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 

“I always had some sort of reassurance or some sort of opportunity on the horizon, that when I put my all into it, I get something great out of it,” Psalm says. “Thank God, that has continued to happen throughout my career.”

Tours of Europe and the U.S. with Louis Logic, CunninLynguists, and more, managed to keep Psalm visible to fans. But the toxicity Psalm was experiencing from prior personal and professional relationships persisted, which weighed on her mental health considerably. Ultimately, she made the decision to move to Minneapolis with her partner, Angelenah. Together, they made up two of the four members of the Rapperchicks. Afterwards, both Psalm and Angelenah became known as Big $ilky, and released a trio of projects, the most recent being 

With Psalm’s book out in the world, she is preparing for what many artists after the music scene callouts of 2020 have failed to do, and that is doing their own healing and work. Out September 2 on Bandcamp via Filthe Analects, 

features beats by Chicago-based producer Custom Made and is Psalm’s return to an independent label. 

 tackles that inner healing work on its debut single, “Basement Check” featuring Metasota.

 is me doing the work,” Psalm says. “I was writing the album as I was finishing those final edits of the book. So a lot of those ideas of perseverance and triumphing over something really bad, you hear about in 

, Psalm will take part in a community discussion regarding 

 on Friday, August 26. Along with the work that comes with radical healing, and reimagining safe spaces for all, Psalm is very much looking forward to the conversation to not only be about the themes her book tackles, but also how the Twin Cities music scene can rebuild after the scenewide callouts of 2020.

“I expect some very insightful conversations about people who love Twin Cities music,” Psalm says of the upcoming discussion. “Spending four and a half years living in Minneapolis made me more aware of the community in Minneapolis, and how loving folks are and how much we actually do want to care for our musicians and people who bring great shine to the scene. We can't throw people away, but with all the callouts, and the boycott that we experienced, your goal should not be to throw anyone away, but focus on how we can be accountable for ourselves, each other, and what accountability looks like.”

Psalm One in Conversation: Book Launch Event (co-sponsored by Black Garnet Books). 6 p.m.-9 p.m. Friday, August 26, 2022 at Public Functionary, 1500 Jackson St. NE Studio 285, Minneapolis. 

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


Serene Supreme

Bitin' and Freakin'

BIG $ILKY - "McNothing" Official Music Video

Psalm One X Custom Made - Basement Check (feat. Metasota) - Official Animated Music Video

Psalm One’s new projects spread the ‘Word’ and do the work

JACKSON, Miss. — A small town in the Mississippi Delta that has ties to the civil rights movement will soon be home to the National Rhythm and Blues Hall of Fame.

Project planners hope to finish building the facility in the town of Marks in two or three years, Velma Wilson, director of economic tourism and development for Quitman County, told The Associated Press on Tuesday. Marks is the county seat of Quitman County and has a population of fewer than 2,000 people.

The project is the culmination of a 50-year effort to build a hall of fame for R&B musicians such as James Brown, Aretha Franklin and B.B. King.

"There is no other hall of fame in the world that is primarily focused and dedicated to the history of R&B music on a national scale," LaMont Robinson, CEO of the NRBHF, said in a news release. "My vision to build a hall of fame to honor R&B and its contributions to civil rights, America, and the entire world is something that I don't take lightly."

Robinson founded the hall of fame in 2010. Since 2013, it has inducted more than 200 artists.

Marks appealed to Robinson due to its civil rights history. Martin Luther King Jr. chose the town in 1968 as the starting point for his Poor People's Campaign, which demanded economic justice for poor Americans of all backgrounds. On March 31, 1968, in what would be his final Sunday sermon before his assassination, King described the poverty-stricken families he encountered in Marks.

"I was in Marks, Mississippi, the other day, which is in Quitman County, the poorest county in the United States. And I tell you I saw hundreds of Black boys and Black girls walking the streets with no shoes to wear," King said at the National Cathedral in Washington. "I saw their mothers and fathers ... They raised a little money here and there; trying to get a little food to feed the children; trying to teach them a little something."

The conditions in the cotton fields of Quitman County and other parts of the Mississippi Delta were the environment in which early civil rights activists and field workers produced music that's now identified as blues, gospel and R&B, project planners said.

"It was this cultural and musical phenomenon that provided the basis for the prodigious economic success and profits of the U.S. music industry worldwide," planners wrote in a document outlining the project.

