My first document

Brockhampton on Going Out on a High Note - and What Comes Next

It’s rare for a band to go out just as their popularity is surging. It’s rarer still that a band would be so at peace with the end.

It was only a decade ago that Brockhampton was born out of a simple vision. Abstract wanted to redefine what it meant to be an “all-American boy band,” to make something ambitious and bizarre and new. So he did what any kid growing up in the digital age would do and hit the Internet, posting a query on a popular Kanye West fan forum he frequented daily. About 20 guys responded, and in 2010, a band that called itself AliveSinceForever formed in Abstract’s hometown of The Woodlands, Texas.

The members would rebrand as Brockhampton (the name of a street that Abstract grew up on), and together they would go on to capture a generation of young fans with cross-disciplinary work in music and art that harnessed their collective ambition, business acumen, and DIY spirit. Brockhampton’s underground success, which culminated in a multimillion-dollar record deal with RCA in 2018, upended the way we saw rap groups and boy bands, with music that centered a crew of thoughtful, multiracial, and multinational young guys, both queer and straight, who were figuring out life in real time, together.

It’s the middle of May, a little after dawn in West Hollywood, and I’m huddled at a table in a soundstage parking lot with a few of Brockhampton’s members, including Dom McLennon and Jabari Manwa. Romil Hemnani and Merlyn Wood are playing with Wood’s schnauzer-poodle mix, Energy, while Abstract and Russell “Joba” Boring are inside getting styled for this photo shoot. Bearface, the group’s elusive, cherub-faced vocalist, put the dissolution of Brockhampton to me matter-of-factly: “We didn’t have that many more albums in us.”

The men of Brockhampton—now in their mid to late 20’s are understandably ready to move on from the whole boy-band thing. And they’re especially eager to tackle projects without having to compromise for their brothers in the band. “My goal for us was to be a rap group who called themselves a boy band,” Abstract says, “but now a lot of rap

fans look at us like a boy band—or like soft music—so they write us off. We’re always overlooked in that way. And I want to be respected in the rap world more, ‘cause that’s the shit I listen to. It’s made me feel like, ‘Damn, people still don’t really view us as true MCs. True rappers.’ ”

That Abstract feels the group hasn’t been given a certain level of respect within the hip-hop community is surprising, especially considering that rap is the foundation of their music. Even when they flirt with pop hooks or make soulful R&B joints, Brockhampton albums have always been, at their core, rap. In that way, they capture so much of what today’s pop landscape looks and sounds like, as identityfluid as they are genre-fluid.

One of the criticisms often levied at Brockhampton is that their voracious appetite for new ideas has made their work feel structureless, as if they’re trying a million different things in a million different directions. The guys were already living together when COVID hit, which allowed them ample time to experiment and dial in their sound. During jam sessions, they would often try on new roles within the band. Producers would try singing and vice versa, which led to Manwa stepping into the spotlight as a vocalist for the first time. “I wasn’t feeling 100 percent happy with what I was doing as a creator,” he says, when I ask what prompted him

Back in March, Kevin Abstract, the young leader of Brockhampton, dropped a tweet ahead of the band’s latest album that left fans shook: “2 Brockhampton albums in 2021— these will be our last.”

“I wasn’t feeling 100 percent happy with what I was doing as a creator,”

to be more visible. “I knew there was another level, other stuff that I had to do. COVID, more than anything, forced you to be like, ‘Okay, you said you want to do this thing. What’s stopping you?’ ”

That focus is partly why the group’s penultimate album, Roadrunner: New Light, New Machine, received critical acclaim upon its release in April. The record had been in the works ever since the completion of 2019’s Ginger, the album that pushed the band beyond cult status and into the mainstream, mostly thanks to the sun-kissed R&B groove “Sugar.” The track exploded on TikTok and landed on the Billboard Hot 100, earning the band its first platinum hit and a performance on Ellen. That momentum made it easy for Roadrunner to come together, as albums usually do for the band: fast and furious, with ideas in abundance. And then the pandemic hit, and Brockhampton was forced to change course.

“A lot of the stuff we tried to do earlier in the writing process was poppier,” rapper Matt Champion says. “It was bigger hooks and trying to make just feel-good music.” Instead, the members decided to tone it down and focus on introspection, using the turmoil of the past year as raw material. “People are just going to be in their room taking in the music,” Champion reasons. “They’re not going to be out at the bar.”

Even though the album has far more guest artists— including A$AP Rocky, Danny Brown, and legendary R&B crooner Charlie Wilson—than any of Brockhampton’s previous releases, it is also the band’s most personal offering yet. “This is the first album where I’m 150 percent in love with it,” says Hemnani. “I don’t really care what anyone says or thinks. For the rest of my life, I’m going to be able to look back on this album and be like, ‘I did everything I could have on that album.’ Like literally exhausted myself.”

In particular, the death of Joba’s father by suicide last year provided an emotional through line for Roadrunner. As a member of a group that traffics in raw honesty, Joba has always made himself especially vulnerable, often inserting candid dispatches about his struggles with mental illness into his verses. Working through his grief created the album’s searing centerpiece, “The Light,” as well as its closing track, “The Light Pt. II.” But the process was an understandably difficult one. For Joba, the heaviness of grieving for his late father on the record and talking about it in interviews was weighing on him to the point where he had to pretend that the album wasn’t actually out in the world. In some ways it was an act of self-preservation. “The day the album came out, I just got consumed by guilt and

“People are just going to be in their room taking in the music,” Champion reasons. “They’re not going to be out at the bar.”

it lasted for like two weeks,” he says. “So I tried to drink the guilt away.… I put unrealistic expectations on this album, and those tracks specifically, in hopes that they would kind of expedite the healing process.”

Joba’s eyes well up as he reveals that he needed to be hospitalized last year to treat his depression. He’s even seriously contemplating leaving music after Brockhampton disbands. “I’ve just been kind of stuck in this, like, existential loop since the album came out—and a lot of fear,” he says. “But everyone tells me that the reception’s been good.”

Abstract says that with one more album left, the band will be in the studio for the rest of the year. (A world tour was pushed to 2022.) But he’s not feeling pressured by Brockhampton’s final bow. “I’m just inspired, really, to keep singing stuff and doing it while we have the time to,” he tells me. His mind seems to exist in a liminal state of calm—an attitude that appears to have permeated the rest of the group. “Everybody’s given their life for the last 10 years,” Hemnani says. “And at a certain point, people deserve to give their lives to themselves. So it feels like it’s time to let everyone just spread their wings and do the things that they want to do. Being in a group, I love it so much, but there’s also compromise. And I think everyone kind of deserves the shot to do what they want—no compromises.”

