The RX

Trevor Jackson’s ‘The Love Language’ Is A Big Step On His Path Towards Self-Discovery

by
James Anthony/Ralph Ordaz

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

Trevor Jackson is someone I’ve watched grow up before my eyes. From his role as Kris McDuffy, a teenage best friend to an aspiring rapper, in Disney Channel’s 2012 film, Let It Shine, to playing the much more mature young man that is Aaron Jackson in Freeform’s Grown-ish, Trevor has been a star for much of his life. However, it’s not at all limited to his acting career. The multi-talented Indiana native is also a growing singer whose music career improves with each step he takes into adulthood.

The 24-year-old just released his third album, The Love Language and it’s a 14-track effort that explores the ways to receive and give affection to your partner. His commitment to being all and more for his companion comes alive on “Your Everything,” and even when the door for love hasn’t opened yet as we hear on “Just Friends,” Trevor’s willingness to pour his heart out, like he does on “This Won’t Go Viral,” tends to serve him well.

However, it’s not always green pastures and pretty flowers for the singer, but simply expressing his emotions and being sensitive through music is something he’s happy to do. “That’s how I feel about music and this album in particular,” he said during our phone call. “Just really kind of opening up about love and not being afraid to be sensitive as a black man in life, in general, is kind of like frowned upon.”

The courage towards being sensitive is found throughout The Love Language. In an interview with Uproxx, Trevor spoke about the new album, playing Aaron Jackson on Grown-ish, his own love languages, and more.

You’re someone who’s always busy. Between acting and music, it seems like there’s always something on your plate. However, with the pandemic, I assume you ended up with more time on your hands. How did you cope with that?

I think it was a message from God for me personally in my life, because I have a hard time taking breaks and tending to myself. I feel like I’m always trying to do the next thing, so it was really just like, sit down, who are you outside of your career, outside of music, outside of acting, who are you as a man? Who do you want to be as a man? What are you willing to do to obtain those things? So it was truly transformational for me, the whole pandemic, unfortunately, under unfortunate circumstances, but due to it, I was able to kind of really just see myself. I surfed a lot, I reflected a lot, I just got to find out who I was more as a man which then enabled me to make music in a different way, in a more honest way, and in a more vulnerable way.

The Love Language is your next body of work, which comes after your Rough Drafts, Pt. 1 and Rough Drafts, Pt. 2 projects. Going off that “rough draft” idea, what are some of the things that you feel you’ve improved or even perfected in your artistry?

I think the songwriting is some of my best work. I called it Love Language because music is my love language. I also think that, you know, love is like a drug and it can be good or it can be bad, but it’s never one or the other all the time. It’s never always good and it’s never always bad. Love is like life a lot of times, it’s gonna be up, it’s gonna be down, it’s gonna be about who are you going to be during that rollercoaster ride. Are you going to be the person that’s screaming and just enjoying the fact that they’re on the ride or the one that’s like, “Oh my God no. I hate this, I hate this.” Who do you want to be while you’re sitting on the rollercoaster. I want to be the guy that’s scared out of his mind but his hands are up and he’s screaming and laughing, just making the most out of the situation.

In one of your past interviews, you said your music always comes from personal experiences whereas acting finds you stepping into someone else’s shoes. Keeping that in mind, that made me appreciate this Love Language album more because we can see you working your way in and out of different love languages.

Right. Some of them it’s like, this is really good and then now, she’s making me feel weird, she’s rubbing me the wrong way and that is also a part of love. If you’re with someone and you’re mad at them, instead of being like, “Hey, I’m mad, and my feelings have been hurt, I just want you to tell me that you love me, I want to know that you still care about me,” we’ll be quiet. We’ll give the silent treatment, we’ll slam a door, we’ll go make food but make it loud. We don’t know how to express ourselves and that’s something I feel like we all need to work on. I’ve been saying this in every interview of mine, I want to push everyone to go to therapy or counseling or anything. It doesn’t mean that something’s wrong with you, it doesn’t mean you have a mental disability — and if you do have a mental disability, that’s okay. Just to have someone to speak to and open up about your life is so, so healing. Just to find out the birthplace of a lot of our behaviors, we all behave in a certain way and we all just think, “Hey, we’re just this is just who we are.” Actually no, it’s a lot, lot more complex and a lot deeper than that. Once you know the landscape, you’re able to start changing things. If you’re just confused about what’s going on, life will just happen around. If you start knowing yourself better, you’ll know how to navigate within life.

What love language would you say you have and what about your childhood and upbringing would you attribute to that?

