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string(5808) "I often forget that I am perpetually not safe, but events in the country that I live in remind me. In middle school, George Zimmerman reminded me. In high school, Darren Wilson did the same. A month prior to my first semester at Georgia State University, Jeronimo Yanez carried the torch. Now, as a young Black man living on my own, I struggle with the news of Ahmaud Arbery and the two white men in my home state continuing this inhumane practice. And now, without even a chance for me to catch my breath, I’m confronted with the death of George Floyd, murdered by police in Minneapolis
In response to past tragedies like these, I’ve looked to hip-hop — for consolation, for reassurance, and for guidance. Perhaps my most vivid memories of sociopolitical rap was the stretch from late 2014 to early 2015. On March 15, 2015, Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly was released, and it was truly an album of the times. Its themes of race, politics, violence, and empowerment showed me — even after many uncomfortable listens — that there was light at the end of this dark and seemingly never-ending tunnel.
But honestly, it was J. Cole who prepared me for that behemoth of an album. His “Be Free,” released within days of the public lynching of Michael Brown, was the first song to give me chills, erect the hairs on my body, and bring tears to my eyes. Where To Pimp a Butterfly was the powerful and much-needed response to months of nonstop brutality, “Be Free” was an in-the-moment call to grieve. Cole said what I thought, and he sang how I felt. The song stripped me of my pent-up emotions so that Kendrick’s album could build me back up.
As Ahmaud Arbery’s case has been thrust into the public eye, I find myself feeling stripped of the confidence and hope given to me by To Pimp a Butterfly and revisiting “Be Free.” Although Brunswick, the Georgia coastal city where Travis and Gregory McMichael’s hunting of Aubrey resulted in the jogger’s death, is four hours from metro Atlanta, it feels too dangerously close to home. Wanting to make sense of the senseless, seeking some light in a dark tunnel of my psyche, I looked to Atlanta’s hip-hop artists to make a profound statement — and to help combat this overwhelming feeling of powerlessness. I’ve been met with a disturbing silence.
Sure, when Andre 3000 exclaimed, “The South got something to say!” at the 1995 Source Awards, he wasn’t exactly referring to the conscious messages embedded in Southern hip-hop. However, the sentiment that Southern, and specifically Atlanta, rap should be taken seriously rings truer today than in 1995, considering the city’s current domination of the music charts. So, why doesn’t the South have much — if anything — to say about what’s happening mere hours away from the current hip-hop capital of the world?
Originally, that was my angle. To question why many of this city’s most prominent voices are saying little to nothing at all felt right. To criticize artists who are sacrificing their right to speak out on injustice for a larger number of streams during highly-publicized rollouts of long-awaited records, felt appropriate. Yet, after more consideration, I don’t think either of those approaches are fair.
Instead, I question whether Atlanta’s artists have a responsibility to speak out about current events and the trauma that has overcome us once again — a trauma which directly affects a bulk of their listenership. As a non-recording artist, the work of criticizing the musical output of others tends to fall under my editorial umbrella, but defining an artist’s responsibilities feels entirely out of bounds.
For many artists, how a single or full-length record is received can determine whether or not they are able to eat in the coming months. Consumers and critics alike are finicky and fickle with their sonic expectations of an artist as it is; it’s easy to understand why artists wouldn’t want to possibly alienate them with their own political and social views. Both Kanye West’s “that sounds like a choice” and Michael Jordan’s “Republicans buy sneakers, too” comments have tarnished their respective legacies, evidence that fans and consumers can be less than forgiving when a public figure speaks out.
One wrong misstep, inside or outside of the booth, can undo a lot of the progress that an artist makes over their career. Any stand that an artist takes should be theirs and theirs alone — not something prompted by a 20-something journalist with a mightier-than-thou complex.
Nonetheless, it’s hard for me to absolve artists of social responsibility. To have experienced firsthand the power that “Be Free” and To Pimp a Butterfly had on my coming of age, I have to question why today’s hip-hop and rap artists aren’t speaking out. Where is some light in this ever-darkening tunnel? Where are the words to help this generation escape the hopelessness that they no doubt feel, just as I did? I would be remiss not to question the absence of songs and records for this generation that would give a voice to the perpetually not safe.
The debate boils down to choice. Regardless of whether critics and consumers considered it J. Cole and Kendrick Lamar’s responsibility to respond to the string of murders of unarmed Black people in 2014 and 2015, it was their choice to do so. Now, Atlanta artists have a decision to make: how they will respond to the killing of Ahmaud Arbery.
More importantly, you and I have a choice. We can look to our favorite artists to be the ones brave enough to spread awareness about the issues that bring turmoil, destruction, and grief to our communities, or we can look inward and decide to do something about it ourselves. —CL—"
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string(5828) "I often forget that I am perpetually not safe, but events in the country that I live in remind me. In middle school, George Zimmerman reminded me. In high school, Darren Wilson did the same. A month prior to my first semester at Georgia State University, Jeronimo Yanez carried the torch. Now, as a young Black man living on my own, I struggle with the news of Ahmaud Arbery and the two white men in my home state continuing this inhumane practice. And now, without even a chance for me to catch my breath, I’m confronted with the death of George Floyd, murdered by police in Minneapolis
In response to past tragedies like these, I’ve looked to hip-hop — for consolation, for reassurance, and for guidance. Perhaps my most vivid memories of sociopolitical rap was the stretch from late 2014 to early 2015. On March 15, 2015, Kendrick Lamar’s ''To Pimp a Butterfly'' was released, and it was truly an album of the times. Its themes of race, politics, violence, and empowerment showed me — even after many uncomfortable listens — that there was light at the end of this dark and seemingly never-ending tunnel.
