 does is intricately detailed. He seems to care much more than the average emcee, and throughout this entire production, I felt his strong desire to get it right. The weight was lifted from his shoulders at the midway point of the set as he turned to his band, saying, "We're pretty hot guys. We're pretty fucking hot." In this performance, recorded weeks before the release of his now widely praised third studio album, 

the East Atlanta native performs songs from the album live for the first time, plus career-defining songs in ways we've never heard before. 

The origin of JID makes up the puzzle pieces in 

. It's the story of a kid with derailed football dreams, searching for purpose until it found him. These are tales that many kids from the inner city can relate to — but what sets JID's story apart is that nobody raps like him. His music casts a wide net, considering history, family and hometown, and connecting with hip-hop enthusiasts and music nerds alike. 

In these stripped-down versions of songs like "Never" and "Surround Sound," the focus is on how JID can manipulate pitch, bend words and hop from one cadence to another. After he playfully cuts the "Usher tension," he and his stacked band and backup singers close with the powerful and spiritual "Kody Blu 31."

{"type":"doc","content":[{"type":"paragraph","content":[{"text":"","type":"text"}]}]}

Bobby Carter

The East Atlanta emcee brings a serious attention to detail to this stripped-down performance of tracks from his new album plus some earlier career-defining songs. 


Courtesy of NPR

JID: Tiny Desk Concert

 likely won't trouble the upper reaches of the 

 Hot 100 — but that's not its reason for existing. Instead, the album by revered Los Angeles producer Alchemist and Long Island crime rhyme auteur Roc Marciano is a nourishing reminder that artists who stay authentic to their core values can make the long game work and ride out sub-genre impact and regional movements. Eventually, like-minded souls meet. In the case of Alchemist and Marciano, it has been an epic, intersecting journey across eras, and, rewardingly, the culmination of their respective efforts is the record they've both been inching towards their entire careers.

 is a testament to a couple of hip-hop long haulers who've never wavered from their creative ethics, even if at times those ethics seemed out of sync with hip-hop's prevailing ethos. Both artists experienced early career misfires. Alchemist debuted in the 1990s as one half of the group the Whooliganz alongside the actor Scott Caan. (Going by the name Mudfoot, he also rapped.) Despite counting on the patronage of Cypress Hill, the group's singles fizzled out, and they were dropped by their label, Tommy Boy. For his part, Marciano was invited to join Busta Rhymes's Flipmode Squad towards the tail end of the same decade. The chemistry didn't totally gel. Undeterred, Marciano reformed as part of the hyper rugged quartet the UN. The group's debut album, 

, was recorded and released in 2004 under the guidance of renowned New York producer Pete Rock, but from its inception the project seemed destined to be an under-appreciated thug-rap gem rather than a breakthrough moment.

At these respective career junctures, both Alchemist and Marciano found the inner conviction to throw off their negative industry experiences and recommit to their core beliefs. Holed up on opposite coasts, they became parallel figures gradually moving towards what would eventually emerge as an influential shared sonic goal.

Alchemist put faith in mastering the art of mercurial mid-tempo beats that emphasize the dramatic flair of a sampled loop and use deft minimalism to convey high drama. An Alchemist beat is exactly the sort of thing to soundtrack a rain-flecked back-alley scene in a noir gangster flick. Yet, crucially, Alchemist managed to co-exist in multiple rap worlds, during a period in the late '90s and early '00s when hip-hop was in the midst of a civil war. Fevered debates kicked off about the true essence of hip-hop and the relationship between art and commerce. A generation of book-smart independent artists fronted by Talib Kweli and Mos Def were pitched against a gaggle of glitzy rappers corralled by Sean "Puffy" Combs; in the alley, a coterie of unrepentant goon rappers stood out of sight scowling at the whole shebang. Alchemist wound up soundtracking each space. You'd just as likely hear him backing L.A. underground scene favorites Dilated Peoples or stalwarts of the indie label Rhymesayers as bolstering the cutthroat Queensbridge narratives of Mobb Deep and Infamous Mobb. As the 2000s unfurled, Alchemist's production was increasingly sought after by Top 40 mainstays, including Nelly, Snoop Dogg and Lil Wayne. Everyone, it seemed, loved an Alchemist beat.

