NEW YORK, 2016 - It’s a Wednesday evening in midtown Manhattan’s Playstation Theater, where 19-year-old rapper Lil Yachty is warming up for hip-hop duo Rae Sremmurd. Tonight the 2,100-strong crowd is dominated by a throng of sweaty, teenage boys, most of them white, anxiously guarding their tight spots in anticipation of their flame-haired idol.
Wearing a white wife beater and grey overalls tied around the waist, Yachty enters stage left in an unexpectedly minimalist ensemble. Strolling nonchalantly up and down, the teenager raps off hit after hit with little to no energy, nevertheless satisfying the crowd with his unmistakably nasal drawl of YouTube sensation 1Night. “I know you want this for life/ Taking pictures with all my ice/ But I can't have no wife.” Wobbling through the deliberately shaky sounds of recently released mixtape Lil Boat, Yachty crouches down, patiently taking selfie after selfie on fans’ phones (a mainstay of 21st century concerts). The performance is almost too lax - that is until A$AP Ferg appears, unannounced, to bark and boom over the cutting synths of ‘Work.’ Only then does Yachty become truly animated, rocking his head back and forth, lipstick-red braids appearing momentarily Medusa-like against the white of camera flashes.
Fast forward two years and Yachty (otherwise known as Miles McCollum) is now 20 years old. Originating from Atlanta, Georgia - a city the New York Times dubbed as “the world’s de facto hip-hop capital” - McCollum is disarmingly young and wealthy. Forbes estimated his worth at a staggering $11 million; a hugely impressive feat considering the short amount of time he's been in the game. Yachty is what popular culture defines as a trap artist. He is part of a decade-long Southern hip-hop dynasty, borne out of Atlanta’s ghettos.
Today’s trap stars paint a very different, sanitised picture to that of the past. The genre’s popularity is immense, fronted by poster boys such as Migos, Future or Lil Uzi Vert. Their tremendous wealth is outward to the extent of self-caricature; one look at Quality Control’s music video ‘Ice Tray’ confirms this. Adorned in furry coats, Quavo and Yachty wear diamond-encrusted grills and thick chains while, in the background, vast bowls of jewellery are so “icy” they literally let off smoke. Brr. A combination of outlandish self-presentation and excessive fame has earned trappers the unlikely status of rock stars. They walk like rock stars and talk like rock stars at a time when the traditional rock star is nowhere to be found in the musical mainstream. So why the radical change in trajectory?
Trap’s heritage is undoubtedly complicated. All the more so when acknowledging it as a mere sub-genre of a broader school of music: that of hip-hop. Trap enjoys multiple definitions. The most basic explanation asserts trap as the combination of two genres: hip-hop and dance music - ensuring optimum playability on the waves of the radio. The music also revolves around the use of the Roland TR-808 Rhythm Composer; a drum machine known for its snares, cymbals and booming bass drum. Terminology-wise, trap is not strictly limited to music. Having been adopted from subcultural slang into everyday use, it’s now a word in its own right. One can trap (sell drugs), reside in the trap house (a crack house - also the title of Gucci Mane’s first studio album) or text on a trap phone (a pre-paid cellphone used for drug deals). Trap is everywhere and nowhere all at the same time - appearing in Target TV commercials, dominating the Billboard Hot 100, wafting out of your little brother’s bedroom, totally shunned at this year’s Grammy Awards. i-D Magazine’s Spring 2018 cover star Cardi B articulates contemporary hip-hop’s truly insurmountable influence. “We are controlling the music industry. We control the fashion world/ We always influence: We run everything.”
Lil Yachty is an anomaly of sorts in the genre to which he belongs. Clean and sober, Mr. McCollum abstains from the substance abuse and gangsterism that characterises much of Atlanta rap. For instance, on ‘Bank Account’ 21 Savage engages in disengaged verse about murder and capital punishment. “Triple homicide/ Put me in a chair.” In real life he has been shot six times. Another not to shy away from controversy, young rapper Kodak Black has been in and out of jail for a number of charges that include armed robbery, rape, marijuana possession and child neglect. Hip-hop’s landscape is therefore not entirely altered, still retaining its signature darkness.
Yachty is outwardly different, disbanding the stereotype of the typical rapper with stubborn charm. Always with one eye on the money, the 20-year-old engages in endorsements for the likes of Sprite and Urban Outfitters, rapping that “positivity is what made us famous” on a soulless advert for Target alongside Carly Rae Jepsen. Musical integrity intact or not, this shameless commercialisation of sound for sale is a far cry from Yachty’s slightly shady past: in 2015 he was arrested on credit-card-fraud charges.
Of course, trap does not come without its harsh critics. Traditional hip-hop heads criticise Yachty for a lack of lyricism, for not being hood enough, for being a sellout. Unwittingly strung up as the rep for a new generation of rap, Mr. McCollum is the ultimate divider, either signalling an alien wave of optimism or the erosion of hip-hop’s golden rules.
But above all, Lil Yachty is a meaningful emblem for the young. Charting out new musical terrain, his detached performance style seems to indicate that fame stumbled upon him, not vice versa. He makes success look effortless. He declares you can be different and still make trap. All you need is a mic, a laptop and most importantly, a trademark look - whether it’s a prominent face birthmark, fiery beaded braids or an ice cream tattoo on the cheek - the choice is yours.
