what he says in public.
Numerous festivals had removed DaBaby from their 2021 bills as a stand against hateful comments. But a slew of other artists who remained on major festival bills have made hateful comments and committed violent actions toward women—they just weren’t trending during festival season. Lil Uzi Vert was accused of punching and pointing a gun at his pregnant ex in July, but he still ended up performing at Rolling Loud NYC, as well as Day N Vegas (which had removed DaBaby). This realization isn’t meant to single out Uzi as much as highlight that if festivals’ selection process truly wanted to take a stand against violence, the bills just may be devoid of some of the game’s biggest acts.
It’s been a rough year overall for the live music scene. At this point, it’s still difficult to enjoy a show in good conscience. Fans want to see their favorite acts in person, but as Fat Joe jokingly noted about Verzuz, COVID is in the building—or on the festival grounds. Over 110,000 people packed Chicago’s Grant Park for Lollapalooza in July, creating an environment that resembled Where’s Waldo from an aerial view. Both Lollapalooza organizers and artists were criticized for rounding that many people up in one place in the midst of a pandemic. Virtually all major festivals require vaccination or negative COVID tests to enter, but there are still safety-minded people who believe that large shows are prioritizing maximum profit over the good of the people.
Show promoters have been censured for under-securing events such as Astroworld 2021, one of the biggest concert tragedies ever. Thousands of non-paying people swarmed onto the festival grounds near Houston’s NRG field, causing overcrowding during Travis Scott’s night-ending set. There were reports that over 50,000 people were crammed together during his performance. 10 concertgoers died of asphyxiation and many more were sent to the hospital. Live Nation, who organized the festival, is currently litigating over 200 lawsuits from attendees.
And Live Nation may be facing one more after the tragic fatal stabbing of Drakeo the Ruler at their Once Upon A Time in LA festival. There aren’t many verifiable details about what happened, but there’s nonetheless widespread outrage about a performer being stabbed at an event that’s supposed to screen every attendee. While announcing her intent to sue, Drakeo’s mother correctly stated that “someone has to be held accountable.”
These two late-year events have raised serious concerns about music festivals having inadequate healthcare and security. But it’s important for fans’ criticism to not go so far as framing rap shows as inherently violent. As writer Craig Jenkins tweeted about Astroworld, “A lot of people are coming up on reelection and you can bet your ass a lot of them would love to make life harder for all of us if the narrative coming out of all of this becomes ‘hip-hop is too dangerous for its own good now,’’” adding that “they can legislate the legs off of your local scene with the stroke of a pen.”
The courts have been hard at work ensaring rappers nationwide. Casanova, YFN Lucci, Hotboii, and 9lokknine are several rappers this year who were rolled into sweeping indictments. Their prosecutors relished having high-profile names in their cases, which gives them more reign to condemn rappers and use their music as evidence in future cases. Earlier this year, Lawrence Montague was sentenced to 50 years for a slew of charges including second-degree murder, and prosecutors used a freestyle he recited over the jail phone as part of the evidence to convict him. Project Safe Neighborhoods is a federal program that uses rappers’ lyrics and videos to claim gang allegiance. As attorney Alex Spiro told us, “When prosecutors get convictions based on one kind of evidence, prosecutors tend to repeat business.” In short, the courts will continue preying on rappers, and using their lyrics and videos to do so.
But if it’s not just the law after rappers. Drakeo’s loss is the latest of dozens of tragic deaths the rap community has seen in 2021. Veteran artists like DMX, Biz Markie, and Black Rob passed, stirring discussions on how the rap community can care for their own via a union or some other initiative. And the violent deaths of artists like Drakeo, Young Dolph, and too many others have us pondering what, if anything, we can do to stop the torrent of violence plaguing our country. Every morning starts with the hope that we won’t open our phone and see reports about another tragedy.
Being a rapper is not inherently violent, or “the most dangerous job in the world.” But the rap game is inextricably linked to the streets, which is a dangerous place to lurk.
No matter how much we love our favorites or want to resist criminalizing the genre, the reality is that many artists maintain close proximity to environments where people use violence to solve conflict. They also depict that reality in their music we love. Artists deserve their artistic license, but at the same time it would be irresponsible to not acknowledge that some of them are rhyming about very real conflicts, with deaths involved, for our entertainment. Cognitive dissonance is on overdrive while enjoying certain records. And the circumstance gets harder to stomach when considering the suburban consumers getting vicarious thrills from violence they have no connection to. These people will never know the Black faces dying behind gun violence they’re fascinated by. America has created an inherent epidemic of Black death and legal slavery which disproportionately affects Black people. Both scourges are such a cross-generational constant that it’s become entertainment. And too many of the progenitors are suffering from it.
The movie fan hopes their favorite new actor chooses the right roles. The sports fan hopes their favorite new athlete is committed to becoming the best player possible. But with more frequency than the other pastimes, rap fans have to hope their new favorite artist can steer clear from gun violence, predacious police, and substance abuse. It’s difficult to simply enjoy their music without a hint of dread that none of their nihilistic lyrics become their reality.
As we head into 2022, none of the social factors that have claimed and complicated our favorite artists are ending anytime soon. Misogyny, homophobia, and other manifestations of patriarchy are still rife. The continued success and amplification of violent acts reinstill marginalized groups’ fear that they have no recourse to challenge or deplatform the artists assailing them. Communities are still suffering from civic negligence, which breeds poverty, and the violence depicted in music. The pandemic shows no signs of slowing down, with a contagious new variant causing record highs and already causing many shows to be canceled. And it doesn’t seem like America’s leadership is doing much to change any of this—not when the 1% benefits from it all.
All of these elements have combined to make rap listening one of our most complicated loves. But we still listen. The late bell hooks noted in All About Love, “The practice of love offers no place of safety. We risk loss, hurt, pain. We risk being acted upon by forces outside our control.” We feel all of that with deep devotion to an artform that too often takes as much as it gives. Love can indeed be treacherous, but ultimately, we individually decide whether it’s worth it for us.
Ultimately, it’s our appreciation for rap that keeps us enthralled. It’s the appreciation of a vehicle that helps poor people be able to come up and help their communities. It’s the high of the right song that helps us escape a reality that’s increasingly laborious to navigate. Rap lovers spend their music-listening experience chasing the highs, even when they’re fleeting, or come from the same people responsible for the lows. Thankfully, through all the turmoil, we still have plenty of artists around to deliver those highs. Even the ones we lost still provide solace through the catalog they left. For that, at least, we can be grateful as we head further into the 2020s.