Abstract adds, “I feel like we’ve achieved everything. I feel like we’ve done more than we said we would do in a lot of ways. There are still goals that I feel like we have as a group that we haven’t hit yet. Certain awards or number one songs. Shit like that.…”

Hemnani interjects: “But it’s also like a goalpost that constantly moves because you have one level, and then you get a taste of what’s to come and it makes you hungrier.” However, he isn’t sad or frustrated by the things left undone. Quite the contrary, actually. “I met all these guys when I was like 14,” he says proudly. “So to be 26 here, like where I’m at now? Fuck, I feel great.”

The impermanence of life can be frightening or freeing, depending on how you see it. And the same can be said about the moment they’ve arrived at—almost, but not quite, at the end. They’re still in the thick of processing their emotions and eager to discover what’s on the other side of this.

constantly moves because you have one level, and then you get a taste of what’s to come and it makes you hungrier.” However, he isn’t sad or frustrated by the things left undone. Quite the contrary, actually. “I met all these guys when I was like 14,” he says proudly. “So to be 26 here, like where I’m at now? Fuck, I feel great.”

The impermanence of life can be frightening or freeing, depending on how you see it. And the same can be said about the moment they’ve arrived at—almost, but not quite, at the end. They’re still in the thick of processing their emotions and eager to discover what’s on the other side of this.

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How BROCKHAMPTON Said a Bittersweet Goodbye With Two New Albums

By John Norris

On The Family, Kevin Abstract puts the boy band he created on blast, while the full group bows out with surprise final release TM.

There are some who, to this day, side eye the description of BROCKHAMPTON as a boy band, but Kevin Abstract and his ragtag collection of rappers, singers, producers, videographers and creatives have proudly owned the moniker since much of the world first discovered them through the 2017 Vice documentary series American Boyband.

And why not? Hip-hop had never seen anything quite like them: multiracial, matter-of-fact straight and gay, equally adept at bar slinging and soulful singing, each member bringing his own skill set and distinct personality, with an audience that locked in on their favorites. They were capable of biting, rowdy tracks but also melodic songs bursting with love. It was a beautiful thing, and to experience them on record and (especially) live was to experience, yes, a boy band. But boy bands, by and large, aren’t meant to last, at least not ones with a breakout star in their ranks. Just ask ‘NSYNC.

BROCKHAMPTON is no more. As much as the believers hoped the group had many more years in them, the Angelenos announced in January that after a decade-plus and six studio albums, they were going on “indefinite hiatus” and that there would be one final album. Now, it’s here; in fact, two new albums are here.

Released on Thursday (Nov. 17), The Family is jubilant, sentimental, bitter, funny and confessional, but its title is somewhat ironic. Because as much as BROCKHAMPTON often operated as a family, a large (13 members, as of this year) and collaborative band of brothers, it was never a pure democracy. Kevin Abstract (Ian Simpson) formed it as a kid in Texas, moved it to Los Angeles and ran it — the creative buck stopped with him. (Throughout its history, he simultaneously released his own records. If he hasn’t taken off solo-wise at Justin Timberlake levels – yet – he’s well-primed to chart his own course.) And The Family is effectively an Abstract solo joint.

The rapper and singer recorded it in the spring, in the wake of their Coachella shows, in New York – a continent away from most of his bandmates – working only with BH’s bearface (Ciarán McDonald), member and in-house producer Romil Hemnani, and a collaborator, the producer boylife (Ryan Yoo). The lead vocals are all Abstract, and The Family is very much the frontman’s take on the highs, lows, thrills and disappointments of a wild ride. Suffice to say, Abstract pulls no punches.

It starts off celebratory and nostalgic. “Let’s take it back to when me and Ashlan was out front scheming, right on Jefferson” Abstract leads on “Take It Back.” Over a player piano, a high-pitched chorus, bounce and handclaps he recalls flashes of those heady days, when he asked on a Kanye West forum while still living in Texas if anyone wanted to form a band. (He recalled that moment in an epilogue letter shared on the same day.) “United we stand, divided we fall” was the mentality, Abstract recalls, but reality sets in as he lets us know what’s to come on the LP: “I had to save

t starts off celebratory and nostalgic. “Let’s take it back to when me and Ashlan was out front scheming, right on Jefferson”

the truth for the last sh-t.” And the truth stings. The Family is a glorious romp, veering from hard-hitting spitters to string-filled soul and hip-hop, laced with pitchshifting and samples that recall Yeezus-era Ye. But lyrically, there’s shoot-from-the-hip real talk. Over throbbing beats on “Gold Teeth,” Abstract confesses, “Nowadays all I want to do is party / All I made this is to get out the deal, partly.” And of BH’s famous camaraderie? “Don’t ask me if the crew is still talking,” he blasts. “Do we see each other? Hardly / Did we suffer too many motherf–king albuuuums? Probably.” In the letter, Abstract also admits to the members having moved in “separate ways, and focus on our individual careers and passions.”

“Money changes everything,” Cyndi Lauper famously sang, and it seems it was a familiar tale of quick money and fast fame – a 2018 deal with RCA worth $15 million – that was at the root of BROCKHAMPTON’s harmony going south: “I guess blowing up isn’t all that” Abstract declares over the deceptively sweet melodics of “All That,” contrasting the old days with the present, saying “now we hate each other just to hang out.” On closer “Brockhampton” he adds, “I wish I would have known that signing would change sh-t,” and recounts a falling out with bandmate Jabari Manwa that forever changed their relationship, saying the love has “never been the same since.”to when me and Ashlan was out front scheming, right on Jefferson” Abstract leads on “Take It Back.” Over a player piano, a high-pitched chorus, bounce and handclaps he recalls flashes of those heady days, when he asked on a Kanye West forum while still living in Texas if anyone wanted to form a band. (He recalled that moment in an epilogue letter shared on the same day.) “United we stand, divided we fall” was the mentality, Abstract recalls, but reality sets in as he lets us know what’s to come on the LP: “I had to save the truth for the last sh-t.” And the truth stings.

The Family is a glorious romp, veering from hard-hitting spitters to string-filled soul and hip-hop, laced with pitchshifting and samples that recall Yeezus-era Ye. But lyrically, there’s shoot-from-the-hip real talk. Over throbbing beats on “Gold Teeth,” Abstract confesses, “Nowadays all I want to do is party / All I made this is to get out the deal, partly.” And of BH’s famous camaraderie? “Don’t ask me if the crew is still talking,” he blasts. “Do we see each other? Hardly / Did we suffer too many motherf–king albuuuums? Probably.” In the letter, Abstract also admits to the members having moved in “separate ways, and focus on our individual careers and passions.”