But honestly, it was J. Cole who prepared me for that behemoth of an album. His “Be Free,” released within days of the public lynching of Michael Brown, was the first song to give me chills, erect the hairs on my body, and bring tears to my eyes. Where ''To Pimp a Butterfly'' was the powerful and much-needed response to months of nonstop brutality, “Be Free” was an in-the-moment call to grieve. Cole said what I thought, and he sang how I felt. The song stripped me of my pent-up emotions so that Kendrick’s album could build me back up.
As Ahmaud Arbery’s case has been thrust into the public eye, I find myself feeling stripped of the confidence and hope given to me by ''To Pimp a Butterfly'' and revisiting “Be Free.” Although Brunswick, the Georgia coastal city where Travis and Gregory McMichael’s hunting of Aubrey resulted in the jogger’s death, is four hours from metro Atlanta, it feels too dangerously close to home. Wanting to make sense of the senseless, seeking some light in a dark tunnel of my psyche, I looked to Atlanta’s hip-hop artists to make a profound statement — and to help combat this overwhelming feeling of powerlessness. I’ve been met with a disturbing silence.
Sure, when Andre 3000 exclaimed, “The South got something to say!” at the 1995 Source Awards, he wasn’t exactly referring to the conscious messages embedded in Southern hip-hop. However, the sentiment that Southern, and specifically Atlanta, rap should be taken seriously rings truer today than in 1995, considering the city’s current domination of the music charts. So, why doesn’t the South have much — if anything — to say about what’s happening mere hours away from the current hip-hop capital of the world?
Originally, that was my angle. To question why many of this city’s most prominent voices are saying little to nothing at all felt right. To criticize artists who are sacrificing their right to speak out on injustice for a larger number of streams during highly-publicized rollouts of long-awaited records, felt appropriate. Yet, after more consideration, I don’t think either of those approaches are fair.
Instead, I question whether Atlanta’s artists have a responsibility to speak out about current events and the trauma that has overcome us once again — a trauma which directly affects a bulk of their listenership. As a non-recording artist, the work of criticizing the musical output of others tends to fall under my editorial umbrella, but defining an artist’s responsibilities feels entirely out of bounds.
For many artists, how a single or full-length record is received can determine whether or not they are able to eat in the coming months. Consumers and critics alike are finicky and fickle with their sonic expectations of an artist as it is; it’s easy to understand why artists wouldn’t want to possibly alienate them with their own political and social views. Both Kanye West’s “that sounds like a choice” and Michael Jordan’s “Republicans buy sneakers, too” comments have tarnished their respective legacies, evidence that fans and consumers can be less than forgiving when a public figure speaks out.
One wrong misstep, inside or outside of the booth, can undo a lot of the progress that an artist makes over their career. Any stand that an artist takes should be theirs and theirs alone — not something prompted by a 20-something journalist with a mightier-than-thou complex.
Nonetheless, it’s hard for me to absolve artists of social responsibility. To have experienced firsthand the power that “Be Free” and ''To Pimp a Butterfly'' had on my coming of age, I have to question why today’s hip-hop and rap artists aren’t speaking out. Where is some light in this ever-darkening tunnel? Where are the words to help this generation escape the hopelessness that they no doubt feel, just as I did? I would be remiss not to question the absence of songs and records for this generation that would give a voice to the perpetually not safe.
The debate boils down to choice. Regardless of whether critics and consumers considered it J. Cole and Kendrick Lamar’s responsibility to respond to the string of murders of unarmed Black people in 2014 and 2015, it was their choice to do so. Now, Atlanta artists have a decision to make: how they will respond to the killing of Ahmaud Arbery.
More importantly, you and I have a choice. We can look to our favorite artists to be the ones brave enough to spread awareness about the issues that bring turmoil, destruction, and grief to our communities, or we can look inward and decide to do something about it ourselves. __—CL—__"
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string(6382) " Creative Loafing 23 Final Web 2020-06-04T14:03:53+00:00 creative_loafing_23_final_web.jpg untrapped atluntrapped Weighing the pain of recent events against the responsibility of artists to speak out 31433 2020-06-04T14:03:58+00:00 ATL UNTRAPPED: Should the South have something to say? jim.harris@creativeloafing.com Jim Harris Joshua Robinson 2020-06-04T14:03:58+00:00 I often forget that I am perpetually not safe, but events in the country that I live in remind me. In middle school, George Zimmerman reminded me. In high school, Darren Wilson did the same. A month prior to my first semester at Georgia State University, Jeronimo Yanez carried the torch. Now, as a young Black man living on my own, I struggle with the news of Ahmaud Arbery and the two white men in my home state continuing this inhumane practice. And now, without even a chance for me to catch my breath, I’m confronted with the death of George Floyd, murdered by police in Minneapolis
In response to past tragedies like these, I’ve looked to hip-hop — for consolation, for reassurance, and for guidance. Perhaps my most vivid memories of sociopolitical rap was the stretch from late 2014 to early 2015. On March 15, 2015, Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly was released, and it was truly an album of the times. Its themes of race, politics, violence, and empowerment showed me — even after many uncomfortable listens — that there was light at the end of this dark and seemingly never-ending tunnel.
But honestly, it was J. Cole who prepared me for that behemoth of an album. His “Be Free,” released within days of the public lynching of Michael Brown, was the first song to give me chills, erect the hairs on my body, and bring tears to my eyes. Where To Pimp a Butterfly was the powerful and much-needed response to months of nonstop brutality, “Be Free” was an in-the-moment call to grieve. Cole said what I thought, and he sang how I felt. The song stripped me of my pent-up emotions so that Kendrick’s album could build me back up.
