Writing Boys — Alex Lewis, Koku Asamoah, Julius Tunstall & Cole Henderson — is a community focused on writing for ourselves and each other.

Our love-letter series “Cypher” was inspired by “Echo,” an essay co-authored by Kiese Laymon, Mychal Denzel Smith, Darnell Moore, Marlon Peterson & Kai M. Green from Laymon’s book, How to Slowly Kill Yourself and Others in America.

Two years ago, in our first installment of “Cypher,” we wrote love letters to each other about growing up as Black men raised by Black men. Last year, we wrote about departure albums. This year, we’re exploring musical lineages.

Alex

Dear Koku,

Around this time two years ago, when we interviewed Hanif Abdurraqib for our podcast, I didn’t expect us to talk about lineage as much as we did. But it ended up being a central part of the conversation.

“Lineage is not always built through direct contact,” said Hanif. “It’s built through an ongoing contact with the reality that someone’s life is built before you.”

As we examine this ongoing reality within music, I can’t think of a better place to start than where we all began: our mothers.

People have been curious about superstars and their moms for years. Almost forty years ago, Cher’s mother, the late Georgia Holt, published a book called Star Mothers: The Moms Behind the Celebrities, which inspired Superstars and Their Moms, the TV series airing from 1987–88 that Holt was a co-executive producer for.

Stevie Wonder was a guest on the series’ second season where he doted on his mother Lula Mae Hardaway.

“She’s like brown skin,” said Wonder while sitting next to her at the piano. “The beauty of her outwardly could never compare to inwardly, but yet the beauty of her outwardly is as beautiful as anyone in the world.”

Wonder’s adoration and reverence for his mother reminded me of the scenes of Kanye and his mom, Donda West, in the Netflix docuseries jeen-yuhs: A Kanye Trilogy. The smiles that engulfed their faces when Kanye rapped “Hey Mama” to Donda while making sure the camera caught their love.

When I consider the musical descendants of Wonder and West, Tyler, The Creator is the poster child. His musicality and love for chords were borne, in part, from sitting at their feet. Not only did Tyler confess to Stevie when they first met, “I be stealing your chords,” but he has collaborated with Kanye several times and said he cried when he heard the chords on West’s “Violent Crimes.”

Following in the footsteps of Wonder and West, Tyler also let his mother’s love lead the way on his latest album CHROMAKOPIA. It begins with a voice recording of his mom, Bonita Smith:

“You are the light
It’s not on you, it’s in you
Don’t you ever in your motherfucking life dim your light for nobody”

In reviewing CHROMAKOPIA, writer Dylan Green referred to Smith as the album’s “voice of reason.” Recordings of her advice can be heard on several songs, including a jarring confession on “Like Him” and an emotional closing to the album where Smith addressed Tyler through tears:

“Real shit, I’m proud of you
I’m proud of you, bro
Like, you just never cease to amaze me, like, you just — 
There’s no words right now [for] how I feel
Do your thing, just keep, keep shinin’”

It’s clear how closely Tyler heeds his mother’s words. And as someone who has followed Tyler’s career for over a decade, I couldn’t hear his mom’s advice without thinking about his longtime friend and former Odd Future member Frank Ocean, who used a voicemail from his good friend’s mom, Rosie Watson, for the track “Be Yourself” on his 2016 album Blonde.

When the album first released, most of us assumed the voice advising Frank not to drink alcohol or use drugs was his mother, especially since Watson ends her voicemail with a classic mom sign-off: “This is mom, call me, bye.”

But even though Watson isn’t Frank’s birth mother, the voicemail underscores how much he values motherly advice, especially from Watson. Her guidance is so important to him that he features another one of her voicemails on “Not Just Money” from his debut album Channel Orange. Watson’s voicemails are referred to as “the stuff of legends” in an interview she did for Ocean’s Boys Don’t Cry magazine that served as a companion to Blonde.

As you and I have both navigated therapy, I know we pay special attention to how our parents have shaped us. Our first time writing these letters highlighted the relationship we have with our dads. And I know, for me, how I approach my relationship with my parents, and especially my mom, has evolved as I’ve gotten older.

Neither Tyler nor Frank invented the album skit or having maternal figures on a project, but how they invited these women into their work makes me think about the advice I’ve received from my own mom and how I used to want to reject it whenever she offered it. And still, I feel that urge rising within me. But now, I’m learning to take a pause and remember her advice comes from a place of love. She wants what’s best for me. And even if she doesn’t fully understand all that’s on my plate, that’s an opportunity for me to share more of my life with her.

In Watson’s interview for Boys Don’t Cry, she said, “I think when you call someone, you should leave a voicemail for them.” Later, she added about her birth son Jonathan and her play son Frank, who she calls Lonny, “I want them to always remember to just be themselves, they don’t have to be the type of man described in a rap song.”

Tyler’s mom delivers similar advice on the CHROMAKOPIA track “Take Your Mask Off”:

“Keep that shit one hundred with you, with yourself
You don’t have to put on no costume
You don’t ever have to lie to kick it”

At the end of the day, we are our mothers’ sons. Before we were anything else, that’s who we were — and that’s who we are. You’re part of my lineage just as I’m part of yours, and I offer you the same encouragement my mom recently texted me: “Whatever you do, keep striving. I am always one of your biggest cheerleaders!!!”

This is Alex, call me, bye.

Koku

Dear Julius,

As producers, we both understand how much sound transcends through time. This goes beyond the fact that artists like Aretha Franklin, Marvin Gaye, Nina Simone, and Stevie Wonder have albums that, to this day, are still poignant and have an everlasting replay value to them. What we hear when we listen to music is a snare taken from a drum break in the middle of The Honey Drippers’ “Impeach the President,” which was used by De La Soul on “Ring Ring Ring (Ha Ha Hey)” or hearing Thundercats’ “Them Changes” and know that it was built upon The Isley Brothers’ “Footsteps In The Dark” drum loop, which Ice Cube also used on “It Was a Good Day” along with a vocal sample.

Hip hop directly builds upon artists from the past. There is a line in Jay-Z and Kanye West’s collaborative album, Watch The Throne, on the song “The Joy” (produced by Kanye West and Pete Rock) where Jay-Z says:

“This is my mama’s shit
I used to hear this through the walls in the hood when I was back on my pajama shit (Uh-huh)”

The “this” Jay-Z refers to is the sample in the song “Makings of You” by Curtis Mayfield, which is the main sample chop throughout the song. The image Jay-Z paints when reminiscing about his time back in Marcy Projects is one of nostalgia since he is revisiting and rapping on a track he used to hear in his childhood. Not many other music genres can invoke a feeling of nostalgia and give it new life by reinterpreting it into a whole new song.