There are lighter moments, like Abstract sneaking boys in and out of the house on sparkling single “The Ending,” and reflective ones, singing on “37th Street,” “If I could fly through a California night, I’d end up back on 37th Street” (the location of BH’s formative South Central L.A. home). But he concludes he has to move on, and fesses up to now living in Calabasas, the Valley enclave synonymous with the rich and famous. From the hard-hitting indictment “Good Time”: “I got my bags packed, it’s time to leave” he spits, ready for “no more changes, no more due dates, no more fake sh-t.” Despite his mom’s plea — on the song “RZA” asking him, “Ian, why don’t you keep the band together?” – he’s done.

There’s plenty of mea culpa, too. Abstract blames himself for not always being there “for my brothers,” for getting caught up in his own fame, drinking and being distracted by relationships. “I know I failed you” he admits on “37th St.” On the soulful “The Family” he speaks of growing egos, competition turning unhealthy and his jealousy over other bandmates’ successes, even brutally admitting, “I don’t feel guilty for cutting your verse from this beat / For my lack of empathy.” In contrast, it’s followed by the gospel-tinged “The Prayer” with its sweet, sung hook: “I love these n—-s so much.”

The Family’s most moving track is its longest and last, “Brockhampton,” a lights-out collage of memories and remarkably open confessions. It opens with watery strings and a heart-tugging “I miss the band already” – a line that was the title of an album teaser last month, featuring old black and white footage of the group that surely put a lump in the throats of fans. And if there are any dry eyes left by record’s end, there won’t be by the time Abstract pays tribute to his mates and their particular gifts, by name: “JOBA, you’re the most musical motherf–ker / Matt, I know you’re a perfectionist but now you’re free “Brockhampton,” a lights-out collage of memories and remarkably open confessions. It opens with watery strings and a hearttugging “I miss the band already” – a line that was the title of an album teaser last month, featuring old black and white footage of the group that surely put a lump in the throats of fans. And if there are any dry eyes left by record’s end, there won’t be by the time Abstract pays tribute to his mates and their particular gifts, by name: “JOBA, you’re the most musical motherf–ker / Matt, I know you’re a perfectionist but now you’re free / Dom, ain’t nobody fucking with you lyrically / Merlyn, can’t nobody match this n—-’s energy / Bari, the world bout to see who you finna be / Ciarán, you brought the truth out of me.” Ultimately, though, Abstract is ready to turn the page, ending the 17-track record shouting

“The show’s over, get out your seats!” And for fans disappointed that they didn’t get to hear from the rest of the guys on this ostensibly final album? You’re in luck. Because the final final BROCKHAMPTON LP dropped as a surprise that evening. Somewhat cryptically called TM, its eleven tracks date back to 2021 and unfinished sessions in Ojai, California that were seen to completion this year and executive produced by fan favorite Matt Champion.

As affecting as the honesty on The Family is, the BH faithful should revel in TM, which features the collective in much of its familiar hip-hop abandon, at least on its first half. Abstract, Champion, Manwa, Dom McClennon, JOBA and Merlyn Wood flow seamlessly in various combinations, from the melodic trap of “Listerine” to a raucous “FMG” to the pop rock of “Animal” to the rapid-fire flow of “New Shoes,” on which all five feature. On turnt-up standout “Keep It Southern,” Wood declares “God made music so I could make money,” while Abstract offers a line that feels directed at the industry: “Tell them motherf–kers they cannot control your life.”

The record’s back half is largely quieter. A Champion falsetto opens “Better Thangs,” the gentlest song of the collection, in a seemingly romantic context: “I just found a comfort in you / I don’t want nobody but you.” But given BH’s dissolution, a later line about moving “on to a better thing” seems prescient. A dreamy, soulful hook and faded rap verses make for a memorable “Crucify Me.” But two songs featuring JOBA and Champion serve true curve balls. “Man On the Moon” begins softly, but quickly lunges into full-on dance-pop. It’s the closest BH has ever come to disco, and it’s an absolute blast. And despite its title, closer “Goodbye” doesn’t wallow in sentiment. Its airy synth-pop makes the line “it’s over” sound actually forward looking. By the end, when the track ventures into New Order terrain, you want to thank the guys for sending us off on a high note. Will we ever hear from BROCKHAMPTON again? Who knows. The old “indefinite hiatus” always leaves the door slightly ajar, and in The Family’s “Take It Back” Abstract

imagines reuniting “some time, in another life,” but I wouldn’t hold my breath. Even their Wikipedia article now refers to them in the past tense. Because I am comfortable being corny, I will end by borrowing from Dr. Seuss: Don’t cry because BROCKHAMPTON are over, smile because they happened. And wish each and every one of them the best.

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“I just found a comfort in you / I don’t want nobody but you.” But given BH’s dissolution, a later line about moving “on to a better thing” seems prescient

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BRENDAN KELLY

BRENDAN KELLY

BRENDAN KELLY BRENDAN KELLY

BRENDAN KELLY

BRENDAN KELLY

BRENDAN KELLY

BRENDAN KELLY BRENDAN KELLY

BRENDAN KELLY

BRENDAN KELLY

BRENDAN KELLY

BRENDAN KELLY

Hey, if doing less work for more benefit is what works for us, who am I to say that’s a bad thing?

Punk Rock Theory

Submitted by Thomas on Thursday, July 9, 2020 – 18:41

Let’s face it: 2020 is a very, very shitty year. And yet, there is at least one reason to celebrate. If you are a fan of The Laence Arms, that is. On July 17, the trio is releasing ‘Skeleton Coast,’ their first new album in 6 years (not counting the ‘Champions of the World’ comp). We figured it’s as good an excuse as any to ask singer/ bassist Brendan Kelly a bunch of questions about the new album, the end of the world and being a cult band. Among many other things. Spoiler alert: you may find out a few details about the record that may ruin the surprise. Deal with it. (photo credit: Ben Peir)

PRT: It’s been 6 years since you released ‘Metropole’. That album felt like it was a little about coming to terms with getting older. Seeing as we haven’t found the time it takes to sit through all thirteen episodes of ‘Road to the Skeleton Coast’ just yet, we figured we’d just start off by asking if there is a general theme on ‘Skeleton Coast’?

Brendan: Of course there is. At this point I don’t know that we would even know how to make non-thematic records if we had to. Skeleton Coast is about, to be brief, an isolated outpost at the end of the world where all the pain and joy and love and fear you’ve ever felt manifests real real hard, and it’s up to you to find your moments of joy there.

the shit we’ve done (since it HAS been a second since we’ve done anything) and hopefully ramp up to the release of the new record. Doing the podcast has been really fun and the episodes have skewed WAY longer than I think either of us expected.

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And those moments do, in fact exist if you’re willing to look for them. We wrote the record before the pandemic and the political unrest that’s currently gripping the US, but it seems strangely fitting. Thank god we didn’t write a record about girlfriends and part time jobs, eh?

PRT: Speaking of ‘Road to the Skeleton Coast’... doing an interview seems kind of unnecessary seeing as how expansive the podcast turned out. Was that the idea from the beginning or did you surprise yourself there?

