Genres

Subscribe to the Spotify playlist right here.Tom Waits has not only one of the most distinct voices of all folk-rock crooners, he also has one of the most nuanced and studied approaches to narrative and musical accompaniment of any modern songwriter. His gravelly, whiskey-soaked voice, one whose every forlorn syllable bears witness to a lifetime of tragic loss, conjures somber and lamenting narratives almost effortlessly and constructs unmistakably American stories with vivid language and crushing pathos. The content he takes up, which ranges from hobo adagios and flower funerals to tearful reflections on missed opportunities, moves even the most stoic of listeners. His relatable melodies and his jazz- and blues-flavored progressions and cadences meld into a strange and unmatched sound—one of a singular, time-worn voice gliding sympathetically above 88 melancholy black and white keys, ever-searching for the heart of Saturday night.

This post is part of our Disco 101 program, an in-depth series that looks at the far-reaching, decades-long impact of disco. Curious about disco and want to learn more? Go here to sign up. Already signed up and enjoying it? Help us get the word out by sharing it on Facebook, Twitter or just sending your friends this link. They’ll thank you. We thank you.People went out to nightclubs to dance and party before disco. They’d do it after disco, too. Nevertheless, there was a point in the 1970s when disco dominated popular culture like no musical craze has done ever since. It was a phenomenon that impacted nearly everything about people’s lives, from the movies they watched, to the clothes they wore, to the ways they interacted with each other. It was a social and sexual revolution set to a four-on-the-floor rhythm and sweetened with the sound of strings and the sultriest of divas.Disco was so liberating, so exhilarating, that a lot of people inevitably felt embarrassed about what happened at the party once somebody turned the lights on. To many, disco was a discomfiting reminder of an era of foolish, even dangerous hedonism that was cruelly superseded by the rise of Reagan-era conservatism and—most tragically for the LBGTQ community that had fostered it—the devastation wrought by AIDS. For later generations, disco just became a joke whose punchline was the orange Afro wig you wore at a Halloween party. But that’s a huge disservice to a body of music that’s astonishingly varied and complex, one that not only absorbed innovations from across the era’s musical spectrum, but foregrounded the artistry of musicians and DJs far outside America’s cis white mainstream.Like organisms in some primordial jungle, disco needed steamy environments to evolve. Some could be found in the queer vacation zone of Fire Island, where DJs in the early ‘70s developed the process of taking revelers up from a simmer to a boil and back again. They’d export these tactics to bathhouses and clubs back in Manhattan, as well as DIY spaces like David Mancuso’s Loft. Meanwhile, the era’s most vanguard African-American soul, funk, and R&B acts were creating a boogie wonderland. The lush Philly soul of Gamble and Huff, the cinematic sensibility of Blaxploitation soundtracks, and the symphonic seductions of Barry White would all become key elements of disco, as would more rhythm-forward dance-floor sensations like Manu Dibango’s “Soul Makossa.” Across the Atlantic, the Europeans were refashioning American-style R&B and soul with a sleek, machine-made throb in revolutionary productions like Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby.”The fact that this Giorgio Moroder-assisted orgasmic masterstroke arrived in 1975 illustrates the difficulty in precisely pinpointing a beginning point for the sound. But as our proto-disco playlist illustrates, the foreplay was just as pleasurable as everything that ensued.

Hey, it happens: You neglect to keep up with all that’s new and cool in rap for a month (or several). Then you snap back into focus and, all of a sudden, the hip-hop landscape is completely populated by adolescents with face tattoos who’ve named themselves after prescription pharmaceuticals. “Where am I? How did I get here?”, you might wonder, feeling approximately 5,000 years old. Not to worry——“rap time” moves at a speed that defies all commonly understood laws of physics, anyway. For those who scan through Rap Caviar and feel lost, we’ve compiled a handy user’s guide to rap’s new generation, taking you on a tour through SoundCloud rap, Latin trap, and all things 2018. (Cue up the playlist above for a general overview of the contemporary hip-hop landscape at large, and then dig deeper into each scene below.)