Another great example is Kendrick Lamar’s “luther,” which samples Luther Vandross and Tammi Terrell’s duet “If This World Were Mine,” reinterpreting the song both in the sample and the lyrics with Kendrick saying:

“If this world was mine, I’d take your dreams and make ’em multiply
If this world was mine, I’d take your enemies in front of God”

Kendrick keeps the integrity of the sample while inserting his spin on the original lyrics:

“If this world were mine, I’d place at your feet
All that I own, you’ve been so good to me”

Primarily produced by Sounwave, “luther” shows how much a producer can take a sample and manipulate it in ways only hip hop can. Sampling has been one of the foundational pillars of hip hop since its genesis. Artists like Pete Rock are critical progenitors of the craft. However, between Peter Rock and Sounwave, there is an artist whose legacy in hip hop is unanimously seen as one of the greatest of all time.

James Dewitt Yancey, professionally known as J.Dilla, was a producer from Detroit, Michigan, who gained prominence in the early 2000s, serving as the main producer for the hip-hop group Slum Village. J. Dilla’s production captivated me, especially when I first started learning how to produce.

Dilla strayed away from the production standard at the time, which heavily relied on drum loops aligned with the track’s tempo. What Dilla was able to do was treat his sampling and percussion as if he were playing actual drums. This production style completely shifted the limits many producers believed were there, unintentionally creating the “Detroit Swing.”

Dan Charnas writes about this inception and evolution of sounds. In Dilla Time, he writes:

“…this predictable/unpredictable rhythm made its way outward among James’s mentors, collaborators, and admirers, they started giving it their own names: that “Jay Dee swing” or “bounce” or “hump,” designations that would shift to terms like “Detroit swing” a few years later when some of his protégés began using the time-feel.”

I think back to when you asked me to lay some drums for an unreleased track you had created a while back. The track you sent had your vocals accompanied by a guitar riff. You left me to my own devices to add whatever I like. I immediately thought of how D’Angelo and Dilla worked together. Although I would never aggrandize myself to think I was J.Dilla, I knew I had to get into that mindset to add what I felt would fit this track and find a way to make my drums swing the same way Dilla does.

As I mentioned, J.Dilla found a way to use both the sample and drums uniquely, having an extraordinary ability to manipulate the samples to say whatever he likes. On the track “Stop,” Dilla samples vocals from Jadakiss. In the sample, Jadakiss is heard saying, “Is death real?” It’s an eery peak into Dilla’s mind because during the creation of the song and his album, Donuts, that surrounds it, he was in the hospital battling a serve illness while approaching his final days.

What made Dilla so extremely skilled was the vocal sample from Jadakiss, which actually says, “Is that real?” It stems from Jadakiss’ song “Why.” This isn’t the only example of Dilla’s use of vocal samples to directly talk to his family, friends, and listeners. Throughout Donuts, there are vocal chops and voices that appear to speak to the intended listener, telling his mother not to cry on “Don’t Cry” or his brother John, professionally known as Illa J, to “do it” or to follow his dream on “Waves.”

A lot of these techniques come from Dilla’s background as a DJ. The vocal chops placed between tracks allowed him to talk to listeners in a way that he couldn’t do through lyrics or instrumentals. When I think about the lineage and how this type of production gets passed down, much like spoken word, I think of Knxwledge, who built upon and perfected this type of production. Knxwledge’s production style is just as sporadic as J. Dilla’s.

In an article written by Peter Holslin, he writes:

“Knxwledge has already earned comparisons to the incomparable J Dilla with a barrage of barely legal Bandcamp releases. One beat (“so[rt]”, from the relevnt.b/sde_LP tape) even got repurposed on Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly record.”

Knxwledge’s production style has grown past his influences and is seen through all the music he has released. You will find vocal snippets from movies, shows, and other albums across his albums. On the song “Noflowrs[instrw]” on his album Hud Dreams, he samples phrases from a Nardwuar interview with YG. Coincidentally, this beat uses a J.Dilla drum loop from Dillatronic.

I still listen to my mama’s shit, and I take what I’ve heard from a child, and it influences me to create beats that I think Dilla and Knxwledge would like. Julius, we previously talked about how D’Angelo was a huge inspiration for you. I think about how Dilla worked with D’Angelo and how Dilla was heavily influenced by his album Voodoo.

I also think about how Knxwledge has worked with Anderson .Paak to make some of the best R&B music of the last decade. The connection between these is heard through the music.

As Knxwledge honors J.Dilla’s legacy through his production style, I hope one day we can make something that honors them as well.

Let’s think about our group name.

Julius

Dear Alex & Koku,

You know when you meet that older kid on your block — summer camp, school, whatever — you lean into the shit they are into because it’s cool.

I’ve always felt drawn to niggas who are eclectic — in taste, style, and musicianship.

Charles Ray Wiggins, the second youngest of 14 children, wanted to be a musician and make records. He learned some skills from his older siblings and built off of that. He started singing around town and, before his 18th birthday, he decided to try out for Sheila E’s backing band.

Wiggins got the gig and says Prince ran the band like a boot camp. His eclectic style and work ethic rubbed off on young Charles — so much so that he felt like a new person. He returned to his hometown of Oakland brand new and even changed his name: Raphael Saadiq.

Steve Thomas Lacy-Moya grew up a sheltered kid in Compton, California. While playing the video game Guitar Hero, he realized that he wanted to play the real thing. His musicianship got him into a high school jazz band crossing paths with the youngest sibling of another family: Jameel Bruner, the younger brother of producer, artist, all-around, weird-ass nigga — respectfully, Stephen “Thundercat” Bruner.

Jameel eventually would introduce Steve to the rest of the band he was playing keys for: The Internet. Steve was producing these unique-sounding productions on his phone and that solidified him as a force in the group.

Alex, you and I went to see The Internet in 2016. He wasn’t playing at that show because he was graduating from high school.

While working on his first solo album, Steve told Apple Music’s Zane Lowe that the first song on his debut album, “Only If,” has a Rogue Sitar on it because he was showing music to his friend in the car and someone walked by and screamed, “THAT SHIT IS BANGIN’!”.

Steve realized that it was Saadiq who called for him, and they became friends. Him and Raphael Saadiq share music often. He heard a song with a Rogue on it, and he let him play his. He immediately went home and ordered one.

As I look at Saadiq’s production credits, I see Lacy following in those footsteps as an artist-musician-producer and all-around eclectic nigga. I think, when you meet somebody who inspires you and has paved the way for you, it takes you back to seeing yourself as a student. Your continual growth is going to make your younger self proud. Raphael impressed Prince and now Steve is impressing Raphael.

Lineage is a form of love, especially when you get to learn from that person face-to-face. That doesn’t always happen. When it does, we can look back at our younger selves and say:

“If I could travel through time,
I think I…
Would tell myself from
The past
You’ll be fine”

Cole

Dear Alex, Koku & Julius,

Our Writing Boys group chat dates back to 2022 when our first Cypher was released. Somewhere in the quarrel of blue and grey bubbles, a message I sent reads, “Our chat belongs in the Library of Congress.” I wish we had our countless conversations archived in folders so we could carefully trace back our moments of candor and silliness. Our collection of collective love shared amongst four Black men deserves cultural preservation.