Brendan: The podcast is about every record I’ve ever been on, and it was the idea of my partner, Tim. The idea was that it would reignite interest in

Plus, we’ve added a Patreon page where we talk about stuff not in the episodes and I interview my friends, like Matt Allison (engineer of all our records, as well as Menzingers, Alkaline Trio and many more), Chris 2 of Anti Flag, Tom May of the Menzingers, Dan Andriano of the Alkaline Trio, Rob Kellenberger from Slapstick and Colossal, and most recently, famed standup comedian Kyle Kinane. It’s become really a fun thing, but one thing we haven’t really talked too much about is the actual Skeleton Coast record.

No one knows it yet, so what’s the point, ya know? With the advent of this podcast, I’m a showbiz mogul now, so I have to keep in mind what’s good content and what’s not (puffs fancy cigar).

PRT: Chris said ‘Skeleton Coast’ is a series of short stories about some end of the world scenario. This seems kind of fitting as 2020 sure looks like the end is near. A mere coincidence or a conscious observation?

Brendan: I think that’s a good way to put it. As I

Photo: Bad Copy

said, it’s about an outpost at the end of the world, and different worlds end differently in almost every one of these songs, so in that way, it’s almost like a string theory kinda thing (I think? I am not smart, so maybe this is a bad analogy), but I think every generation since the beginning of time has thought the world was gonna end on them. It’s the height of arrogance. Do you really think that WE are lucky enough that we get to be the end of the world? Doubtful. Look around, our luck sucks. We may have a shitty time, but we’ll have to serve it either way, I think.

PRT: The world we live in today is one filled with pandemics, blatant racism, natural disasters, political extremism and the threat of new world wars. Where do you turn to find hope during such bleak times?

Brendan: There are always good people out there, helping, caring, and dedicated to making things better even at the expense of their own life experiences. That’s encouraging. There are smart young people and radicalized old people and crazy weirdos that wake up and realize they’ve been on the wrong side and work to make amends. There are doctors and nurses that put their lives on the line so assholes can go around breathing on everyone because they’re too pindicked to wear masks. There are wild dogs and there’s love and there’s longing and there’s booze and there’s the pandemic burn of realizing how cool it is to be around the people you love…there are no shortage of reasons to be hopeful. This world is actually beautiful and full of great shit.

Love. I probably could have just said love, but here I am, yapping away like it’s 8:35!

PRT: Back to the album… ‘Skeleton Coast’ is without a doubt a Lawrence Arms album, with a very recognizable sound and signature songwriting.  What, to you personally, defines the idea of a Larry Arms record?

Brendan: Hmmmm. Hard to say. I think the big thing, and this is gonna sound stupid and obvious, but the big thing is that it’s me and Chris and Neil. We know what the Lawrence Arms are supposed to be as a crew better than any one of us knows what it’s supposed to be on our own.

There are things, like thematic structuring, very conscious pacing and sequencing and a variety of different dualities that definitely define our sound, but that’s not much of a good answer. We’re the Lawrence Arms. When

we make a record, it’s a Lawrence Arms record. I honestly don’t know a more sincere answer than that.

PRT: Still, there are a bunch of little details that sets it apart from previous efforts. Like the uncharacteristic harmonies in the background on ‘Belly of the Whale’, that sweet guitar solo on ‘Demon’ and some other fun additions… Which one is your favorite, and why?

Brendan: Wow, you really picked some of my very favorite things. Those are two of my favorite parts on the whole record. I also like the bad religion style “aaaaaaaah” in quiet storm and the two different references to Brandy (you’re a fine girl) by Looking Glass in How to Rot and Don’t Look At Me.

PRT: Were those things you already had in your head while writing or were they studio-ideas and experiments?

Brendan: We did a lot of experimenting in the studio

photo credit: Bad Libs

Hey, if doing less work for more benefit is what works for us, who am I to say that’s a bad thing? But for real, we’ve been fortunate that the world kinda came around to what we’ve been doing for so long catalog and we were still doing it

Photo: Spin Mag

for sure, but we also had a LOT of ideas in mind. I don’t think any of us came into this expecting any of these parts to end up quite as cool as they did, but there was a real magic to working in the middle of the desert at Sonic Ranch that made shit get weird real quick.

PRT: You chose to record in El Paso, instead of Chicago. Why relocate?

Brendan: The studio we always used to record at here, Atlas, no longer exists. Chris and Neil live on the west coast, so it didn’t make any sense to just come here and try to figure something out. It made more sense to find a cool studio somewhere and just go down with our longtime producer Matt Allison and dig in and just crank on something in a very focused way.

PRT: What were some of the challenges and advantages of spending 2 weeks in a studio, far away from any distractions or familiar surroundings?

Brendan: The whole experience was cool and bizarre and I can’t sum it up easily but there were no challenges. It was an incredible experience to live and breathe making a record with your crew and have nothing but that on the table at any given time. It was great in terms of focus and great in terms of us being on the same page. I suppose if some shit had gone sideways and someone had been like “yo,

I’m fucking FURIOUS!”  That would have been very challenging to deal with out there on the edge of the world, but fortunately, that never happened.

PRT: For a while now, the three of you have all been living in different states. Don’t you ever miss the process of writing songs together?  Brendan: Nah. We never wrote songs together. It’s always been a pretty individualized process. Even when Chris and I lived in the same apartment and Neil was sleeping over on the couch, we would exchange recordings the exact same way we did for Skeleton Coast.

PRT: Do you miss those days of being young, carefree and on the road all the time?

Brendan: I dunno. I mean, it’s weird to suddenly be old and have things to worry about, but it’s not bad. I do love the idea of being young, but I’d never want to have to go back if I didn’t know what I know now. I made a lot of mistakes as a kid and I’m sure I’d make em all again even knowing what I know now, so what’s the REAL difference between then and now? I’m uglier now? Okay. That’s fine. I can deal with that. I do miss being on the road a lot, but that’s more COVID than age.

PRT: Sometimes it feels like that, since you guys stopped touring and recording almost incessantly, you

have become more popular than ever. What’s your view on that?

Brendan: Hey, if doing less work for more benefit is what works for us, who am I to say that’s a bad thing? But for real, we’ve been fortunate that the world kinda came around to what we’ve been doing for so long and we were just here with a big catalog and we were still doing it and keeping our heads down

and working as hard as we ever had before.

I think it has more to do with the fact that we just got lucky in terms of us doing what we do and  the world deciding they wanted what we do at a certain point. That point happened to be when we were slowing down and I dunno. It’s not lost on us that we’re very lucky to be in this position, where we’re still (I THINK?) a relevant band (as relevant as a punk band can be in 2020, at least) when so many bands our age kinda become total legacy acts. AND, we are that too!

