The Rap-Up: Future and the Art of Shapeshifting

Future hasn’t been himself lately, or at least the version of “himself” we’ve come to recognize over his decade-long reign as one of the most copied and adored songwriters in rap. He’s chopped his dreads down to a blonde-dyed puff, and there are scenes from his latest video where he’s walking around without the signature blackout shades that I could have sworn were welded to his face. But deeper than that, he sounds at peace—an abstract concept for the great bluesman of our time. Being tortured by his own infidelity impulses, drugs, and the memories of homies lost has had Future wailing into his double cup the way Otis Redding once did the ‘Frisco Bay, so to see him admit he wants to live free from the pressures of any “crown” or radio expectations into being some humdrum rich guy is striking.

A quest for normalcy comes for most megastars as they tire of shaping culture; it’s why Michael Jackson built a ferris wheel in his backyard, what sent Frank Ocean into living a hermetic life in Japan, and why Future himself has purchased privacy by shutting down more fashion boutiques and Michelin-starred restaurants than COVID ever did. Maybe between opening the World Cup and acting as a walking billboard for Louis Vuitton, Future yearns to be as boring a guy as any one of us.

His forthcoming album The Real Me could be stories about smoking too much weed and falling asleep watching basketball, but he’ll always be doing it on furniture that goes for high five figures with every woman from this video. No matter how normal he dreams of being, he can never be that again. “Radio” is itself an example of this trap; it’s a fairly forgettable lead single, but it’s melodically infectious the way any of his peak R&B cuts have been. The video is just Future walking around the tropics, but wherever he goes a flock of scantily clad models will always find him. Stardom isn’t an outfit you can take off when you feel done for the day, but a reality you must work to shape to your needs forever.

Radamiz & Caleb Giles: The Art of the Split

I’ve been more conscious of the mediums in which messages are presented, as they are themselves supposed to be a message. When I see Brooklyn wiseman Radamiz splitting songs in half and releasing them as separate videos the way he has with “BC AD” and “It Comes It Goes,” I see a three-pronged concept explored.

For starters, it gives breathing room for every artist’s fantastic verses, each so intimate that the isolation from one another only elevates them, forcing a focus on the words rather than competition. Second, it’s a recognition of the economic strategies needed to make it as an artist. Finally, I see the split as a protest against the way we do things out of habit. Why not try to seize control in how a record is dismembered? Timelines on Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube alike are scrambled based on algorithmic whimsy, so why not seize control of what bite-sized pieces of self get presented?

KIBO and the Modern Cyborg

Leaving your home with multiple devices and a subconscious overloaded with memes, forcibly downloaded social media discourses, and whatever entertainment you’ve streamed the last 24 hours is the standard and not nearly as cool as what Cyberpunk 2077 made it out to be. Yet KIBO makes being a modern cyborg feel freeing. Accepting this postmodern hellscape has given him license to shapeshift into many forms over the years.

On the UK underground internet radio waves, he’s “The Victory Lap Warrior,” compressing a vast vocabulary and schoolboy humor with such cheeky arrogance even Dave and Central Cee have to show praise. As the dark streets of North West London glitch out into Yu-Gi-Oh scenes and millions of swirling pixels, KIBO becomes one with the technorganic fray, a SIM Card Samurai, overpowering and chopping life one line at a time until he hits a new high score.

BabyChiefDoIt and Ksuuvi

While the mercury expands in its glass casing to mark a real feel of 102°F on the East Coast, BabyChiefDoIt reminds us finding love is always a sticky situation. Matching the heat wave with a groovy So So Def Bass All-Stars type-beat, Chief raps into his dangling microphone with conviction toward his “ghetto lover.”

Meanwhile, NYC’s Ksuuvi has deep-fried Lloyd Banks’ 106 & Park classic “Beamer Benz or Bentley” into a paranoid nu-jerk anthem. Hip-Hop’s relationship to cover songs is simple: don’t do it. With that being said, you can leverage some loopholes to get pretty damn close.