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.
Ice Spice and the meaning of munch
There are three burning questions in New York City right now: Why won’t these lanternflies die? Why doesn’t Mayor Eric Adams just go inside and do his job? And perhaps most importantly, what the hell is a munch? I’m particularly concerned with that last one at the moment.
“Munch (Feelin U)” is the latest single from Bronx rapper Ice Spice, and it’s quickly become one of the New York drill songs of the summer. The hook goes like this: “You thought I was feelin’ you?/That nigga a munch.” It has been on loop in my head for weeks. What does it really mean, though? The answer: Not much, but also, maybe everything. A surface reading is that she used some dude for her own satisfaction, then threw him to the curb. “Nigga a eater, he ate it for lunch,” she raps. But I like to think of “munch” as a more amorphous term for a loser, a hater, a fool, a certified bozo. Ice Spice probably called Drake a munch when they recently hung out in Toronto, and he most likely replied, “Yeah, true.”
Ice Spice recorded her first song, a lightweight drill track called “Bully Freestyle,” 18 months ago. She began rapping seriously through a relationship built with producer RiotUSA when they were both attending SUNY Purchase, just north of the city. (The beatmaker is also the son of Hot 97’s DJ Enuff.) Her tracks are like little bursts of personality: As of this writing, she only has a handful of songs out, and nearly all of them are less than two minutes long. She has a deep yet calm voice, a diversion from the growling flows so popular in Bronx drill, and her lyrics are mostly a string of feel-good flexes. You can tell she didn’t grow up battling or freestyling all that much, and sometimes it can seem like she’s reading off flashcards, but there’s a smooth New York cool to her delivery that makes up for what she lacks technically.
Before “Munch” she was already on her way to becoming a fixture of the current New York drill scene, along with a wave of women who are leaving their stamp. Her “On the Radar Freestyle” is one of the best of that series, and her fluffy Little Orphan Annie hairstyle is instantly recognizable. She’s also become a hot topic for rap fans who whine and stomp their feet whenever a woman twerks or raps about their sexuality—you know, the same misogynistic shit that has happened to everyone from Lil’ Kim to Cardi B. Well, they need to give it a rest. Stop being some damn munches.
Is Real Boston Richey, Florida’s hottest new rapper, just coasting off co-signs?
If you let Real Boston Richey tell it, becoming a poppin’ rapper is about as easy as ordering toilet paper on Amazon. One night around this time last year, he recorded a track for the first time and thought it was pretty solid. So he just kept going. Last October, he released his first video, for “Big YIC,” which sounds like an airy Kodak Black song. By his third video, for March’s “Keep Dissing,” there were already rumors that he had been taken under Future’s wing, which turned out to be true.
Influenced by the naturalistic melodies of Kodak, the ruthlessness of drill, and the upbeat sound of Michigan, Real Boston Richey’s music is a snapshot of Florida rap right now. It’s fascinating how so many rappers in the scene have gravitated toward Michigan-style beats, though it makes sense—Florida is the home of fast music, and Michigan rappers know a thing or two about brisk tempos. Generally, though, Real Boston Richey’s music is the flattened version of this sound.
He raps about trapping, sleeping around, and popping gas-station dick pills, but his punchlines aren’t that colorful, and his flow doesn’t have many wrinkles to it. Compared to his peers in today’s rich Florida rap scene, Richey’s delivery is undercooked. (Listen to Loe Shimmy’s “Not the Same” or Papo Chiefin and Lil Marty’s “Face Lift” and tell me they’re not way more interesting!)
There are some solid tracks on his debut mixtape, Public Housing—the hard-hitting “Don’t Get Me Started” and the fiery “Dawggy”—but none of it is that distinctive. I’m not saying that Real Boston Richey is only a product of co-signs, but hey, photos with Kanye West, and a tape loaded with guest verses by Lil Durk, and Kodak Black, and Future doesn’t hurt. Popularity may have come easy for him, but his rapping would benefit from a little more grind.
What’s in Lil Baby’s man cave?
For a brief second in Untrapped: The Story of Lil Baby, the new Amazon documentary about the Atlanta rapper’s rise, there is a glimpse of a flashing sign in his home that reads “Lil Baby’s man cave.” They don’t actually show the man cave, so I naturally had to imagine what was in it myself...
