Pitchfork writer Alphonse Pierre’s rap column covers songs, mixtapes, albums, Instagram freestyles, memes, weird tweets, fashion trends—and anything else that catches his attention.
In a genre where anyone over 30 is at risk of, fairly or unfairly, being labeled as “washed,” it’s a balancing act for rappers to maintain their cultural relevance without watering things down or settling into niche territory. As they enter middle age, they often have to step outside of music to stay visible. The last several weeks have given us a glimpse at the ups and downs of what this can look like, resulting in a mixed bag of nostalgia that can be safe, fun, or just plain weird. Here’s a roundup of recent ventures from veteran rappers who are thriving, adapting, and stumbling through life now that their hitmaking days are mostly behind them.
A day-by-day breakdown of Fat Joe and Remy Ma’s week-long stint as hosts of The Wendy Williams Show
My favorite pastime is watching rappers trying to do things they’re completely unqualified to do. New York lifers Fat Joe and Remy Ma did just that last week, taking over as temporary hosts for gossipy daytime TV mainstay The Wendy Williams Show. I’ll admit it: Their version of the show was kind of riveting to watch—not because it was actually that good, but because they either had such little interest or were so unfamiliar with the usual tabloid fodder that it was basically just them bullshitting on live network television for five days straight. Here are some highlights from their too-brief tenure.
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Remy looks like a stern school principal in her striped blouse and ankle-length skirt, while Fat Joe is rocking what I like to call the Morris Chestnut turtleneck. Their musical chemistry, as heard on hits like “All the Way Up,” translates well to TV: Remy is grounded and insightful, and Joe is a loose cannon. The crowd is into it too, erupting into laughter at everything Joe says, as if he were Richard Pryor in his prime. The duo have a way-too-in-depth discussion about a photo of Joe looking awkward in Yeezy boots that was clowned on the internet a few weeks ago; he tries to be diplomatic about it, but you can tell he’s slightly embarrassed. Next, we get two very important Fat Joe moments: He takes a stance on who should be the heir to Queen Elizabeth’s throne (Prince Charles’ wife Camilla, because she was once a “side chick”) and mentions that he gets free food for life at White Castle—though it’s unclear if it’s a joke or just one of the weird perks of being Fat Joe.
Fat Joe seems very uncomfortable today. His Bottega sneakers have more lift than a pair of six-inch heels, and he has about a dozen chains around his neck that look thicker than master locks. Joe mentions that he couldn’t sleep the night before, so he stayed up watching YouTube videos that were so fucked up he can’t even talk about them. Meanwhile Remy breaks out a pretty decent impersonation of Joe. Then it’s time for what we’ve all been waiting for: Fat Joe breaking down the Oscar nominees. He’s only seen two of the movies but he’s a fan of Don’t Look Up because he can relate to apocalyptic apathy, though he admits that, if the world did come to an end, he would be pissed that he couldn’t drive his Bugatti anymore.
There’s something intoxicating about watching Remy Ma serve extremely elegant shade. She and Fat Joe hit all the life-altering topics of the moment: Hilary Duff’s new boyfriend, Kendall Jenner parking in a handicap spot, the quality of lunches at Beijing’s Olympic Village (Joe claims he ate better in jail). The main takeaways from this episode are that Joe is pretty angry about how many people believe Pete Davidson is hot and that Joe’s love of turtlenecks is too much (this one is black).
To be honest, I mostly dozed off during this episode. But the outfits need to be seen. Remy looks red-carpet ready, and Joe looks like a green apple Jolly Rancher with a Carlos Boozer beard.
Remy wears a massive Frank Lucas fur, as if she were about to film a “Lean Back” remix video instead of a talk show for people stuck in dentist offices nationwide. At one point during a back-and-forth about J.Lo’s recent Rolling Stone cover, Joe gets caught staring at a picture of J.Lo’s ass and tries to play it off with some nonsense about how he’s never attracted to his friends. Remy reacts by doing a fake-puking motion at the thought of someone sleeping with Joe. The crowd is dying of laughter. Joe just wants to go back to bed. I get it. A full week of hosting was way too much, and I now know more about Fat Joe than I ever needed to. Still, it was better than just about anything you can find on the antenna channels at 10 o’clock in the morning.
