Country Hip Hop's Legacy & New Vanguard
OutKast sitting on a lawn sipping some tea.
“Aye, I got this theory that all country niggas is related, you feel me? Shit, we got Currys in my family, nigga we might be cousins,” Smino murmurs almost under his breath as a prelude to his verse on the remix of Denzel Curry’s “So.Incredible.pkg.” Aside from the track being a fantastic reimagining of the original from Curry’s UNLOCKED joint project with Kenny Beats, featuring additional production from the legendary Robert Glasper (read that again Chris Brown); what started as a joke in Smino’s ad-lib unearthed a hilarious truth: Smino and Denzel Curry ARE in fact cousins. This has got me thinking about the history of the collaboration and community of so-called ‘country niggas’ in hip hop. The late 90s and 2000s saw the immense impact of rappers from ‘below the Mason Dixon line.’ Their twang, aesthetics, original spin on a still burgeoning genre, and allegiance across state borders created a signature sound and unforgettable era in hip hop. Today, the rappers taking on this influence and building upon the sound are building a new vanguard carrying the legacy and history of the “country” spirit.
My initial inclination when thinking about the rappers that embody this subgenre was to label them as Southern. It was 28 years ago when Outkast won a Best New Group award and Andre 3000 interrupted the exclusively East Coast vs. West Coast dialogue in hip hop with the now iconic proclamation: “the South got something to say.” However, as I really thought about it, the artists I was thinking of extended into the Midwest and South Florida (even though it is in the South geographically, anyone familiar with Florida will tell you it is its own entity, but specifically Broward and Miami-Dade County rappers also fit). I realized there was a broader moniker needed, and that in tying his shared cultural heritage to his distant cousin Denzel Curry, Smino described it perfectly — country. It's a word that is often reserved for a genre that is tangled up in white supremacy, yet in the context of Black Americans, country takes on an alternate meaning. Fellow St. Louis native Nelly harkened to it on his single and debut album of the same title, “Country Grammar.” So does Mississippi rapper Big K.R.I.T., on his debut single “Country Shit.” David Banner, also from Mississippi, recalled a memory of a fed up Pimp C, the Underground Kingz pioneer who repped Port Arthur, Texas, telling him, “he don’t do hip hop, he do country rap tunes.”
Smino and Denzel Curry
Country is growing up outside of urban areas with land to run around in. Country is the twang in your voice and an artistic use of slang. Country is Black cowboys and Black agricultural workers. Country is soul food at yo’ grandmama house every Sunday after church. Country is when you see a family friend and they say to tell ya mama’nem she said hi — and that yo’ cousin owe her pictures of that new baby. Country is the older ladies in their rocking chairs sitting on their porch all up in the whole town’s business. I would be remiss not to mention — being the South, contextually we understand that these are the states most acutely in which the lingering remnants of slavery mark most every aspect of life for Black Americans. The state-imposed levels of poverty, discrepancy in quality of education, and harsh disenfranchisement all contextualize everyday lives in Black Southern culture. This also made the South a mecca of musical influences. This after all, is where negro spirituals were created and disseminated during slavery, begetting work songs, blues, and gospel post-Civil War, which led to soul, country, funk and rock & roll, all of which have their varying impact on this Southern/country sound in hip hop.
We aren’t so far removed from hip hop’s birth fifty years ago at underground Caribbean parties in the Bronx, where DJs met emcees and created a new genre that has gone on to become one of the most popular in global music today. During the adolescence of rap in the 90s, news outlets, notable labels and the coastal elites largely ignored the hip hop rising outside of New York and Los Angeles. That is, until Outkast. It is not to be forgotten that during the infamous Source Awards moment, Andre’s statement was in response to the group getting booed for winning that award in 1995. This was a time when the East Coast vs. West Coast rivalry was in full swing, with Suge Knight and Diddy taking pointed shots at each other throughout the night. Not only was no one paying attention to the South, they were actively antagonizing them. Big Gipp of Goodie Mobb and the Dungeon Family — the larger collective of OutKast, Goodie Mob and Organized Noize — spoke about this moment and said it “put a battery in our back,” not only to prove themselves as legitimate contributors to hip hop, but to take over the game.