SOUNDCLOUD RAP

Have you, a full-grown adult, ever been shaken to your core by sheer proximity to a group of teens, certain that they will roast your entire existence simply because they can? Welcome to the lawless land of SoundCloud rap: the movement that, over the past year and a half, has eclipsed the DIY implications of its somewhat dismissive moniker and officially infiltrated the mainstream. Originally, its biggest songs gathered steam on——you guessed it——SoundCloud’s weekly “most played” charts, which ostensibly bypassed stodgy industry gatekeepers to gauge exactly what fans respond to most. But for a while now, the movement’s been gradually outgrowing its home base, with curated playlists becoming the preferred platform for “discovery.” (Scare quotes intended.) And its biggest songs have ascended to the upper echelons of the Billboard charts in recent months: Lil Pump’s “Gucci Gang” hit No. 3 on the Hot 100 in December; 6ix9ine’s “Gummo” peaked at No. 12 later that month; and, most recently, two separate singles from Lil Skies have been simultaneously cruising up the charts.It often feels as though these rappers are more united in visual aesthetic than they are in sound: Crayola-colored dreads, bountiful face tattoos, and worrisome Xanax references abound. (For a while, the scene was also disproportionately stationed in South Florida, though it’s branched out a bit, with Trippie Redd based in Columbus, 6ix9ine repping Brooklyn, and Lil Skies heralding from Waynesboro, Pennsylvania.) But aside from its brash attitude, there are a few common threads that tie the scene’s disparate acts together. The mix is often purposefully overblown and heavy on the digital distortion. Track run times are generally short enough to sustain a social media-saturated attention span. Influence-wise, SoundCloud rappers take cues from the improvisational sing-song style of Chief Keef, the gothic scuzz of ‘90s Hypnotize Minds acts, and the melodies of ’00s emo. Perhaps the most unpleasant quality of the movement is that its biggest stars have been regularly revealed to be terrible human beings——but what else is new in 2018?

TRAP 3.0

It’s impossible to come up with a concise expression of what trap music sounds like in 2018 when the style is easily more diverse than it’s ever been——not to mention more prominently represented within mainstream hip-hop. (Hell, Taylor Swift albums come with Future features these days.) No one needs an introduction to Migos or Young Thug in 2018; but perhaps you’ve breezed through Rap Caviar lately and wondered, “Who the fuck is Lil Baby?” Atlanta remains the trap-music capital of the universe, and if there’s any one label that represents the style’s most popular iteration right now, it’s Quality Control Music, the label founded by legendary A&R rep Coach K. Migos are the label’s marquee act, but the label’s recent Control the Streets, Vol. 1 compilation provides a slightly more in-depth overview of sound of the moment: mostly downcast, with plenty of minor keys to go along with the stuttering snares.Beyond the Migos, though, Atlanta’s most ascendant trap stars over the past year have been Playboi Carti and 21 Savage. Carti’s supremely bass-boosted “Magnolia” was everywhere last year; and if trap’s most recognizable beatmaker these days is Metro Boomin, its most promising newcomer is Pi’erre Bourne, the Atlanta producer behind the single, whose sparse but immersive style is starting to take off. Meanwhile, 21 Savage’s slurry delivery, eerie beats, and nihilistic lyrics have infiltrated the charts over the past year; his understated “Bank Account,” produced by Metro Boomin, was a breakaway hit in 2017, and lately, it’s felt like half the Hot 100 has a 21 Savage feature, from Post Malone’s “rockstar” to Cardi B’s recent “Bartier Cardi.” You can’t talk about trap in 2018 without mentioning Cardi, who had the biggest come-up in 2017 rap with her explosive No. 1 hit, “Bodak Yellow.” That song, in turn, interpolates the flow from Kodak Black’s 2014 single “No Flockin” (hence the titular reference). South Florida’s answer to Lil Boosie, Kodak’s also seen a boom in notoriety, despite what seems to be constant legal trouble; his “Roll in Peace” single, featuring fellow problematic rapper XXXtentacion, has sat near the top of SoundCloud’s most-played charts for what feels like centuries in rap time (more accurately, about five months).Clearly, then, trap’s purview extends far beyond Atlanta in 2018. Baton Rouge prodigy YoungBoy Never Broke Again (formerly known as NBA YoungBoy) has been making waves in recent years for his wise-beyond-his-years storytelling, in the lineage of hometown heroes like Boosie or more recently, Kevin Gates. Chicago’s Famous Dex might not be a household name (which is probably a good thing, given the rapper’s alleged history of abuse), but his minimalist, slippery style looms large over the purposefully off-kilter sounds of 2018 trap and SoundCloud rap. He’s far from the only trap star with a troubling rap sheet: see Arlington, Texas MC Tay-K, whose raw 2017 breakthrough single, “The Race,” literally narrates the 17-year old’s run from a murder charge, for which he’s currently awaiting trial. Newcomers Tee Grizzley and Molly Brazy represent the dichotomy of Detroit street rap: Grizzley’s pathos-heavy “First Day Out” is a masterful mix of the joy and pain felt on his first day released from prison, while Brazy’s party anthems harken back to the bounce of Cash Money and No Limit productions from around the time the 18-year-old was born. And as evidence of Chief Keef’s underwritten influence over how trap music sounds in 2018, Dallas’ Cuban Doll named her recent turnt-up tape Aaliyah Keef, after the 19-year old’s two biggest inspirations.