I’m not too good to admit that there are people who come to our shows to see the old shit, but some of our most popular songs are on Metropole, and we’re really thankful for that and for all our new fans and all

Photo: Punktastic.com

I interview my friends, like Matt Allison (engineer of all our records, as well as Menzingers, Alkaline Trio and many more), Chris 2 of Anti Flag

I think it has more to do with the fact that we just got lucky in terms of us doing what we do and  the world deciding they wanted what we do at a certain point

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our longtime fans as well... and I have kind of a good feeling about this Skeleton Coast thing too, so maybe, hopefully we can drink from the fountain for a little longer still.

PRT: Do you think you’ve become a “cult” band? And if so, do you consider that title a compliment?

Brendan: Our fans are so wildly dedicated I’d say it would be an insult to say anything other than “of course we’re a cult band” and “of course it’s a compliment!” We have the best fans in the world, and hey, if some song on Skeleton Coast somehow propels us into fame in a time where no one likes rock and roll anymore and we’re all in our 40s besides, and we have to reject our status as a cult band, we’ll deal with it then, but

for now, happy to be a cult band for sure.

PRT: If you were forced – at gunpoint – to come up with a kind of re-styling for The Lawrence Arms, what kind of band would it become?

Brendan: Hip hop. Beastie Boys-esque. No doubt about it at all.

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Photo:NPR

Photo: Bad Copy

The Wandering Birds (the Lawrence Arms)

drop Derek Grant directed video Jason Pettigrew Published: October 22, 2019

Noted punk-rock label Red Scare Industries recently

issued 15 Years Of Tears

And Beers, a compilation of various roster members covering each others’ songs. Brendan Kelly, the Lawrence Arms founder whose band Brendan Kelly And The Wandering

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Birds make a nest on Red Scare, chose to cover the Lillingtons’ “All I Hear Is Static” in ’80s electro-pop style.

“Here at Red Scare Industries, we have many great songs, and when Toby

[Jeg, Red Scare founder] told me that for the 15-year comp, he’d like for some of the bands to cover each other, I immediately said, ‘I call ‘All I Hear Is Static’ by the

Lillingtons,’” Wandering Bird Kelly says. “It’s definitely in my top five favorite songs in the entire RS catalog, and I knew that if I didn’t act fast, someone else would snatch it up. Keeping your begging blanket as close to the feet of the king as possible pays off sometimes, kids.”

Assisting Kelly on the track is Derek Grant, known to your devices as the drummer for Alkaline Trio. Not only did Grant create

the backing track for “Static,” but he also put together the video AltPress is premiering today. Grant helps Kelly fulfill his Easy Rider fantasies on a grid seemingly lifted right out of Tron.

“I knew I couldn’t come close to making a better version than the Lillingtons did, so I enlisted Derek Grant, who has always been the danciest of all the Wandering Birds and told him to go wild,” Kelly says. “He told me he’d get something to me in, like, two weeks, and maybe three hours later, he sent me the track bed as it appears on the comp. I can’t say enough positive stuff about

Derek’s bizarre genius. I feel really lucky that we’re able to collaborate in such goofyass ways. He also made the video, which, well, he’s a maniac. Fun fact: Both those motorcycling birds in the vid were total divas, and the shoot lasted six days.”

Give these Birds a flip below. And if you want to seek out the Red Scare anniversary rec, you may do so right here, or if you like physical things you can touch, over here.

Photo: Bad Copy

We made the Falcon’s Brendan Kelly listen to Radiohead’s ‘Kid A’ for the first time

By Josh Terry Chicago Tribune Mar 04, 2016 at 8:58 am

Brendan Kelly is many things. He’s a Chicago punk rock staple, a founding member of bands such as the Lawrence Arms, the Broadways and the Falcon, the man behind the hilarious Nihilist Arby’s Twitter account, my Monday night bartender and, before our interview, definitely not a fan of Radiohead. That’s why, in this edition of Blind Spots (where artists listen to one of the most famous albums they’ve never heard), I decided to force him to listen to the innovative U.K. band’s iconic 2000 album “Kid A.”

“Very literally yes, I’m not a fan. I don’t wish them any particular ill, but I’ve never heard ‘Kid A’ for chrissakes,” joked the 39-year-old Lincoln Square resident, who’s about to release the Falcon’s first album in 10 years (“Gather

Up The Chaps,” out March 18). “In the early ‘90s I was this young punk kid, and when [Radiohead’s breakout 1992 single] ‘Creep’ came out, it was part of this alternative tidal wave of just gross nonsense. It was sort of peddling pop music but through sadness and malaise. There was like this disgusting feeling that these dorks were doing something important. Sure, some are canonical bands now, but I just didn’t like the whole thing. I was a punk rocker—I didn’t like the stuff on the radio.”

photo credit: Bad Libs

Photo: Spin Mag

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Tyler The Creator

influence on modern fashion.

Chioma Nnadi

It’s an unseasonably warm morning in late September, and the traffic around Oxford Circus, London’s central shopping district, is bumper-to-bumper. Tyler, the Creator is ensconced in the back seat of an SUV with a Louis Vuitton bag propped up beside him and a half-eaten croissant balanced on one knee. Though he doesn’t drink or do drugs, Tyler is still a little worse for wear the morning after his electrifying performance at Brixton Academy, the second of three sold-out shows in the United Kingdom. “This is what it must feel like to be hungover,” he says in his unmistakable guttural baritone. Even when he’s running on empty, Tyler’s no slouch. Today the lanky, six-foot-two rapper is dressed in a dapper workwear jacket and matching carpenter pants in khaki green and navy blue. “I actually never wear navy—it’s my third least favorite color,” he says (black ranks on the absolute bottom of this list). “But this works because of the green.” He designed the baby blue Chucks on his feet. The jewelry he has on is minimal but full of personality: a gold ring studded with a heartshaped emerald and a beaded plastic bracelet thrown onstage by one of his fans that reads one of one. His nails are lacquered in glittery pink and green, a polish he formulated himself—“because when I can’t find the thing I want, I make it.” Same goes for his crisp floral perfume. In fact, if he had his way right now, he’d redesign the car we’re driving in. “Dark wood is gross—it sucks up all the light,” he says, shaking his head. “Like, why is this interior

not white? Or cream?”

Nothing escapes Tyler’s withering eye, and as the car weaves through Piccadilly, he starts to critique the style of Londoners passing by. “I like his shirt—he should be a model,” he says, spying a tall, geeky-but-good-looking guy with a short Afro in a striped brown retro polo who is crossing the street. “It’s some weirdos out here, and I say that as a term of endearment. The other day I saw these weird tall dudes with weird haircuts and glasses. I was like, Y’all must be from a side of London where they don’t even take photographs or have Instagram. They looked sick.” Once upon a time Tyler might have befriended said weirdos, but since the chart-topping success of Igor, his Grammy-nominated fifth studio album, things have changed. Now that he’s been catapulted into an entirely new realm of stardom, striking up conversations with random strangers can attract more attention than he can handle by himself. “I need two of these guys now,” he says poking Vill, his security guard, or “husband” as Tyler jokingly refers to him. More like an older cousin than an employee, Vill has been working with the 28-year-old rapper for the past nine years. By now he’s used to the cheeky banter, the dick jokes, to being addressed as “baby girl” from time to time.