As of 2020, Quitman County had one of the 20 lowest median income levels of all counties in the country, according to the 

"The Hall of Fame will be the catalyst to Delta tourism growth and opportunities, and a means to attract business and industry," said Democratic U.S. Rep. Bennie Thompson, who represents Quitman County.

The city of Marks donated 5 acres (2 hectares) of land for the project.

According to an agreement reviewed by the AP, the Quitman County Economic Tourism and Development agency secured a $500,000 appropriation from the Mississippi Legislature for infrastructure related to the project. The agency also hopes to secure an $11 million federal grant through the U.S. Department of Transportation to beef up development around the hall of fame.


"While there is significant energy and excitement in the project, it is also daunting for the QTED staff and will require multiple partnerships to succeed," the agency wrote in the agreement.


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The Associated Press

Marks, Mississippi, is where Martin Luther King Jr. chose in 1968 as the starting point for his Poor People's Campaign, which demanded economic justice for poor Americans of all backgrounds.


A2H Engineers

Why the Rhythm and Blues Hall of Fame is headed to this small Mississippi Delta town

Kaj Johnson

Raps, jams, and soundscapes sprung to life at Bohemian Way’s first musical residency performance.


Derrick Gichaba

Local Artists Break Ground at The Playground Experience

Bora ⠀

Their true temperament came through during the evening at the Armory.


Sara Fish for MPR

Kehlani dedicates Minneapolis show to late Twin Cities rapper Lexii Alijai

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 showing off her favorite climax moments in songs - from the fiery guitar solo in The-Dream's "Falsetto" to Mary J. Blige's heartache-filled vocal run at the end of "Be Without You".

“Angels ‘Round Me” feat. Nakara Forje

This week on The Message on Carbon Sound, Sanni will be showing off her favorite climax moments in songs - from the fiery guitar solo in The-Dream's "Falsetto" to Mary J. Blige's heartache-filled vocal run at the end of "Be Without You". Tune in to hear her every Mon-Thurs from 10a-1p!

“After the Storm” feat. Tyler, The Creator & Bootsy Collins

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


Julian Green

All of the tracks added to rotation on Carbon Sound the week of August 22, 2022.


Natalia Toledo

New Music on Carbon Sound - Week of August 22, 2022

This past Saturday, Kendrick Lamar made his triumphant return to St. Paul’s Xcel Energy Center. His last visit was 2017’s tour for his Pulitzer Prize-winning album, 

. Known for his clever, poetic, and sometimes acerbic lyricism, the rapper returned to Minnesota on the heels of his fifth album release, 

. He brought to the stage composed vulnerability, a wealth of symbolism, and a wildly impressive light show. Additionally, he brought along opening acts that garnered nearly as much enthusiasm from the crowd.

The first act of the night was 24-year-old Avante Ramone Santana, who performs under the name Tanna Leone. Leone was signed in March to Lamar’s pgLang, a multimedia, multi-disciplinary artist collective. After witnessing the way he commanded the large, t-shaped stage alone and whipped the crowd into a frenzy during his brief 15-minute set, there’s no wondering why Lamar scooped him up. The rapper drew an especially big reaction from the crowd to his song “Lucky” from his pgLang debut album, 

. His moody melodies over a trap beat had the crowd bouncing along as he bounded onstage in a Dickies jumpsuit, neck draped in a thick gold chain while slot machine symbols like lucky 7’s, diamonds, and doves flashed behind him.

Following Leone was Baby Keem, Lamar’s cousin. Born Hykeem Jamaal Carter Jr., Keem is a well-recognized rapper in his own right, as was evidenced by the crowd's reaction when he appeared onstage. At the beginning of his roughly half-hour set, there were parallels in Keem’s voice and cadence to his cousin Lamar, but as the set wore on, he settled into his groove.

Although many of his songs from the set were about women he used to date or wanted to sleep with, there were also moments of vulnerability. These were the songs that allowed Keem to emerge from behind the wall of expectation of hyper-masculine bravado perpetuated by pop culture, rap music, and often society as a whole. One such song he proclaimed his favorite off of his 2021 album, 

called “Issues,” demonstrated this. The screen behind him featured the image of a wistful-looking woman looking out of a rainy window while he was spitting bars about the troubled relationship he has with his mother, abandonment, and his struggle to not repeat the same patterns in his own life with friends. He sang over a stark, clicking beat and delicate keys, “How could I resent you? Demons, they test you,” perhaps as much to his mother as himself. Not to be too sentimental, Keem closed his set with this breakout hit with a tinkling earworm rhythm, “Orange Soda,” a raunchy and playful track about his desire for his girlfriend — and distaste for her best friend.