As Ahmaud Arbery’s case has been thrust into the public eye, I find myself feeling stripped of the confidence and hope given to me by To Pimp a Butterfly and revisiting “Be Free.” Although Brunswick, the Georgia coastal city where Travis and Gregory McMichael’s hunting of Aubrey resulted in the jogger’s death, is four hours from metro Atlanta, it feels too dangerously close to home. Wanting to make sense of the senseless, seeking some light in a dark tunnel of my psyche, I looked to Atlanta’s hip-hop artists to make a profound statement — and to help combat this overwhelming feeling of powerlessness. I’ve been met with a disturbing silence.
Sure, when Andre 3000 exclaimed, “The South got something to say!” at the 1995 Source Awards, he wasn’t exactly referring to the conscious messages embedded in Southern hip-hop. However, the sentiment that Southern, and specifically Atlanta, rap should be taken seriously rings truer today than in 1995, considering the city’s current domination of the music charts. So, why doesn’t the South have much — if anything — to say about what’s happening mere hours away from the current hip-hop capital of the world?
Originally, that was my angle. To question why many of this city’s most prominent voices are saying little to nothing at all felt right. To criticize artists who are sacrificing their right to speak out on injustice for a larger number of streams during highly-publicized rollouts of long-awaited records, felt appropriate. Yet, after more consideration, I don’t think either of those approaches are fair.
Instead, I question whether Atlanta’s artists have a responsibility to speak out about current events and the trauma that has overcome us once again — a trauma which directly affects a bulk of their listenership. As a non-recording artist, the work of criticizing the musical output of others tends to fall under my editorial umbrella, but defining an artist’s responsibilities feels entirely out of bounds.
For many artists, how a single or full-length record is received can determine whether or not they are able to eat in the coming months. Consumers and critics alike are finicky and fickle with their sonic expectations of an artist as it is; it’s easy to understand why artists wouldn’t want to possibly alienate them with their own political and social views. Both Kanye West’s “that sounds like a choice” and Michael Jordan’s “Republicans buy sneakers, too” comments have tarnished their respective legacies, evidence that fans and consumers can be less than forgiving when a public figure speaks out.
One wrong misstep, inside or outside of the booth, can undo a lot of the progress that an artist makes over their career. Any stand that an artist takes should be theirs and theirs alone — not something prompted by a 20-something journalist with a mightier-than-thou complex.
Nonetheless, it’s hard for me to absolve artists of social responsibility. To have experienced firsthand the power that “Be Free” and To Pimp a Butterfly had on my coming of age, I have to question why today’s hip-hop and rap artists aren’t speaking out. Where is some light in this ever-darkening tunnel? Where are the words to help this generation escape the hopelessness that they no doubt feel, just as I did? I would be remiss not to question the absence of songs and records for this generation that would give a voice to the perpetually not safe.
The debate boils down to choice. Regardless of whether critics and consumers considered it J. Cole and Kendrick Lamar’s responsibility to respond to the string of murders of unarmed Black people in 2014 and 2015, it was their choice to do so. Now, Atlanta artists have a decision to make: how they will respond to the killing of Ahmaud Arbery.
More importantly, you and I have a choice. We can look to our favorite artists to be the ones brave enough to spread awareness about the issues that bring turmoil, destruction, and grief to our communities, or we can look inward and decide to do something about it ourselves. —CL— Demetri Stefan Burke BE FREE: We can decide to be the change that we seek. 0,0,16 atluntrapped untrapped ATL UNTRAPPED: Should the South have something to say? "
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ATL UNTRAPPED: Should the South have something to say? Article
Thursday June 4, 2020 10:03 am EDT
Weighing the pain of recent events against the responsibility of artists to speak out
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string(6614) "By squealing “CORONAVIRUS!” in an Instagram video on March 10, Cardi B became the unofficial celebrity spokesperson for informing everyone that shit had really hit the fan. In addition to inspiring a viral — and Billboard-charting — remix of her original post, she ushered in an era of disbelief and uncertainty that deepened when the World Health Organization declared the global outbreak to be a pandemic one day later.
News of a novel virus overseas was quickly eclipsed by stateside fear as cases started being reported in several states. Atlanta, while not hit as hard as other major cities across the country, was hit nonetheless, and life has since changed dramatically for healthcare professionals, bartenders, and everyone in between as nonessential businesses close and essential businesses intensify.
The music industry is no exception, leaving local artists in an unexpected position. Not being able to earn money from performing at venues and possibly having to refrain from recording music are both legitimate concerns, yet instead of conceding defeat to COVID-19, Atlanta’s hip-hop community is fighting back with creativity. Here’s a snapshot of four artists who, despite social distancing, are still connecting and interacting with their listeners.
Quanna
Savannah native Quanna (pictured, bottom right) regularly shuffles between Atlanta and Brooklyn, but due to the outbreak in New York, she has been quarantined in the latter since March. While there, her hustle has gone completely digital, and over the past month, Quanna has reinvigorated the promotion of her 2019 project Miss Thang and lobbied, albeit unsuccessfully, for entry to Tory Lanez’s “Quarantine Radio.” Her longest-running effort, however, was the “Like Me (Remix)” Challenge, in which she tasked hungry producers to recreate and modernize the beat to one of her fan-favorites.
“Every time I perform, I do “Like Me,” my first song ever, and people love it,” Quanna says. “I think it’s dated, though, so I decided to do a beat challenge to give it a refresher of sorts.”
