Having access to so much free music that you can’t find enough time to listen to even a small fraction of it is the very definition of a first-world problem. On the surface it seems about as serious as “My high-def TV only does 720p,” but it’s a problem that’s actually having a serious impact on music.
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On October 10 the Atlanta rapper, backed by mix tape producer DJ Drama, dropped The Burrprint: The Movie 3-D—a reference to Jay-Z’s recent The Blueprint 3 and his own infatuation with diamonds (diamonds —> ice —> brrr)—a 20-track collection that like most of his work was posted online for free and propagated virally across a cross section of the blogosphere broad enough to encompass hard-core hip-hop heads, pop-music aficionados, and hipster tastemakers.
The nonprofit aspect is nothing new. Hip-hop mix tapes have been around since they actually came out on tapes, and for the most part the artists and DJs making them didn’t expect them to make money so much as advertise their legitimate, label-sanctioned releases. Hip-hop lovers of all stripes realized a long time ago that mix tapes allowed for many types of fun—beat-jackings, loopy throwaway experiments, serious shit-talking—that labels tended to frown upon. What’s changed in the past few years is that people who don’t know the right places on Canal Street in New York or on the south and west sides of Chicago have access to them. The new-and-improved form has proven so popular that artists working in styles far removed from hip-hop have embraced it—Fall Out Boy, for instance—and within hip-hop maintaining a steady stream of mix tapes is expected of any performer still on his game. Where rappers ten years ago tried to emulate Jay-Z’s rapper-as-CEO formula, these days they’re looking to Lil Wayne, who despite giving away a majority of his music can move multiplatinum numbers of the records he does charge money for.
There’s something appealing in how unself-consciously goofy his lyrics frequently are—like his declaration in “Throw Money” that he and his crew “throw up money like we mad at the ceiling.” When his thick southern drawl—which renders foreign as something closer to “farn”—comes up against a tricky vocal pattern, it’s far from bad rapping—it’s more like verbal slapstick. And he’s a genuinely eccentric wordsmith: “It ain’t all about your swag,” he told MTV after hearing about his list spot. “I got them spices. I’m seasoning it real well for these folk.”