THE NEW RAP-ROCK

The most memorable outfit on last weekend’s Grammy red carpet was not an ethereal gown or a suave tuxedo; instead, it was the ever-so-over-it Lil Uzi Vert’s mall-goth cargo pants, a triumphant comeuppance for anyone who spent the early ‘00s lurking Warped Tour, replying to flirty AIM messages with “Rawr xD,” or raving beneath the nearest underpass. It was bound to happen eventually: At some point over the past couple years, the well of ‘90s nostalgia ran dry, rap merch began looking like a Hot Topic sales rack circa 2002, and a new rap-rock movement had kicked into high gear. Nostalgia is a hell of a drug——especially when it sets its dreamy gaze on a trend so deliciously garish——but this isn’t your older brother’s rap-rock. Instead of macho mosh-pit metal, rap’s new generation is drawing from the more sensitive strains of ‘00s emo and pop-punk, which makes sense given hip-hop’s embrace of melody over the past decade. Along with the past decade’s steady blurring of genre boundaries, this moment seems inevitable. In fact, it may represent a more fully-realized vision of rap-rock than its original iteration——not to mention finally vindicating Lil Wayne’s “rappers are the new rock stars” mantra on Rebirth eight years ago.Uzi’s 2017 breakthrough, “XO TOUR Llif3,” is so far the defining hit of the new rap-rock movement, with ultra-depressing lines like “Push me to the edge/ All my friends are dead” sung in Autotuned pop-punk cadences. An even bigger hit (and one that’s even more on-the-nose) is Post Malone’s “rockstar,” with its callouts to Jim Morrison, TVs tossed out hotel windows, and the actual lyric “I’m with the band.” But as far as a figurehead, the scene’s most promising leader was by and large Lil Peep, the heavily-tatted, deeply emotive rapper who died of an overdose last November at age 21. Emo-inspired anthems like “Awful Things” capture the romantic nihilism of a doomed generation; in his stead, members of his GothBoiClique crew, like Lil Tracy and Horse Head, keep the legacy alive.

TEAM POSI-VIBES

It’s easy to feel beaten down by the world in 2018. And if things weren’t dark enough as it is, it’s all the more disheartening when hip-hop headlines and playlists feel increasingly dominated by unrepentant abusers and the gatekeepers who support them. Meanwhile, minor keys and eerie vibes have dominated rap production for the past few years, thanks in large part to the influence of Metro Boomin. Have we officially descended into full-time cultural nihilism? Well, not yet: A largely unconnected group of artists from across the map are keeping the flames of optimism flickering by basking in rap’s sunnier side.For the past couple years, Lil Yachty’s lighthearted trap has been an easy target for haters of “rap these days.” But along with his Sailing Team crew, the 20-year-old’s purposefully rinky-dink take on the past decade of Atlanta hip-hop——from Soulja Boy’s playful ringtone rap to the exuberance of early-‘10s groups like Travis Porter——has demanded serious consideration. Just as bubbly, but even more impressive rap-wise, are Sailing Team member Kodie Shane’s “Drip On My Walk” (buoyed by two simple piano keys) and Maryland rapper Rico Nasty’s Nickelodeon-themed bops. And it would seem that the boy-band format is back in style, minus the choreography and major-label svengalis. The super-ambitious Brockhampton crew has amassed a cult-like following for their inclusive, genre-spanning DIY jams. And perhaps the least expected ray of light in the 2017 rap landscape came from Baltimore’s Creek Boyz, whose trap chorale “With My Team” is a genuinely heart-warming ode to crew love.

