In an alternate universe, some wry television producer will come to his senses and develop a sitcom with Young Thug and Future playing psychiatrists in need of their own psychiatrists. The basic premise is that in every episode, one or both have some sort of manic freakout which will play out musically via bell-ringing trap behemoth. Future would generally be the voice of reason, only snapping when the excess of shark biters swarming around him become too much. “Shit” would be the soundtrack to that episode.
Young Thug is the brash hothead with the helium-huffing hyena voice. It doesn’t take much for him to get angry. He’s sort of like the Jan Brady within the triumvirate of Rich Homie and Future. If someone steals his leopard print dress, they’re going to get a paddling. If someone asks for a sip of his pink smoothie, that’s a paddling. If someone tapes over his episodes of Portlandia After Dark, oh, you better believe that’s a paddling. Whenever Rich Homie Quan shows up, you know trouble is going to ensue. In fact, Future spends most of his time trying to find the proper mix of meds and therapy that will cause the Homie to have the proper alchemy of chemicals. There are hilarious jokes to be made about him knocking on the door and Future trying to pretend he’s not there (but he’s really diddling Ciara) and Rich Homie is screaming from behind the door: I WILL NOT STOP GOING IN. Six seasons and a movie.
I imagine there is a contingent of readers who have refused to listen to Young Thug on general principle. He wears leopard dresses and lip rings and ostensibly seems to be more proficient in Elvish than he is in the English language. He’s also named Young Thug, a name so bad that Chozun’s writers are probably mad they didn’t beat him to it. However, he is an excellent rapper, capable of twisting his voice like balloon animals, inventing new flows, and making the occasional bad Jewish joke. But he’s taken Wayne’s man on the verge of a nervous breakdown flow to full chaos. Syllables are stretched like medieval torture devices. It’s basically inverting gravity, bizarro world carnival rap. Listening to Young Thug is like wandering into a fun house and staring at the mirrors and watching your body distort into pretzel shape. Few songs come more anti-social than this. This sounds like it was basically made to play at 10000 decibels to scare off bible thumpers knocking on your front door.
Yesterday, I was listening to this from the other room and it sounded like dancehall. That’s probably a closer jumping off point for a song like this than boom-bap. Thug could be huge in Jamaica, especially if they have an inclination towards experimental television programming