Thick, heady clouds of weed smoke perfumed the air before Lamar took the stage. Young adults and parents with teens made up most of the attendees on the floor, and the crowd grew antsy as a curtain dropped around the main part of the stage before Lamar’s set. The lights dimmed, and the crowd quieted as the nearly hymnal-sounding singing of the opening of “United in Grief” played. Strings were plucked while men dressed in black and women in white pinstriped suits emerged onstage, shoulders bobbing and synchronizing their claps while the curtain rose to show the stage set like the opening act of a play, alluding to the theatric, moody, and artistic performance we were about to see. 

The stage was stark and open with Kendrick seated at the piano with his back to the audience with a ventriloquist dummy perched atop looking out into the crowd. He mimed playing the keys to “United in Grief” while spitting rapid-fire lines as four dancers draped over a sofa watched nearby. They departed shortly before he walked the dummy to center stage to perform “N95,” its mouth moving, reiterating that the night ahead would be full of surreal, emotive displays while frenetic drums carried the 

It seems everything Kendrick Lamar puts out for fans to enjoy is with much thought and intention, and the 

 tour attested to this, from the dancers and the lights, to the voiceover of Helen Mirren acting as his subconscious, narrator, ego-checker, or all of the above, to even his outfit. Lamar was decked out and dapper in a black suit and a sequined glove on his left-hand ala 

 Michael Jackson. He sported jewel-encrusted sunglasses and had a gold earring dripping with diamonds firmly attached to his right ear. Although a lavish look, he kept a navy blue bandanna knotted around his neck, an acknowledgment that he keeps his Compton roots close to his heart.

Throughout the night, dancers added another layer of drama. Sometimes they were merely employed to bear witness, at others, their movements were used as tools to convey emotion. During “Mr. Morale,” they ran in place while the bass blasted, sometimes ducking or covering their faces in defensive positions. Women in drapey red mesh dresses surrounded Lamar during “Die Hard” and led him around the stage while he sang about setting his demons straight and seemed to act as personifications of his complicated feelings about love, temptation, and desire when they encircled him around a bed during “Lust.” 

Other portions of the show were equally as visually arresting as the dancers. Images on the screen behind Lamar were used to show his dreams and nightmares: angel wings, spiders, chains of bondage. Later, as Lamar crouched on stage to perform “Count Me Out,” behind him on the screen cleverly showed his shadow with arrows in his back, seemingly to convey the not-so-subtle feeling that even when he looks like he’s managing just fine externally, his shadow-self still absorbs each blow he’s dealt.

The song lineup brilliantly addressed both his internal and external struggles with “Father Time,” where he sang about his daddy issues. Immediately following, images of Compton, cars, and piles of money flashed on the screen during“m.A.A.d. city,” a throwback to the chaotic environment in which he was raised. During “Money Trees,” the shadow of palms fell across the stadium onto the crowd while live guitar added an additional gritty groove. Later, Lamar was issued a simulated COVID test by HAZMAT-suited people before performing “Alright,” then was lifted into the air on a column with reflective panels while he sang “Mirror” in the quarantine box piped full of smoke. 

 album showcases Kendrick Lamar’s deep self-reflection during the pandemic. It explores themes of intergenerational trauma and misogyny, and it pulled out thorny, intimate songs. The astounding visual storytelling and introspection presented for Saturday night’s show proved that Lamar is far from losing creative steam. At the same time, the tour certified his equal commitment to continue diving deeper into his creative self, much to the benefit of all of his fans. 

Natalia Mendez

The Big Steppers tour brought big, theatric entertainment Saturday night.


GREG NOIRE

Kendrick Lamar makes explosive return to St. Paul

Given where she's been lately, it should come as no surprise that 

 has chosen to dispense with pleasantries on her new album. The ferocity of 

 begins with its cover, which shows her visage in an emotive triplicate reminiscent of Cerberus, the three-headed hellhound of Greek mythology. In Dante's 

, Cerberus resides in the Third Circle of Hell with the gluttons, where he "rends the spirits, flays, and quarters them." As an executioner, Megan is more precise. On the Rico Nasty collaboration "

," she renders both her lyrical and physical form as a foreboding omen for her detractors: "Say my name like Candyman, and bitch, you know I'm there / These hoes wish they saw me when they lookin' in the mirror."