We’ve been writing for our futures. When we decided to settle into this space together as Writing Boys, we never knew how good we would be together and for each other. Yes, there’s a writing lineage we are responsible for too, and I know that sounds like I’m placing a haunt over our trivial writer lives, but we never know whose eyes are watching us, whose ears are listening.

Daniel Dumile couldn’t have imagined the many pairs of younger eyes and ears absorbing him: Jo-Vaughn Scott, Thebe Kgositsile, Tyler Okonma, and Jaylah Hickmon, to name a few.

Translation: MF DOOM couldn’t have imagined the many pairs of younger eyes and ears absorbing him: Joey Bada$$, Earl Sweatshirt, Tyler, The Creator, and Doechii, to name a few.

And trust me, they were paying attention.

Joey Bada$$ showed us he was watching through “World Domination” (“Poo-Putt Platter”). Earl Sweatshirt proved to us he was listening with “Deerskin”(“ALL CAPS”). Tyler, The Creator closely looked on by evoking “Odd Toddlers” (“One Beer”). Doechii encapsulated DOOM during her performance on Late Night with Stephen Colbert, paying homage with a voiceover from him — “Hip hop has gone in a direction where it’s almost damn near 100% on everything besides the music.”

Koku, you said it best when you wrote about DOOM, “I can’t help but drone on about MF DOOM and his cartoonish approach to hip hop. He is an emcee with a flamboyant, yet elusive personality. His rhymes and flow break the traditional structure of a rap song and have a meta quality.”

The traits you described for DOOM can also be said about the artists he influenced. We don’t get Joey spewing off his quadruple-entendre rhymes, or Earl’s unorthodox flow, without Metal Face.

We remember the first time meeting the people we admired. At first, we may greet them with a cool, calm, and collected demeanor. But once we are out of sight, we relish in our giggly astonishment behind their backs. Alex, that’s how I felt when we first hung out.

There’s a video online of Earl and Tyler meeting MF DOOM for the first time in 2013 at Reading Festival. Before DOOM went on stage, he dapped up the Odd Future members, “I heard a lot about all y’all n****s,” said DOOM. The camera pans to a bewildered Tyler, and as DOOM walks away from the Odd Future members, Earl and Tyler can no longer hold in their excitement as they fanboy out together.

Lineage feels different from influence and inspiration. I can sift between the good and bad baggage from the forebearers who inspired me, but lineage picks the person. Lineage tells me I must carry the torch and, along with the torch, some curses and blessings will be attached to me regardless, as I move into the future.

In 2013, another young rapper caught the attention of the supervillain. At just 16 years old, Bishop Nehru was invited to perform as the opening act for MF DOOM and Ghostface Killah in London, U.K. An invitation of a lifetime. And just like the MF-influenced artists mentioned earlier, Nehru embodied DOOM through “Elder Blossoms”(“Arrow Root”). DOOM appreciated Nehru’s homage the most because they collaborated to release an EP one full year after their first encounter. Nehru was picked to carry the torch.

XXL Magazine documented Bishop Nehru and MF DOOM’s collaboration project, NehruvianDOOM:

“I heard about him before I actually met him. Heard some of the music, [but] not too much. I met him, I’m like alright, [he’s] just a cat, [let’s] see what he got,” said DOOM. “But his spirit is good you know what I’m saying, he got a good aura with him. You know, he’s about his business.” Their connection was seamless.

I’m not writing to you guys to vaunt Nehru’s penmanship or describe how similar Nehru’s style is to the legendary DOOM. I’m writing to tell you how special it feels to be picked and chosen by people who want to see my future flourish. For the elusive MF DOOM to agree to work with an up-and-coming emcee in Bishop Nehru meant he wanted to see his future flourish, and Nehru understood this.

“This was somebody who I was really kickin’ it with. We was in the studio talkin’ about life,” said Nehru. “And he was talking to me like a grown man. It wasn’t on no shit where he was talkin’ to me like I’m some little n***a, and I was like 16.”

Fast-forward to 2025 from 2013, and the future of all the artists I mentioned has taken many positive turns. As it stands today, Tyler, The Creator landed his 5th straight number-one album with CHROMAKOPIA, Earl Sweatshirt last wrapped a successful UK/Europe tour, Joey Bada$$ was named Artist-in-Residence at NYU Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music, and Doechii blessed her fans with a jaw-dropping performance on NPR’s Tiny Desk. Nehru’s career hasn’t quite shot off like his peers, but he’s still rapping.

JT, on your song “You Want To Dream?” from your latest project, DAMN BOY YOU GOT SOME SUN, I loved when you said, “I want to be known for more than just the music in me.”

In some semblance, I envision Nehru saying the same thing about wanting to be known for more than just a joint album with a hip-hop legend, but maybe that’s the blessing and the curse.

From a fair-weather hip-hop fan, it would seem like Bishop Nehru never caught his big break, but not many hip-hop artists can say they made a joint album with MF DOOM — an accomplishment many artists wish they could tell. And I’m guilty of wanting each of you men to catch your big break, but not many people can say they wrote love letters with their homies and put them out for the internet to read.

DOOM’s life is complete, but his lineage will continue through Nehru.

We’ll never forget when we were chosen by the people we love.

Cypher Pt. 3: Alex, Koku, Julius & Cole was originally published in WRITING BOYS on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

In the aftermath of the Kendrick Lamar and Drake beef, all I could think of was, “What went wrong” or “What could’ve he [Drake] done to make them niggas that mad” It’s both parts alarming and satirical of the absolute ass whooping that Kendrick gave Drake. It was well deserved. Don’t get me wrong; Drake has exhibited downright unacceptable behavior for someone his age. We can look at his contemporaries and see the sharp contrast between him and them. Kendrick, for instance, has grown immensely since hitting the scene. He went from making probably one of the worst songs I’ve heard in “Bitch I’m In the Club” to making multiple magnum opuses across his career, those being ‘Good Kid Madd City,’ ‘To Pimp a Butterfly,’ and ‘Mr. Morale and The Big Steppers.’ We can hear the growth in his music; this applies to J. Cole. J. Cole positioned himself as this conscious street rapper who happened to go to college but was still a hood dude. He raps in ‘Too Deep for the Intro’

It’s Cole, I had a dream and so I made a move

A ill ass nigga who just so happened to stay in school

Still rap for hustlers and motherfuckers that hated school

Said, “That’s for busters,” then heard my shit and I made it cool

Although he maintains the same aesthetic, his content has changed from reflecting on his time living in Fayetteville, North Carolina, to reflecting on his kids, wife, and the changes he has seen while in the rap game. Wale and Big Sean are two figures who came up in the same era as Drake and adapted to their current point in life, and you hear that reflected in their music. The one outlier to all this growth is Drake. I started listening to Drake in 2009, and I remember hearing ‘Best I Ever Had’ on the radio in the back of my mom’s cherry red Acura, crackled leather scrapping against my forearm. My sister just started driving, and we headed to Kroger for a quick grocery run. On our way there, I hear a low voice say, “a lot of girls be, thinking my songs are about them,” trickling piano keys and a crashing open hit play underneath this monotone speech. My sister proceeds to turn the volume up; he continues and says, “We’ll just do it so we don’t get confused; this one is for you.” A pharellesque sample chops begins playing, and the song’s chorus begins.

