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Son Raw wants you to know that there are no unused record label names left with âSubâ as the prefix.
Look at your favorite (remaining) culture publicationâs year-end list. Scan the pop charts. Ask your Fortnite-addicted nephew to send you a playlist. Let the despair settle in. Once the motor of innovation in American popular music, rap music finds itself hollowed and diminished. The genre isnât entirely absent: its musical DNA remains a fruitful source of inspiration for musicians of all stripes and its aging millennial and Gen X superstars seem to be as culturally sticky as the boomer rock stars of yore, but thereâs a pointed lack of new energy in the genreâs mainstream offerings.
Just as importantly for this column, there is an accompanying lack of enthusiasm for new rap music outside of the brain rot suburban-core lane that seems ostensibly transgressive and new, but actually serves only to cleave the genre from its Black roots while cribbing ideas from micro- scenes with terminally short shelf lives.
Part of this is structural. Music critics (and to a lesser degree listeners) are on the search for the new, and over 20 years removed from T.Iâs Trap Muzik, hi-hat triplets have lost their countercultural cache just as boom-bap beats did by the mid-00s. For those keeping score, this makes the favorites of SAE econ majors like Ian and Jack Harlow the modern-day equivalent of indie-rap true school also-rans with names like Elementz Of Stylez.
Tik Tok, todayâs dominant social media platform, has proven to be a far more natural fit for pop stans and meme music than gangsta rap. Itâs no surprise that in a fractured cultural climate that favored an ultra-femme Brat Summer on one side and the Yee-haw Empireâs cowboy boot forever stomping on a human face on the other, most new rappers struggled to find a niche outside of their core audience. And while rap acts remain hungry for recognition on the charts, few seem to care about music press coverage one way or another, not when showing up on Million Dollaz Worth of Game or No Jumper gives their streams a bigger boost than a good review â let alone a hostile one.
As the year wraps up and our arbitrary sense of time resets, itâs worth asking, what do todayâs music critics, in aggregate, even want out of rap music? And why arenât they all that excited by whatâs coming out? Again, part of that is the rate of innovation in the music plummeting, which turns keeping up with the genre from a passion to a chore, while providing an opening for (mostly caucasian) industry plants to elbow their way in using farcical takes on styles Future and Young Thug pioneered over a decade ago. Dunking on Pitchfork for having Bladee as the only rapper in their top 10 may be fun and easy, but even our own illustrious braintrust only found room for 4 rappers in our top 10, of which two are now deceased. Throw in a non-critical rap-adjacent ecosystem more interested in celebrity gossip than the music, and you have a genre in a tailspin. Iâve reported live from the depths of 2008 and the height of 2012-2015 and let me tell you: this was a bad year.
That critics arenât interested in rap in aggregate, is key here, because I sincerely believe that individually, all working music writers want art that excites them, thrills them, shocks them, understands them and makes them look at the world in a new light. In other words, good music, however they define it. Over the years, Iâve met dozens upon dozens of writers in pubs, clubs and industry events and I donât believe that a single one had a nefarious hidden agenda. After all, this is clearly a declining profession that offers less clout, money and prospects than, say, a Youtube channel. But also, music writers are almost always chill, nerdy people who think very deeply about music and who need to express their thoughts via the written word. Even when I disagree with someoneâs take, they are not the enemy.
Unfortunately, music writingâs aforementioned diminishing prospects are leading to a shallower talent pool of aging lifers hanging on out of spite and a generation of academically molded cultural critics on the other: anybody else who wants to make it in the music industry will choose a more profitable path.
Once upon a time, it was fun to try to guess just how someone ended up as a music writer: some were fans who grew up reading The Village Voice or The Source, others came up arguing on niche message boards, others were musicians or DJs moonlighting until their big break, and a few were even real, credentialled journalists. Unfortunately, weâre decades removed from long extinct print publications with the budget to regularly fly writers out for extensive features while paying living wages. Take away the perks and cool points that the job once offered, in a shitty economy thatâs one round of tariffs away from falling off a cliff, and it seems the only people left writing have very specific axes to grind with extremely prescriptive reasons for liking or disliking music.
Worse, our only consolation prize is that these writers arenât being read much in the first place: as music criticism has moved into a post-literate space dominated by podcasters and talk shows. People simply arenât seeking the kind of in depth, granular takes that writing excels at. Whereas once we argued about the nuances of obscure Memphis rap acts, the new model is a 10-minute explainer video condensing the cityâs entire musical history in 10 minutes + adsense breaks. That forces the remaining writers to dumb things down, lest they lose their tiny remaining readership.