That Tyler would then go on to write songs about falling in and out of love with men may appear like an epic plot twist to some but not to his most engaged fans. Even if you only casually follow the artist on Twitter, it’s hard to ignore the number of clues he dropped about his sexual preferences even before the infamous line about kissing white boys on “I Ain’t Got Time!”, off Flower Boy, the critically acclaimed album he released in 2017. A year prior he had posted a vibrant sketch of a rainbow-colored figure emerging from what appears to be a closet door with a speech bubble that read “Is it safe?” That followed an earlier tweet, written in his characteristic bold style: “I TRIED TO COME OUT THE DAMN CLOSET LIKE FOUR DAYS AGO AND NO ONE CARED HAHAHHAHAHA.”

Such outbursts notwithstanding, Tyler isn’t the kind to bare his soul in public. Interviewing him is a whirring dance in which he naturally takes the lead (to see his technique in action, I highly recommend watching this interview with DJ Funkmaster Flex.) He’ll steer the conversation with a stream of confusing and entertaining contradictions—example: “I mean, I’m an open person, but I’m also very private”— sometimes deflecting even the most innocuous questions with his class-clown charm and dizzy-making wit, just because he can. When pressed about the inspiration for the inexplicable Warholian Igor wig, for instance, Tyler gives no answer. In an age when oversharing has become the norm, he’s cultivated a mystique that is both rare and intoxicating, seemingly revealing everything and nothing at all. Like the most legendary rock stars of generations past—the Princes and David Bowies of the world—he is on his own planet, a one-of-a-kind creative alien; larger than life while being totally out of reach.

Despite his success, Tyler has no personal assistant and no stylist. (He scoffs at the mention of one, “I don’t even know what the fuck a stylist is.”) He packs his own suitcase, runs his own errands. That’s why we’re currently en route to Uniqlo; Tyler is running low on clean underpants. “Yo! Stop the car! You have to see this,” says Vill, gesticulating wildly towards a side street a few blocks up from the store. A petite young woman dressed in pale pink and bright red emerges seemingly out of nowhere. She’s wearing what looks like a replica of a custom suit Tyler has packed in his tour wardrobe, one of several tailored ensembles he’s been rocking as part of his Igor alter ego. All that’s missing is the kooky blond wig.

Tyler has long been considered a goofball outlier in the rap universe, though the music he’s made recently has edged

him toward the center of the pop-cultural conversation. He’s also fully realizing his power as a style renegade at a time when the once-narrow confines of men’s fashion are rapidly disintegrating. With an approach to self-presentation that’s meticulously offbeat and thoroughly individual, he follows in a long line of hip-hop eccentrics that includes André 3000, Missy Elliott, and Pharrell Williams, who Tyler regards as a Yoda-like figure. What’s more, he’s cleverly used the idiosyncrasies of his personal style as a springboard for something much bigger. Now eight years old, his Golf Wang fashion and lifestyle brand has gained a cult following by flouting all the conventional rules of streetwear and engendering a notion of masculine beauty that is at once tender and tough. With a string of successful collaborations—Converse, Lacoste, Jeni’s ice cream, the list goes on—it seems that the rest of the world is finally catching on.

Even still, Tyler’s reputation as an enfant terrible lingers on. Tyler has made an art form of blurring the line between reality and fantasy. At once terrifying and utterly compelling, the video for “Yonkers,” off his 2011 debut album Goblin, is the most cited example. Once you’ve watched the black-and-white clip of Tyler fake eating a cockroach before hanging himself, it’s almost impossible to unsee it. Positioned on the fringes of mainstream hip-hop at the very beginning of his career, Tyler seemed to get his kicks poking fun at popular culture with the unapologetically violent, sometimes murderous gags that he put on wax. Not everyone got the joke. “I’m in a good mood 95% of the time,” says Tyler when I bring up the dark. Not everyone got the joke. “I’m in a good mood 95% of the time,” says Tyler when I bring up the dark tendencies of his early work. “With a lot of my old music, I was

never depressed. I may have been in depressing environments though. And though I didn’t fabricate anything, I have exaggerated sadness for the sake of a concept. Look at the video [for ‘Yonkers’], bro. I’m smiling in a kitty shirt. It took a while for people to realize that. That’s not me—it’s a thought, and I turned it into a concept.” The content of his lyrics has proved even more controversial. In 2015 the then British home secretary Theresa May made an example of him—many say unfairly—when she barred him from entering the U.K. for his violent and antigay lyrics, a ban that was only lifted this year.

A few weeks from now, thousands of similarly well-dressed and adoring Tyler, the Creator fans would fill the grounds of Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles for what is known as the Camp Flog Gnaw Carnival. The festival (held earlier this month) is now in its eighth year and was Tyler’s brainchild. It is easily one of the most exciting on the West Coast, if not the country. The lineup speaks to his wide-ranging and exacting tastes, a combination of big-name rappers (A$AP Rocky, YG, Lil Uzi), avant-garde soul singers (Blood Orange, Solange, FKA Twigs), and emerging talent (Dominic Fike, Slowthai). More than being a destination for good music, the event lends a window onto the fun house of Tyler’s outsize imagination.

There are carnival rides and food trucks sandwiched between the three stages, as well as a playground of merch stands and fashion installations, including a gigantic slide in the shape of Tyler’s latest Golf le Fleur sneaker collaboration with Converse. Known as the Gianno, the shoe is inspired by hiking and the great outdoors, or what Tyler calls “the substitute-teacher look”; the first pairs will sell out at the festival in a matter of hours.

At the highest point of the stadium grounds, three life-size Igor statues preside over the event like benevolent despots. In this brave new world, all the familiar festival-style tropes are reimagined in interesting new ways. Instead of tiedye, the charming hand-drawn prints—donuts, daisies, bumblebees—from Tyler’s clothing lines pepper the crowd. A multitude of faces is dusted with Euphoria-style glitter, regardless of gender. Flower crowns, once the ultimate signifier of festival style, have long since fallen from grace at Camp Flog Gnaw, replaced by bucket hats, babushka scarves, buzz cuts tinged with highlighter colors, and a sea of the inexplicable Igor wigs. As one stylish young local in the crowd observes, Camp Flog Gnaw is essentially Woodstock for Generation Z.