Megan is also used to being the life of every party. Her bawdy, unabashed 5'10" presence quickly won her devoted followers, and as her star rose she engaged in rowdy revelry with these loyal supporters at famed roving spaces called "Hottie Parties." She was so eager to please that base — the fans who helped elevate the carnal slow-burn "Big Ole Freak," from her 2018 EP 

into her first bona fide hit — that she continued to perform as the good-time gal they had come to love even as she entered what would be the most traumatizing years of her life. Where her debut studio album, 2020's 

, clanged against the public awareness of that turmoil, 

leans into it: making space for ruminations and grief, managing the swirling emotions produced by years of acrimony and cathartically letting them rise to the surface. In reaching for a more confessional mode, she reaffirms her commitment to talking her talk. 

At her best, Megan is a lyrical virtuoso who brings motion and menace to her self-reliant songs, crafting innovative rhyme schemes that both thrill and tantalize and then coating them in her seductive Houston drawl. She bares her teeth on the opening track, "NDA," weaving in and out of Memphis producer Hitkidd's hi-hat heavy production to make mincemeat of multi-syllabics: "They take all the hate that they got for me and they market it / When they shit ain't poppin', they usin' Megan for marketing /And they ain't got enough in they budget for me to talk to them." "Ungrateful," featuring Memphis rapper Key Glock, is in conversation with her cult-favorite "

" — doubling down on the whiplashing flows of that verse, she swings her bars around the highs and lows of the melody. The ease with which Megan navigates collaborations with producers and rappers from Memphis only reinforces the strains of the one-time Three 6 Mafia member Gangsta Boo in her DNA. On "Who Me," she corrals Pooh Sheisty, another Memphis native, into form around skipping drums while she quips, "I feel like Biggie, who shot you? But everybody know who shot me, bitch." 

Trauma is cyclical, especially when you are forced to process it before the world. Megan's string of accomplishments — three Grammy wins, two chart-topping records and a college degree — has been stymied by a series of misfortunes. In 2019, her mother, a stabilizing figure in her life, died from brain cancer. An ongoing dispute with her label, 1501 Certified Entertainment, has complicated her career. But most pressingly, in 2020, she was shot in an incident involving the rapper and singer Tory Lanez, and the near-constant refutation of her version of events, in both the courtroom and the court of public opinion, has been an obvious drain of her energy. In the songs of 

, she reckons with these events by probing at her own feelings, by returning to familiar haunts, and by reaffirming her skills as one of rap's bar-for-bar heavyweights.

The more introspective tracks, like "Anxiety," perform a sort of sleight of hand, expertly using upbeat production to cover darker material: "If I could write a letter to Heaven / I would tell my mama that I shoulda been listenin'/ And I would tell her sorry that I really been wildin' / And ask her to forgive me, 'cause I really been tryin'," she raps. It's a brave decision to expose her wounds, metaphorically or otherwise, as she has experienced repeated recriminations for that choice. But in this instance, she is not seeking to exonerate herself, but offering insight, showing that even one of rap's most self-confident women can be plagued by the deepest insecurities. "Not Nice" and "Plan B" dispense with the pretense of easing a listener into her frustrations, launching directly into the depths of what feel like venting sessions in a private journal: expletive-laden, unrestrained and uncouth.

For those who have long clamored for Meg to return to the charmingly commanding  Foxy Brown-meets-Pimp C character work of 

, there is plenty of the sample-heavy, raunchy and nonchalant music that defined that era. This reset is exemplified by "Consistency," which uses a sample of The Isley Brothers' "Between the Sheets" as cushion for breezy, brazen raps tailor-made for a late-night Instagram Stories caption. "Ms. Nasty" is a short and pithy return to erotic form, whipping her words around with the force of a lyrical domme. She playfully takes the reins of the beat, which bucks like a mechanical bull, as a clear demonstration of her undeniable control: "P-I-M-P, put it in my pocket / If it ain't 'bout my money or me nuttin', we ain't talkin'." 

At a lengthy 18 tracks, some of the album's potency gets diluted by more inert moments. Its formulaic and unmemorable lead single, "Pressurelicious," showcases Future at his most asynchronous. "Sweetest Pie," which caps the album, is an abrupt tonal shift, and seems to serve little purpose beyond guaranteeing a streaming-inflated RIAA certification at the expense of cohesion. Similarly, "Star" is an unexpected and awkward intermission from Megan's more aggressively raunchy melodies. 