While Alchemist was establishing a web of connections across various levels of the industry, Marciano was readying his self-produced 2010 album, 

 The album reinvigorated a wave of New York rappers struggling with identity issues, and, it can be argued, transformed him into the most influential New York underground artist of the last decade. At the time, the hip-hop scene was defined by the splintering influence of rap A-listers: Drake's melodious, R&B-tinged 

, and Kanye West's expansive electronic-influenced 

. New York rappers committed to the tenets of a boom-bap gospel appeared out of step with the wider world. Marciano, apparently, didn't care. He shrugged and dropped an unapologetic record that resonated as an elevated take on a local standard. Set to an evocatively gloomy backdrop, Marciano laced grit-sodden thug rap talk with the unruffled patter of '70s pimp flicks. His penchant for forming verses around tense vignettes, rather than drawn-out, prescribed narratives, imbued the album with a palpable — and at times frightening — realism. The MC's vow to dump enemy bodies in the Hudson River on "Ridin' Around" is appropriately chilling. 

Marciano's lyrical menace was enhanced by the quiet storm method of keeping the drums deliberately hushed in the mix — or, in some cases, absent from a song entirely. The formula didn't catch on immediately, but it eventually inspired a stream of artists who realized that muted sonics could amplify the power of their words. It's certainly hard to imagine the breakthrough success of the Griselda stable of rappers happening without Marciano paving the way. Call it maxed-out minimalism.

project, Marciano encapsulated his influence with hindsight: "The aim was the lane of Rakim and Kane / The landscape changed when I went against the grain / N****s wasn't quick to embrace, no / I could've did the same but I didn't hate / I just did my thing and prayed, eventually sh** went my way." More recently, he put it bluntly, on "Stigmata" from 

: "I've been inspiring these donkeys for a mother****in' decade straight." Adding credence to the MC's claims, ?uestlove once 

 at the Alchemist, in 2012, that he'd enjoyed his "best hip-hop debate" with Jay Z about the merits of 

As the 2010s progressed, Alchemist and Marciano started to notch a small but key number of collaborations. They were kindred spirits, relying on the power of restraint to convey an abiding sense of peril. The Alchemist-produced "Flash Gordon," from Marciano's 2012 

 album, is a marvel of clipped drums and a haunting piano refrain; "Hoard 90," from Alchemist and Oh No's 

 project on Stones Throw, co-starred Marciano flowing over a wormy guitar loop and coming off like a psychedelic-enhanced thug rap lord.

The two artists' creative foils increasingly overlapped too. The caliber of MCs that followed in Marciano's stylistic footsteps were a natural fit for Alchemist's beats — the producer crafted full-length outings for a roster of artists headed up by gourmand rap personality Action Bronson (2012's 

: James taut corner dispatches fortify the eerily humming "Trillion Cut," while Bronson embraces the scuzz funk of "Daddy Kane" by quipping how "ya boy looking like a mother****in' stegosaurus." Nodding to the pimp-culture heritage of Marciano's verses, Ice-T narrates the grisly organ-infused "The Horns Of Abraxas." (Spoiler: The rotting smell coming from the trunk of Marciano's car is not expired food.)

gives the impression of two artists from different geographical backgrounds journeying at their own pace to meet a mutual musical summit. Marciano's lyrical threats are delivered in typically unruffled fashion and laced with insouciance. "My dude on the roof, he ain't bring a fiddle / The feds might have bugged the rental / We speak in riddles / Left your vehicle riddled / Your femur break easy as peanut brittle," raps the MC over the simmering atmospherics of "Zip Guns," before delivering a dose of trademark arrogance: "Blow a kiss at your miss at the vigil / I'm a cruel individual." Alchemist's refined beats are a lesson in drumming up emotion through moderation. Opener "Rubber Hand Grip" is powered by a series of kick drums that play the role of an ominous metronome signaling impending danger; reflective album closer "Think Big" sounds surprisingly tender, considering Marciano's tributes to the Notorious B.I.G. are backed by a loop of a colony of seagulls mewing. The production is expertly distilled, sometimes delightfully wonky, and often mutedly weird; even more left-of-center than the Alchemist-produced Armand Hammer album, 

. No sound is needlessly overused. Each artist leans into the other's strength. By now, Roc Marciano understands that subtlety can speak volumes, and the Alchemist knows you don't always need to strike hard to land a deadly blow.  

