Pop Smoke Made Me Relive My Childhood

I wrapped my first durag in front of my washroom reflect any time Once I was eight. Then, I sprinted to my dad’s closet and put on one of his Dallas Cowboys caps. A couple of minutes later, I was sitting on my bed, grinning, watching the video for 50 Cent’s “Wanksta.” In it, he cruised down the street in the backseat of a Hummer, sneering at the competition while delivering brutalizing raps that dripped with charisma.


Pop Smoke, who was shot and killed on February 19 while in a house invasion, similarly had kids beaming at him. Alternatively opposed to durag plus a hat, fans wanted to redesign his hairstyle and sport his thick, hater-blocking sunglasses. The 20-year-old was at the forefront of Brooklyn’s drill rap movement thanks to a rapid ascent and an alluring persona. He didn’t have huge dimples, a Caesar cut, or baggy clothes like 50 did. And although, at 26, I felt like I was a kid again Whenever I watched his videos.


A rapper out of Brooklyn’s Canarsie neighborhood — often called the “Flossy,” thanks to a Fabolous lyric about it being a flashy place — Pop Smoke was buff, gruff, and around his stuff. He was the match for the gasoline-soaked scene (alongside fellow rising stars 22Gz and Sheff G) and became incendiary with “Welcome to the Party,” the hypnotizing 2019 smash hit that peaked at No. 5 on Billboard’s Bubbling Under Hot 100 Singles chart.


To be a fan of Pop Smoke, you should open your ears and modify your expectations of what rap sounds like in 2020. Pop Smoke’s voice was an one-of-a-kind, guttural, roaring whisper. Over brisk, alien beats often produced by 808Melo, a producer he noticed online and struck up a crucial and endearing relationship with, the rapper clouded the air like black smog, groaning bars that clunk and shake the ground. He was intense and carefree at the same time — goofy, charismatic, and more amusing than melody chasers and carbon-copy lyricists.


Just like 50.


Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson captivated a generation just by being himself, pushing for power in the cold Queens streets that he climbed out of. He survived being shot reportedly nine times and became a rap star, moving with the gusto of someone who'd been here long before. As his 2003 debut album Get Wealthy or Perish Tryin’ showed, his voice boomed as he told stories, squeaked in various notes as he performed primitive melodies.


Songs like “Wanksta,” “In Da Club,” and “Many Men,” put virtually anyone in his G-Unit shoes. Like me. I eagerly drank up the sound and aesthetic, in awe of his presence because of how far out he puffed his chest and nevertheless could still walk straight. My room was a chapel really interested in G-Unit. Two posters decorated the walls. Several form-fitting G-Unit tank tops (that I never filled out) littered the floors. I watched his videos where he stood centerstage with his eyes low, making sure that the rap world orbited around him.


Since Pop Smoke released his second album, Meet The Woo 2, just 13 days back, I’ve thought about how he had a similar, infectious presence that made listeners hope to analyze him. He released just two assignments while in his lifetime, nevertheless like 50, he won over fans with his charm first and music second. Any time the beat kicked off, his accent embellished the harsh and original delivery, making you prepared to repeat a verse the second it went off. They both carried a veteran-like demeanor that seemed in back of their age brackets.


That’s why it hurts so much to know that Pop Smoke was just getting began. Co-signs from each person from French Montana to Travis Scott (who he collaborated with for “Gatti”) proved that he was speedily approaching his Get Prosperous or Perish Tryin’ breakout moment, where household-name status follows getting the formula just right. It felt like witnessing the first lines to rap’s new chapter, one again characterized by New York’s genre supremacy. As if he was connecting the lineage between the two, Pop Smoke even repurposed a 50 Cent lyric on his latest, and one of his biggest, tracks, “Christopher Walking,” singing “I ain’t no window shopper” in 50’s cadence. Pop Smoke was picking up the torch from 50 and carrying it into a bold new future.


I feel not only for Pop Smoke’s family member, companions, and associates, although also for the kids who'd their durag-tying moments with him on their screens. Upon finding out about his death, 50 Cent posted a video of the two, all smiles, performing with each other at a function. Seeing the two icons with each other sparked something in my brain that connected the two at the seams. “R.I.P to my man Pop Smoke,” 50 tweeted. “No sympathy for winners. God bless him.” Their legacies with each other are forever tied not only to New York, nevertheless to hip-hop itself.


If I was still a kid and didn’t have this low Caesar cut with waves, I damn sure would have Pop Smoke’s braids.