LATIN TRAP

As trap has evolved into the dominant sound for popular rap, Spanish-language hip-hop has responded in kind, and Latin trap has exploded into an undeniable force. Reggaeton had been the defining sound of the Latin urban charts for the past decade, but over the past two years, Latin music has adopted trap music’s lurching bass, 808 drum patterns, and half-rapped, half-sung cadences. Southern hip-hop’s influence has bled into Latin music for much longer than this particular moment, but artists within the scene seem to agree that “La Ocasión”——the moody 2016 smash from De La Ghetto featuring Arcángel, Anuel AA, and Ozuna——officially sparked the Latin-trap boom; the track currently has more than 465 million views on YouTube. However, the scene’s biggest star, and the one most primed for a mainstream crossover to English-speaking audiences, is Bad Bunny——the Puerto Rican rapper who, just two years ago, was uploading his songs to SoundCloud in his time off from bagging groceries at a San Juan supermarket. He hasn’t released an official album yet, but you’ll find his name all over popular Latin-trap playlists, Billboard’s Hot Latin Songs chart, and, increasingly, the Hot 100. English-language rappers are taking notice of the movement’s massive popularity, and in the past year, there’s been an increasing amount of bilingual collaborations. Late last year, Nicki Minaj and 21 Savage hopped on the remix to Puerto Rican artist Farruko’s hit, “Krippy Kush,” which also features Bad Bunny and former dancehall producer Rvssian. And in August, Cardi B released an official Spanish remix to her No. 1 single “Bodak Yellow” featuring NYC-based Dominican rapper Messiah.

THE WILD CARDS

Though it may feel like rap in 2018 is overwhelmingly dominated by teenage SoundCloud upstarts and corporate-curated Spotify playlists, that doesn’t mean there isn’t space for genuinely idiosyncratic individuals to step out, too. There’s no formal connection between these particular rappers, many of whom stand apart stylistically even within their respective local scenes. But in 2018, as ever, rap is nothing without its sui generis weirdos, even if these artists aren’t yet represented on the charts, or on the most prominent streaming playlists. Watts, California’s 03 Greedo is impossible to pin down, as evidenced by his sprawling, versatile mixtapes that often clock in at 30 or 40 tracks long; from super-tough West Coast gangsta rap to spacy R&B ballads, you never know what you’re going to get from the rapper/producer, though he’s described his own style as “pain music that’s popping.” Along with Greedo, Drakeo the Ruler’s currently shifting the sound of L.A. street rap, with his deft, free-associative flow and vivid vocabulary. (Does anyone truly know what “Flu Flamming” means? No. Does it matter? Not in the slightest.) And Sacramento’s Mozzy has quietly become one of the most striking voices in West Coast rap, with his intense, super-detailed street-life narratives; Kendrick even gave him an unexpected shout-out at the Grammys this past weekend. Meanwhile, Chicago continues to breed true individuals, from the hyper-minimal, two minute bursts of subdued trap from Valee (whose shape-shifting flow has gotten him the attention of Kanye’s G.O.O.D. Music imprint) to CupcakKe, whose colourful, outre sex raps have earned her a sizeable LGBT fanbase. And Chattanooga, Tennessee’s BbyMutha channels the energy of trailblazers like Gangsta Boo and La Chat into tough, thoughtful, bad-ass underground anthems.