But for every swing and miss, there is also a statement. Despite Meg's rapid ascent into popstar status, she always roars the loudest for the hometown that molded her, helped craft her sound, and continues to stand beside her. The Juicy J-produced "Southside Royalty Freestyle" stands out as an ode to the Third Coast, placing Megan amongst Houston mainstays Sauce Walka, Lil' Keke and Screwed Up Click's Big Pokey. "It takes 10 female artists to make a Megan Thee Stallion," Sauce Walka boasts on his outro, before reminding everyone of Lil Keke's heralded opening bars on the DJ Screw Houston classic "

": "I'm draped up and dripped out." The posse cut again reconnects Megan with the hometown sound, in what feels like a search for comfort. The reminder is necessary because she has grown into a pop-rap luminary, and elsewhere on the album, she stands resolutely in her reputation, as if posing for the cameras. "Her," a paint-by-numbers dance single that beats the Azealia Bankses of the world at their own game, plays like a statement of renewed purpose. In its verses, Megan slyly addresses any barb or insult that could be lobbied at her before the mud-slingers can even bother to hit send: "No matter what they do or say, it ain't no gettin' rid of me."

Megan joins a long line of women seeking agency through music — manifesting her anger, her resentment, and her full-bodied sexuality — attempting to define herself on her own terms after watching the public wrestle her story away from her, leaving her with the carnage. Listening to 

 brings to mind another time when one of the world's biggest pop darlings attempted to reclaim her power after a high-profile abuse scandal. For Rihanna, then a superstar in the making, the daring 

helped redefine her, changing her image and setting the tone for the rest of her career. While 

 is not the transformative pop revelation that 

 was, it is absolutely a declaration, and at times, a provocation, one in line with her freestyle breakthrough. It is a testament to her skill that she displays such command; it is a shame that she even feels the need to prove herself once again.   

Shamira Ibrahim

The rapper's second studio album reaches for a confessional mode, making space for ruminations and grief — while reaffirming her skills as one of rap's bar-for-bar heavyweights.


Alberto E. Rodriguez | Getty Images

Courtesy of the artist

Megan Thee Stallion - Scary (feat. Rico Nasty) [Official Visualizer]

Megan Thee Stallion - Ms. Nasty [Official Visualizer]

Megan Thee Stallion resets her terms with 'Traumazine'

 solo album felt like an imaginary object, long rumored yet never revealed. It went by several names — 

 — and had many soft launches. The Philly rapper born Tariq Trotter had of course already displayed his otherworldly dexterity as frontman and co-founder of 

, and, beginning in 2018, emerged as a willing and capable soloist with a series of freewheeling EPs. But for most rappers, a debut album is a statement of artistic purpose. For a rapper in a group, it is also a chance to establish a fully independent identity. Even as Black Thought the solo artist steadily took shape, his album — 

, Trotter's new collaboration with the producer 

, is that quintessential Black Thought album, the one long awaited by diehards, the first of his recent projects to transcend his supreme skill as a rhymer and define his music beyond his intense technique. As a soloist, Trotter has tended to write like a world traveler, making offhand references to the chupacabra or Bach, Amon-Ra or the hajj, his raps crowded but fluid as if he were sloshing on foot through a quagmire. Here, he finally locates himself within his songs: as a hometown hero who brought rap game theory to national TV yet remains cognizant of the Black struggle, who is trying to reconcile the world he's entered with the one he's from. If there are two Americas, Trotter has straddled both, and 

 shares lessons learned during his travels, with a clear frame of mind that is new ground even for one of rap's peerless performers.

As the voice of the legendary Roots crew, Trotter is both representative and accessory. The group is built around his indelible lyricism, but he has always been deferential to the collective, its ideas and organization. The Roots is also a live band, and moving through those arrangements requires a specific potency and stamina. Books on rapping have lauded his gifts as a performer: In 

, Kool G Rap champions Trotter's breath control and execution in a Roots staging of his song "Men at Work." 

, you are immediately struck by the physicality of his recitation, how forcefully and consistently he rattles off phrases, like a boxer working a speed bag. Yet that asset can also be a strange kind of liability in hip-hop. "Sometimes MCs' flows can so dominate their styles that they overshadow other elements of craft," Adam Bradley writes of Trotter in 

Book of Rhymes: The Poetics of Hip-Hop. "

Set within the complex soundscapes offered up by the rest of the group, Black Thought's liquid flow at times nearly washes away his meaning."