Throughout the late 90s and 2000s, OutKast & The Dungeon Family in Atlanta, UGK in Houston, and Three 6 Mafia in Memphis led the charge of country-bred artists rising from obscurity and despite the odds brought something fresh to the table, introducing the world to fish & grits and all the pimp shit. Artists from across Georgia, Louisiana, Texas, Mississippi, Florida, and Missouri were all determined to paint a picture of their reality separately from the Northeast or the West Coast. It was their cars: likely a Cadillac, Benz, or Chevy Impala, bright candy paint, leather interior with the wood grain on the dash. It was the pimp aesthetic – one of audacious opulence, mixing in very 70s-inspired fashion. The country twang added a specific flavor to their flow, and they used this to their advantage, emphasizing the drawled-out expression, a tendency that makes the sound more sing-songy and melodic. There was a fluidity to their speech and regional specificity to their pronunciation; they might break up the syllable in a spot you wouldn’t expect to alter the meaning or rhyme scheme. Big Boi talks about how he and Andre 3000 were creating new words and new worlds, “like yes okay we are the ATLiens and we are from Stankonia” or “SpottieOttieDopalicious.” Goodie Mob coined the term “Dirty South” soon after the Source Awards, giving fellow rappers something to identify with and speaking directly to the naysayers, warning them they didn't know who they were sidelining.
The Dungeon Family; an Atlanta based collective of OutKast, Goodie Mob, Organized Noize and solo artists such as Cool Breeze.
Andre 3000 and Big Boi of OutKast
Many regional styles developing at this time had a lasting impact. In Houston, DJ Screw pioneered a DJ and production technique that birthed not just Screwed Up Click but an entire subculture, chopped and screwed. The Underground Kingz Pimp C and Bun B were simultaneously making waves flowing over infectious soul samples like Bill Withers’ “Use Me” and Rufus & Chaka Khan’s “Tell Me Something Good.” Louisiana was also positioning itself as a powerhouse thanks like Master P and Birdman leading a charge, especially from a business standpoint in building No Limit and Cash Money Records, creating space for the horde of heavy-hitting young talent in New Orleans. In Memphis, Three 6 Mafia’s sound evoked their interest in horror films, reflected in the production of their “hardcore” sound and incredibly brash bars from the likes of peers Project Pat, MJG, and 8Ball. Part of the reason this coalition of rappers were able to establish dominion was their commitment to working together toward a common goal. Rather than fight for the approval of NY or LA, they focused on their own audiences and representing country life for country people. They were in frequent collaboration, whether it was UGK on Three 6 Mafia’s “Sippin on Some [Sizzurp]” with Project Pat or Pimp C signing Baton Rouge native Lil Boosie. By the end of this “golden era” of classic Southern hip hop, which many would agree is marked by Pimp C’s death in 2007, the once ignored faction of the genre had not just gained the respect of New York, LA, and the media, but they had garnered Grammys and Oscars.
Due to the success of these country trailblazers, the floodgates were now open, and by the mid-2000s they had a solid hold on the mainstream with the success of Ludacris, Nelly, Trina, Gucci, T.I., Rick Ross and Jeezy and so many more spawning subgenre after subgenre like crunk, snap, and trap. The strong contingency from Atlanta mixed with what I think is also the undeniable reign of Lil Wayne, who unequivocally carried the late 2000s into the 2010s sound and brought us the likes of Young Thug, Gunna, Future, Migos, Lil Baby, and Young Dolph to name a few — it's safe to say the South’s dominance has been cemented. As Bun B sums up on the chopped & screwed track, “Draped Up” ft. Lil Keke, “Back in the days all they ever did was doubt us but now the South is in the house and they can’t do nothing bout us.” Presently exciting to me are the 90s babies who I think are currently rising as a new vanguard of Southern rappers, taking up the influences they grew up with of that classic era including Smino, Denzel Curry, Kari Faux, Megan Thee Stallion, Maxo Kream, Glorilla and Flo Milli.