Baby, you my everything, you all I ever wanted

We could do it real big, bigger than you ever done it.

The song continues, and my sister turns to me and says, “You know the guy from Degrassi made this song.” I wasn’t too familiar with Degrassi then, but I knew exactly who she was talking about. Drake played a character called Jimmy in Degrassi, a high school basketball player with dreams of becoming a rapper one day. In one of his most iconic episodes, he was shot by another character and was subsequently put in a wheelchair. And at my young age, this was as much as I knew and pretty much as much as I cared to know. This was around the same time that I would hover over my sister’s shoulder as she explored hip-hop blogs for news, music, and upcoming concerts. To stop me from bothering her, she would me borrow her burnt copy of ‘So Far Gone,’ the mixtape that ‘Best I Ever Had’ was featured on. And I have to admit, I loved that mixtape; it felt like I was ahead of the game with this upcoming artist. It’s hard to believe it now, but in 2009, Hurricane Chris was more of a household name than Drake. The people who did know his name were because he had the Lil Wayne feature on a couple of tracks and Wayne’s cosign as a signee to his upcoming label, Young Money. I can’t stress that Drake could’ve been considered an underground rapper back in the day, and as he gained steam, people saw him as a genre unifier. He even had a line on ‘Ignant Shit’ where he says

I always knew that I could figure

How to get these label heads to offer him good figures

And me doin’ the shows gettin’ everyone nervous

’Cause them hipsters gon’ have to get along with them hood niggas

One of the most accurate descriptions of Drake is by F.D. Signifier, who called Drake the Gohan of rap music. Much like Gohan, Drake was seen as the next generation of rappers as his career developed — an amalgamation of some of the best in the game. Gohan was the son of Goku, trained by Piccolo, and was sparring with Krillin, Yamcha, and Tien, three of the strongest humans on Earth. Similarly, Drake trained with Lil Wayne and was on tracks with some of the best rappers then, like Eminem, Jay-Z, and Kanye, showing the potential to lead the hip-hop game into a new era. But much like Gohan, Drake was never able to succeed Goku. Even after he got the cosign from him way before So Far Gone even dropped. Drake failed to meet his perceived title as hip-hop’s future. He let down Goku; he let down Phonte.

Phonte is part of the legendary hip-hop group Little Brother. Upon formation, this consisted of Phonte, Rapper Big Pooh, and 9th Wonder. Although 9th Wonder has left the group, Phonte and Big Pooh still compose music. 9th, Phonte, and Pooh formed Little Brother in 2001 but didn’t see mass public recognition until 2003 when they dropped their critically acclaimed first full-length album ‘The Listening.’ Since then, Little Brother has released four albums that received high praise, and many solo projects and collaborations with other producers and artists that have been held in the same regard.

Little Brother is known for their down-to-earth and blue-collar style of rap. A term I like about this kind of rap is “Grown Man Rap.” It is a genre of rap that forgoes most of the glitz and glamour and focuses on personal problems like relating to their kids and fear of inadequacy when it comes to their music, some things that more of your average rap listener can relate to. They also put a lot of skits and personalities in their albums, even going as far as to make them take the form of a media conglomerate with ads, commercials, and announcements between songs.

One of the more unique things that Little Brother introduced was having Phonte as a singer/rapper of the group. Although not a new thing, there were acts that proceeded Phonte who did this. What helped Phone, however, was he could blend it seamlessly without having a clear-cut distinction between his rap tracks and his singing tracks.

Phonte collaborated with Drake on two songs earlier in Drake’s career. Drake was never one to shy away from his influences, and he’s openly stated that Little Brother and, specifically, 9th Wonder and Phonte are some of his biggest influences. Drake was even featured in 9th Wonder’s The Wonder Year documentary, reiterating his love for the group. You can see a lot of those influences in his early work.

One of those songs produced by 9th Wonder, called Think Good Thoughts, features frequent Little Brother calibrator Elzhi from Slum Village. In the song, all three artists talk about common misconceptions about how rappers are viewed and how they are breaking the mold of what is generally perceived by rappers. In the intro to the song, Drake is heard saying.

They tend to say that us rappers are materialistic

They say we lack substance

Me, ‘Te and El ’bout to prove ’em wrong, though

As I said before, Drake marketed himself as the gap between underground rap and mainstream rap, so his saying this makes sense at the time but shows how far he’s changed as he progressed in his career. Despite Drake’s love for Phonte, this would be the only time they ever worked together. Drake spoke on this in an interview with The Village Voice Blog when asked why another collaboration happened between the two artists. Drake said,

“I really wanted to do a record with him, and we actually did do a record for my album, and then something happened with the producer and the beat, and it started getting funny so I had to scrap the record. And then he was like, “Well, can you do this feature for me,” and at the time, I was trying to find my sound and trying to figure out what this album was going to be about, and I kind of let it slip through the cracks. That was my fault, and I do apologize to Phonte for that. But I still want to make it happen; I talked to 9th Wonder about trying to make it happen, we’ll get it eventually. He knows he’s one of the biggest influences on my career.”

Phonte’s only response to working with Drake again was in a 2012 interview with DJ Vlad, where he says

“We just believed in his talent, and I still do, so, um if the right opportunity presented itself, I mean, yeah I would love to work”

Both artists appreciated one another at the time, primarily due to the similarities people saw as Drake’s career started.

One of the significant factors in Little Brothers’ success, specifically Phonte, is their candidness and emotional maturity in their lyrics. As early as their sophomore album, ‘The Minstrel Show,’ we hear Phonte and Rapper Big Pooh discuss their relationship with their fathers. Although this isn’t new in Hip-Hop, Phonte and Pooh examine how their relationship with their fathers has shaped and molded them in their song ‘All For You.’

Phonte begins his first verse by saying.

I was looking at your photograph, amazed at how I favored you

I remember being young and wanting to play with you

Cause you was a wild and crazy dude

And now I understand why my momma couldn’t never stay with you

Drake explores similar themes in the song ‘Look What You’ve Done’ on his sophomore album ‘Take Care.’ where he raps.

And you tell me I’m just like my father, my one button, you push it

Now it’s fuck you, I hate you, I’ll move out in a heartbeat

As well as

And my father living in Memphis now, he can’t come this way

Over some minor charges and child support that just wasn’t paid, damn

Boohoo, sad story, Black American dad story

Both artists talk about how the absence of their fathers while growing up has affected them. Phonte takes time to reflect on how, despite his lack of connection with his father, he vowed to be together with his wife and kids but ultimately ended up in the same co-parenting situation his father and mother had with his partner.

Drake, on the other hand, used his dad’s absence to thank his mother and uncle for the help that they gave him to help him with his career and how they deserve to reap the fruits of his labor since they were there with him since the start. Both artist tell compelling stories that give insight into how much their upbringing shaped them into who they are today.