Phillip Mlynar

Holed up on opposite coasts, Roc Marciano and the Alchemist, two key figures in underground rap, have been gradually moving toward a shared sonic goal, reaching an apex with their new album.


Two men stand together holding hands ver 2

Castro Clifton

Hoard 90

Roc Marciano & The Alchemist - "Stigmata"

'The Elephant Man's Bones' is the culmination of two careers

LEON, Mexico — I'm at a concert in Leon, the largest city in the Mexican state of Guanajuato — a region with a rich, but tragic history. The land surrounding this concert was once the epicenter of global silver production in the 18th century, when tens of thousands of Indigenous families were forced to toil in its deadly mines.

Fast forward a couple of centuries, and the descendants of those people that kept the global economy churning for so long are now gathering to be entertained by a musical legend.

The Puerto Rican rapper, Residente, is recognized for being a groundbreaking, genre-bending artist. But he's also known as a leader in Latin American political thought who is well versed in the region's history. 

"He has a little bit of everything: Fun lyrics and a more political side, but he's able to combine them very well," says long-time fan Abraham Morales at the concert.

Residente has been making hits for more than 15 years; first as the vocalist for the hip hop group Calle 13, and now as a solo artist. He's sold millions of albums and holds the record for most Latin Grammy Awards with 27.

At concerts like this one in Leon, Residente's fans sing along to every song, from the biggest hits to the most obscure, middle-of-the-album songs. His cult-like following keeps him on the concert trail, even though he hasn't dropped an album since his solo debut in 2017. I asked Residente where he sees himself right now.

"I'm writing for fun," Residente tells me. "I'm tired of touring. I like the people. I hate flying."

"Sometimes I enjoy the concerts and sometimes I don't enjoy them at all." 

Residente, 44, says he's reached a reflective point in his life. This shines through in his 2020 single "René." In it, he discusses the killing of his childhood best friend at the hands of Puerto Rican police, his struggles with depression and alcohol, and his recent divorce. 

"Nobody believed that it was going to be a hit because it's eight minutes," Residente says. "And it went viral and everyone liked it and everyone was listening to it, and it's eight minutes — and it's just me over a piano."

"René" became a surprise smash for Residente – its music video has more than 260 million views on YouTube. It was supposed to be the first song off of his new album, but then the pandemic hit, and things got delayed. As of now, he's hoping to release this new album by the end of the year, and to do a proper tour in 2023.

While some of Residente's recent music is autobiographical, he has also begun battling rival rappers in highly publicized duels.

"But then I learned, man, I'm not going to be all my life answering to all these people," Residente says.

But he isn't following his own advice. Just last week, he responded to a diss track by fellow Puerto Rican rapper, Cosculluela, by releasing his response two days later. At time of publication, "Cosquillita" has nearly 8 million listens on YouTube, just three days after the song was released.

Although battling rappers is a scuffle that Residente thoroughly enjoys, most of his energy has been expended on much larger opponents — social phenomena in Latin America, particularly economic inequities, political persecution, and the often hostile role that the United States has played in the region. 

"This is Not America" continues in this tradition by questioning the United States' adoption of the word "American."

"Everyone is American on this continent," Residente says. "And it's how they took the word and made it for them," he adds. "It's like another way of colonization." 

The video for "This is Not America" gorily depicts the violence inflicted by U.S.-backed regimes in Argentina, Chile, and Colombia, as well as the CIA-directed death squads who massacred entire communities throughout Central America.

Note: This music video includes graphic depictions of violence that some might find objectionable.

"All the things I'm presenting are the collateral damages that the U.S. created in Latin America," Residente says.

Puerto Rico, a U.S. territory and Residente's home country, is always at the forefront of his mind when he writes and performs. As a result, he says he's received death threats and that he was even banned from performing on the island.

"I know I opened a door for artists to say things," Residente states. "I said to Luis Fortuno, 'He's a motherf*****,'" Residente asserts, speaking of Puerto Rico's former governor. "I got censored for four years. (Bad Bunny) said the same thing a week or two ago, and he was a hero. But at the time that I said it, maybe people weren't ready for that."

Today, it appears that Puerto Rico is ready. After decades of registering just 5% or less of gubernatorial votes, the two independence-minded parties on the island combined to reach nearly a third of votes in the 2020 general election. 