Unlike the TikTok and freestyle challenges flooding social media, Quanna’s challenge has put the spotlight on young producers and given her listeners the opportunity to be a part of her upcoming project, which will feature the top-voted remix to “Like Me.” Work on the project was unfortunately halted due to New York’s shelter-in-place order, but for the time being Quanna is dedicated to fostering a connection with listeners through social media.
ProtéJay
The son of New York legend Half-A-Mill and a decorated multihyphenate with music- and television-related accomplishments under his belt, ProtéJay (pictured, right) is a man of routine, and one of his major challenges with adapting to life during COVID-19 is the disruption to his nonstop work ethic. He admits to struggling with a forced change of pace, as well as having to reconsider major plans for 2020, but he isn’t letting this slump stop his drive.
“Our plan coming into this year was to drop four projects — one for each quarter,” ProtéJay says, “so we can’t back out on that. We’ve gotta do what we said we were gonna do.”
Sure enough, he dropped the eight-track project, Your World, on March 27, and the week after he started a live streamed concert series with local producer 88Jay, called Sound Disorder. Powered by We Get It Media Productions, their weekly acoustic set now airs every Thursday evening at 6 p.m. on his Instagram account. With newfound structure and an additional creative outlet at his disposal, ProtéJay is re-energized and motivated to lift the spirits of everyone who tunes in.
“With all this shit going on, those little glimpses give people a break from reality,” he says. “We’re just tryna have fun and get our minds off of the situation.”
Zaia
Artists like Zaia (pictured, left) are pushing through the only way they know how — by releasing new music. Nearly a year removed from signing with Sony Records and releasing his stellar RESET EP, Zaia is done with waiting. On April 1, he unleashed “DEMONS,” the first single from his upcoming project. The bass-rattling earworm hijacks a simple refrain and infiltrates its surroundings with sharp lyricism and monstrous vocal effects to create a beast of a record. Complimenting the single is an equally villainous music video, directed by Patrick Tohill and The Misunderstoods.
Luckily, “DEMONS” is only the appetizer for what Zaia has in store for listeners. While COVID-19 hasn’t delayed the release of his anticipated follow-up to RESET, the project’s rollout has suffered from canceled photoshoots and other unfinished supplementary content. Zaia powers on nevertheless.
“I’m not waiting until corona ends to release music,” he says. “I’m not going to let monetary projections right now affect when the music can come out or when people can hear it. The people that need to hear my music are gonna hear my music at the right time.”
Rashford
While many artists have found solace in innovative strategies and sheer grit, plenty are grappling with financial hardships and simply being unable to do what they love. In the wake of venue cancellations and shelter-in-place orders, Rashford (pictured, top) was one of those artists. As a rapper and the event planner behind Atlanta’s burgeoning We Gotta Make It concert series, he takes performing seriously, both as a passion and as a way for artists to eat.
“It’s definitely depressing, like, ‘Damn. What am I gonna do now?’” Rashford says. “That connection that happens at shows, you can’t really replace that. I depend on my craft for happiness.”
To rediscover that creative satisfaction and maintain a connection with his listeners, he recently announced a new web series titled “Just Because.” The show will feature a loose direction, solely centered around what his fanbase wants to watch him discuss, and it will also serve as a way for him to tease upcoming music, akin to how one would tease new music at a concert. Whether or not it works, Rashford realizes that taking risks, regardless of the looming pandemic, will always be a part of his craft.
“This pandemic is something we’re not sure of,” he says. “We’re not sure how life is gonna be in the summer or fall or even next year. Yeah, I can hold back on my music because we’re not sure, but I can also just go forward — because when have we ever been sure anyways?”
This too shall pass. —CL—"
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News of a novel virus overseas was quickly eclipsed by stateside fear as cases started being reported in several states. Atlanta, while not hit as hard as other major cities across the country, was hit nonetheless, and life has since changed dramatically for healthcare professionals, bartenders, and everyone in between as nonessential businesses close and essential businesses intensify.
The music industry is no exception, leaving local artists in an unexpected position. Not being able to earn money from performing at venues and possibly having to refrain from recording music are both legitimate concerns, yet instead of conceding defeat to COVID-19, Atlanta’s hip-hop community is fighting back with creativity. Here’s a snapshot of four artists who, despite social distancing, are still connecting and interacting with their listeners.
__Quanna__
Savannah native Quanna (pictured, bottom right) regularly shuffles between Atlanta and Brooklyn, but due to the outbreak in New York, she has been quarantined in the latter since March. While there, her hustle has gone completely digital, and over the past month, Quanna has reinvigorated the promotion of her 2019 project ''Miss Thang'' and lobbied, albeit unsuccessfully, for entry to Tory Lanez’s “Quarantine Radio.” Her longest-running effort, however, was the “Like Me (Remix)” Challenge, in which she tasked hungry producers to recreate and modernize the beat to one of her fan-favorites.
“Every time I perform, I do “Like Me,” my first song ever, and people love it,” Quanna says. “I think it’s dated, though, so I decided to do a beat challenge to give it a refresher of sorts.”
Unlike the TikTok and freestyle challenges flooding social media, Quanna’s challenge has put the spotlight on young producers and given her listeners the opportunity to be a part of her upcoming project, which will feature the top-voted remix to “Like Me.” Work on the project was unfortunately halted due to New York’s shelter-in-place order, but for the time being Quanna is dedicated to fostering a connection with listeners through social media.
__ProtéJay__
The son of New York legend Half-A-Mill and a decorated multihyphenate with music- and television-related accomplishments under his belt, ProtéJay (pictured, right) is a man of routine, and one of his major challenges with adapting to life during COVID-19 is the disruption to his nonstop work ethic. He admits to struggling with a forced change of pace, as well as having to reconsider major plans for 2020, but he isn’t letting this slump stop his drive.