Ironically, this level of emotional storytelling initially caused Drake to get a lot of flack. Many blogs and writers wrote him off for being overly emotional and made women strictly for women. Most of this was coming from people still stuck in the bling era of rap, as music was making a transition to a more melodic sound due to Kanye bringing this sound to the surface with ‘808 & Heartbreaks’ many gatekeepers of the Hip-Hop industry saw it as a blight to the artform. But once again, Little Brother offered that same type of sound way back in 2004 on their first major release ‘The Listening Party’ Phonte can be seen rapping about his pregnant partner on the song ‘Nobody But You’ where he says

I never thought that I would get this shit out

Imagine me that nigga walking around in the mall with matching tim’s out

Emotions I got to get out

Down with a nigga way before I had a hit out now that’s splendid

My brothers love you and my moms recommend it

Carry my seed now I’m carrying dependence

So why we got to keep this love joint suspended

I’m trying to build a family girl ’cause we’s kindred

Once again Drake mirrors Phonte when expressing his feelings for a romantic partner; back on ‘Best I Ever Had’ Drake says

And you don’t even have to ask twice

You could have my heart, or we could share it like the last slice

Always felt like you was so accustomed to the fast life

Have a nigga thinkin’ that he met you in a past life

Once again, both Phonte and Drake wear their heart on their sleeves when talking about the emotional depth of their respective relationship. Drake, however, caught more flack for this; I would be remiss not to mention that there is an aspect of Drake being light-skinned and, more importantly, biracial that plays a factor in the negative response he got. Drake was seen as more feminine not only due to his skin color but by the way he dressed and sounded, which, in turn, made him the butt of many jokes. This would ultimately shift Drake in many ways, extensively making it so that he had to prove that he belonged in the Hip-Hop space by becoming a caricature of what he saw Hip-Hop as.

As I mentioned, one of the most significant comparisons between Drake and Phonte is that they sang while rapping. Another thing Drake caught flack for, but once again, many artists before even Phonte were doing. Artists like Nelly, Ja-Rule, Bone-Thugs-N-Harmony, and Nate Dogg all did a form of melodic rapping or singing/rapping in their own right. However, Phonte sang in ‘The Listening’ with Little Brother. Most of the time, he sang under the alias Percy Miracle as a joke character. He did, however, establish himself as a formidable singer while working with Dutch producer Nicolay under the group name The Foreign Exchange. Songs like ‘Nic’s Groove’ allowed Nicolay to blend Hip-Hop, R&B, House, & Electronic with Phonte’s sound in a way we haven’t seen before.

Drake’s once again shows a similar trajectory in his career. Drake’s early works had a very minimal amount of singing, usually having those duties getting passed off to a feature. It wasn’t until ‘So Far Gone’ where he worked with Noah “40” Shebib, that Drake started to incorporate more of his singing into his tracks. Much like how Nicolay helped create a canvas for Phonte to try a new sound, 40 became a mainstay in Drake’s ambient and atmospheric sound that shaped the 2010s

With so much promise, skill, and support from legends in the rap game, Drake was promised to be in conversations with artists such as Phonte and, for more or less, could’ve been held in the same regard as MF DOOM and Black Thought when it comes to prestige and influence. So what went wrong?

Although Drake has talked about deep emotional issues, he shows no growth from the experiences he shares. From his early works until now, we saw a reduction in tracks that appeal to the same fans he grabbed on ‘Comeback Season,’ return, we have Drake conforming to the same archetype that he tried to distinguish himself from in ‘Think Good Thoughts.’ In his most recent album, ‘For All The Dogs,’ he released an upcoming book and website. The website displays a white screen with black text that reads.

I made an album to go with the book

They say they miss the old Drake girl. Don’t tempt me

FOR ALL THE DOGS

This references a line in ‘Headlines’ where he says the same thing about him going back to his old ways. This excited fans for him to fall back to his style of music that initially put him into the industry and maybe reflect on some of the deeper issues he’s talked about in the past but with a new perspective as he enters the latter half of his 30s. Instead, we received an album filled with subliminal disses to rappers, past relationships, and Grammy-winning composer Esperanza Spalding. In the last decade, Drake has yet to release a project with the emotional depth of his contemporaries. It only gets more apparent as he gets older.

Drake spent most of his career with a chip on his shoulder, while critics and progenitors welcomed Phonte and Little Brother with open hands. Drake was always met with extreme criticism throughout the years. You can see the resentment that formed as he gained prominence and posterity, lashing back at the many artists that spoke down on him in the past in a way, becoming the hypermasculine figure that Hip-Hop bashed him for not being.

As Phonte grew in his career, he understood that he had to grow with his fanbase, and his music reflected that growth. He has this track on the Little Brother album ‘Left Back’ called Tigallo For Dolo; at this point, Phonte is 32 and is just as self-reflective on his life as he was when he came into the game. He raps

Twenty-one years old, I used to slang verses

But ten years later, I am not the same person

Whole new perspective, not the same purpose

And sometimes I have to question if I even want it

Not mad at the game cause it is what it is

And not mad at the radio cause I don’t know what’s on it.

Phonte gracefully aged into his later years as a rapper, showing the diversity and the ability to inspire many of his contemporaries and future generations.

When I started getting deeper into Hip-Hop, I revered Drake; he showed a side of Hip-Hop music I hadn’t seen yet. He is a fan of the game and has spent much time studying acts that came before him. And with his complex upbringing, he had a lot he could have touched on. He did up to a certain point; what stopped Drake from reaching Phonte status was that he stopped telling compelling stories and gave vapid morality lessons. One of the biggest offensive of this was on his album ‘Scorpion’ for context; this was after his battle with Pusha T, where mere weeks beforehand, Pusha T exposed Drake for hiding his child from the world. He directly responds to this in his song ‘Emotionless’ where he says

I know a girl that saves pictures from places she’s flown

To post later and make it look like she is still on the go

Look at the way we live

I wasn’t hidin’ my kid from the world

I was hidin’ the world from my kid

From empty souls who just wake up and look to debate

Until you starin’ at your seed, you can never relate

Instead of taking a second for introspection, he chooses to blame the problems of the world, which he views as one of the vices of the world he needs to shield his children from, such as women posting pictures after going on vacation.

In retrospect, the divergence between Drake and his contemporaries like Kendrick Lamar, J. Cole, and Phonte reveals a cautionary tale of unfulfilled potential in the rap game. While artists like Kendrick and J. Cole have embraced growth and reflected their evolving lives through their music, Drake has instead chosen to tread water, leaning into the archetypes he initially sought to subvert. His refusal — or inability — to engage with deeper introspection has left his music feeling increasingly hollow as time passes. Drake’s career serves as a reminder that true artistry requires more than technical skill and commercial success; it demands vulnerability, evolution, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths. For now, Drake remains a figure of untapped potential — a Gohan who never fully realized his strength. Thankfully, artists like Kendrick and Phonte continue to inspire, showing that maturity and emotional depth are admirable and essential in shaping the future of hip-hop.

