I had zero idea that I would end up in the middle of Dance Motherf*cker at Union South with Gabe Herrera spinning last May. He moved seamlessly between hip hop and electronic vibes and I found myself thoroughly enjoying the mix and pondering why I never came to DMF. Eventually, by my request, Chief Keef’s “I Don’t Like” boomed menacingly in a room containing me and about 20 others. I leapt in some sort of graceless aggression with my friend Ian while watching the rest awkwardly performing a verbal tiptoe around the infamous N-word war-chant chorus.
In fact, this seems like some sort of snapshot in a parallel universe only found emanating from a forum in nowhere, or my dorm room after a lecture reverberating into the unsuspecting ears of neighbors only accustomed to Top 40 monotony over DatPiff download links. This was not the moment that marked the beginning of trap music’s current infiltration of the eardrums of America, but it serves as an integral example of the trap sub-genre's marriage to electronic that has taken refuge in our hard drives and coffee table chatter.
And with this infiltration came a redefinition. And with this, I pinpoint the origin of my confusion. I call it “The Trap Conundrum”.
Trap music (in the former-present sense of the word) is a cavalcade of street symphonies originated from the underbelly of hip hop. Geared toward trunk subwoofers instead of conservative wine mixers, this subgenre is loud, boisterous, and unforgiving with roots in a D-I-Y approach. Furthermore, “the trap” is an abbreviated term for “trap house”: an unsavory locale found anywhere that drug/gang-related activities occur in high frequency. Thus, trap music is the essential soundtrack to a lifestyle many Pitchfork endorsers would never willingly convert to no matter how many times "Flockaveli" receives an 8. Follow?
It is a conundrum of blissful proportions relegated to blogs and Boiler Room sets, both localized and global. Complete with 808 snares, pitch-shifted samples, and the simple desire to feel invincible at a party, this conundrum blooms from Serato and blows in the winds of awkwardness from the speakers. Flash a few years back in time and this brew was only found in the trunks of the South through the chapters written by street prophets such as Waka Flocka Flame, Gucci Mane, Lil Boosie, Slim Dunkin and dozens more (generally dead, in jail, or obscure). The internal and external conflict of hood lifestyles were brought to the forefront of the subject matter: drugs, violence, liquor, misogyny, gold grills and turmoil. Accompanied by outlandish Photoshop visuals, gunshots, air horns and obnoxious DJ introductions aplenty, “trap music” was in a dim spotlight alone in the alleyway never traveled through past dusk. Especially in the suburbs.
Presently, this grisly formula has been fully embraced by DJs across the country in the means of mixes as well as original production. Noted producers Hudson Mohawke & Lunice formed the TNGHT duo and released one of the year’s most raved-about electronic EPs in the key of trap aesthetic. SpaceGhostPurrp has received acclaim for what many have called “post-trap” production on his Mysterious Phonk album. Scroll through SoundCloud and you’ll be hard pressed to find a mix without some sort of Flocka a cappella yelping over abstract instrumentation from the finest of innovators. Even Star Slinger has done a song with Juicy J (who is relevant again and I don’t understand how it happened). The echoes of these entries move swiftly through fraternity row to the basements of the upper-middle class.
And here, we meet our conundrum. Trap music has clutched our collective conscience. It is the exact frame of reference that made us bounce in disjointed, freeform harmony at DMF that night. But something about it felt misplaced. And it made me ponder ominously: has the trap been taken from us?
The bitterness arises in two major facets of concern for me: the first being its expansive nature in the electronic scene. I find it possessing dangerous properties that will eventually depreciate its value as well as enjoyment. Remember how we imported dubstep from Europe and crafted this inescapable void of Mountain Dew ads and Skrillex haircuts? Americans tend to ruin things in stylish fashion, and this is not an exception. Has this bond doomed the trap subgenre to trendiness matching the popularity of Lugz Footwear or Ryan Leaf’s career? Allow something to be trendy enough in this industry and it will become a staple in mediocrity. This is not what Max B got wavy for. (FREE MAX B.)
Secondly is the confusing social aspect when discussing the genre itself. When someone possesses prior knowledge of what “trap music” is, I invisible-dread-shake with excitement upon discussing the genre with a peer. But I rarely hear a tidbit about “Lebron Flocka James” or “The Burrprint” anymore; I hear a plug about the 2,000th remix of “Mercy” that dropped on some obscure blog that picked up speed over the last week or so. These new game changers enter the conversation to my peaked interest (Flosstradamus, UZ, Baauer), but find an obvious disconnect when I make a “Trap-a-Holics Mixtapes” joke. (And for Christ’s sake, it just sucks when a “trap” fan can’t appreciate a “Trap-a-Holics Mixtapes” joke.)
This is not bred from the purist nonsense spewed from “real hip hop heads” of yesteryear, but a call to appreciation for the blossoming of this once-neglected art. But where is the connection made when the genres begins to coexist in separate universes which subtly divide their shared population? This awkward harmony exposes eardrums to realms rooted in hip hop as well as electronic, but there is a need for clearer dialogue in these discussions that maintain open-mindedness without divisive forces at work. Also, a knowledge that one does not exist without the other must be promoted before it is a little too late and “the trap” plays hostage to its own popularity. Then no one can have fun quoting “Rooster in My Rari” over any beat whatsoever.
Real trap shit.