Big K.R.I.T., born in 1986, isn't new to the game but deserves early credit when it comes to taking up the torch from Southern rappers of this ‘golden era.’ Big K.R.I.T. is completely unmistakable on any track — thanks to his deep country Mississippi drawl. Not97 aptly compared Big K.R.I.T.'s voice to the sound of a banjo, a single instrument that is distinct on any song it makes an appearance on. He intentionally featured his heroes and earned their respect. While K.R.I.T. is relatively known, especially among his peers, he hasn’t quite been able to make a major name for himself among wider audiences, and I feel like part of the reason has been the absence of equally country contemporaries at that particular moment that he gelled with. In this way in the timeline of specifically country hip hop, K.R.I.T. might be the bridge from the old vanguard to the new. This is one of the reasons it is exciting to see K.R.I.T. embraced by younger rappers on a track like “TURNIN’ HEADS” with Kari Faux, who, in a similar respect, has decided to embody the region in full force and give flowers to unsung heavyweights.
Kari Faux posing in a bright red candy paint Cadillac.
Kari Faux is a Little Rock, Arkansas native who moved to Houston in the last few years after a long stint creating the soundtrack of her own life as well as that of fictional Issa Dee, in Los Angeles. She says she embraced life slowing back down to a pace that felt more natural to her, with people that she felt were more trustworthy and more down to earth. Aside from Kari’s ever-improving prowess as an emcee, her most recent album REAL BITCHES DON'T DIE!’s great triumph is its homage to Southern culture, making for a sound that is immediately familiar yet like nothing out today. Both sonically and through the lyrical content, Kari carefully crafts a distinctly Southern masterpiece that is a celebration of life while processing grief. The beats have a funk in the bass line and a soundscaping that transports you not only to the South but back in time to this golden era. In comparison to other projects, her Southern drawl is not disguised but exaggerated, and she is coming at the mic with a level of aggression and urgency. This delivery is significant, in different moments from one track to the next, you may hear more Bun B or Juicy J or Andre 3000, but the UGK sound is most noteworthy. She makes frequent references to her new home of Houston and a guest verse from another Texas pioneer Devin the Dude. Even though she isn’t a native, tracks like “H-TOWN” and “MAKE A WISH” make it clear she has done her homework. Significantly, this album blesses us with a feature from the late Gangsta Boo, prominently known as a member of Three 6 Mafia, which we received posthumously on “WHITE CAPRICE.” The opening to the song is something of an affirmation that sums up what it means to be a Southerner trying to make it through the day — and really the fire that burns and creates motivation for the Southern artist.
Peace to the Black babies born below the Mason-Dixon
That twang in your diction don't make you less gifted
Be grateful, steadfast and persistent
Our ancestors made four ways out of no ways, so let's stick to tradition
May God's grace cover you like an oak tree on the hottest day
I pray the air in your tires never deflate
And you keep the gas hand above a quarter of a tank
In whoever name you pray
Throughout the track we are given an image of Gangsta Boo and Kari, riding around the south as auntie and niece that serve as a touching memorial in the wake of her death. Kari Faux wasn’t the only younger woman in rap to embrace Gangsta Boo’s influence and legacy just before she passed in early 2023. Fellow Memphis native Glorilla shared when she passed that Gangsta Boo had reached out to her online to give her props much before she found viral success from “FNF.” It adds an element of sincerity to the fact that she was able to work with her on Latto’s single “FTCU” while she was with us. As a result, they created what was an important moment they may not have realized while it was happening, bringing the underground legend some due recognition just before her passing and introducing her to a new generation to appreciate. Over 20 years after her place as the First Lady of Three 6 Mafia and solo hits like “Mask 2 My Face” or “Where Dem Dollas At,” her unapologetic flow is unforgettable and her influence on the current moment in female rap cannot be understated. Kari Faux said she geeked out in the studio hearing Gangsta Boo call out the classic Three 6 Mafia ad-lib, “yeah hoe” on her track. Denzel Curry embraces it with a sample on his track “AUTOMATIC.” Megan Thee Stallion has worked with Juicy J on multiple occasions and there is an irrefutable delivery and attitude on a song like “Simon Says,” that could just have easily come out in 2000 as 2019 and is a testament to the way she has interpreted her influences.