This image may contain Clothing Apparel Human Person Festival and Crowd a fan of Tyler the Creator attends Camp Flog Gnaw 2019 dressed as Igor this image may contain Shoe Clothing Footwear Apparel Human and Person Tyler Gregory Okonma realized he would take this unusual path in his life when he was a boy of 12, sitting in a church in Inglewood, California, and bored out of his mind. “I hated going to church,” he says. “I was always thinking, Why are there eight different pictures of this man no one has ever met? Something was fishy to me. I remember asking my mom, ‘Is God real?’ And she was like, ‘Hey, listen, I’m a Christian woman, but you can believe in whatever you want, okay?’ When she said that, it really opened my eyes.” That instinct for questioning the status quo quickly drew him toward the world of skateboarding as a teenager. As Tyler puts it, skate culture “is the other. When everyone’s saying yes, skating is the no. It’s about embracing that.” He formed the hip-hop collective Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All, or Odd Future for short, in the mid-aughts with a group of like-minded skater friends. They quickly gained notoriety as a ragtag crew of foulmouthed indie-rap rebels, making

Tyler the Creator the Fashion Rebel

Chioma Nnadi

It’s an unseasonably warm morning in late September, and the traffic around Oxford Circus, London’s central shopping district, is bumper-to-bumper. Tyler, the Creator is ensconced in the back seat of an SUV with a Louis Vuitton bag propped up beside him and a half-eaten croissant balanced on one knee. Though he doesn’t drink or do drugs, Tyler is still a little worse for wear the morning after his electrifying performance at Brixton Academy, the second of three sold-out shows in the United Kingdom. “This is what it must feel like to be hungover,” he says in his unmistakable guttural baritone. Even when he’s running on empty, Tyler’s no slouch. Today the lanky, six-foottwo rapper is dressed in a dapper workwear jacket and matching carpenter pants in khaki green and navy blue. “I actually never wear navy—it’s my third least favorite color,” he says (black ranks on the absolute bottom of this list). “But this works because of the green.” He designed the baby blue Chucks on his feet. The jewelry he has on is minimal but full of personality: a gold ring studded with a heart-shaped emerald and a beaded plastic bracelet thrown onstage by one of his fans that reads one of one. His nails are lacquered in glittery pink and green, a polish he

formulated himself—“because when I can’t find the thing I want, I make it.” Same goes for his crisp floral perfume. In fact, if he had his way right now, he’d redesign the car we’re driving in. “Dark wood is gross—it sucks up all the light,” he says, shaking his head. “Like, why is this interior not white? Or cream?”

Nothing escapes Tyler’s withering eye, and as the car weaves through Piccadilly, he starts to critique the style of Londoners passing by. “I like his shirt—he should be a model,” he says, spying a tall, geeky-but-good-looking guy with a short Afro in a striped brown retro polo who is crossing the street. “It’s some weirdos out here, and I say that as a term of endearment. The other day I saw these weird tall dudes with weird haircuts and glasses. I was like, Y’all must be from a side of London where they don’t even take photographs or have Instagram. They looked sick.” Once upon a time Tyler might have befriended said weirdos, but since the chart-topping success of Igor, his Grammy-nominated fifth studio album, things have changed. Now that he’s been catapulted into an entirely new realm of stardom, striking up conversations with random strangers can attract more attention than he can handle by himself. “I need two of these guys now,” he says poking Vill, his security guard, or “husband” as Tyler jokingly refers to him. More like an older cousin than an employee,

Vill has been working with the 28-year-old rapper for the past nine years. By now he’s used to the cheeky banter, the dick jokes, to being addressed as “baby girl” from time to time.

That Tyler would then go on to write songs about falling in and out of love with men may appear like an epic plot twist to some but not to his most engaged fans. Even if you only casually follow the artist on Twitter, it’s hard to ignore the number of clues he dropped about his sexual preferences even before the infamous line about kissing white boys on “I Ain’t Got Time!”, off Flower Boy, the critically acclaimed album he released in 2017. A year prior he had posted a vibrant sketch of a rainbow-colored figure emerging from what appears to be a closet door with a speech bubble that read “Is it safe?” That followed an earlier tweet, written in his characteristic bold style: “I TRIED TO COME OUT THE DAMN CLOSET LIKE FOUR DAYS AGO AND NO ONE CARED HAHAHHAHAHA.”

Such outbursts notwithstanding, Tyler isn’t the kind to bare his soul in public. Interviewing him is a whirring dance in which he naturally takes the lead (to see his technique in action, I highly recommend watching this interview with DJ Funkmaster Flex.) He’ll steer the conversation with a stream of confusing and entertaining contradictions—example: “I mean, I’m an open person, but I’m also very private”— sometimes deflecting even the most innocuous questions with his class-clown charm and dizzy-making wit, just because he can. When pressed about the inspiration for the inexplicable Warholian Igor wig, for instance, Tyler gives no answer. In an age when oversharing has become the norm, he’s cultivated a mystique that is both rare and intoxicating, seemingly revealing everything and nothing at all. Like the most legendary rock stars of generations past—the Princes and David Bowies of the world—he is on his own planet, a one-of-a-kind creative alien; larger than life while being totally out of reach.

Despite his success, Tyler has no personal assistant and no stylist. (He scoffs at the mention of one, “I don’t even know what the fuck a stylist is.”) He packs his own suitcase, runs his own errands. That’s why we’re currently en route to Uniqlo; Tyler is running low on clean underpants. “Yo! Stop the car! You have to see this,” says Vill, gesticulating wildly towards a side street a few blocks up from the store. A petite young woman dressed in pale pink and bright red emerges seemingly out of nowhere. She’s wearing what looks like a replica of a custom suit Tyler has packed in his tour wardrobe, one of several tailored ensembles he’s been rocking as part of his Igor alter ego. All that’s missing is the kooky blond wig.

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A$AP ROCKY’S

INFLUENCE ON FASHION

It’s no big secret, A$AP Rocky is a good looking guy. You know it, I know it. And he knows it, too. Sure, being called the prettiest man alive might be a big deal to others – but to him, it was just another Wednesday, just another person telling the world why they think he’s so cool. That other person just so happened to be GQ, but that’s besides the point. In truth, for a rapper, he’s less known for his rhymes behind the mic and more his ability to string together an outfit with a certain je ne sais quoi. Less of the poetry in words and more of the poetry in motion. And to be honest, that’s not a bad thing at all. In fact, it makes him more relevant. Put it this way: when both Kendrick Lamar and Virgil Abloh occupy a space in your phone book, transcending the lines between music, style and fashion comes second nature.

Since finding fame in 2013, Rocky’s avoided the rocky paths (nice, right?) that affect most modern-day music stars. Almost always armed with a Gucci belt and a clean white tee, he’s carved out his own path in today’s hype culture with all the swagger and confidence befitting a style god. Since his emergence onto the hip-hop scene, he’s made a point to strive for individuality in an industry often fraught with restrictive views on who a real rapper is or looks like.