And if recent viral videos of protests on the island are any indication, the nationalist movement only seems to be gaining momentum. I asked Residente whether he thinks he'll see the day when Puerto Rico is an independent country, something he's yearned for throughout his adult life.

"I think so," Residente says. "Now more than ever, it's right there, knocking at the door."


Whether or not that day does come, Residente seems determined to keep pushing for it. In the meantime, his fans will continue to sing along.


Enrique Rivera

Puerto Rican rapper Residente is ready for his biggest fight yet – challenging the meaning of America. "Everyone is American on this continent," he says. 


Listen to the Story

Bridget Bennett

Kevin Winter/Getty Images

Ezequiel Becerra/AFP via Getty Images

Residente - René (Official Video)

Residente - Cosquillita (Audio)

Residente - This is Not America (Official Video) ft. Ibeyi

Puerto Rican rapper Residente is challenging the definition of 'America'

Carbon Sound went to the Amsterdam Bar & Hall in St. Paul to talk with the fans about what makes Ken Carson and Destroy Lonely special.

 are two up-and-coming rappers from Georgia. Signed to Playboi Carti’s Opium label imprint, the two rappers share his avant-garde approach to rap.

The two artists are known for their ravenous fanbases. Although there are a lot of shared fans between the two, there are those who heavily prefer one to the other and won’t hesitate to let you know.

Fans were excited to see the duo and shared their thoughts before and after the show with Carbon Sound, a few even sang the songs themselves.

Tune in to Carbon Sound to hear tracks like 

 to watch more fan reviews and future in-studio performances.

Julian Green built and manages the music library for Carbon Sound and oversees content creation.  


Julian Green

Liam Armstrong

Carbon Sound went to the Amsterdam Bar & Hall in St. Paul to talk with the fans about what makes Ken Carson and Destroy Lonely special.


Ken Carson & Destroy Lonely LIVE - Fans Review

Each week, we add new music, older tracks, which are known as “Gold adds”, and tracks that might not fit our general format, but still deserve a place in rotation because they serve our mission of showing the depth, breadth, and influence of Black musical expression - These are known as “Variety adds.”

We’re sharing this to get you excited to listen and to open up the floor for feedback and suggestions. If you want to request a song, 

. If you make music and want it considered for rotation, 

 If you want to give feedback directly, reach out to me at jgreen@mpr.org.

If you want to know what the track sounds like, scroll down to find Spotify playlists for the new, Gold, and Variety adds. Don’t forget to 

This week on The Message on Carbon Sound, Sanni will be exploring the elements of hip-hop and wrapping up on Thursday with an hour of all local musicians. Tune in Mon-Thurs from 10a - 1p to hear Sanni live!

This week we've added some classic jungle and drum n' bass tracks to make our overnight playlist even spicier. Most of them aren't on Spotify, so the links you see will take you to YouTube. One of my personal favorites is "Share The Fall". 

The music video for the track is amazing.

“Sunshine” feat. Lil Wayne & Childish Gambino

“Snap Yo Fingers” feat. E-40 & Sean Paul

“Heartbreaker” feat. Missy Elliott & Da Brat

“Let's Ride” feat. Silkk The Shocker & Master P

“Stankonia (Stanklove)” feat. Big Rube & Sleepy Brown

Soundman & Don Llyodie - “Greater Love”

All of the tracks added to rotation on Carbon Sound the week of September 5, 2022.


Natalia Toledo

New Music on Carbon Sound - Week of September 5, 2022

, which will put the spotlight on five emerging artists who are carving new paths with their distinct points of view. 

is the vocalist and songwriter Samara Joy, an artist now in full bloom who was nurtured as a seedling by her tight-knit family and community in the Bronx. Car rides to school were filled with the sounds and stories of her parents' childhoods — musicians like Heat Wave, The Sylvers and 

 narrated a countless number of them. Joy's parents recognized her gift at a young age, supporting a childhood dream of becoming an actress. Stepping into different characters pushed her outside of her comfort zone and challenged her creatively; it was an early lesson on how to embody another and how to add color and complexity to a story that may not be your own. 

Joy blurred the boundaries between theater and jazz as she took on the challenge of embodying vocalists like 

, while creating a distinct style of her own. Her former professor, 

, feels similarly. "If you can trade with an Ella Fitzgerald, you're fine. You're on your way. She took the baton and ran with it, she's like the Flo Jo of jazz."  