The First Lady of Three 6 Mafia herself, Gangsta Boo.
Three 6 Mafia
Listening to Miami rapper Trina today, one can’t help but hear the influence on Megan, City Girls, and the entire cadre of women topping the charts today, wishing she truly got the prominence she deserved in a time when women weren't running hip hop the way they are in the present moment. Miami’s scene, ushered in by 2LiveCrew who quite literally affected the laws of obscenity in art, was especially promiscuous. First popping on the scene on Trick Daddy’s Nann, Trina’s self-assertive braggadocious nature in regards to her body sexuality was a needed element to balance the inherent misogyny of the genre. People are very quick to give all the credit to Nicki Minaj, and it is not misplaced. Still, similarly to my sentiments about Gangsta Boo, Trina should have just as much of a place in that conversation regarding the stream of ‘rap girlies.’ So when Flo Milli yells, “Bitch I’m from Alabama” or Latto proclaims “I’m a real ass, rich ass bitch from da souf,” it's beautiful to see the legacy carried on in this region. Flo Milli particularly has something to her flow that takes me right back to Princess and Diamond of Crime Mob, yelling “Stillettos! pumps! in! the club!” or Diamonds’ infectious verse opener, “now I got 32 flavors of that bootylicious bubble gum.” St. Louis native Sexxy Red also wears this influence well. The self proclaimed ‘Female Gucci Mane’ is surely a force, audacious, provocative, and unapolegetic. When listening to her recent single, “Shake Yo Dreads,” it sounds like a successor to opening line of Diamonds’ verse on the anthem “Knuck If You Buck,”“I come in the club shaking my dreads, throwin' these bows and bustin' these heads.”
Admirably, Meg never misses an opportunity to rep for Houston. While was undoubtedly Meg influenced by the likes of New Yorkers like Lil Kim and Minaj, I think there is a swagger to the rappers Meg grew up listening to closer to home that made a clear impact, and she is one to proudly wear her influences on her sleeve. She features Lil’ Keke, Big Pokey, Sauca Walka, and Mike D on Southside Freestyle, on some “real mothafuckin H-Town shit,” each verse speaking to how Houston culture has permeated hip hop. Maxo Kream is another Houston native carrying this torch of an amalgamation of influences that he draws upon masterfully. From one track to another you’ll hear him utilize the funk and soul sound with a buttery delivery that is reminiscent of UGK, or the bouncing staccato flow supporting clever wordplay reminiscent of the best of Big Boi, and then clear trap influence of Gucci Mane. He makes references to this aspect of his sound often, such as interpolating “Never Scared” on his recent single named after the Atlanta titan “Bonecrusher” and Three 6 Mafia’s “Poppin’ My Collar” on “MAMA’S PURSE,” Speaking about collaborating with Tyler, The Creator on “BIG PERSONA,” Kream mentions being surprised that the production and hook of the song he had for him sounded like Big Tymers on “Get Your Roll On” saying he straight out asked “what the hell you know about that.” They notably emulate Mannie Fresh and Birdman’s influence in the video, upholding the notion that it is hard to separate this sound from the aesthetic. Now ten years in the game, Maxo Kream will stand the test of time in modern hip hop for his complete authenticity and raw storytelling. He is very serious about his lyricism, in a way he argues some of the rappers on the charts are not. Kream presented that challenge back on “Roaches,” off 2018’s Punken (a country nickname if I’ve ever heard one): “remember back when music had content and metaphors, way before the mumble nonsense and poppin’ handlebars,” before going on to link his family's experience in the wake of Hurricane Harvey to Katrina in the government’s lack of response.
Maxo Kream
Megan Thee Stallion performing in a cowboy hat.