“Our plan coming into this year was to drop four projects — one for each quarter,” ProtéJay says, “so we can’t back out on that. We’ve gotta do what we said we were gonna do.”
Sure enough, he dropped the eight-track project, ''Your World'', on March 27, and the week after he started a live streamed concert series with local producer 88Jay, called Sound Disorder. Powered by We Get It Media Productions, their weekly acoustic set now airs every Thursday evening at 6 p.m. on his Instagram account. With newfound structure and an additional creative outlet at his disposal, ProtéJay is re-energized and motivated to lift the spirits of everyone who tunes in.
“With all this shit going on, those little glimpses give people a break from reality,” he says. “We’re just tryna have fun and get our minds off of the situation.”
__Zaia__
Artists like Zaia (pictured, left) are pushing through the only way they know how — by releasing new music. Nearly a year removed from signing with Sony Records and releasing his stellar ''RESET'' EP, Zaia is done with waiting. On April 1, he unleashed “DEMONS,” the first single from his upcoming project. The bass-rattling earworm hijacks a simple refrain and infiltrates its surroundings with sharp lyricism and monstrous vocal effects to create a beast of a record. Complimenting the single is an equally villainous music video, directed by Patrick Tohill and The Misunderstoods.
Luckily, “DEMONS” is only the appetizer for what Zaia has in store for listeners. While COVID-19 hasn’t delayed the release of his anticipated follow-up to ''RESET'', the project’s rollout has suffered from canceled photoshoots and other unfinished supplementary content. Zaia powers on nevertheless.
“I’m not waiting until corona ends to release music,” he says. “I’m not going to let monetary projections right now affect when the music can come out or when people can hear it. The people that need to hear my music are gonna hear my music at the right time.”
__Rashford__
While many artists have found solace in innovative strategies and sheer grit, plenty are grappling with financial hardships and simply being unable to do what they love. In the wake of venue cancellations and shelter-in-place orders, Rashford (pictured, top) was one of those artists. As a rapper and the event planner behind Atlanta’s burgeoning We Gotta Make It concert series, he takes performing seriously, both as a passion and as a way for artists to eat.
“It’s definitely depressing, like, ‘Damn. What am I gonna do now?’” Rashford says. “That connection that happens at shows, you can’t really replace that. I depend on my craft for happiness.”
To rediscover that creative satisfaction and maintain a connection with his listeners, he recently announced a new web series titled “Just Because.” The show will feature a loose direction, solely centered around what his fanbase wants to watch him discuss, and it will also serve as a way for him to tease upcoming music, akin to how one would tease new music at a concert. Whether or not it works, Rashford realizes that taking risks, regardless of the looming pandemic, will always be a part of his craft.
“This pandemic is something we’re not sure of,” he says. “We’re not sure how life is gonna be in the summer or fall or even next year. Yeah, I can hold back on my music because we’re not sure, but I can also just go forward — because when have we ever been sure anyways?”
''This too shall pass.'' __—CL—__"
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string(7183) " ATL UNT Website 2020-05-11T20:58:18+00:00 ATL_UNT_Website.jpg atlu Local artists react and adjust to COVID-19 31023 2020-05-01T04:17:00+00:00 ATL UNTRAPPED: Socially distanced, musically connected jim.harris@creativeloafing.com Jim Harris Joshua Robinson 2020-05-01T04:17:00+00:00 By squealing “CORONAVIRUS!” in an Instagram video on March 10, Cardi B became the unofficial celebrity spokesperson for informing everyone that shit had really hit the fan. In addition to inspiring a viral — and Billboard-charting — remix of her original post, she ushered in an era of disbelief and uncertainty that deepened when the World Health Organization declared the global outbreak to be a pandemic one day later.
News of a novel virus overseas was quickly eclipsed by stateside fear as cases started being reported in several states. Atlanta, while not hit as hard as other major cities across the country, was hit nonetheless, and life has since changed dramatically for healthcare professionals, bartenders, and everyone in between as nonessential businesses close and essential businesses intensify.
The music industry is no exception, leaving local artists in an unexpected position. Not being able to earn money from performing at venues and possibly having to refrain from recording music are both legitimate concerns, yet instead of conceding defeat to COVID-19, Atlanta’s hip-hop community is fighting back with creativity. Here’s a snapshot of four artists who, despite social distancing, are still connecting and interacting with their listeners.
Quanna
Savannah native Quanna (pictured, bottom right) regularly shuffles between Atlanta and Brooklyn, but due to the outbreak in New York, she has been quarantined in the latter since March. While there, her hustle has gone completely digital, and over the past month, Quanna has reinvigorated the promotion of her 2019 project Miss Thang and lobbied, albeit unsuccessfully, for entry to Tory Lanez’s “Quarantine Radio.” Her longest-running effort, however, was the “Like Me (Remix)” Challenge, in which she tasked hungry producers to recreate and modernize the beat to one of her fan-favorites.
“Every time I perform, I do “Like Me,” my first song ever, and people love it,” Quanna says. “I think it’s dated, though, so I decided to do a beat challenge to give it a refresher of sorts.”
Unlike the TikTok and freestyle challenges flooding social media, Quanna’s challenge has put the spotlight on young producers and given her listeners the opportunity to be a part of her upcoming project, which will feature the top-voted remix to “Like Me.” Work on the project was unfortunately halted due to New York’s shelter-in-place order, but for the time being Quanna is dedicated to fostering a connection with listeners through social media.