In this episode we'll hear highlights of a live set at Dizzy's Club, an unreleased track from her forthcoming record, 

and Joy's perspective on how her musicianship has developed after releasing her debut album, 

"​​I'm looking forward to singing standards of a different era, but hopefully finding the work that will become standards. There are wonderful songwriters out there still doing it, and I hope to do that as well."

Samara Joy, vocals; Tardo Hammer, piano; Ari Roland, bass; Keith Balla, drums.

Writer and Producers: Alex Ariff, with Trevor Smith and Sarah Geledi; Assistant producer: Donelle Wedderburn; Host: Christian McBride; Consulting editor: Katie Simon; Concert engineer: Rob Macomber; Episode Mix: Ron Scalzo; Project Manager: Suraya Mohamed; Vice President of Visuals and Strategy at NPR Music: Keith Jenkins; Executive Producers: Anya Grundmann and Gabrielle Armand.

Special thanks to Taylor Perry, Chris Mees and Matt Peirson.

Donelle Wedderburn

Alex Ariff

Jazz Night In America puts the spotlight on Samara Joy, a young vocalist and songwriter who is taking cues from the past to create music that is both classic and contemporary.


Courtesy of artist

Meredith Truax

Youngbloods: Vocalist Samara Joy

 way they respect you." A shock of neon in an otherwise beige studio, it's 2010 and 

 is ranting. She's noticed that when guys like her mentor, 

, act like divas, it goes differently than when she does. "When I am assertive, I'm a bitch. When a man is assertive, he's a boss!" she goes on, her dopey boyfriend nodding along from the couch. Her theater-kid roots are showing as she performs an impression of 

-era Donald Trump, a man who gets what he wants when he wants it. "But when you're a girl, you have to be, like... 

. You have to be dope at what you do, but you have to be super sweet, and you have to be sexy, and you have to be this, and you have to be that, and you have to be nice, and you have to..." But then, she's ashamed. There's a camera crew filming all this for a documentary, and the Nicki Minaj who looks like an acid-trip Barbie and just delivered the hardest rap verse of the past decade (on 

's "Monster") isn't supposed to stress about this stuff. "Don't use this footage, please," she says. "It's just gonna make me look stupid."

If you'd asked me then what feminism meant to me, I'd have sent you a link to that 

. This was the beginning of an era that often conflated female empowerment with female entrepreneurship, when people got very excited about concepts of female corporate supremacy repackaged as activist fantasies. Looking back at the supposedly uplifting pop culture artifacts of that time, there's a lot to cringe at. But that Minaj speech still gets to me, because it's clear how much the topic weighs on her, and because I know what happens next. With four platinum records and more Hot 100 hits than any woman in history other than 

, she will become the most commercially successful and creatively influential female rapper of all time, and she will have earned it. For a few years, she'll have a legitimate claim to the title of best rapper alive; for a few more years, she'll blur the lines between rap and pop and performance art with such fearless panache that even her critical flops will feel like breakthroughs, her most tossed-off guest verses more interesting than some of her peers' entire catalogs. For the better part of a decade, Nicki simply existing as Nicki — an oddball perfectionist outworking everyone to shatter rap's glass ceiling — felt like a radical act. Along the way, things changed: rap, the internet, fandom, feminism. Maybe Minaj did, too.

Last month, Minaj achieved another milestone: her latest single, a fun Rick James flip called "Super Freaky Girl," debuted at No. 1 on the 

 chart, the first time a female rapper's done so solo since Lauryn Hill's "Doo Wop (That Thing)" in 1998. That this was a first for Minaj seemed odd. Doesn't it feel like that ought to have happened years ago — maybe with 2014's super-viral "Anaconda," the new song's obvious predecessor? It could've been any number of the career-spanning hits she tore through Sunday night at the VMAs — the charmingly weird "Super Bass," the villainous "Chun-Li," the totally bugged-out "Roman's Revenge" — where she co-hosted with Jack Harlow and received this year's Video Vanguard Award. Accepting her trophy in pink sequins and ice-blue contacts that gave the effect of a sexy, scary baby, Minaj appeared almost shy. "I wrote this down, I don't know why, y'all, but this was in my spirit to say," she read breathlessly from her phone. "I wish that Whitney Houston and Michael Jackson were here. I wish people understood what they meant and what they were going through. I wish people took mental health seriously, even for the people you think have the perfect lives."

