The brief, playful project from the Alabama rapper is one of the breeziest records of the year, a clinic on nimble shit-talking that’s as effortless as it is brash.
Flo Milli raps like she was born and raised in a no-flex zone. When she claims, “None of you bitches is fuckin’ with me,” it feels less like a boast and more like a law that governs the universe. There’s no moment on her debut mixtape Ho, why is you here ? where she doesn’t sound untouchable and self-possessed. The brief, playful project from the Alabama rapper is one of the breeziest records of the year, a clinic on nimble shit-talking that’s as effortless as it is brash.
Ho, why is you here ? hews closely to the formula that made Flo Milli a viral star. She likes snappy, bass-heavy beats that give her ample space to fire off reams of insults and flexes. “Beef FloMix,” which began as a freestyle snippet on Instagram and was later boosted into a TikTok hit through a dance challenge, is her standard mode. She tends to frame disses as me/you comparisons (“I do what I please and you do what I ask/He love my confidence and that’s what you lack”) that snowball into larger-than-life boasts. In the song’s single verse she shouts out tween group OMG Girlz, likens her cash-filled pockets to K. Michele’s ass, and claims she’s guarded like an Obama. It’s not surprising that her music lends itself to dances and videos; she’s a visual speaker.
Over and over, Flo Milli turns heads when she enters the room and mows down an inexhaustible horde of haters. She opens “In the Party” with a perfect line: “Dicks up when I step up in the party.” On “19,” her entrance lowers the self-esteem of those around her; elsewhere her shine leaves necks near-broken. All this attention breeds contempt, but Flo Milli will gladly be the villain. “Slap a bitch in her face if she askin’ for it,” she says on “Send the Addy.” “Like That Bitch” features a moment where she discovers and ends a tiff in the same breath. “Actin like we got beef/I didn’t know that you exist!” she yelps, elongating the vowel in “know.” The conflicts are all so definitively petty, which is what makes this record so fun.
Her constant barbs are bolstered by her subtly spry cadences. Her flows are conversational and loose despite being strictly metered. The record is largely devoid of melody, but Flo Milli doesn’t need to sing to emote. She has an intuitive sense of when to throttle flows for emphasis, as on “Pussycat Doll,” which is full of tiny pauses that set up her punchlines. “Make a nigga blow a check on me/Save his number under ‘We gon see,’” she jokes. Her performance on “Weak,” a J White Did It production, is fleet and buoyant, flipping SWV’s “Weak” on its head yet preserving the song’s warmth. “These niggas weak/They been texting me all week/Just let me be,” Flo Milli huffs with exasperation.
The production isn’t always as spirited as Flo Milli’s performances. “Scuse Me” is an outright dud; it sounds like a parody of a JetsonMade beat and Flo Milli’s hook is uncharacteristically strained. Otherwise, a current of self-discovery runs through the beats. “Like That Bitch” and “Not Friendly” embrace the minimalism of snap music, which has long been a testing ground for experimenting with flows without sacrificing bounce. (Incidentally, “Not Friendly” interpolates Soulja Boy’s “Gucci Bandana.”) And the bouncy bass and bright keys on “In The Party” and “Send the Addy” evoke the charm of bubblegum trap, which tapped into the joy of a subgenre often characterized by stress and struggle.
There’s certainly a disparity between Flo Mill the cocksure persona and Flo Milli the budding artist, but even when Flo Milli is spitballing ideas trying to see what sticks, she’s a force of nature. She once described her catchphrase “Flo Milli shit” as the mantra for “My alter ego, which is what I am most of the time,” and Ho, why is you here ? sells that odd dynamic. She’s still figuring out her music, but she knows exactly what she wants it to be.
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