ProtéJay
The son of New York legend Half-A-Mill and a decorated multihyphenate with music- and television-related accomplishments under his belt, ProtéJay (pictured, right) is a man of routine, and one of his major challenges with adapting to life during COVID-19 is the disruption to his nonstop work ethic. He admits to struggling with a forced change of pace, as well as having to reconsider major plans for 2020, but he isn’t letting this slump stop his drive.
“Our plan coming into this year was to drop four projects — one for each quarter,” ProtéJay says, “so we can’t back out on that. We’ve gotta do what we said we were gonna do.”
Sure enough, he dropped the eight-track project, Your World, on March 27, and the week after he started a live streamed concert series with local producer 88Jay, called Sound Disorder. Powered by We Get It Media Productions, their weekly acoustic set now airs every Thursday evening at 6 p.m. on his Instagram account. With newfound structure and an additional creative outlet at his disposal, ProtéJay is re-energized and motivated to lift the spirits of everyone who tunes in.
“With all this shit going on, those little glimpses give people a break from reality,” he says. “We’re just tryna have fun and get our minds off of the situation.”
Zaia
Artists like Zaia (pictured, left) are pushing through the only way they know how — by releasing new music. Nearly a year removed from signing with Sony Records and releasing his stellar RESET EP, Zaia is done with waiting. On April 1, he unleashed “DEMONS,” the first single from his upcoming project. The bass-rattling earworm hijacks a simple refrain and infiltrates its surroundings with sharp lyricism and monstrous vocal effects to create a beast of a record. Complimenting the single is an equally villainous music video, directed by Patrick Tohill and The Misunderstoods.
Luckily, “DEMONS” is only the appetizer for what Zaia has in store for listeners. While COVID-19 hasn’t delayed the release of his anticipated follow-up to RESET, the project’s rollout has suffered from canceled photoshoots and other unfinished supplementary content. Zaia powers on nevertheless.
“I’m not waiting until corona ends to release music,” he says. “I’m not going to let monetary projections right now affect when the music can come out or when people can hear it. The people that need to hear my music are gonna hear my music at the right time.”
Rashford
While many artists have found solace in innovative strategies and sheer grit, plenty are grappling with financial hardships and simply being unable to do what they love. In the wake of venue cancellations and shelter-in-place orders, Rashford (pictured, top) was one of those artists. As a rapper and the event planner behind Atlanta’s burgeoning We Gotta Make It concert series, he takes performing seriously, both as a passion and as a way for artists to eat.
“It’s definitely depressing, like, ‘Damn. What am I gonna do now?’” Rashford says. “That connection that happens at shows, you can’t really replace that. I depend on my craft for happiness.”
To rediscover that creative satisfaction and maintain a connection with his listeners, he recently announced a new web series titled “Just Because.” The show will feature a loose direction, solely centered around what his fanbase wants to watch him discuss, and it will also serve as a way for him to tease upcoming music, akin to how one would tease new music at a concert. Whether or not it works, Rashford realizes that taking risks, regardless of the looming pandemic, will always be a part of his craft.
“This pandemic is something we’re not sure of,” he says. “We’re not sure how life is gonna be in the summer or fall or even next year. Yeah, I can hold back on my music because we’re not sure, but I can also just go forward — because when have we ever been sure anyways?”
This too shall pass. —CL— Demetri Stefan Burke TRYNA GET AWAY: Atlanta Hip Hop is distancing itself from the horrors of the ongoing pandemic (Clockwise, from top: Rashford, ProtéJay, Quanna, and Zaia). 0,0,10 ATLU ATL UNTRAPPED: Socially distanced, musically connected "
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ATL UNTRAPPED: Socially distanced, musically connected Article
Friday May 1, 2020 12:17 am EDT
Local artists react and adjust to COVID-19
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string(5026) "To ask someone which part of Atlanta they are from is to welcome answers of various complexities. At times it can be simple — a concise “Pittsburgh,” for example — yet other times much more complicated. Outside of debates on what is truly considered Atlanta, the sheer number of stories and cultures native to the city’s neighborhoods are enough to transform a two- to three-word answer into a short essay response.
The latter is exactly what happens as Rocket Rhonnie and AUDIADASOUND (pictured left to right) explain their roots across the city. Rhonnie pops off a quick Southside/College Park combo, and Audia claims the Eastside — and more precisely, Ellenwood — by reciting the hook to Crime Mob’s “Ellenwood Area”: “Ellenwood Area / fuck wit us, we bury ya!” The conversation quickly expands from neighborhood talk to their latest musical campaign and the painful baggage that links their surroundings to their art.
Together, Rhonnie and Audia are The Queendom, a female hip-hop and R&B duo whose music hits harder than blunt force trauma. Their debut project, Queenshit Era, arrived in 2018 and earned them opportunities to perform at A3C, SXSW (South by Southwest), and other local indie festivals. From its album cover to the music video for its standout cut “Duty,” Queenshit employed powerful elements of ancient Greek imagery, making for minimal but striking visual components that complimented the straightforward nature of the record.
Now, two years later, the Queenshit era is over, and the group is entering a more colorful one as they ready their upcoming album: Vice. Neon imagery dictates the steamy music video for its lead single “Plekeke” (pronounced pleh-ke-keh), and the Kill Bill-inspired outfits that Rhonnie and Audia are both sporting hint at the album’s retro and cinematic art direction.
Their enthusiasm has seeped from the visuals into their recording sessions as well, and, quite frankly, The Queendom is having a lot of fun this time around. The previously mentioned single “Plekeke,” for instance, was derived from meme obsession during a smoke session. On a night when the artists were exceptionally high, Rhonnie started freestyling over one of Audia’s beats, referencing Skinbone’s viral remix to Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles.”