In her most revealing moments — that sad video from 2010, a weirdly contentious 

 in 2015 that painted Minaj as a drama queen, or an 

 about a near-death experience tucked into a 2014 BET Awards speech that felt like a cry for help — it has often seemed that Minaj is profoundly unhappy, even at the top of her game. I associate her career's peak with the years between 

 (her most underrated record, with indescribably bonkers vocal performances on tracks like "Stupid Hoe" and "Come on a Cone" alongside some fun experiments in dance-pop) and 2014's emotionally raw 

, an album with a startling number of references to pill popping, even for that moment. Those were contentious times, with culture wars waged over Nicki's duality. She spent the period effectively closing the case as far as her pandering to a teenybopper audience, or so said old heads like Hot 97's Peter Rosenberg. The radio personality, who had proclaimed that "Starships" was "not real hip-hop," later emphasized that the "Starships" chicks were being sidelined during Minaj's headlining set at the 2012 Summer Jam: "I'm not talking to y'all right now, f*** that bulls***. I'm here to talk about real hip-hop s***." She'd taken note of these assessments, too, dubbing 

 a return to her hip-hop roots. In between that performance and the album, there was the run of remixes, my favorite being her hysterically rude take on PTAF's "Boss Ass Bitch," during which no rapper's single was safe from Minaj sinking her claws in and claiming it as her own (in a mode mirroring Wayne). 

 gone a tad commercial, loading her campy videos with spon-con and pumping out party-rock anthems for Bud Light, but she occasionally managed to make selling out look avant-garde, too. More importantly, her pen game never faltered. ("Bitches ain't got punchlines or flow / I have both, and an empire, also," she growled on the 2013 bonus track "

.") Minaj never really needed to explain herself to anyone who found Mixtape Nicki and Pop Nicki at odds, like when she closed the deluxe edition of 

 with a defensive twenty-minute "press conference": "These other bitches that only did rap and now they're washed, and they're living in low-income housing — is that winning? Just so that a n**** in the street can give me a f****** dap?... Get the f*** out of here!" It often seemed, in any case, that it was her visual presentation the Rosenbergs of the world were responding to: the candy-colored wigs, the burlesque outfits, the greased-up six-packs in the "Super Bass" video. Whether she was spitting like she did in her 

 days or performing gonzo femininity over sparkly EDM beats, I mostly just liked it when she sounded like she was cracking herself up. 

From the era I consider as Minaj's creative peak, the 2015 VMAs ceremony stands out as a moment of reckoning. Weeks beforehand, the nominations for Video of the Year had been announced; "Anaconda," the most talked-about music video of that summer, wasn't one of them. "If I was a different 'kind' of artist, Anaconda would be nominated for best choreo and vid of the year as well," Minaj had tweeted pointedly, punctuating her statements with sardonic smiley-faces. "Black women influence pop culture so much but are rarely rewarded for it." Her comments activated two of that moment's Main Pop Girls: Swift, America's sweetheart, who accused Minaj of not being a girl's girl, and 

, the Disney Channel star turned self-styled twerk queen, calling Minaj angry and "not too kind." Onstage to accept her award for Best Hip-Hop Video, Minaj turned to Cyrus, that year's host, with a glare that could wither houseplants, 

 her about her comments. A month later, in the aforementioned 

 profile, Minaj clarified her position: "You're in videos with black men, and you're bringing out black women on your stages, but you don't want to know how black women feel about something that's so important?" she said, clearly still upset. "If you want to enjoy our culture and our lifestyle, bond with us, dance with us, have fun with us, twerk with us, rap with us, then you should also want to know what affects us, what is bothering us, what we feel is unfair to us." She was asking for Black women to be acknowledged as human beings rather than trends; commentary that remains prescient and is corroborated over and over in pop, most recently by the case of 

It's never not been a battle for Nicki Minaj, whether it's against hip-hop's gatekeeping boys' club, the racism thriving in pop music's upper echelons, the condescending press, or the catfighting with newer rivals after years of being lonely at the top. So it wasn't too surprising, during the lead-up to her fourth album, 2018's 

, when Minaj rolled out a contemporary new marketing strategy: She'd become a s***poster. The day before her album's release, she debuted a new Beats 1 program, 

. In theory, it was a platform to connect with her fans in an era that prioritized engagement over art – in practice, it was a well-oiled controversy creation machine and a way to sic her loyal Barbz on enemies real and perceived. Upon learning that 

 albums chart, she let loose a stream of 

 album had taken the top spot) to Spotify, adamant that this could only be the result of sabotage. Citing her own streaming numbers like receipts, Minaj went off. "Do you know how many women get systematically blackballed out of their positions in an office building & can't fight back?????"