I think quality time is definitely my top one. My mom and I went on tour when I was eight years old, so me and her would always spend a lot of time, but family members that I didn’t get to see all the time and wonder when I would see them were my favorite moments. Even now, I get to go back home like once a year, I wish I could go more but, I get to go back so spending that quality time with them really, really means a lot to me. So, yeah, I think that kind of plays into it a little bit. I don’t care if I got to shoot all day and get off at 1 a.m., I’m still going to try and come see you. Or if it’s early in the morning, I would try and come see you. I think it shows effort like, do you really care about the person? But also you can’t use that to an extent where it’s like, “Oh, you don’t care about me if you don’t come see me.” Then it’s like no, I’m gonna care about me too. Yeah, I’ve got to get rest. So it’s a hard balance, man.

Songs like “Pictures By The Pool” and “Be Yourself” are examples of what your pet peeves within a relationship are. Keeping that in mind, what are some things that you’re working on that might’ve been pet peeves to someone else?

Here’s something that I know that I do: in my understanding of my world, if things aren’t a big deal, they just aren’t. I’ve got to work on being like everyone doesn’t think like me. I’ve gotta be a little more sensitive to that, but I almost feel like Thanos, I’m not gonna let you distract me from my destiny, I’ve gotta do this, these things have to be done, and that’s just how it has to go. But I know sometimes that can come off insensitive, but in the big grand scheme of things, why are we talking about this? I’m thinking about aliens, I’m thinking about the end of the world and I’m thinking about really big concepts and really big ideas. So when you come to me with things that are minuscule in the grand scheme of things, it’s a waste of our time, not just mine, it’s yours too. We need to be having bigger conversations.

Do you feel like you parallel in any way to Aaron, the character you play on Grown-ish?

I think the main thing that I relate to with Aaron is the ambition side of things, I don’t fold. There’s many people close that would like me to change the way I might do things. I just don’t budge on that, I can’t budge on that, because it takes away the whole purpose of who I stand for, what I stand for. To conform into a way to be accepted is not my forte and I’ve been asked to do that multiple times, but I can’t do it. Who would I be telling people to be who you are unless someone tells you this is the only way to be in the movie, then you gotta be this kind of person. If this is the only way to sell a record, then you gotta be this. If this is the only way to get a lot of views on a music video, then you gotta do the music video like this. Who would I be preaching this message or whatever if I didn’t do that myself, so I think that’s how Aaron is a lot. He’s like, dude, I don’t care, this is right, this is wrong, this is what I believe, this is I’m standing behind, this is what I’m gonna do. So I definitely carry that energy with me, but I’m definitely more artistic with my political mess [compared to Aaron].

I think Aaron is trying to figure it out, you don’t get it right the first time and you probably won’t get it right the second time when it comes to love. Love is not an easy task, partnership is not an easy task, compromise is not an easy task. It takes time to get to those places. But I think that Aaron is a good person, I think he always has good intentions. He wants to save the world and sometimes saving the world gets in the way of relationship, maybe it doesn’t. I feel like that in my real life and I feel like I’ve got so much to do [that] it’s hard for me to put something or someone in front of that at the moment.

Shifting back to your career as a director, you’ve directed a lot of your own music videos and even some for your peers over the last few years. What’s one artist or even a TV show that you’d love to direct a video or an episode for?

I wouldn’t want to direct like Tom Hardy or Denzel, but I’d like to just pick the scene that they’re in and let them do what they want to do. I think a good director knows their actor, and as an actor, I know what it’s like to have someone try to come in and be like, “Yo, do it like this,” especially when you’ve done that. But that’s why I think actors who are directors are better directors, like John Fabbro to me was a great director because he acts and he knows what’s gonna work, what’s not gonna work. Guy Ritchie’s one of my favorite directors, I don’t think he’s an actor, but his directing is amazing. Zack Snyder now is another one I want to work after seeing Justice League, I mean he did 300 the guy’s a beast. Yeah. So yeah, I definitely want to write and direct for sure and I’ve been working on some ideas and concepts in mind.

What’s your ultimate goal as a creative whether it’s through acting, dancing, singing, directing or just all of them combined?

I wanna do a movie and do everything in the movie. I want to act, direct, compose, edit the movie. I want to do every part. With me, I know that that probably will take me at least four years to do because I’m going to be so stickler on my ass about it. I’m gonna be like it’s not good enough, it’s not good enough, it’s not good enough. I know even with my writing, I’m gonna have to go away somewhere and really get into it because I’m just too hard on myself and I know I want it to be great, so I gotta make sure I have that block of time.

The Love Language is out now via Born Art/EMPIRE. Get it here.