Andre 3000’s cadence, style, and rhyme schemes with which he delivers his flow have been long documented as a unique interpretation of the genre and have made him one of the stand-out influences of this era. One could spend days pouring over Andre’s wordplay alone, and many journalists have, and that’s without factoring in his creative genius as a producer, singer, and instrumentalist; defiance of gender norms; and overall ingenuity that pushed the boundaries of what had come to be the definition of a rapper. Rappers influenced by Andre, even outside of those with explicit country ties, are everywhere, but there is an argument that Smino is his most proficient pupil. In Smino’s recent freestyle, which can be expected to be a part of his upcoming SAD2, Smino raps over Ludacris’ “What’s Your Fantasy” beat is one of my favorite recent drops, featuring bar after bar, double and triple entendre that he comes up with by bending the words, speaking on rappers using him as a mood board — something I think both members of Outkast could relate to. Smino’s projects are the type that grow on you after some time in rotation, as you start to slowly unpack the layers of what he is saying. Hilariously aware of this, in his loosies and other video content like the aforementioned “Mr. Pinterest,” he’ll caption the lyrics, partially an aesthetic choice presumably to help audiences follow along with his thick accent and loose following of the conventions of the English language.
Similarly from the Lou and proud, Nelly is rather underrated in implementing a similar technique, calling out his diction on his first album, “my grammar be’s ebonics.” Smino also brings up a key influential factor growing up in this region is also referred to as the Bible Belt. The connection to the Black church (another effect of slavery) gave way to the gospel musical genre as an entryway to the intricacy of music; from the organ and drums to the choir, belting soloists, Smino says he and Nelly were affected by the same church influence and inspire their melodic tendencies and sing-songy rap. Regarding their hometown, he dubs it St. Louis, USA, “because we don’t claim Missouri.” As the earlier mentioned dynamic that contributes to the social standing of a Black Southerner, these artists are all existing in Black cities within states that are otherwise incredibly racist, and though social segregation is real, they’re likely still hillbillies and rednecks, who believe in the confederacy. Infamously Missouri was admitted into the union as a slave state during the Missouri Compromise which in my opinion solidifies its place among the real division between northern and Southern states, whether or not you could own a Black person. This gives even more power to the rise of this subgenre, being born in states where generational wealth had been all but impossible before this time, the success of the rappers provides an avenue of upward mobility and contextualizes the spirit and urgency of the music.
In a moment now cemented in history, Pimp C called DJ Paul from prison to tell him that when he got out he wanted the beat to a song he had produced for Project Pat — “Choose U”, as is, a conversation that led to one of the most significant collaborations in hip hop. Watching the “Int’l Players Anthem” music video 16 years later feels like looking at a Renaissance painting, at least for me, being a 10-year-old in Atlanta when it dropped. Andre 3000 wearing a quilt to his fictional wedding, even after being clowned by DJ Paul and Juicy J; Big Boi begging him to ditch love and be a player; Big Gipp as a groomsmen; T-Pain leading the church choir & lip-syncing to the Willie Hutch sample; Pimp C in an all-white floor length fur coat and hat to match; Bun B rapping outside in the church in a Cadillac with David Banner in the passenger seat. When Pimp C was freed, those close to him spoke about how he was most concerned about unity and bringing Southern artists together, as could be seen on “Knockin Doorz Down” where he calls out beefs from Houston to Atlanta. Pimp C was at the head of the movement, knowing the only way for country niggas to beat the odds was through solidarity. In doing so, they paved the way for the moment we are seeing today. While they no longer have anything to prove, the communities are already forming which I hope helps to cement this moment in the history of a new vanguard of country rap tunes. Smino and Kari Faux work brilliantly together, having a shared producer in Phoelix. The Dungeon Family is a natural predecessor to Spillage Village, the collective of J.I.D, EARTHGANG, 6lack, and Mereba amongst others. Smino and JID recently finished a tour together (supported by Jordan Ward, another St. Louis artist we are a fan of at Black 2 Infinity) and the list of collaborations goes on. I can’t say what the future holds, but I am nevertheless proud that for any Black babies born below the Mason Dixon, there are now a few rich decades of material to pull from. I’d say they are carrying the torch skillfully into what one can hope is a new era of innovation in a genre that has started to plateau in the mainstream.
Listen to the companion playlist for songs referenced in the article as well as personal picks from the 90s to today.