The results are samey prose, surface level overviews that flatten nuance, and a hesitancy to endorse anything edgy or âproblematicâ that might limit future job prospects in polite society â and so goes the vast majority of rap music worth listening to. Whatâs more, itâs applied with inconsistency: Kodak Black and NBA Youngboy remain in critical exile while industry approved names like Carti and Carson get a pass for similar misdeeds. The result is music criticismâs most diverse slate of writers â good job, keep going, thereâs plenty more work to be done â that all too often defaults to incredibly predictable takes, nowhere more so than when it comes to rap music, a genre whose output rarely maps out cleanly across clear ideological lines, no matter how much writers wish it so.
(Since I may get angry clap about that last part, please make any tweets/skeets/threads about your feelings for Benny The Butcher and Killer Mikeâs politics. Letâs have some fun.)
Donât believe me? Well, to start this year on a lighter note, hereâs a breakdown of the main types of rap music being covered today, and how music critics, vloggers, and podcasters, in aggregate, are likely to cover them. Keep this tab open and cross reference it whenever a new single album drops, and tell me Iâm not right, more often than not.
This is the most visible and most thoroughly covered strain in hip-hop today, comprised of artists that broke through circa 2010-2017, mostly in Atlanta (Future, Young Thug, Migos, Rae Sremmurd etc.) and California (TDE, Odd Future) but occasionally NYC (A$AP Mob, Bronson) and beyond (Freddie Gibbs, J. Cole, Drake, Danny BrownâŠ). Not all of these artists tour arenas, but all of them are now well-established music industry veterans with plenty of side hustles and brand building exercises to ensure multiple revenue streams â youâre as likely to hear them on a podcast or in a Netflix original as you are to care about their latest album.
This wouldnât be a problem if their perspective had grown with their portfolios, but arena rap almost always requires a state of arrested artistic development, meaning rappers pushing 40 still need to cosplay as 20-year-old hypebeasts. All of which means thereâs minimal incentive for critics to give a shit about their new music, given how established they are and how, barring the rare exception, this generationâs most impactful work is behind them. Still, these are artists you can still probably get paid to interview: someoneâs got to follow Rocky around for a day while he talks up his next album and dodges questions about Rihanna.
Critics have long been waiting for rapâs âhair metal moment,â jumping the gun decades too early with trap, but they may have their wish with rage rap, which features nihilistic content, sex and drug-fueled debauchery, light diabolical imagery and more shirtless vocalists than the Headbangerâs Ball. This is what âthe kids are into,â with the bastard spawn of Travis Scott, Lil Uzi Vert and Playboi Carti iterating the genre from emo-influenced trap to 808-fueled cyberpunk and Hot Topic satanism.
Technically speaking, youâll find some sonic innovation in the production and vocals here, but many critics are skeptical, because those pop punk hooks are irritating as hell and because thereâs something sketchy about combining contemporary rapâs most obvious tropes to suburban-tween approved rebellion. Ken Carson might still get a look, but the only reason a self-respecting critic will endorse Yeat, Nettspend or the next imitation the algorithms vomit into celebrity, is to convince editors they havenât lost their edge.
Does it make sense to lump every single woman rapping â from Rhapsody to Glorilla to Nicki to Megan to Che Noir and beyond â into one category? Of course, it doesnât â thatâs downright upsetting and obviously frustrating. And yet somehow the combination of our contemporary fixation on identity and our ever-decreasing attention span/word counts ensure that rap music created by women will always and almost entirely be viewed through the prism of their gender. Donât blame me, I voted for Rah Digga in â99.
The good news is, female rappers of all persuasions might be the one demographic that music critics are still genuinely excited to write about. For major label artists, the focus is on ratchet anthems. Critics have always loved a dirty rap song, but around the first Trump administration they all started feeling tremendously guilty about enjoying them, so having sex positive female rappers is a huge relief. As for more the more lyrically minded underground, Noname is the rapper whose views most easily map onto the contemporary critic, and more generally, while itâs still damn near impossible to get male rap backpack fans to listen, the most talented/marketable women rapping might be able to do an end run around them to win a Grammy anyways. In any case, expect positive coverage, for the foreseeable future. I want to be kind to our current crop of critics here: growing up in an era that was Nicki or bust, thereâs a well-intentioned impulse to correct historical wrongs, but hurts us all to overcompensate and say every female rapper is the next coming of Lauryn.
This is the one category that, historically, has proven to be an incredible talent incubator, but the streaming era fucked it over. Once upon a time, a rapper could bubble on DatPiff or Soundcloud, receive favorable coverage, and hopefully parlay that into a career (see Arena Rap). The system worked, with reporters on this beat highlighting rappers with genuine groundswells of support in their communities, for more general music audiences.