Caleborate Reflects The Full Spectrum Of Creativity On ‘Light Hit My Skin’

by
Ralph Ordaz/Caleborate

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

When asked about how he’s been handling the last year of pandemic, Sacramento rapper Caleborate paraphrases Bruce Lee: “What I’ve been doing to keep things all together is just being like water.” The quote, which implores the listener to be flexible, malleable, and to go with the flow, aptly describes Caleborate’s music style as well. Although his new album, Light Hit My Skin, is ostensibly a hip-hop album, it’s also a genre-fluid affair that allows Caleborate to transform according to his whims and needs of the lush production. And yet, while water can fill a container or run like a river, it remains water — that’s a lesson Caleborate puts into practice here, as well.

So, while he tackles straightforward, storytelling rap on “Contact” with fellow indie rap stalwart Kota The Friend, he also spends several of the interludes — titled “Light 001,” “Light 002,” and “Light 003” — vocalizing like a praise leader on Sunday morning. He calls these his favorite tracks on the album. He demonstrates his versatility throughout; there’s the house-inspired, synth-pop experiment “Homecoming” with Duckwrth, the soft-rock ballad “Untitled (Hit Record),” and the post-hyphy intro “Cliquot Shower.” Each emanates authenticity — there’s no major label-mandated push for algorithmic ambivalence. Instead, Caleborate is like the titular light on his skin — a full spectrum of wavelengths and colors — all of them are not always visible, but they are the same beam of light.

Over the phone with Uproxx, Caleborate reflects on his unique artistic philosophy, other lessons he’s learned over the past year, and questions why, with such a multifaceted array of lights to choose from, mainstream hip-hop continues to constrain itself to just a few shades of red.

What have you been doing over the last year of quarantine?

I’ve been doing some Caleb work, some Caleborate work, some Mr. Parker work, you know what I mean. All different facets of me. Some work as a brother, as a son, as a businessman.

I’ve had a lot of time to reconnect with my family because before COVID and everything popped off, I was really planning to move to LA. My manager and I were about to move in together, he had found an apartment. We literally had gone to go see it the day before I came back to live in the Bay with my mom.

COVID kicked off right in March, so I ended up staying in the Bay. My manager ended up staying where he was located out in Pennsylvania. My workflow changed drastically. My plans changed drastically. Performances: Gone. And certain things that I had going in process for the album shifted up. So, I just kind of had to adjust my workflow and sort of catch my rhythm in the water. I just had to catch my rhythm.

That’s really what we’re here for is for the album, which has a very interesting title, Light Hit My Skin. Obviously, there’s probably a lot of layers to that. Why don’t you kind of give me a little bit of an overview of what inspired this title and the concept of the album?

It’s so many different types of light. We were listening to “The Madness” and we just keyed in on that line. We’re driving in the car and everybody keyed in on that line. It’s so multi-layered, it has so many different meanings. And I have a lot of different versions of the light that hit my skin, whether it’s on stage or out in the street or whether it’s cop lights cascading over our car or it’s phone flashlights taking pictures with people.

Or even the light in me if you want to get metaphorical. The light that I can shine is who I am and enlightening people. All the different forms of that word really hit me at that moment and it’s something that I referenced a few times in the album. So to me, it’s just all the different situations in which light hits my skin. I’m about to go into the grocery store right now and lights are about to hit my skin, they got fluorescent light in there, and that’s a setting for a story, a moment of life.

I love that you can find so many different ways of looking at such a simple phrase, that really speaks to your gift as a writer, which is one of the things that drew me to you as an artist. Speaking of lines that jump out, one that hit me was about how you used to wear hoop shorts under your jeans on “We Make.” It just sent me right back to my own high school experience.

Oh man, bro, man, that was a thing that we did back in middle school and high school, we stopped sophomore year of high school because we got real lockers. We would hoop before school, you would literally come to school dripped out, shorts on underneath your jeans, come to school a little bit early, take your jeans off.

You might put hoop shoes in your backpack or over your shoulder, the next thing, you’re hooping. And then we hoop for 15 minutes, put your jeans on. We had to buy our jeans a couple of sizes higher. You have to buy thinner shorts.

Those moments help teach you a little bit about who people are. And when you have a confrontation on the court and disagreements or you’re picking teams or you have to take initiative or share with teammates. It was just kind of these young man moments that I had reminisced on that I sometimes see the matured version of them in our culture.

So as an independent artist, you have a lot more control over what you put out and how you put it out. But because it’s coming out of your pocket, you don’t have the budget of a bigger artist. How do you go about executing without really having the same resources as major label artists?

Well, for me, it’s relationships. Keeping those relationships is invaluable because we’re the artists and whether you’re signed to a label or not, real artists can see each other. And so I’m blessed. There are other people that I meet that are blessed to do it that way, musically, whether it’s production or writing or singing or whatever, for the sake of music, I’m keeping them relationships.