Drake Could’ve Been Phonte was originally published in WRITING BOYS on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

We all knew Donald Glover would be a different type of hip-hop artist. Just look at his name. If you research how most reputable rappers get their stage names, you may read stories of them earning their name from an old childhood story or a respected mentor in the game. If you type your name into the Wu-Tang Name Generator you will enter the Wu-Tang and leave with your Wu-Tang name; mine is Fearless Warrior. Donald Glover’s was Childish Gambino.

Yes, I once dreamed of one day becoming a rapper, and I’m certain the many other children of hip-hop young and old dreamt the same at some point. I knew friends who gave it the old college try, while quite literally in college, and let’s just say Intro to Economics wasn’t the only thing they failed. As for me, I unabashedly rocked a couple of cyphers with my college friends, channeling Biggie-esque flows, rhyme schemes mimicking Snoop Dogg, and lyrics containing nothing but lies. Upon hearing my lyrical miracle friends in the circle, I quickly knew my rap dreams weren’t meant to be, but it didn’t stop me from turning into ColeX — my given rap name — when it was time to rhyme:

I got my mind on my money / Money on my mind / Put the nine to your tummy / Blow your tummy out your spine.

I didn’t have money. I didn’t have a nine. And I wouldn’t hurt a gnat. I rapped those four bars over the “Warning” instrumental in my college friend’s dorm room, oohing and ahhing as we each took turns spittin’ our rhymes. We played the rapper part. A bunch of imposters playing pretend in the safety of the world we created. Most rappers are pathological liars anyway.

Trying for laughs when we feel out of place is a symptom of the human condition; the same can be said for telling untruths. Our little white lies are strapped on as innate defense mechanisms for protection because this world is scary. In passing we say to our beloveds, I’m doing good, but the statement can mean many different things. Perhaps we show up as imposters on day one, perpetually learning ourselves, deceiving our past and present as we enter each new world we step afoot in. And that is fine, as long as we know tears and truth are waiting around the corner to hug you. And that is fine too, because as long as we can learn how to properly use our laughter to heal, deceive oppressive systems, and shed tears at our hearts’ consent, we gather toward connecting truth to love. After all, it is how one uses the tools in their possession that truly matters.

In 2004, Gambino also rapped in a college friend’s dorm, not to a hip-hop instrumental, but to the sounds of choppy bucket drumming and guitar rifts playing “Back in Black” by the rock band AC/DC. Visually speaking, it’s a hilarious sight to imagine. Gambino, presumably the only Black guy in the room, trades bars with NYU Tisch School of the Arts finest, Chaz Kangas. Gambino raps while a group of ladies crowd the doorway watching in amazement as he freestyles. But even if you’ve followed his career from afar this Gambino origin story made sense. It didn’t matter what Gambino rapped about to the particular audience in that NYU rec room, he was exotic. His sporadic flow intrigued them, his punchlines made them giggle, and coupled with his melanated skin, they were in love.

Out of all the generations, my generation seems the most familiar with the term imposter syndrome. A term that propelled a pandemic in its own right, along with its close cousins anxiety, burnout, and depression. (Even the word “imposter” doubts itself with its dual spellings.) To be liked, or not to be liked, is the millennial question. Get in where you fit in, is the M.O.

During my first few job interviews after grad school, I couldn’t help myself from stating a false truth — I want to be a part of something bigger than myself. I hoped that the deceptive statement would land me the job although it couldn’t be further from the truth, a truth I hadn’t realized because being a part of something bigger than myself required sacrifice. Sacrifice is not undesirable if it benefits the things or individuals we love, and a job, by definition, can never appreciate a person’s sacrifice. It will take whatever is required of them and more, regardless of one’s willingness to offer up themselves. The powers that be tell you what they’re looking for — a good fit. Being a part of something bigger than yourself isn’t a crime, the crime is feeling like a fraud during the journey.

In early 2010s mainstream hip-hop, fitting in was a requirement. Besides catchy hooks and erratic rap flows, a hip-hop artist would also need a co-sign or big-up from a hip-hop OG, membership in a hip-hop collective or group, a minimum amount of street cred, influential fashion sense, a vibrant regional sound, and a major city to represent. So, how could Donald Glover, a Jehovah’s Witness military brat with an unkempt mini-afro from Stone Mountain, Georgia become Childish Gambino? From hip-hop fans who went to the school of Jay-Z or 50-Cent, Gambino was akin to a non-fictional version of Papa Doc from 8-Mile — “This guy’s a gangster? His real name’s Clarence/And Clarence lives at home with both parents.” Gambino was far from a gangster and wasn’t trying to be one.

On Jul 24, 2012, Noisey, a music subsidiary of Vice Media, decided to put Childish Gambino and Chief Keef on camera for a conversation between two musicians. Keef, from South Side Chicago, was coming off of his summer drill hit, “I Don’t Like”, and Gambino was fresh off the release of his sixth mixtape Royalty. It was internet gold. I think you can guess which of these rappers wore short shorts, sitting criss-cross applesauce on a chair, and which one garnished a fat Fendi belt buckle while slumped back into his chair to show his Ralph Lauren boxers. The segment was edited perfectly to show how different these two artists’ personalities were, filled with stale mannerisms and awkward pauses. Gambino tried his best to keep the conversation going, even admiring Chief Keef’s tattoos. “To me Chicago and Atlanta [are] the same shit,” Keef interjected. “I’m from Atlanta,” Gambino exudes, “I’m from Stone Mountain.” After all the awkward pauses the shared connection of being from a Black city united them for a moment.

One of the more important questions in our diaspora is where you from? It’s loaded on many levels because the answer could very well depend on who’s asking the question. And while I believe certain important questions should hold less weight in our society, the answer to this specific question provides important information in return. The amount of processing Black people compute after we hear the answer rivals ChatGPT. Group that geographical answer with an answer to, what church you go to, or naming the surnames of your people, and folk might be considered kin — regardless.

Claiming a city is a serious business, and for the non-gang affiliated, area codes become the set we are from. In terms of repping where you’re from, no city gets scrutinized more than Atlanta. Oh, you’re from Atlanta, what part? I’ve heard almost all the adjacents from my students: Conyers, Roswell, Marrieta, Lawrenceville, Smyrna, etc. Atlanta native and rapper Omeretta The Great addresses this in her freestyle Sorry Not Sorry, listing the many areas near the city that are not Atlanta. She also speaks on the imposters:

Y’all come to the city, get a feel for this air (Uh)
And don’t wanna go home, I know you love what it taste like (You love what it taste like)
But it ain’t too fair, we had to live up in these trenches (Woo)
Y’all went back to the ‘burbs when it got up on them late nights
Look, we really ran through these streets, we ain’t never get a break
So when we speaking on Atlanta, I don’t play, right? (I don’t play)

I once suffered from the “New New disease” of wanting to so badly be hood adjacent, only to be reminded that I have a Picasso in my house — the Picasso being a home and environment that allowed for the least amount of negative outside factors to impede or affect my overall well-being. Because why would I crave to be in a space where the negatives outweigh the positives?