Todd Rundgren certainly deserves an album guide. After peaking in the early 70s with his pop-rock classic Something/Anything?, he embarked on a journey that involved dozens of albums, side projects, and little of the AM gold clarity that marked his best-known work. Hes had a career similar to Prince -- using increasingly accessible technology and distribution methods to flood the market with product -- but without the Purple Ones killer catalog to sustain popular interest. So thank UK magazine Dummy for creating a sympathetic primer to Rundgrens boundless creativity. Its made in honor of Rundgrens Runddans, a collaboration with Sereena-Maneeshs Emil Nikolaisen and Ibiza disco revivalist Lindstrøm that was released last May.

Superstar producer Hudson Mohawke started out playing a British variation of the beat music that Flying Lotus and his camp started up in the L.A. scene in the middle of last decade (the first time I saw him was at a Brainfeeder party), but he quickly grew out of that. He helped bring the electronic genre know as trap to the mainstream and has also been a guest producer for Kanye West. Laurent does a nice job highlighting some of the high points of his career, though its a more idiosyncratic list. The blurping, steel drum electro of "Allhot" is a beautiful thing.

At the risk of sounding horribly reductive (and perhaps a bit factually vague), Sun Ra was a nut. He claimed he was born on Saturn (Wikipedia puts his birthplace at Birmingham, Alabama), developed his own brand of cosmic mysticism (later dubbed afro-futurism and adopted by everyone from George Clinton to Janelle Monae) and made a headdress and flowing robe a cornerstone of his wardrobe. He also released dozens of albums, all of which were idiosyncratic and none of which was particularly canonical, so Jason Heller’s attempt to provide a beginner’s guide are valiant and valuable. The playlist itself is understandably all over the map, but it provides a nice glance at the many stylistic shifts Sun Ra would make.

Thank you for checking out the second installment of our Thrash 101 program, produced in conjunction with GimmeRadio, your free 24/7 radio station hosted by heavy-music experts and artists. Get more metal here.With 30-plus years of thrash under our bullet belts, its hard to think of a time when the music didnt exist (especially if you grew up during the early reign of Metallica on MTV). But the late 70s/ early 80s were a vastly different landscape, where music was separated by geography and two major forces were about to collide.Powered by complex guitars and cerebral bombast, the New Wave of British Heavy Metal (NWOBHM) was thriving in England. And before long, U.K. bands like Judas Priest, Saxon, and Iron Maiden became more than just social currency in the stateside tape-trading underground; they were starting to make waves on the charts one mega-solo at a time, spreading the word to ravenous heavy music fans everywhere about this massive sound blowing up on the isles.Concurrently, hardcore was erupting in the U.S. underground on both coasts. Bands like Discharge, The Misfits, and the Dead Kennedys had something to say and a rabid voice to say it with, along with an equally rabid fanbase to heed the call. And at a time when socio-political unrest was plaguing the American counterculture due to the intensifying Cold War and the cold conservatism of the Reagan presidency, both of these music scenes (one the natural progression of metal, the other the natural progression of punk) spoke to disenfranchised teens nationwide, and a movement was born from their marriage: thrash.Fueled by the outspokenness of punk, the big sound of NWOBHM, and the bottled aggression of hardcore, the disillusioned youth of America picked up their guitars and built upon the foundation laid before them. Tracks like Discharges "Protest and Survive" practically nailed the thrash formula in 1982, and when you hear early Venom and Angel Witch alongside Agnostic Front, youve got two sides of the same rusty coin.