I have a very strong core of artists that I’ve been working with and people that support me. And it’s definitely all based on music. Money is secondary, but money has come because of that. As far as reaching out to newer artists like Deante Hitchcock or working with Cantrell or working with Tone Sinatra or working with Duckwrth… I make sure that they’re compensated and make sure that their time is valued.

But first comes first, do they like to record? Do they want to be in this thing? Are they down for the ride of this record? And everybody featured on the project, man, they’re real artists. And so it’s just an honor to work with other people like that.

How have you adapted to not having a tour life over the last year? What’s something that you miss about touring and what something you don’t miss about touring?

Man, touring is this very bittersweet thing, absolutely love and miss traveling in general. The number one aspect of touring is being out with friends — three, four like-minded individuals — experiencing life together at a new point in time. And then when you compound making money and having a reason to be here, it’s amazing.

Traveling is great, but it’s also not great, it’s tiring. Also, “traveling while Black” is a thing, just like “traveling while a woman” is a thing — especially international travel. People look at you, look at what you’re wearing… That could be kind of draining, so that part of travel I don’t miss.

God took it away from all of these artists, all of us for a reason. So we’ll never forget it. That’s how I feel. But, yeah, I miss that and what I’ve been doing to keep things all together is just being like water and learning more to be like water.

The change in sort of workflow for the whole world really has sort of allowed for, I think, me and people like me maybe to focus on what’s in the now. “What can I actually do? What do I need to do? What’s something I need to be doing, what stuff I want to be doing? And how can I get what I need to get done in spite of what’s going on in the world?” And I’ve been learning a lot of stuff through just approaching stuff with that mentality.

As we wrap things up, I always like to ask artists this question because you have to get asked the same questions over and over again. What’s something that you want to talk about that you wish somebody had asked you?

That’s a really good question. I almost want the right person to ask. I want somebody to ask me, or even once someone to have a real, everything-on-the-table conversation about the history of hip-hop and rap music and its impact on the Black community, as far as things that are promoted in the music and how they correlate to health, violence as promoted in the music and how it correlates to crime rates, and trends that occur in the music industry as far as artists who perpetuate certain themes in their music.

Because I believe over time, hip-hop has gotten bloodier and bloodier and there’s been more money put into bloodier and bloodier music. And I don’t have anything against bloody music. It’s not my preferred genre. It’s not my preferred experience. But when something has been systematically controlled by capitalistic entities like major corporations that do billions of dollars in revenue every year and can invest hundreds of millions or 20 to 50 million into the specific genre of music… Maybe you can have conversations. I would just be interested in having that conversation.

Light Hit My Skin is out now on TBKTR. Get it here.

Joyce Wrice Is Too ‘Overgrown’ For Immaturity And Indecisiveness On Her Debut Album

by
Logan Williamson/Ralph Ordaz

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

Well before you hear her delicate, soaring voice, an admirable aspect of Joyce Wrice’s career is her ability to be a highlight in a room full of undeniable talents. After landing collaborations with Dom Kennedy, Blu, Jay Prince, and others in the early to mid-2010s, Wrice’s light would soon brighten. In recent years, she’s landed tracks with Devin Morrison (“With You”), Free Nationals (“The Rivington”), and Westside Gunn (“French Toast”). Her contributions were always the sweet icing on an already tasty cake, a delicacy that slowly drew more interest towards the supporting act with each release.

Finally, Wrice has delivered her main course to the world with her debut album, Overgrown. Unlike most love-focused R&B debuts, which often present youth and naivety as accompanying attributes in relationships, the LA singer’s body of work seemingly arrives after this stage in life. Experience and the wisdom to learn from it all find Wrice more prepared to begin the trek towards a committed lover who’s just as mature as she is.

While the end goal on Overgrown is indeed a partner who meets her standards, that’s only half of it. On the album’s title track, which doubles as the project’s outro, Wrice shares what could be documented as her “above all else” mantra. “But don’t you lose all that makes you you,” she sings. “You will be scared, unprepared sometimes.” The heart will always want what it wants but altering its best and most foundational aspects to attain that will bring a result that’s not nearly as satisfying as one imagined.

This very thought process is why on “Losing” she makes her insufficient lover not only aware of their sub-par contributions to their growing relationship, but her irreversible decision to find something better. The song’s swift-moving drums and giddy guitar strings capture her nimble sidestep in dodging the bullet of an unsatisfying love. “Must Be Nice” also echoes the mantra she introduced on the album’s outro, and despite a counter for Masego to continue to flow, Wrice stands firm on placing a pause on their nighttime fun for the betterment of herself. “But it’s just something about the things you do to me / You keep me places I know I ain’t supposed to be,” she sings, adding, “I’ve got rules when I’m with you I don’t follow / I’m wishing you were a phase.’”