“Pla-ket-ket-ket-ket! And I’ll shoot you,” Rhonnie sings. “Pla-ket-ket-ket-ket! And I’ll kill you!”
“It started off as a parody,” Audia says. “Then it got really sexy.”
Thus, the sexually charged earworm was born, and its release signaled a vibrant new direction, both visually and sonically, for the duo. However, they warn that despite its bright appearance, Vice isn’t just shits and giggles. Rhonnie and Audia admit that intensity, no matter the emotion, has been the bedrock of the album, allowing them to build a collection of songs that reflect all aspects of their experience — from joy to anguish.
For Audia, who primarily oversees The Queendom’s production, creating new music has been therapeutic. The confidence she expressed earlier when repping the Eastside falters as she reveals that her mother passed away shortly after her family relocated there, which unfortunately served as the catalyst for her interest in making beats. Nearly 13 years later, Audia continues to find solace in exorcizing her demons on wax.
“After she passed, producing was literally what kept me going,” Audia says. “I’m a very passionate person, so whether I’m sad, excited, or mad, you’ll hear that on this next project.”
Rhonnie, on the other hand, typically strays from detail-specific introspection in her rhymes. Her extensive experience as an audio engineer and a songwriter has made the process more of a technical than a healing experience, but working with Audia on Vice has encouraged her to open up more. Rhonnie divulges that topics she never thought to take a crack at — such as depression, family struggles, and growing up in College Park — will finally be heard on the upcoming record.
“I was so disconnected from what happened in my childhood that it’s kind of hard for me to touch on these emotions,” Rhonnie says. “Making this album essentially forced me to go to therapy.”
Vice is set to be The Queendom’s most vivid and emotionally intense effort to date. Although no release date has been decided for the record, the duo teases that its next single, “I’mma Go Get It,” will be arriving soon. Additional sonic and visual surprises await listeners in the coming months, and Rhonnie and Audia promise that their new direction will still slap with the hard-hitting energy that they have become known for.
Just like they rapped on “Duty” from their 2018 debut, they have an obligation to “shit on these hos,” even when infusing topics like mental health, bad habits, and childhood trauma into their music. Heavy are the heads that wear the crowns, but such are the duties of queens."
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string(5022) "To ask someone which part of Atlanta they are from is to welcome answers of various complexities. At times it can be simple — a concise “Pittsburgh,” for example — yet other times much more complicated. Outside of debates on what is truly considered Atlanta, the sheer number of stories and cultures native to the city’s neighborhoods are enough to transform a two- to three-word answer into a short essay response.
The latter is exactly what happens as Rocket Rhonnie and AUDIADASOUND (pictured left to right) explain their roots across the city. Rhonnie pops off a quick Southside/College Park combo, and Audia claims the Eastside — and more precisely, Ellenwood — by reciting the hook to Crime Mob’s “Ellenwood Area”: “Ellenwood Area / fuck wit us, we bury ya!” The conversation quickly expands from neighborhood talk to their latest musical campaign and the painful baggage that links their surroundings to their art.
Together, Rhonnie and Audia are The Queendom, a female hip-hop and R&B duo whose music hits harder than blunt force trauma. Their debut project, Queenshit Era, arrived in 2018 and earned them opportunities to perform at A3C, SXSW (South by Southwest), and other local indie festivals. From its album cover to the music video for its standout cut “Duty,” Queenshit employed powerful elements of ancient Greek imagery, making for minimal but striking visual components that complimented the straightforward nature of the record.
Now, two years later, the Queenshit era is over, and the group is entering a more colorful one as they ready their upcoming album: Vice. Neon imagery dictates the steamy music video for its lead single “Plekeke” (pronounced pleh-ke-keh), and the Kill Bill-inspired outfits that Rhonnie and Audia are both sporting hint at the album’s retro and cinematic art direction.
Their enthusiasm has seeped from the visuals into their recording sessions as well, and, quite frankly, The Queendom is having a lot of fun this time around. The previously mentioned single “Plekeke,” for instance, was derived from meme obsession during a smoke session. On a night when the artists were exceptionally high, Rhonnie started freestyling over one of Audia’s beats, referencing Skinbone’s viral remix to Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles.”
“Pla-ket-ket-ket-ket! And I’ll shoot you,” Rhonnie sings. “Pla-ket-ket-ket-ket! And I’ll kill you!”
“It started off as a parody,” Audia says. “Then it got really sexy.”
Thus, the sexually charged earworm was born, and its release signaled a vibrant new direction, both visually and sonically, for the duo. However, they warn that despite its bright appearance, Vice isn’t just shits and giggles. Rhonnie and Audia admit that intensity, no matter the emotion, has been the bedrock of the album, allowing them to build a collection of songs that reflect all aspects of their experience — from joy to anguish.
For Audia, who primarily oversees The Queendom’s production, creating new music has been therapeutic. The confidence she expressed earlier when repping the Eastside falters as she reveals that her mother passed away shortly after her family relocated there, which unfortunately served as the catalyst for her interest in making beats. Nearly 13 years later, Audia continues to find solace in exorcizing her demons on wax.
“After she passed, producing was literally what kept me going,” Audia says. “I’m a very passionate person, so whether I’m sad, excited, or mad, you’ll hear that on this next project.”
Rhonnie, on the other hand, typically strays from detail-specific introspection in her rhymes. Her extensive experience as an audio engineer and a songwriter has made the process more of a technical than a healing experience, but working with Audia on Vice has encouraged her to open up more. Rhonnie divulges that topics she never thought to take a crack at — such as depression, family struggles, and growing up in College Park — will finally be heard on the upcoming record.
“I was so disconnected from what happened in my childhood that it’s kind of hard for me to touch on these emotions,” Rhonnie says. “Making this album essentially forced me to go to therapy.”