The Roots released their last album in 2014 and followed Jimmy Fallon to 

 the same year, and a sense emerged that rapping might have become a secondary concern for Black Thought, admittedly a less ferocious presence at the head of a late-night house band. When Funk Flex invited him to participate in his ongoing freestyle series on Hot 97 in 2017, the rapper seemed to take the opportunity as a challenge — a way to reassert himself as not only an ambassador of the culture but a lethal technician. The performance was 

 that renewed conversations about barring out, and within the epic polemic were hints of a coming return: "Them brothers said, 'Don't go from written bars filled with rage / To primetime television and your gilded cage / Then forget there's people in the world still enslaved.' 

, the first of a trio of single-producer EPs that diverge sharply from The Roots' live instrumentation and conceptual arcs. As far back as 2001, Trotter seemed to already understand how he wanted his solo work to function: "The difference between a Black Thought album and a Roots album is the texture," he told MTV News, promising that his eventual debut would stick to samples. 

 delivered that vision via esteemed beatmakers 9th Wonder, Salaam Remi and Sean C, but mainly as a sparring exercise: Trotter's presence on those mini-releases is raw and loose, and they're better understood as small monuments to his talent than for their substance.

There is immediately a greater focus and intent to 

, beginning with the production. The flips are simple and elegant, the drums understated. There is enough space within the loops for Trotter's voice to probe through. Where Sean C compared the beats he made for 

 curates soul, psych rock and funk samples from the same era into a weirder, more warped palette. Danger Mouse constructed these beats with Black Thought and his skill set specifically in mind, and the rapper moves through them deliberately, without compromising what are some of his most writerly verses. Together, the two cohere around a mission to build a classicist album fit for the form's elder statesmen.

Relentless motion is clearly in Trotter's DNA, a trait he traces back to childhood: "My birthplace taught me not to stop / I'm more advanced than my classmates / I came into the game on a fast break," he raps on "No Gold Teeth."  Many songs on 

 are built around a single extended verse, though compared to his knotty Hot 97 filibuster they're compact and restrained, there to be not merely heeded but understood. Take the wavy "Identical Deaths," in which Black Thought is interviewed by God and keeps his cool, making gentle swoops from bar to bar as if trying to carefully pen a letter in cursive. On the title track, he works through the mindset of the "young gunners" running stickups in Philly, only to zoom out at the end and account for the larger systems that created them, using the mic like a bullhorn.

Virtuosity is too often presented as a shorthand for lyricism, and though some rappers have earned notoriety from the former, beneath the surface their verses are often empty. Trotter isn't immune to using technical hyper-proficiency to mask bombast, but even his most ill-defined rhymes carry a certain gravitas in their momentum, the deeply alliterative wordplay generating its own mystique. However, none of his previous releases have matched this novelistic charm with attentive storytelling the way 

 does. With "Because," he paints a vivid picture of the limited options that lead many into the carceral system. The winding verses of "Sometimes" and "Violas and Lupitas" are packed with little vignettes, and sometimes a bar will contain an entire scene: "Juke joint party lights lit the Harlem nights / Peas and rice made a Judas out of Garveyites."

There is still plenty of rapping about how great he is at rapping, but the verses more often turn on nuggets of personal discovery ("Richard Wright, 

 that grew into a Blacker man") and accumulated wisdom. Where Vol. 3 of S

 often felt aimlessly political, a concept record without a real agenda, the perspective here is tighter and more self-affirming. On "The Darkest Part," he mulls injustice, freedom, and the weight of the soul ("I came to take back that other two-fifths of a man"). Later, on "Saltwater," he distinguishes himself as a seasoned OG, not a lecturer; his rapping is surly but not disillusioned, observant but not sanctimonious. Even the songs that do fixate on the rap game as a sporting arena do so astutely: In the elongated verse of "Close to Famous," he measures the extent of his influence and the skill and experience gap between him as a veteran and rap's overnight sensations. Much of his case, like the album overall, is constructed around the idea that he can read any room and speak its language.