Wrice’s insistence for a companion that checks off all her desired boxes stems from being deprived from her close encounters of just that. This picture-perfect partner who absorbs her attention by simply breathing is her muse on “Addicted” and “Think About You.” The once too-good-for-you singer finds herself swept up on a love cloud that unfortunately fails to bring her to her desired location. The former accounts for her inability to turn her dream lover into a reality over an electric ballad while the latter is a dreamy affair that sees her putting the ball in their court with the hope that they make the easy layup.

Overgrown is the LA singer’s way of letting both new and old interests know that immaturity and indecisiveness are not welcomed in her world. It’s clear Wrice has had her fair share of that in the past and its return is the last thing she needs. While some might use their debut to document their growth, Wrice takes her opportunity to show that she is grown. Whether it’s falling in love, falling out of it, or just avoiding it altogether, Overgrown tells and shows listeners that through it all, she’ll present her best self and push forward with it as nobly as possible. If you’re going to wear your heart on your sleeve as she does, the least you can do is protect it from heinous outside forces. For Wrice, this protection not only comes in the form of self-preservation but also through strict warnings that promise undesirable consequences if ignored

Overgrown is out now via Joyce Wrice Music. Get it here.

Kota The Friend’s Refreshing ‘To Kill A Sunrise’ With Statik Selektah Makes Rap Sound Fun Again

by
Kota The Friend / Ralph Ordaz

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

It’s a formula we’ve all seen before; one rapper, one producer, 10 tracks. There’s a reason for this: It works.

The latest example proving this aphorism is To Kill A Sunrise, the concise collaborative project from burgeoning Brooklyn rapper Kota The Friend and veteran Boston producer Statik Selektah. Released just two months removed from Kota’s last project, the quick and dirty Lyrics To Go, Vol. 2, this latest effort makes an ironclad case for the aforementioned recipe with crisp, inventive rhymes over inviting instrumentals that show what traditionalist hip-hop can be at its absolute best.

Over the course of his surprisingly productive five-year career, Kota has proven to be one of the genre’s foremost advocates of the bars-first mentality endemic to his hometown’s musical philosophy throughout the mid-’90s. To put it bluntly, whenever someone shouts out “real hip-hop,” they usually mean rap in the vein of jazz-sampling, puffer jacket-wearing, Timberland boot-stomping, cerebral rappers from the lyrical bloodline of acts like Gang Starr, Pete Rock & CL Smooth, and A Tribe Called Quest.

Kota has this, yes, but he also adds his own unique, plainspoken perspective to the simile-ridden rhyme style of his forebears, leavening their rugged machismo with a vulnerable, confessional, emotionally intelligent bent to his raps. He displayed as much on his breakout 2019 album Foto and on its 2020 follow-up Everything, but whereas on those albums, he displayed that honest tendency over beats that toed the line between modernism and his natural, jazz-rap instincts, on To Kill A Sunrise, he fully indulges the latter, partnering with their perfect foil in Statik Selektah.

For instance on “Hate,” Statik laces Kota with a stripped-down, hand-clap-and-key-stab sample pack over which Kota can “have some fun,” as he says on the song’s introductory instrumental bars. On the song’s opposite, “The Love,” Statik scratches in over a tinkling piano sample, throws hella swing on the drum kit, and channels the spirit of 1991. Kota dives in headfirst, ruminating on intergenerational responsibilities and working at mediocre jobs before attaining his dream of supporting himself through his music.

The combination of Statik’s throwback beats and Kota’s straightfoward, lyrics-focused rhyme style certainly evokes nostalgia for a certain era and place in hip-hop history but they’re not stuck in the past, as so many rhyme-first rap conservatives can be. They don’t thumb their noses at modern trends so much as eschew them entirely; they aren’t here to scold rappers for humming or diss their gold-chain-flexing, trap-praising peers. The endeavor comes across more self-contained, as if to say, “This is us, in our element, doing what we like to do.” In short, it’s a rapper and producer having fun making music, which can sometimes feel rare these days.

Ever since Jay-Z first uttered that fateful phrase “I’m not a rapper,” it can seem as though many folks who do the job are only doing it to get their feet in the door at the places they really want to work, like waitstaff at the local diner who are really actors or web designers or CEOs in casual conversations. Within the past month, I’ve written about no less seven major rap stars securing their first acting roles, while a number of others have jumped into tech or become restauranteurs.