Pink shirts didn’t phase him – and gender-specific clothes didn’t mean much to him, either. To those used to the baggy jeans-wearing, loose t-shirt fitting ‘OGs’ of hip-pop, much of what he wore and did was unusual. Still, though, if there were ever a prize for trying new things, experimenting and finding one’s niche, he’d win it. Disagree if you wish, but the competition isn’t even close.

Like the Drakes and Timothée Chalamets of the world, Rocky is as comfortable in a pair of sweats as he is in a suit (be it his own version of the traditional suit), switching between a pair of New Balances and Gucci’s iconic black slippers with ease. And like the other style icons of the modern era, his fanbase is as wild for his music as they are for his sartorial choices, love of art and just about anything Rocky-related. That’s what you get, I suppose, when you’re as confident talking about the dynamics of rap music as you are about Japanese architecture and contemporary art.

Given hip-hop’s list of groundbreaking influencers – 2pac, Will Smith, Biggie, Lil Wayne, to name a few – you might think we’re overdoing his influence on the genre. After all, didn’t Will Smith master the crop top and 2pac the nose ring? True, you’re not wrong, and we’re not arguing. Like those before him, Rocky continues to redefine what it means to be a hip-hop

hop icon and bridge the gap between music, style and culture. It’s in big part thanks to Rocky that this current crop of youngsters – you and I included – have become heavily invested in style and fashion, with each choice of t-shirt, chain or trainers now carefully mulled over. Our style choices no longer serve the purpose of pleasing the crowd. Instead, they communicate who we are, what we stand for and what we’d like to become.

Long gone are the days when rappers just rapped and singers just sang. Instead, their embrace of culture and style truly counts. They have stylists and teams of publicists in place, with each one carefully curated to ensure nothing is out of place. Their choice of designers, colours and fits are carefully scrutinised by millions of fans around the world. Trouser lengths now sit perfectly on the ankle, tailored suits the order of the day and watches an essential part of any outfit.

That in part, you may say, is due to the changing of times, the ushering in of new expectations and norms. Again, we won’t disagree.

We’ll just insist you add – in bold letters – that it also has a lot to do with “the prettiest mf alive.”

As A$AP Rocky’s status as a rapper grew to great heights, so did his time in the limelight. With each new interview, music video, and photoshoot, Rocky proved to be as pretty and well-dressed as he rapped about. He has not only sported the clothes of, but has also modeled for many of the names he features in the long list of designers on his song “Fashion Killa” (“Cause everything designer / Her jeans is Helmut Lang, shoes is Alexander Wang / And her shirt the newest Donna, Karan / Wearin’ all the Cartier frames / Jean Paul Gaultiers ‘cause they match with her persona”). Of the many luxury brands that he endorses, he most frequently reps and raps about Gucci, Dior, and Raf Simmons, a designer whom Rocky has devoted an entire song to.

Continually dressing in flashy but comfortable outfits, Rocky’s fashion sense has attracted attention from both his fans and his favorite designers. The rapper deleted all photos from his Instagram page in January, which formerly served as an outlet for his fans to see his latest outfits, but he still maintains a strong following of over 13 million followers. As both a rap and fashion icon in the age of social media, Rocky has used his many platforms to promote the nature of his unmatched swagger and become an influencer. In addition to public validation of his keen sense for style, Rocky has

in DKNY’s 2014 campaign to being the face of Dior Homme’s Fall 2016 campaign, it became clear that the big-named brands were just as excited to have Rocky sport their clothing as he was.

His wardrobe is not only just as expensive as his lyrics describe it to be, but it’s also just as experimental as his sound. His songs range from loud, uptempo party songs like “Praise the Lord (Da Shine)” to slow, neo-psychedelic beats like “Everyday,” featuring the stylish Rod Stewart. Likewise, Rocky remains confident, whether he’s flaunting new, bold designer clothes, or a simple, classic outfit. Layering a neon Balenciaga vest over a Gucci sweatshirt to sporting a t-shirt from Dior’s womenswear that reads “WE SHOULD ALL BE FEMINISTS” not only demonstrates the range of his wardrobe, but also his intentionality with each outfit he sports in the public eye. With fans and designers keeping tabs on his clothes, the “world’s flyest human” uses them to establish trends and make statements.

The comfort in risk taking that is evident in Rocky’s music also translates to his love for fashion and luxury wardrobe. Whether it be dressing head-to-toe in an embroidered Gucci set, pairing a black suit with Rick Owens x Adidas trainers, or flaunting laid-back Raf Simmons streetwear with a gold chain, the rapper has offered an array of looks as cool, but sundry as his music.

If the name of A$AP Rocky appears at this time next to that of Rihanna, it is also that we owe it to the future parents of the baby most expected in the world, to impose new rules in fashion. Like the singer Rihanna, A$AP Rocky has revolutionized the male fashion and style expected of a rapper, and especially of a man.

With his own way of associating genres, styles, colours and shapes — the rapper has established himself as a guardian figure of contemporary fashion. And in this, the fashion houses knew very quickly to see in him a muse! Starting

muse!

Starting by Raf Simons. In 2016, the rapper’s favourite designer chose A$AP Rocky as Dior’s muse, while he was head of the artistic direction of the Avenue Montaigne house. A$AP Rocky, the first rapper to appear as the face of Dior Man, had already established himself as a fashion icon. How ? A$AP Rocky owes its aesthetic strength to a constant — that of breaking the rules. He made it his duty to fight to impose his individuality. A$AP Rocky does not fear risk-taking — unpredictable, bold, his style is known to be original and complex.

Capable of being eccentric but at the same time refined, he based his vision on pointed houses such as those of Raf Simons, Comme des Garçons, Balenciaga or J.W. Anderson and Hood

By Air — to better mix them with the more classic items of the wardrobe. Items signed by Gucci, Dior, Channel, Prado or Hermés. Because that’s the stylistic signature of A$AP Rocky — bragging by combining genres and styles! Wear a candy pink dress, a transparent white lace shirt, silver Dior pants… Wear pieces from women’s collections…

We owe it to him to have cheered up the wearing of the mythical white pearl necklace, the XXXL down jacket, the tangy colors, the hood—not to mention its signature detail the “babushka” scarf, now present on many parades. Travelling from women’s dressing room to men’s dressing room; mix classic pieces, avant-garde gimmicks and streetwear without ever imposing limits…His looks mark the current generation and they inspire: from the red carpet to the MET Gala and streetstyle photos. Present at many fashion week, working in collaboration with designers, Raf Simons again in the lead… A$AP Rocky is a fashion icon driven by the freedom to dress!

And it is in this why he embodies with Rihanna an original and refreshing vision of contemporary fashion.

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