- A framed photo of Lil Baby and Gunna on Baby’s homemade wood coffee table (in this hypothetical Lil Baby is into woodworking)
- The first pair of jeans Mike Amiri ever made hanging on the wall
- A snack food vending machine but with the candy replaced with strains of weed
- A 42-inch TV off in the corner that only plays Lil Baby music videos
- A chalkboard with an alternate dimension portal like in Chalkzone (I’m convinced every rich person has one of these)
Throwback rapper movie corner: the Game in 2006’s Waist Deep
Hot off lead roles in three John Singleton movies between 2001 and 2005, Tyrese was convinced that he was a great actor. He’s so serious in Waist Deep that he’s completely unserious. The movie doesn’t do him any favors; it’s unstylish, unoriginal, and boring. Written and directed by Vondie-Curtis Hall, who also helmed Gridlock’d and Mariah Carey’s Glitter, it’s a bootleg Bonnie and Clyde where Tyrese and Meagan Good pull off some half-assed heists to pay the ransom for Tyrese’s kidnapped son. The kidnapper is a gang lord played by the Game, whose character has the most uncool name ever: Big Meat.
Well, Big Meat is big mean—he has one eye and likes to chop off his enemies’ hands with a machete. He doesn’t actually do much but stare at people super hard, and at no point does anyone ask him, “Why go with the name Big Meat?” Somehow, the Game is shittier than Tyrese in this movie, because at least Tyrese is unintentionally funny. Still, the Game’s role in Waist Deep makes me nostalgic for a time when it was common for any hot rapper to get their shot in a genre flick. We need more Big Meats.
Big Homie Dre Cash: “Waiting 4 Industry”
Big Homie Dre Cash’s use of Auto-Tune has so much feeling to it that he could make a half-off birthday card sound deep. On “Waiting 4 Industry,” even his coos in the background are heart-wrenching. He hardly sings in the verses, instead just talking about his dreams while the Auto-Tune is turned up to the max, like he’s too exhausted to do anything more. The gloomy mood is emphasized by a melodramatic piano beat and cover art of him standing in the rain. Auto-Tune wasn’t supposed to be used like this, but I’m glad that is.
Mixtape of the week: DB.Boutabag’s I’m Not Rappin
The artwork for I’m Not Rappin is amazing. Illustrated by Gallery Provence, it features Sacramento rapper DB.Boutabag taking a dump while he smokes a blunt and records raps. The pun is that he does not simply spit bars but he shit talks, a point he harps on again and again on a mixtape that’s not as memorable as its cover but is still pretty good.
Yeah, this is fairly low-stakes rapping; all punchlines about how DB.Boutabag gets more money than you and will steal your girl without trying over a selection of lean yet bouncy West Coast instrumentals. His voice rarely budges from a too-cool-to-care monotone, which often makes his punchlines so much funnier: “Y’all a group of a 10 niggas in the club with no section,” he raps on “Don’t Choke,” and on “Salty” he asks, “How this nigga trappin’ with no car? Get yo’ shit straight.” Shit talking for real.
TRL: “On It”
TRL is like that college basketball team who you swear would make a final four run if they weren’t on the same side of the bracket as Duke and Kansas. The collective has dropped a number of fun, lightning-quick posse cuts in the last few years but remain somewhat under-the-radar amid the jam-packed Detroit rap scene. “On It” is true to their signature, near-breathless style: In under three minutes, they pack in five verses from five rappers that all bleed into each other. None of TRL’s members really stick out individually, but together the relentless pace and number of bag-chasing punchlines is exhausting in the best way.
Luh Tyler: “I Gotta Slide”
Luh Tyler raps about everything you would expect a teenager to rap about—weed, Instagram models, Cobra Kai—but his slow, croaking delivery stands out. At times the Tallahassee rapper sounds like Trapland Pat at half speed, and at other times he’s lethargic enough to feel like a PG-13 Veeze. “I Gotta Slide” is a solid introduction to his small catalog thus far. His punchlines are somewhat simple, but they’re delivered so smoothly that they feel profound. I particularly like the moments when his voice cracks or sounds dry, vulnerabilities that make the lines stick in your mind. As is the norm in Florida rap, listen to the fast remix for the full experience.