These are all good things! We’ve seen enough rappers go from rags to riches back to rags over the past four decades to understand that rap money doesn’t always last. “LLC Twitter” is quick to remind anyone unfortunate enough to stumble across their condescending messages that you should have multiple streams of income to ensure a comfortable lifestyle and we’ve both praised and criticized Jay-Z for his capitalistic ambitions. Entertainment’s a fickle mistress, so it’s best to make sure there’s a plan B, C, D, E, F, and G for the day the winds change and fans’ taste does too.

But it’s so refreshing to listen to someone make hip-hop because they enjoy making hip-hop. Kota raps about hustling his way out of poverty, yes, but not through socially destructive means. And now that he’s reached his level of comfort, there’s no castigation or roasting of his listeners or taunting of his enemies and haters. Kota raps like the money is assured on tracks like “Live & Direct,” but also secondary to things like fatherhood, community, health, and sharing his wisdom rather than lording it over the plebians who keep him in business.

Nor does he waste time berating anyone for making or enjoying that type of rap. He’s not a snob or an elitist. He’s not above employing a trappish beat himself, as he displayed on prior releases like Everything. But he’s a rapper’s rapper who truly enjoys the craft, working with an established producer who knows how to tap into his strongest impulses. The result is just like the sunrise: Enjoyable to experience, invigorating and easygoing at the same time, and full of promise for a new day.

To Kill A Sunrise Is Out Now via FLTBYS. Get it here.

Guapdad 4000 Stares His Demons In The Face On The Vulnerable ‘1176’

by
Martin Frederick/Paul Middleton/Ralph Ordaz

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

One of Guapdad 4000’s press pics is a photo of him and his grandma, whom he lovingly calls “Naynay.” It’s a Tagalog term of endearment meaning “mom”; the way he uses it reflects the relationship he has with his Filipino grandmother as a result of his rough-and-tumble upbringing in West Oakland. Throughout his newly-released album, 1176, he highlights those aspects of his Filipino heritage as he shares some of his most vulnerable and personal material yet.

That cultural honor comes through in the titles of songs like “Chicken Adobo,” in which he compares a partner’s love to the heartwarming flavor of the Philippines’ most recognizable dish. The autobiographical vulnerability comes through in songs like “Uncle Ricky,” where he details his run-ins with a reckless relative, and “Stoop Kid,” where the porch of the house from the album’s cover becomes the center of the mise en scene for dice games, shootouts, and family drama to play out over the course of Guapdad’s life.

It’s only right, then, that his prime partner in this endeavor is someone who can relate to some of those aspects of his upbringing. Enter Illmind, a near 20-year veteran producer who has worked with some of hip-hop’s biggest hitmakers and well-respected underground legends from Drake (“You & The 6“) and J. Cole (“Love Yourz“) to Little Brother (“Good Clothes“) and Skyzoo (“Luxury” with Westside Gunn) — and he just happens to be Filipino, as well. Guapdad and Illmind met at a mutual friend’s session and instantly formed a personal and creative bond that resonates throughout 1176, from the unexpected Alice Deejay flip on lead single “How Many” to the ghostly, deconstructed Miami bass R&B of “Catching Bodies,” that brings out some of Guapdad’s most cutting recollections and observations.

Uproxx connected with the “Cartier Kuyas” over the phone to break down the new album, but unfortunately, the conversation had to once again swing to address the sharp rise in anti-Asian hate crimes over the past year in the wake of the recent spa shooting spree in Atlanta. While that conversation helped to highlight a sense of solidarity between the two seemingly disparate groups that actually form Guapdad’s genetic makeup, the rest of our discussion illuminated the intriguing creative process behind bringing 1176 to life.

I have to ask: how are you feeling? How are you responding to the tough news?

Illmind: It’s coming as a surprise to me, just as much as everyone else. It’s really unfortunate. I’m saddened by it. I’m praying for the people who have been affected and the families of all the people that lost their lives so far in these hate crimes. 2020 was an intense year for obvious reasons and now it’s almost like we’re shifting to each culture every year.

It’s rooted in hate. So I pray that we can do what we can to start shifting the narrative and, this might sound whimsical and like I’m in fantasy land, but I am a real true believer in love conquering hate at the end of the day, but getting there is going to be the challenge.

Guapdad: That was a powerful statement, Illmind. I’m over here completely resonating with that. I’m trying to take my time and come up with my more diplomatic response, because right now I’m just on some Oakland n**** sh*t because it’s infuriating. If somebody touched my grandma, I’m going to kill him.

I feel you. I remember you said that the last time we talked about this. So, as far as the album goes: What was the seed? How did this get started? Where did the idea come from and how did you water it and make it grow?