Through his music, Gambino leaned into his “rich boy” alter ego and I say alter ego because he didn’t grow up rich by tax bracket standards but a Black boy from the suburbs was rich, especially by Bankhead standards. On track 4 of his debut album Camp, he raps: “No matter how far the hood seems / We all still got hood dreams / I always wanted to get picked on the cool team / But alone is exactly how I should be.”

Being truthful about where I come from directly impacts imposter syndrome. The truth, it could be limiting or liberating, but at least I invite the chance to be honest with myself and others. They don’t tell us that a person could be from many places. Rakim told us, “Cause it ain’t where you’re from, it’s where you’re at.”

‘Bino challenged the hip-hop status quo with his appearance and music. He wasn’t concerned with fitting in; he already tried that with a different audience once.

Before Gambino released his debut album, Donald Glover was hired by Tina Fey as a writer for the NBC sitcom 30 Rock at just 23 years old. He became a part of something much bigger than himself. It was an Emmy Award-winning show with an ensemble cast of comedians. He was the only Black writer on the show. “It definitely didn’t feel like I was supposed to be there,” Glover told GQ Magazine. “I used to have stress dreams every night where I was doing cartwheels on the top of a New York skyscraper with the other writers watching me.” Then he learned he was a diversity hire.

The feeling of only being chosen because of a marginality. The realization of understanding it will be an uphill battle from day one. Black people trying to fit in or wondering if they’re a good fit.

My 70-year-old dad admittedly still finds it taboo when he’s the only Black person in a space. I only recognize it when I don’t know anyone around me. During my dad’s time, his Black peers were taught that they would have to work twice as hard to be equal to their white counterparts. In my time we have DEI initiatives that over-promise and under-deliver. I used to think there was irony in that a system put in place to advance Black people and other marginalized communities was never built to last, but this is America.

After leaving 30 Rock, he was heralded for his character, Troy, on Community. Donald Glover was the only guy at the time acting on the silver screen, rapping at the Rock The Bells festival, and performing comedy specials in the same year. He was hailed a future “triple threat” by culture publications, and then after 5 seasons, he decided to leave the show with many people questioning why.

In a 2013 Instagram post, Donald Glover addressed his departure from Community and further expressed his existential feelings at the time. His words written in all-caps on Residence Inn Marriot sticky notes, he shared:

“I’m afraid of the future. I’m afraid my parents won’t live long enough to see my kids. I’m afraid my show will fail. I’m scared my girl will get pregnant at not the exact time we want. I’m scared I’ll never reach my potential. I’m afraid she’s still in love with that dude.”

“I feel like I’m letting everyone down. I’m afraid people hate who I really am. I’m afraid I hate who I really am. I’m scared people will find out what I masturbate to. I’m afraid I’m here for nothing. I feel that this will feel pretentious.”

“I didn’t leave Community to rap. I don’t wanna rap. I wanted to be on my own. I’ve been sick this year. I’ve seen a bunch of people die this year. This is the first time I’ve felt helpless. But I’m not on that. Kept looking for something to be in with. Follow someone’s blueprint. But you have to be on your own.”

“I got really lost last year. But I can’t be lonely tho. [Redacted] cause we’re all here. We’re all stuck here. I wanted to make something that says, no matter how bad you f*** up, or mistake[s] you’ve made during the year, your life, your eternity. You’re always allowed to be better. You’re always allowed to grow up. If you want.”

Musicians are consumed constantly and often incompletely. I can count on one hand the amount of hip-hop artists I’ve rocked with since their debut. Either our taste changed or the recipe changed or both. Along the way growth occurs and we must reconcile it’s mostly never for the fans’ benefit. We didn’t see much from Gambino for the next two years after his second full-length project, Because the Internet, until we did, and when we did, it was evolution personified.

The 2010s were full of rappers who had everyone and their mama thinking they could sing, myself included. Those talky-singing choruses had us in a chokehold and I thought I was a good singer, singing, “Hold On, We’re Going Home”, and like the rapper who sang that chorus who Glover was often compared to, he was also known for his inconspicuous vocals. First, we heard it on the chorus of “L.E.S.” from his first album and then again the chops leveled up on “Urn” from his second album. But Glover’s evolution as a singer was made clear when he re-appeared to the world as Childish Gambino on Like A Version, an Australian radio program known for featuring artists’ covers of songs.

Gambino covered the R&B classic “So Into You” by Tamia, and it’s not a talky-singing song. Surrounded by his band members, including long-time friend and producer Ludwig Göransson, he was a part of something bigger than himself at that moment. And isn’t that the essence of being a part of something bigger? The ability to take a risk with your friends backing you up, knowing they’re still beside you at the end of the song. I feel that safety within my writing community, the Writing Boys. When my imposter syndrome rears its head to challenge my writing skills, I’m reminded of the words from fellow Writing Boy, Alex Lewis, “You don’t have to write for a major publication to be a writer. You don’t have to write a book or even want to write a book. Your writing journey doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. Just keep writing and see where your journey takes you.”

His cover of “So Into You” wasn’t flawless but it was timeless. It was a foreshadowing of what was to come from Childish Gambino. He told us in his letters he didn’t want to rap. On December 2, 2016, he released his third project, an R&B funk album. His third album “Awaken, My Love!”, was anchored by chart-placing single “Redbone”, featuring a stunning vocal performance, people questioned if he was truly singing or if his voice was pitched up. It was all him. If I heard the album before listening to his previous work, I would’ve thought his artistic motif was to replicate sounds from the Bootsy Collins 70s funk era (similar to how Sacred Souls borrow sounds from the Hitsville U.S.A era). It was unexpected, exciting, and daring. It was all him.

As Childish Gambino evolved, so did Donald Glover. The same year he released his third album, he premiered his FX television series Atlanta. Glover didn’t just create the FX series, but he also directed, starred, and wrote many episodes on the show. “Glover made it a priority to hire an all-Black writing staff to accurately capture Black culture and the Black experience throughout the series — and it worked,” said Karla Rodriguez. “Diversity in writing rooms, let alone having an all-Black writing room, is rare in Hollywood, but it made all the difference on Atlanta.” The show was based on how Glover saw the city of Atlanta.

Something happens when we are honest with ourselves and honest about our work. The feeling of despair evaporates, and the road we’re on evens out. We come to terms with belonging where our bodies occupy, peering out of clearer lenses to know what’s good for us; knowing what you and I are good for.

My generation is beating imposter syndrome because of endings. Whether you end the bout against your self-doubt or time does what it does best, I promise you, it will end. My perspective is needed to mold the environment around me, wherever I am until it’s not, then I carry along, I’m still me.

When Glover was asked about his departure from Community, he told a reporter, “I just like endings. I think everything should have death clauses in them like humans have death clauses,” he continues. “It’s important that things end. It forces events to progress… It wasn’t like I wanted to run away from it.”