Unfortunately, the tyranny of the algorithm now makes it hard to separate astro turfed non-trends from whatâs genuinely popping, and street politics are more treacherous than ever, which has robbed the world of future greats like Pop Smoke, Drakeo The Ruler, Young Slo-Be and many, many more. Youâre still likely to hear great rap music in this category as itâs actually popular with its core audience â Michigan and Stockton take a bow â but itâs harder than ever for this stuff to break through and become genuinely impactful outside of micro scenes: this yearâs exciting new prospects will rarely be next yearâs superstars (or tragically, martyrs). But spare a thought for those that actually make it, as that usually requires crossover material, at which point your average critic will turn on them with unmatched ferocity.
Dance rap is incredibly well suited to Tiktok trends and a new variant will always be waiting in the wings. The latest wave of Jersey Club, in particular, was some of the most fun, teenage-led music in a minute. Whether led by DJs like Uniiqu3 or vocalists like Bandmanrill. Unfortunately, very few dance rappers manage an entire 15 minutes of fame, and that shit kills your knees. Thatâs before we account for European producers jacking the rhythms but removing the raps, ensuring the freshest sounds remain palatable in white spaces, without the originators getting credit. For all the hate that Souljah Boy got in 07â, Iâd love to hear a real equivalent this decade, but Iâll be honest: Iâm convinced the only way for this stuff to crossover would be via an âOldtown Roadâ-esque novelty track merging footwork to polka or some bullshit.
Born of the psychic energy released when Earl Sweatshirtâs third eye opened in Samoa and nourished by MIKEâs tears of joy, the introspective young men are a generation of soft-spoken introverts who love drumless soundscapes and wistfully reflecting on the state of the world and their own mental health. Thatâs not necessarily a bad thing, in a culture that prizes anti-intellectualism Iâm happy to hear out anyone who cares to think deeply, but letâs be real: their wallflower disposition and underdog status ensures their positive reviews remain gushing, as long as they donât get themselves canceled.
Critics once loved Elvis Costello because they looked like him, but today they look like Wish.com Navy Blues. A million streams is a stretch goal for these guys, but they do move high priced vinyl, sell out shows and unlike previous generations of backpack rap, their fanbase, in part, actually looks like them. If Rage Rap is todayâs hair metal, these kids are rap college rock. Iâm a fan, but I wonât hold my breath for their pop moment.
If youâre reading this website, most of your favorites probably belong here. On one side, you have the mighty Roc Marci/Griselda cottage industry of 40+ street rappers selling vinyl and releasing multiple projects that sound like Cuban Linx/The Infamous with the drums removed and the tempo slowed down to the mid 70 BPMs. Their press coverage is almost dried up but thatâs OK: these guys will have a rock-solid cult following as long as Alchemist remains healthy and productive, and their fanbase has plenty of disposable income for 100$ hoodies. On the other, youâve got Backwoodz, an incredible collection of talent bridging the last backpack era to todayâs Introspective Young Men. They deserve every single piece of good press that comes their way, both because the music is great and because thereâs actual nuance and depth to the topics they explore, rather than empty gesturing towards obvious political signifiers.
Does your favorite rapper remember the music industry before the internet? Congratulations, theyâre old and so are you. That doesnât mean someone out of this camp wonât occasionally release some incredible music â LL Cool J just did â but barring Snoop Dogg, I wouldnât expect any of these guys to move the pop culture needle, because to Gen Z, these acts are their grandparentsâ favs.
All of the above categories make sense to me, but Iâm puzzled that this stuff still exists. Every once in a while, a publication will cover what would once have been called hipsters, bluffing their way through poorly written raps over dance beats. Note: this isnât the same thing as actual dance rap, since these acts are the indie equivalent of industry plants. I think they mostly exist because editors think itâs funny to give them higher scores than old head underground rappers, just to see how mad people like me will get.
So how do we fix this? Well, for one, the industry could start investing in their A&R departments to develop talent again, rather than looking towards bogus social indicators, but that wonât happen. Publications could also double down on hiring diverse writers with backgrounds in different disciplines while encouraging them to take risks, but I wouldnât tell a kid to quit making videos to write words unless I wanted to damn them to a life of poverty. Above all, I think itâs down to actual fans of the music to double down on supporting real shit, whether regional heroes, underground rappers that didnât mostly grow up on noise rock or the rare veterans that actually push themselves to deliver music thatâs as exciting as their classics born of youthful energy.
It also means putting our money where our mouth is whenever possible, copping music on Bandcamp or coughing up dough for merch â at least when it isnât sold ridiculously inflated streetwear prices. Believe it or not, we could also use more haters: donât let them sell you a fake rap classic thatâs actually mid, and donât let your favorites off the hook when they try for a corny crossover pivot.
Short term, 2025 will be a bumpy ride, but long term? We got this. Take it from someone born a month before RUN DMCâs first album dropped: you never, ever bet against hip-hop transforming music, no matter what they do to stop it.
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