Guapdad: Essentially, the seed came from us. I only talk in this with this type of diction because we homies and I like to give you a bit more deeper scoop than most of the shit we’ve been doing: Honestly, I feel like innately, me and Ill, have been preparing our whole lives to meet each other and work.

Everything that he liked, everything that I liked, everything that we had done up until this point kind of snowballed into us f*cking clash-of-the-Titans meeting each other and just feeling like we was already friends. We both have those similar life experiences throughout our whole lives that led us to there, to where we got this crazy synergy. I don’t give a f*ck what Ill play. As soon as I hear it, the song’s done.

Illmind: I mean Guap said it all. That’s exactly how it started. It’s crazy because we come from two different coasts. Guap is from the West, I’m from the East. We came up on a lot of the same things even with that distance, from fashion to just music taste to just this aesthetic, visual audio aesthetic, everything. And we both take our crafts very seriously and we’re deeply passionate.

When you put two guys like us together, on top of the fact that we both share a similar culture being Filipino, it’s like what Guap said, we were almost sort of destined to do this. The first time I had a session with Guap was in LA, and it was almost like a deja vu moment, where it was like either I saw this happening or it was kind of like written in the stars and it was like, “Oh yeah, whatever you’ve been doing up to this point led to this point right now.”

Guap, how do you tap into this vulnerable mode and why was it so important to do it on this project coming straight off Dior Deposits?

Guapdad: Honestly bro, that was just one big venting session. I’ve been doing a lot of running from a lot of demons, especially throughout just quarantine and all of these things going wrong. And all of these things popping up in my life that trouble me, that take sleep away from me, that add to the pressures of my career. I run away from these things by just working more. I distract myself with work because I’m a f*cking work machine.

I hadn’t processed losing my house because I never slowed down. Had a going away last party at the crib, and I went and I got my tears out. I cried harder than I ever cried in my life at this sayonara event to my old residence. But I feel emotionally, hadn’t really dealt with that devil face-to-face. And the music, these beats, my heart, my spirit was forcing me to talk about it. It was forcing me to talk about that because creatively, I’d probably always reference it and never get over it if I didn’t.

I don’t want to always talk about how much it hurt to lose the house. I don’t want to always look at white people in my neighborhood and get mad at them for gentrification. I don’t want to harbor hate. So it was necessary that I made a song like “Stoop Kid” so that I can still exist in a normal space.

Illmind: It was crazy because at the point in the album creation, when Guap was like, “All right, let’s do some shit. I want to tell some stories, man. I need to pull some emotions.” And a light bulb came off for me because those are, personally for me, those are some of my favorite types of records to make with people. And when he said that, I pulled out the bag.

On “You & The 6,” that was [Drake’s] first time he’s talking about his relationship with his mother and father. “Love Yourz,” a song about Cole talking about the importance of self love and valuing the right things, became the muse for Forest Hills Drive. I feel like when I make music, there’s this emotion that I put into it. And when an artist feels that same, resonates with that vibration and is able to pull something deep inside of them and write something incredible with it, that’s my North star where I feel like I did my job.

What does Naynay think about the wild stuff you sometimes say on these records?

Guapdad: She don’t give a f*ck. [All laughing.] I’m paying bills, and she know my heart is good. One thing that’s tight about my grandma is she sees my blackness and my extrovertedness, she’s always nurtured it. There is a side of me that is very blunt. And there is a side of me that’s non-filtered. And she always accepts that because she accepts me expressing myself. And this is how I choose to do it. So she f*cks with it.

All parents everywhere are just winging it. But as a kid or a person without kids, especially, who never thought on that level, you don’t realize that. Because that’s who you look to when you hungry. That’s who you look to when you need money. That’s what you look to when everything fails and you got to restart. Some people don’t get that privilege. It should be every human’s fail-safe. And that’s how I look at my grandma. She like God to me in that way because her forgiveness is indefinite, and I’m appreciative of that. There’s something tangible that I can hold onto. Even though it’s emotion, that shit is so thick with presence, I feel like it’s physical.

I know you guys have to sit through a lot of press days and have to answer a lot of the same questions over and over and over again. I want to know: What’s a question that you guys wished somebody would have asked you that nobody’s ever asked you?

Guapdad: I never get to talk about cinema, and I have a real love for movies. If you ask me who’s my favorite sound designer, I would say Hans Zimmer.

Illmind: I’m going to copy Guap. Can I do some movie talk too?

Go for it!