A month earlier, the 26-year old culture writer Wanna Thompson shared a 

: "You know how dope it would be if Nicki put out mature content?" she tweeted. "No silly s***. Just reflecting on past relationships, being a boss, hardships, etc. She's touching 40 soon, a new direction is needed." In response, Thompson received weeks of hate mail from Minaj's fans, and a message from Minaj herself: "Eat a d***, you hating ass hoe... Just say you jealous I'm rich, famous, intelligent, pretty, and go!" If Minaj meant what she'd tweeted about women being blackballed, apparently the sentiment didn't apply to the apparatus she'd built around herself as one of the most famous people alive, leveraging the might of her success against another woman's constructive criticism. As if to reiterate Thompson's point, that same month, a new Minaj song dropped: "FEFE," a collaboration with 6ix9ine, who raps in belligerent baby talk and was, at the time, awaiting sentencing for a conviction on the "use of a child in a sexual performance." Watching the two pal around in the video, sharing ice cream cones and singing about how they didn't need friends, I found myself cringing — not because I believe a man's sex crimes are Minaj's responsibility, but because the whole thing was embarrassing. It was obvious the duo were giddy at the song's potential to piss people off. Minaj, taking her cues from 6ix9ine's stylebook, sounded downright lobotomized. They've since collaborated twice more, most recently on a single called "Trollz" (it debuted at No. 1).

But it isn't Minaj's responsibility to be a feminist role model, either. It's not really my business whether or not she makes space for fellow female rappers at the top. (In recent years she has been, giving her blessing via guest verse to everyone from Megan to Doja Cat, the truest current heir to Minaj's pop-rap throne and with whom she now shares a manager.) Last year's lawsuit brought against Minaj and her husband, Kenneth Petty, is a bit more complicated: A woman, whom Petty assaulted in 1994, 

 a pattern of harassment by the couple and is suing for emotional distress and witness intimidation. Minaj was eventually 

 from the lawsuit; Petty was sentenced this summer to three years of probation and one year of home detention for failing to register as a sex offender. Some seem to hold her accountable for his actions. What people have come to expect from stars in the decade-plus since Minaj infiltrated the mainstream often feels unfair, or at least unrealistic — beyond all the requirements she exhaustedly listed in that studio 12 years ago, you must now be morally unimpeachable, too. Feminist conversation has shifted since then towards topics of intersectionality that often feel cursory, or used to ward off public scrutiny. (Cue Swift enthusiastically lip-syncing along to Minaj's performance at this year's VMAs.) It's no wonder that stars seem so desperate to control their own narratives, insisting they're the winner, or the victim.

It's been sad, though, to see Minaj's obsession with winning often come at the expense of her art — to see one of the most gifted, inventive voices of a generation caught up in engagement metrics that devalue music and make modernity feel lame. She has dulled her brilliance for a monochromatic streaming infrastructure built to reward mediocrity and punish idiosyncrasy. Listening back through a few of Minaj's recent collabs with a new generation of tough-girl rappers, it barely even seemed fair: the sleepy sing-song currently in vogue can sound like radio static when compared to the dynamism, the elasticity, the sheer 

 of any given Minaj verse. Call me a hater, or old, or whatever, but you probably know it, too.   

Meaghan Garvey

For the better part of a decade, Nicki simply existing as Nicki felt like a radical act. Along the way, things changed: rap, the internet, fandom, feminism. Maybe Minaj did, too.


Nicki Minaj at the MTV Video Music Awards

Frazer Harrison/Getty Images

Arturo Holmes/Getty Images

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This week on The Message on Carbon Sound, Sanni will be showing off her favorite summer time jams to end the season.

 for our live session with Mati, whose song "Please Don't Tempt Me" is currently in rotation..