Cool cant be trained and it cant be manufactured. Guys like Archy Marshall, a.k.a. gutterpunk angel King Krule, are simply born with it. Or in Marshall’s case, born into it: His mom, a screenprinter, outfitted Prince Be of PM Dawn for the “Set Adrift on Memory Bliss” video; his uncle played in a ska band called the Top Cats; his godfather was in punk band The Ruts. Marshall grew up a school-ditching, music-loving rabble-rouser, immersed in London’s wildly progressive art world. No wonder then that he began writing songs and making beats as a teenager.Now 23, Marshall has applied his inherent cool to two King Krule LPs, both of which feature an inimitable postmodern pastiche of blues, dub, lounge, hip-hop, jazz, downtempo, and experimental noir. His latest, The OOZ, is an itchy, bleary smear of atmosphere and attitude, swinging on saxophone and laden with songs about marginalized Bohemian existence, sung in Marshalls tongue-swallowing Cockney twang.Before he anointed himself streetwise royalty, Marshall ran under a slew of other names, some of which he still adopts depending on his mood, including Zoo Kid, DJ JD Sports, Pimp Shrimp, and Edgar the Beatmaker. He’s collaborated with now-disbanded Manhattan rap crew RATKING and London soundscapers Mount Kimbie. He even recorded an album under his own birth name.Given his lifelong exposure to off-the-radar music, it’s no surprise that Marshall’s stated influences—and the less obvious ones—comprise a sonic roadmap through the global underground. From ’80s New York no wave to golden-era hip-hop to mid-century country crooners to Jamaican classics to of-the-moment indie agitators, King Krule has swallowed it all and spit out something wholly unique and utterly captivating. Here’s your tour through the Kingdom of Krule.

It’s hard to describe exactly what it is that composer Daniel Lopatin pulls off under the ever-shifting guise of Oneohtrix Point Never. From his early days of programming minimal, evocative vistas of synthesizer dystopia to his newer interests in the gnarly, Kornier sides of our culture, Lopatin has managed to reinterpret his own vision time and time again without losing the essential, prickly feeling one gets from listening to his music. At the heart of all the uncanny manipulation of sound is a concept of the individual — disenchanted yet wide-eyed, obsessed with the psychedelic while hopelessly plugged into the minutiae of the day-to-day, the kind of mind that is restless even when surrounded by the dewiest, most calming of new-age tones. It’s ambient music made for headbanging, both frustrated and perverted and drenched in a nostalgia that always manages to keep its gaze toward the future. For all of the formalist structure that Lopatin imposes over his own chopped-up aesthetic, what he taps into in his work reaches beyond the realm of critique; it is a spiritual music of the self, relentlessly undergoing transformation, and attempting to discern exactly what it is.

The Melvins—Buzz “King Buzzo” Osborne, Dale Crover, and the hordes of badass musicians to have passed through their ranks—occupy space in no less than three major trees in the genre forest: heavy metal, alternative rock, and experimental music. Not bad for a band who began life not knowing if they were hardcore punks or headbanging heshers—so they opted to smash the two together and out popped sludge, doom, and grunge. This ability to upend genre, redraft borders, and confound expectations has been a constant throughout their discography (including their 2017 full-length, the crazy catchy A Walk With Love and Death). Where 1991’s “Boris” represents one of the defining moments in down-tuned dirge, the Dada-like “Moon Pie,” from 2000’s The Crybaby, helped lay the groundwork for all the weirdo cross-pollination that has occurred between metal, electronic music, and industrial since the turn of the century.Yet these accomplishments, however impressive, only represent half the story. When you ponder the sheer number of side projects and bands to have shared members with the Melvins, their stylistic reach becomes all the more staggering. King Buzzo has twiddled knobs for dark ambient composer Lustmord, jammed with Mexican art punks Les Butcherettes, and re-imagined Angelo Badalamenti’s Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me theme as a member of the wonderfully oddball Fantômas. Crover, meanwhile, pounded drums on a handful of Nirvana jams from the Bleach days, did some twangy shit-kicking with borderline insane outlaw Hank Williams III, and portrayed a young Neil Young in the “Harvest Moon” video (what?).Possibly even more impressive is the C.V. of former bassist Joe Preston. So vital to the genesis of 1992’s Lysol, one of the Melvins’ most far-out recordings, the cracked visionary helped invent drone metal with the mighty Earth, electronic avant-metal under the alias Thrones, and electronic noise-rock as a member of Men’s Recovery Project. Of course, I could rattle off a half dozen more names, yapping about Jared Warren and Karp (one of post-hardcore’s most eccentric outfits), as well as Steven McDonald and Redd Kross. (Their 1987 power pop/proto-grunge masterpiece Neurotica has aged so damn well.) But you get the picture: It’s the Melvins universe, and we’re just living in it. Crank this thing.