Illmind: I guess a lot of people don’t know this about me, but I love John Woo, the director. Hard Boiled, The Killer, all the OG sh*t. Bullet In The Head, The Replacement Killers are fire. But in general, I’ve been really getting into Korean cinema from the ’90s and early 2000s. Korean cinema is something that I was pretty obsessed with for a long time. But I just think their sh*t is super fly. The soundtracks, the visuals, the type of cameras they use, the goriness, the storylines are so bizarre, but so fire to me. Old Boy is the most insane script to put a green light on. I’m talking about the OG one.

Guapdad: One of the greatest movies of all time.

1176 is out now via Paradise Rising / 88rising Records / 12Tone Music. Get it here.

Some artists covered here are Warner Music artists. Uproxx is an independent subsidiary of Warner Music Group.

Chika’s Inspirational ‘Once Upon A Time’ EP Tells A Compelling Story

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Getty Image/Ralph Ordaz

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

Chika’s story is as close to a hip-hop fairytale as it’s possible to get. That’s what makes the storybook theme of her latest EP, Once Upon A Time, so apt. The theme is doubly deft when it comes to Chika’s actual rhymes, which are shot through with a dazzlingly visual narrative style; the Alabaman MC is a naturally storyteller, blessed with a gift for understated metaphor and witty lyrical plot twists. That gift comes to the fore on her latest, which builds on the promising foundation laid by 2020’s Industry Games.

Clocking in at a trim six tracks — one fewer than on Chika’s previous effort — Once Upon A Time is not exactly a concept album but it feels like one. It has four songs whose titles play on the concept of the fairy tales from which the EP takes its title, with the intro actually being called “Fairy Tales.” They also express familiar narratives from the form like searching for true love and climbing from rags to riches, but as Chika notes within the first four bars of “Fairy Tales,” “No heroes inside a book look like me.”

Once Upon A Time, therefore, is an effort to change that — not just in storybook form, but in hip-hop as well. Think about how, in the last few years, there has seemed to be a concerted effort by labels to sign and promote more female talent in the genre than ever before. But when you scratch the surface, it can often look and sound like many of these newer rappers are coming straight off a Cardi Clone assembly line. At the risk of sounding like a respectability politics-wielding misogynistic old head, Chika presents a break from the norm.

No, she’s not telling women to cover up and “respect themselves.” She is, however, offering to tell the flip side of a story many of her peers have been serving up in the past few years. She is speaking for women whose hair isn’t augmented by 30-inch bundles, who haven’t been to Dr. Miami, who aren’t usually centered in discussions about beauty and desirability. That goes beyond the surface stuff as well; few rappers in general are telling the “American-born child of immigrants who defies their parents’ American Dream for them to live out their own” story. Chika does here.

On “Hickory Dickory,” Chika shouts out her Nigerian-born parents but also laments the sharp uptick in family members appearing to remind her of their existence now that she’s acquired a modicum of fame. Later, on “Save You,” she addresses her depression, calling her mind a busybody who “make time to plan out a damn pity party.” While mental health is a topic we’ve heard more about recently, it hasn’t often come from anyone who looks like Chika — someone many rap fans can relate to a lot more than the dominant “bad bitch” styles.

The crowning achievement of the album, though, is the two-part “Cinderella.” Aside from being an expertly crafted “art of storytelling” song with a clear plotline and some truly scintillating pen work from Chika, it’s also one of few songs on the mainstream level addressing one of rap’s biggest elephants in the room. Chika tells a “girl meets girl” story, eschewing rap’s usual focus on hypermasculinity where plenty of peers have subverted it. Instead of milking a trick for his dollars, Chika recounts a tender tale of finding a connection — with a woman, no less.

The significance of this is incredible. You see, once upon a time, rappers like Da Brat and Queen Latifah had to keep their queerness on the low, either playing coy about their relationship statuses or playing up their femininity to appeal to male fans and quiet rumors about their sexuality. Later on, Nicki Minaj leveraged her ambiguous attitude to appeal to LGBTQ fans before revealing that she was straight. Dej Loaf was another rapper who felt the need to fend off rumors, refusing to answer either way. Chika being able to write a straightforward love song addressed to a woman is a massive stride for representation and acceptance in hip-hop.

Rappers often come into the game loudly proclaiming that they have a story to tell — word to Biggie Smalls. But over time, it becomes clearer which stories are worth telling, and that’s when artists must grow beyond the bounds of what has already been done. That takes as much courage as it does creativity, and on Once Upon A Time, Chika shows she has both in abundance. While Industry Games was a bold and welcome entrance, her latest is an astonishing display of vulnerability and musicality that assures listeners her story will be worth paying attention to.

Once Upon A Time is out now via Warner Records. Get it here.

Chika is a Warner Music artist. Uproxx is an independent subsidiary of Warner Music Group.