This week on The Message on Carbon Sound, Sanni will be showing off her favorite summer time jams to end the season. Tune in to hear her every Mon-Thurs from 10a-1p!

“U Know What's Up” feat. Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes

“リサフランク420 / 現代のコンピュー”

All of the tracks added to rotation on Carbon Sound the week of August 29, 2022.


MACINTOSH PLUS - リサフランク420 / 現代のコンピュー |(reupload)

New Music on Carbon Sound - Week of August 29, 2022

Psalm One has experienced many triumphs and hardships while navigating a career in hip-hop. Over the past few years, the uprising after the murder of George Floyd, the pandemic, and numerous callouts of unacceptable behavior within the Twin Cities music scene have left many taking stock. The discourse has brought forth new discussions about mental and physical health, and has also provided forums for recollecting past traumatic circumstances leading to calls for accountability, transparency, and safer spaces. With all of that, the work always starts within oneself.

On two new projects, a book and album, Psalm One puts in the work of healing past traumas into a dedicated practice, thanks to therapy, meditation, and investing in herself.

“I try not to put too much ego behind it, but my story is fascinating,” Psalm tells me via Zoom. “I've been through so much, and to be blessed enough to write about that journey is one of my life's greatest honors.”

Earlier this year, Psalm One released the book 

Her Word Is Bond: Navigating Hip-Hop and Relationships in a Culture of Misogyny

, is set for release on September 2 on Bandcamp via Filthe Analects (with all other DSPs releasing the album September 30). She is 

 on Friday, August 26, at Public Functionary in northeast Minneapolis.

But before we reflect on where Psalm is at now, let’s revisit how she got there.

Born Cristalle Bowen and raised in Chicago, Psalm One had a strong family lineage dedicated to the arts and the written word. One aunt was a professional singer, family members sang in the church choir, and another aunt on her dad’s side performed in theater productions. The arts may have seemed like a pre-destined career path, but Psalm chose science.

“I was being pushed into academia more than anything,” she recalls. “When I announced I wanted to be a chemist, my family was like ‘Do that, for sure.’”

During Psalm’s high school studies, she ran into like-minded hip-hop heads, joining crews such as PDX with Open Mike Eagle, Sonar, Rift, Misfit, and Anti-Matter. She later linked with Pugslee Atomz and Thaione, as part of Chicago’s own burgeoning scene with the Nacrobats in college, 

, and wowing fans and press alike with her solo projects 

“Pugslee Atomz is a phenomenal freestyler,” recalls Psalm. “Being around phenomenal freestylers early like Pugslee and Thaione in Nacrobats, made you not only want to come up with dope stuff off the dome, it made you want to come with something even better, because you had time to mull over it, and figure it out. There was always friendly competition like, ‘I'm gonna get you on this song/verse If you don't come with it.’”

One memory that gets significant runtime in Psalm’s book was her first big feature on Casual’s 

album on the song “Bitin’ and Freakin.’” Psalm’s book includes the story of how Casual booked a plane ticket for Psalm to travel to the San Francisco Bay Area. There, she watched Casual work on the beat and they discussed the concept of the song. 

“I've had great sessions, but few would ever even come close to that one,” Psalm says. “That was also my first bigger placement. All of that was happening at once, and forming and forging such a great friendship with Casual, it was such a big boost to not just get validation, it let me know ‘okay, my pen is really strong.’ I've had really good interactions with pretty much everybody in Hiero to this day.”

After that trip, Psalm nearly signed with the Oakland-based Hiero Imperium, before ultimately linking with the Minnesota-based independent hip-hop label Rhymesayers for the release of 

Psalm’s book details the mix of good and bad situations she faced following her Rhymesayers deal. 

were released to great fanfare. The former garnered praise from URB Magazine, and The A.V. Club. Despite that, Psalm felt the label gave future projects the cold shoulder and left her without an outlet to release new music, 

which she outlined extensively in a 2020 Medium article

However, the hiatus from music that Psalm took would be short-lived. After switching cities from Chicago to the Bay Area, Psalm began tutoring kids, which blossomed into doing work mentoring youth with the ASCAP Songwriter Residency at AmericaSCORES. Thanks to the advent of Bandcamp and other means, Psalm was still able to release music, putting out a slew of mixtapes and singles, along with albums such as 2015’s 

With a book out, and an album on the way, the rapper shows herself healing in real-time.


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