Trotter is not our only rapper-scholar, but his position in the culture is close to unique. "Bring the Cambridge, the Websters, the Oxfords ... Product of the Last Poets and the Watts Prophets," he raps on "Belize," presenting his career as a bridge between street intellectuals and academic authorities, rap as cipher and rap as literature. The notion of a full-length collaboration between Black Thought and Danger Mouse long predates his years on network television or the dynamic if arguably vain showcase of 

, but but results nonetheless feel like a culmination of that history. Listening now, it can feel like all those years the album went unmade are what made it possible.  

Sheldon Pearce

A standalone LP from the voice of the Roots was rumored for two decades at least. Finally here, Cheat Codes isn't just excellent: It's a product of all the years it went unmade.


Two men in blazers and sunglasses pose together for a portrait

Shervin Lainez

Shervin Lainez/Courtesy of the artist

Danger Mouse & Black Thought - Cheat Codes (Official Audio)

BLACK THOUGHT FREESTYLES ON FLEX | #FREESTYLE087

Danger Mouse & Black Thought - No Gold Teeth (Official Video)

'Cheat Codes' is the solo album Black Thought couldn't have made until now

Rapper A$AP Rocky, whose real name is Rakim Mayers, was officially charged this week with two counts of assault with a semiautomatic firearm in connection with a shooting that occurred in Hollywood last November.

and later released on bond in relation to this case. 

The Los Angeles District Attorney George Gascón announced the charges on Monday, saying Mayers is facing allegations of personally using a firearm during this altercation with a former friend. 

On Nov. 6, 2021, Mayers allegedly pointed a semiautomatic handgun at the victim. Later on during another confrontation with this person, Mayers allegedly drew the gun and fired twice in the direction of the victim, according to prosecutors. 

The LAPD said the victim suffered a minor injury from the shooting. 

Alan Jackson, an attorney for Mayers, didn't immediately respond to a request for comment.  

"Discharging a gun in a public place is a serious offense that could have ended with tragic consequences not only for the person targeted but also for innocent bystanders visiting Hollywood," Gascón said in a statement. "My office conducted a thorough review of the evidence in this case and determined that the addition of a special firearm allegation was warranted." 


Mayers' arraignment is set for Wednesday at a Los Angeles court.


Jaclyn Diaz

Rapper A$AP Rocky, whose real name is Rakim Mayers, has his arraignment in a Los Angeles court on Wednesday.


Mr. iozo

A$AP Rocky faces 2 felony assault charges from an incident in Hollywood last year

Three years after his murder, rapper Nipsey Hussle was honored posthumously Monday with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame — on what would have been the late rapper's 37th birthday.

The star, which was unveiled in a ceremony Monday afternoon, is located in front of Amoeba Music on Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles.

The ceremony included speeches and remarks from members of the late rapper's family, including his sister, Samantha Smith; his grandmother Margaret Boutte; and his  fiancée, actress Lauren London. Boutte accepted the star on behalf of the family.

"I think I speak for the entire city of LA when I say that we've always known Hussle was destined for greatness," London told 

. "This moment only amplifies this for us. Nip would've been honored by this moment."

The late rapper's star on the Walk of Fame is the 2,729th star since its completion in 1961 with the first 1,558 stars, NBC4 reported.

Hussle, born Airmiess Joseph Asghedom, was a Grammy-nominated rapper, entrepreneur and philanthropist who was 

 outside the Marathon Clothing store he owned in South Los Angeles.

Prior to his murder, Hussle was scheduled to meet with both Los Angeles Police Commissioner Steve Soboroff and Los Angeles Police Department Chief Michel Moore about ways to stop gang violence across the city.

"Nipsey Hussle was more than just a creative genius, he was committed to helping his community through savvy business moves and charitable contributions," Ana Martinez, producer of the Hollywood Walk of Fame, said in a statement.

Hussle was also posthumously honored with two Grammy Awards in 2020 for 

In July, Los Angeles County jurors found 32-year-old Eric R. Holder Jr. guilty of the first-degree murder of Hussle.


Additionally, Holder was convicted of attempted voluntary manslaughter, as two other men were injured from the gunfire at the crime scene. Holder could face up to life in prison and will be sentenced next month.


Jonathan Franklin

The late rapper's star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame is the 2,729th placed to date.


Crowd of people stand near Nipsey Hussle's Walk of Fame Star

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'Cheat Codes' is the solo album Black Thought couldn't have made until now

A$AP Rocky faces 2 felony assault charges from an incident in Hollywood last year

Nipsey Hussle gets Hollywood star on what would have been his 37th birthday

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