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.
The wild flexes of Babyface Ray
Babyface Ray is bored of getting money—or at least that’s what it sounds like when he raps. With a lethargic delivery that feels like he’s stoned in the booth, and a beat selection that veers toward the chiller side of Detroit rap production, Ray’s most memorable lines are centered on how fat his pockets are. His new album FACE is flawed, with several attempts to incorporate commercially appealing ATL rap flair that don’t completely click. (If you want a Ray project that doesn’t dumb down his distinct sound check MIA Season 2 or his For You EP.) But FACE is good for at least one thing: ridiculously lavish flexes.
There’s a formula to a good Babyface Ray flex. It’s not enough to just list off a luxury good—it has to be packaged with a detail that adds a layer of exaggeration to it. On “Same Pain,” it isn’t just that he has a penthouse, but that he uses the penthouse as a closet. On “Go Yard,” it’s not just that he has a Benz, but that he’s pulling up to heaven in it. That’s right: He’s about to stunt on God.
Elsewhere, he brags about having dinner at Ruth’s Chris Steak House every other night (I picture his life to be a lot like that sit down between Tony and Pussy in The Sopranos) and receiving a $250,000 tax return. On “Sincerely Face,” over a sleek piano beat, he says, “That rollie fits my wrist like it’s meant for it.” Throughout the album, he makes it seem as if it were his destiny to get the bag; he wholeheartedly believes that his personal wealth means as much to the world as Neo and Trinity’s love does to The Matrix.
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Most of the guests on the album—Wiz Khalifa, Yung Lean, Pusha T, etc.—don’t share the same spirit. Maybe it’s just a Detroit thing, because Icewear Vezzo goes nuts on the second half of “6 Mile Show”—the funky beat switch up is insane, by the way—boasting about his Dior shades not just because they cost a pretty penny but because their UV protection will make sure he never goes blind. Meanwhile, Ray goes into such detail that you can practically see him flipping through stacks in front of your face: “Man, the money counter still ain’t fast as me.”
There’s no rapper having as much fun as Ray when it comes to artfully exaggerating precisely how much cash he has at his disposal. Yes, I do wish FACE didn’t sacrifice his signature sound while trying to make him the breakout star Detroit is waiting on. But hey, I get it, these rare steaks and trips to Neiman Marcus aren’t funding themselves.
Throwback rapper-movie corner: 2005’s Four Brothers
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Depending on how broadly you use the term “rapper,” there are anywhere between one and a few of them in John Singleton’s Detroit-based action-thriller Four Brothers. I would say there is one and a half. Disqualified are Tyrese (the horny military brat brother), who is firmly an R&B singer, and Mark Wahlberg (the life long criminal brother), because I would rather not engage with Marky Marky and the Funky Bunch. Terrence Howard (not one of the brothers but a detective fighting against them) counts as half because ever since Hustle & Flow he’s convinced himself that he actually is the aspiring Memphis MC DJay (check his cameo at the Three 6 Mafia vs. Bone Thugs Verzuz if you don’t believe me). And of course, the one true rapper is André 3000 (the quiet, thoughtful brother) in one of his earliest roles.
Tons of plot holes and questionable character decisions aside, Four Brothers is a pretty sick movie. The brothers are forced to reunite in Detroit after their sweet adoptive mother is killed by professionals and a conspiracy unfolds. We get lots of standard action-movie shit as three of the brothers (the fourth is Garrett Hedlund) storm through the city with loaded guns and tons of gasoline, torturing and interrogating anyone who may have been involved. André preaches forgiveness and caution until abruptly dropping the moralizing toward the end. The best parts are when the guys simply rip on each other, bonding through brutally tormenting low-level criminals and an occasional hockey game (though I don’t buy Tyrese as a capable hockey player).
Outside of Ernest Dickerson, no other director has given rappers the opportunity to stunt on the big screen without watering themselves down like Singleton—from Ice Cube in Boyz n the Hood to Tupac in Poetic Justice to Busta Rhymes in Higher Learning. Similarly you can see why André became an acting mainstay after Four Brothers. Despite his role as the dude in the badass action movie who’s constantly trying to convince everyone to stop being badass, his calming aura is a grounding presence in a film where everyone is out of their fucking minds.
Singleton uses rap to bring Four Brothers’ location to life as well. On top of making Detroit look like a frozen tundra—everyone is bundled up with leathers, furs, gloves, beanies, and newsboy hats—early-2000s Detroit rap like Blade Icewood’s “Ride Out” and Eastside Chedda Boyz’s timeless “Oh Boy” can be heard in the background. These choices may seem small but they’re part of what elevates a potentially run-of-the-mill thriller into a movie that keeps me coming back more than 15 years later.