Ludacris has a cooking show for some reason
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Three episodes of Luda Can’t Cook were uploaded to Discovery Plus this week. It’s an over-produced combination of a bunch of other food shows: There’s the travel and historical component of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations, a Chopped-like end-of-episode competition, and the light tone of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. It’s much worse than any of those shows, though. Mostly because Ludacris lacks the curiosity or charisma to carry it.
It’s hard to understand the appeal of a food show hosted by someone who not only can’t cook but doesn’t even seem to be that interested in the idea of cooking. During the Little Haiti episode, Luda doesn’t contribute much beyond complaining about the physical labor of having to cut through bone with a knife or having to sit in front of a steaming grill. When he inevitably burns the chicken, his only response is a lifeless attempt at a catchphrase he knows will never stick: “That’s Ludacrisp.” Generally, Ludacris’ strategy to succeed as an aging rapper is pretty textbook: Be a safe pair of hands, adaptable in any environment. It’s why he got his own show, and it’s also why that show is so boring.
The LOX aren’t familiar with rock, paper, scissors
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All those losers on the internet are wrong about Mary’s smash hit “On Top,” featuring Fivio Foreign (now streaming on all platforms and available as a Target exclusive compact disc). It is not an abomination or a depressingly late trend-hop, but rather a fantastically original and soulful record. Here are the reasons why.
- Mary is actually a longtime superfan of drill. She knows G Herbo’s “Kill Shit” word for word.
- Off the record: All pictures of famed drill producer 808 Melo on the internet are fake. That’s actually Mary. Yes, she ghost-produced Meet the Woo.
- Mary (queen of the dance break) is spiritually connected to New York drill (which also loves a dance break).
- Let’s be real: How else is Mary supposed to afford to keep adding to her thigh-high boots collection?!
A very dumb prediction: Executive producer Will Smith’s dramatic Fresh Prince reboot will become a sci-fi series
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On the list of shows the world never needed, a gritty remake of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air is somewhere ahead of that sitcom about Method Man and Redman moving to a white suburb and the inevitable fourth Power spinoff 50 Cent has up his sleeve. But I’ve actually been having a good-ass time watching the classic sitcom turn into a CW-ified teen soap opera—probably not for the right reasons, though.
Executive producer Will Smith and showrunner Morgan Cooper believe that they have reimagined the Fresh Prince’s fish-out-of-water premise into an examination about shifting race and class dynamics, but it’s so heavy-handed that I just find it hilarious. The original show took on the same topics without a laughably awful scene like Carlton’s “Hot Nigga” debacle in the pilot. It’s exactly what you’re thinking: Will walks into a room where Carlton is not checking his white lacrosse teammates for dropping the N-word while rapping the Bobby Shmurda hit. Carlton defends his bros and tells Will to kiss his “rich Black ass.” It’s unclear why they turned Carlton into a Xanax-snorting Uncle Ruckus.
The shallowness of the show makes me want to believe my own pretty dumb theory that it’s about to go full Total Recall. Like Arnold Schwarznegger in the 1990 movie, it may be possible that Will has had all his memories wiped and he’s living a completely fake life. My only hint of evidence backing this theory is how the pilot opens with J. Cole’s “No Role Modelz” but pauses the track before the opening line: “First things first, rest in peace Uncle Phil.” Are they trying to tell us that the real Banks family has been dealt with and replaced by government agents? Or maybe Will is not even actually Will and the real Will Smith will show up to help fake new Will find out the real reason he’s been sent to Bel-Air? I guess I’m going to have to keep watching to find out.
Bonus: Did I mention Freeway makes a cameo in the Bel-Air pilot?!
This redux really hammers home the fact that Will is from Philly: In the opening 15 minutes of the pilot we get Will’s cheesesteak order, Will rapping to Meek Mill’s “Dreams and Nightmares,” and, most importantly, a cameo from the city’s own Freeway as a basketball coach. (And no, they didn’t make him clip the beard.)
The reboot we really need is Face/Off with Freddie Gibbs and Don Cheadle