In 2024, Donald Glover announced he was retiring the Childish Gambino moniker — Atlanta ended in 2022 — but it doesn’t mean he’s retiring from music altogether. His fifth and final album, Bando Stone & The New World encompasses all the things that made Gambino who they were — an alternative rapper, with a punk emo flare, who could sing falsetto runs like Marvin while delivering punch lines that would make Weezy smile.

Fittingly enough, Bando Stone & The New World accompanies the unreleased film he created of the same name. Donald Glover and Childish Gambino together for one last run. All to say, oh imposter syndrome, you made me who I am today, thank you. The truth is, he’s not Childish Gambino any longer, but he always will be.

©Cole Henderson. All Rights Reserved.

Childish Gambino Likes Endings was originally published in WRITING BOYS on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Towards the latter half of the year, I listen to Blonde the most, despite my friend Alex’s view on Blonde being a New Year’s album. I believe this album accompanies the fall with as much grace as burnished leaves that take their time riding the wind before gathering on the ground, telling reminiscent stories of their time in the summer, where they brandished their green hue, waving the once sturdy branches they clung on towards the sun. It’s hard not to get nostalgic over this album. Blonde came out in 2016, one of those holy grail years of music where the cosmos align and the secret council of Illuminati members allowed all major artists or upcoming artists to drop an album. In 2016, we saw Beyonce release Lemonade, Solange release A Seat at The Table, Kanye West releasing The Life of Pablo, A Tribe Called Quest with We Got It From Here, Thank You, Anderson Paak., Donald Glover and even Drake all dropped an album in 2016. Hip-hop fans and beyond were gorged with an influx of great music. But Blonde is the only album that came out that year that embodies the themes of transition, nostalgia, and the bittersweet nature of love. Specifically, ‘White Ferrari’ makes it the perfect soundtrack for the reflective and melancholic atmosphere of fall, as it captures the shift from the carefree summer days to the reflective solitude of the colder months.

During one of my listening sessions, I deeply thought about a line in White Ferrari. Frank Say’s

“I’m sure we’re taller in another dimension

You say we’re small and not worth the mention”

For some reason, these lines found their way to a front-row seat in my mind, overstaying their welcome for a few weeks. During that time, those lyrics would erupt with applause every time I recited them, encouraging me to uncover multiple meanings of Frank’s artistry. When those lyrics finally decided to rise out of their seats and leave my mind, I found three vastly different interpretations of these two lines.

All three interpretations have two figures, the first being Frank, trying to make a romantic moment between the two, putting an optimistic view to the end of him and his anonymous love interest, Summer. On the other hand, the love interest purposely or unknowingly ruins the moment with their pessimistic view of Frank’s statement.

The wordplay of these lines relies on the word “dimension” being a homonym. This means that although spelled the same way, this word has two meanings. This first interpretation leverages one of the meanings of dimensions, being a measurable extent of some kind. Frank uses this to compare the two to being bigger than they think they may be.

I picture Frank sitting on the trunk of a car with someone he likes at the tail end of the summer. He stares at a colony of ants, and as they march by, he says, “You know, to them, we are probably giants or gods.” This person replies, “If that’s true, then we probably look like ants to a tree, a mountain, maybe even aliens if they exist.” The conversation ends with a stale taste in the air, two opposing thoughts left to linger.

This scenario reminds me of the second verse of “Pink Matter” on Frank Ocean’s debut album, Channel Orange. In the chorus, Frank sings.

“What if the sky and the stars are for show

And the aliens are watching live

From the purple matter?

Sensei went quiet then violent

And we sparred until we both grew tired

Nothing mattered”

In this verse, Frank plays the role of the pessimistic sparring partner of an unnamed sensei. Both characters in “White Ferrari” and “Pink Matter” battle the thought of humans being insignificant in the grand scheme of things to the rest of the world and the cosmos. Which also leads to my second interpretation.

This following interpretation takes the concept of human beings’ lives being small to a more metaphysical level. This meaning of dimension has to deal with worlds outside of our known reality. We can put Frank and this love interest in the same scenario of a summer romance that will never happen. After watching a sci-fi movie, Frank says, “You know there’s a chance in another universe, we could be like seven feet tall, and everyone flies on birds instead of planes.” jokingly trying to stir up conversation, this person replies with, “If there are so many different universes out there, in another universe we never met and wouldn’t even be having this conversation.” Belittling Frank’s advance and shutting down any more conversation to take place after that, and that same sentiment continues into the third and final interpretation.

This final interpretation is my favorite because it fits better in the album concept. Some of Blonde’s themes are falling in and out of love, self-love & hate, and failed relationships, family, drugs & depression. But one overarching theme is transition and change; we hear it literally in one of the most Iconic beat switches at the midpoint of “Nights,” and we can hear it in lyrics like “Wishing you godspeed, glory There will be mountains you won’t move Still, I’ll always be there for you How I do.” in Godspeed. But most importantly, it covers the transition from summer’s fun and almost childlike motifs into the darker realities of fall and winter. Noticeably, the songs lose their vibrancy compared to the first thirty minutes as the album concludes its second half.

At the beginning of “White Ferrari”, Frank has a line where he says

“White Ferrari, had a good time

(Sweet sixteen, how was I supposed to know anything?)”

Frank implies that he and his love interest are 16 during their summer together. They are both still kids. So when Frank says, “I’m sure we are taller in other dimensions.” He could be implying that they are probably doing the same thing in another life but are older and much wiser, presumably still together. On the other hand, this love interest replies, “We’re small and not worth the mention,” ultimately saying we are still young and things like that shouldn’t be worried about.

I love this interpretation because it reminds me of one of my favorite songs, Thinking Bout You; in the chorus, Frank sings.

“Or do you not think so far ahead?

’Cause I been thinkin’ ‘bout forever, ooh

Or do you not think so far ahead?

’Cause I been thinkin’ ‘bout forever, ooh”

Frank wants to spend forever with this person, but the feeling isn’t shared; this is backed by a line on “Nike’s” that shows the cold demeanor and hold this love interest has on Frank. Frank sings

“He don’t care for me, but he cares for me

And that’s good enough

We don’t talk much or nothin’

But when we talkin’ ‘bout somethin’

We have good discussion”

The “good” discussion Frank is referring to could be this shallow interaction between the two, him justifying his love interest’s underwhelming responses with actual substances.

Blonde is reminiscent of summer love, change, and uncertainty. And White Ferrari is a perfect example of those themes coming together. This song comes in the album’s latter half, where the summer is over, and the realities of the world settle in. We still glimpse at those final days with someone Frank is willing to love and ponder with.

As Blonde transitions from its vibrant opening tracks to the subdued tones of its latter half, ‘White Ferrari’ stands out as a moment of reflection. With its delicate interplay between hope and disillusionment, this song mirrors the inevitable transition from the warmth of summer to the cold isolation of winter, leaving listeners with a poignant longing that lingers long after the music fades.

Two Lines in White Ferrari was originally published in WRITING BOYS on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.