Cam’ron’s rejuvenated Funk Flex freestyle
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Usually when rappers pull up to the Funk Flex show to kick a freestyle, it’s to promote a new album. But last week Cam dropped in with jars of PinkHorsePower, a supplement he’s selling online that’s designed to “empower man’s sexual intimacy by helping to improve stamina and libido.” Sounds about right.
Surprisingly, though, instead of coming through with a lazy verse about his tax breaks, he laid down one of his best verses in years. I’m not sure what gave him the motivation. Maybe it was due to Dipset’s embarrassing defeat to the LOX during their Verzuz battle, or maybe he chugged a jar of PinkHorsePower before hitting the booth. He sounds as cocky as ever rattling off bars about the home he supposedly owns in Idaho, his second life as an Only Fans manager, and selling weight in expensive clothes out of parking lots, all while tossing off pop culture references that hit everything from Kenan & Kel to Ozark to The Matrix. He’s still got it.
T9ine: “Flick Me Up”
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T9ine’s voice sounds raw even with Auto-Tune, which makes listening to his moody, melody-driven raps feel invasive. On “Flick Me Up,” the Tampa rapper sounds over it all, delivering every line with an audible sigh. Over a smooth vocal sample, he coos the opening line, “I’m tryna’ figure out the right time to tell you how I feel about you.” Later, he states his case plainly: “Told me that she love me, I didn’t even understand her.” He makes talking about your emotions sound stressful.
Why do rappers keep name-checking NBA player Tony Snell?
This week, while listening to the latest punchline marathon by Oakland duo 1100 Himself and Mitchell, I learned that NBA forward Tony Snell is now on the Portland Trail Blazers. “I’ll blaze your whole trail up like I’m Tony Snell,” raps 1100 Himself. Even as a faithful NBA viewer, I didn’t know Tony Snell’s current situation, because he is a mostly forgettable journeyman. Plus, there’s about 10 other players on the Blazers that should have been referenced before Tony Snell (Lillard?! McCollum?! Hell, Robert freaking Covington?!). Weirdly, this isn’t the first time a rapper has name-checked him.
The earliest one that comes to mind is back in 2015, when Chief Keef dropped “Sosa Chamberlain.” On the back half of the song, Keef raps, “Come out the cut like Snell, I gotta add a three.” I guess Tony Snell was a young player on the Chicago Bulls at the time, so Keef thinking of him makes some sense. Next, my mind races to Milwaukee crooner Mari Boy Mula Mar’s “Tony Snell,” a great song made even better by Mula Mar wailing “Tony Snellll” through thick Auto-Tune. Back then Snell was putting up six points a game for the Bucks, so there is a little logic there too. But this last one has no rhyme or reason. On 2020’s “Law N Order,” Veeze dickishly raps, “My lil nigga black and ugly, shoot look like Tony Snell.” I mean, I get it: It’s pretty easy to rhyme just about anything with the name Tony Snell, but it has officially gone too far.
Nuk: “Kolor Money”
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Nuk is one of the funniest rappers in Detroit, a city filled with MCs that are funnier than pretty much anyone on SNL. Singling out a specific punchline on his track “Kolor Money” is difficult because the majority are clever and ridiculous, but the opening line is particularly absurd: “My bitch keep sayin’ I’m the shit/She want to TP me.” It’s what Nuk does best—taking what should be derivative and adding a small detail to it that lingers in your mind. His wordplay is so consistent (“I don’t let my nephew color books ’cause we got color money”) and hilarious (“When these people see me talk to dogs they think I’m Eddie Murphy”) that it makes you wonder what his process is. Does he have a Notes app full of discarded jokes? Or are we just hearing what’s coming off the top of his head? Either way, it works.
BoofPaxkMooky: “Anything But a Bag”
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Just about every week there’s a different BoofPaxkMooky leak, feature, or single on SoundCloud that I play into the dirt. This time around it’s “Anything But a Bag,” a song where the North Carolina rapper hits a robotic falsetto over an incredibly soothing plugg beat (you could probably meditate to it). The lyrics are his usual fare about getting the bag, smoking good weed, and stunting on haters, but the real appeal is the trance-inducing vibes. You can hear them in the way he rolls over the song’s undeniable melody with his pitched-up voice, providing an instant hit of dopamine with each croon.