Vice is set to be The Queendom’s most vivid and emotionally intense effort to date. Although no release date has been decided for the record, the duo teases that its next single, “I’mma Go Get It,” will be arriving soon. Additional sonic and visual surprises await listeners in the coming months, and Rhonnie and Audia promise that their new direction will still slap with the hard-hitting energy that they have become known for.
Just like they rapped on “Duty” from their 2018 debut, they have an obligation to “shit on these hos,” even when infusing topics like mental health, bad habits, and childhood trauma into their music. Heavy are the heads that wear the crowns, but such are the duties of queens."
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string(5565) " ATLTrans Version1 Res Web 2020-03-02T19:59:02+00:00 ATLTrans_Version1_res_web.jpg untrapped Intense new music brings the duo face to face with their demons 29613 2020-03-02T19:54:04+00:00 ATL UNTRAPPED: The Queendom announces ‘Vice’ will.cardwell@gmail.com Will Cardwell JOSHUA ROBINSON 2020-03-02T19:54:04+00:00 To ask someone which part of Atlanta they are from is to welcome answers of various complexities. At times it can be simple — a concise “Pittsburgh,” for example — yet other times much more complicated. Outside of debates on what is truly considered Atlanta, the sheer number of stories and cultures native to the city’s neighborhoods are enough to transform a two- to three-word answer into a short essay response.
The latter is exactly what happens as Rocket Rhonnie and AUDIADASOUND (pictured left to right) explain their roots across the city. Rhonnie pops off a quick Southside/College Park combo, and Audia claims the Eastside — and more precisely, Ellenwood — by reciting the hook to Crime Mob’s “Ellenwood Area”: “Ellenwood Area / fuck wit us, we bury ya!” The conversation quickly expands from neighborhood talk to their latest musical campaign and the painful baggage that links their surroundings to their art.
Together, Rhonnie and Audia are The Queendom, a female hip-hop and R&B duo whose music hits harder than blunt force trauma. Their debut project, Queenshit Era, arrived in 2018 and earned them opportunities to perform at A3C, SXSW (South by Southwest), and other local indie festivals. From its album cover to the music video for its standout cut “Duty,” Queenshit employed powerful elements of ancient Greek imagery, making for minimal but striking visual components that complimented the straightforward nature of the record.
Now, two years later, the Queenshit era is over, and the group is entering a more colorful one as they ready their upcoming album: Vice. Neon imagery dictates the steamy music video for its lead single “Plekeke” (pronounced pleh-ke-keh), and the Kill Bill-inspired outfits that Rhonnie and Audia are both sporting hint at the album’s retro and cinematic art direction.
Their enthusiasm has seeped from the visuals into their recording sessions as well, and, quite frankly, The Queendom is having a lot of fun this time around. The previously mentioned single “Plekeke,” for instance, was derived from meme obsession during a smoke session. On a night when the artists were exceptionally high, Rhonnie started freestyling over one of Audia’s beats, referencing Skinbone’s viral remix to Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles.”
“Pla-ket-ket-ket-ket! And I’ll shoot you,” Rhonnie sings. “Pla-ket-ket-ket-ket! And I’ll kill you!”
“It started off as a parody,” Audia says. “Then it got really sexy.”
Thus, the sexually charged earworm was born, and its release signaled a vibrant new direction, both visually and sonically, for the duo. However, they warn that despite its bright appearance, Vice isn’t just shits and giggles. Rhonnie and Audia admit that intensity, no matter the emotion, has been the bedrock of the album, allowing them to build a collection of songs that reflect all aspects of their experience — from joy to anguish.
For Audia, who primarily oversees The Queendom’s production, creating new music has been therapeutic. The confidence she expressed earlier when repping the Eastside falters as she reveals that her mother passed away shortly after her family relocated there, which unfortunately served as the catalyst for her interest in making beats. Nearly 13 years later, Audia continues to find solace in exorcizing her demons on wax.
“After she passed, producing was literally what kept me going,” Audia says. “I’m a very passionate person, so whether I’m sad, excited, or mad, you’ll hear that on this next project.”
Rhonnie, on the other hand, typically strays from detail-specific introspection in her rhymes. Her extensive experience as an audio engineer and a songwriter has made the process more of a technical than a healing experience, but working with Audia on Vice has encouraged her to open up more. Rhonnie divulges that topics she never thought to take a crack at — such as depression, family struggles, and growing up in College Park — will finally be heard on the upcoming record.
“I was so disconnected from what happened in my childhood that it’s kind of hard for me to touch on these emotions,” Rhonnie says. “Making this album essentially forced me to go to therapy.”
Vice is set to be The Queendom’s most vivid and emotionally intense effort to date. Although no release date has been decided for the record, the duo teases that its next single, “I’mma Go Get It,” will be arriving soon. Additional sonic and visual surprises await listeners in the coming months, and Rhonnie and Audia promise that their new direction will still slap with the hard-hitting energy that they have become known for.
Just like they rapped on “Duty” from their 2018 debut, they have an obligation to “shit on these hos,” even when infusing topics like mental health, bad habits, and childhood trauma into their music. Heavy are the heads that wear the crowns, but such are the duties of queens. Joshua Robinson NEIGHBORHOODS COLLIDE: Ellenwood and College Park converge in this striking Hip-Hop/R&B outfit. 0,0,11 untrapped ATL UNTRAPPED: The Queendom announces ‘Vice’ "
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ATL UNTRAPPED: The Queendom announces ‘Vice’ Article
Monday March 2, 2020 02:54 pm EST
Intense new music brings the duo face to face with their demons
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