The inescapable Portland rapper continues to go beyond the usual rage rap expectations, bending his voice without ever making it feel gimmicky.
Yes, it’s happening again. Another generation of rappers who grew up on Chief Keef, Young Thug, and Future, armed with melodies soaked in AutoTune and lyrics that range from incredibly melodramatic to what can simply be put as vibes have become the obsessions of SoundCloud communities. But it’s a bit more knotty this time. The scene has become so sprawling and expansive, populated by subgenres and collectives that almost exist in their own worlds and complicated by the looming presence of deep-pocketed record labels throwing a bag at whoever can get a song to pop on TikTok.
But no matter what corner of the app you’re completely immersed in, Yeat has been inescapable this summer. Behind a mixtape called 4L, singles like “Sorry Bout That” and “Mad Bout That,” and a viral snippet turned breakout single (“Gët Busy”), which got everyone from Lil Yachty to Drake to recite the line “This song was already turnt, but here’s a bell,” the Portland 21-year-old has fast become the face of rage. It’s a style defined by production that sounds like an eruption of pyrotechnics: think Playboi Carti’s Whole Lotta Red, which has essentially become the blueprint. Most of it isn’t any good. Usually, it’s so unbelievably hollow like Carti protégé Ken Car$on’s Project X, or just a shameless ploy for streams like Trippie Redd’s Trip at Knight. Why the hell is a sound lazily categorized as “rage rap” so boring?!
Thankfully, Yeat’s Up 2 Më is not. Similar to lead single “Gët Busy,” the best Yeat songs feel like a steady build to one euphoric moment. On “Turban,” it’s the way he screeches “Tonka truck” like he’s being exorcised; “Hëy” starts out relatively unmemorable, and by the midpoint, he sounds like a riled-up pitbull; the rippling bass thuds on “Ya Ya” fuse together with his Travis-like “oohs” and ad-libs. He’s melodic, but not in the way where you want to hear him perform a guitar ballad; instead, it’s the ability to bend and shape his voice without ever making it feel gimmicky.
Unlike so much of the music done in this style over the last six months, Yeat’s inspiration feels like it refreshingly goes beyond Whole Lotta Red. Specifically, the way Future screeds about addiction and temptation over Metro Boomin and Southside beats that sound like the world is caving into a black hole on DS2. It’s not to say that Yeat’s lyrics are particularly well thought out—more often than not, they resemble the time he wails “Yeah, this perky got me snail, you should call me Gary” on “Trëndy way,” but occasionally, real emotions cut through the bullshit. “This could be my last song, ho/It feel like I’m dying on the edge, ho/Yeah, I be taking percs just for my head, ho,” he croons on “Lët ya know.” Later, he bounces between reckless drug talk and slight introspection on “Bak on ëm” over what sounds like a Back From the Dead era Young Chop instrumental.
The rage beats are the real issue on Up 2 Më. There are over 20 (yes, 20) producers credited on this mixtape, yet aside from a few standouts, the production is stuck in the same box. It’s a problem that’s more noticeable on Project X and Trip at Knight because Carson and Trippie don’t elevate the staleness with distinct vocal quirks like Yeat so often does. But it’s clear the subgenre could use a burst of creative energy. Maybe they could look to digicore, another community that has quickly formed on SoundCloud. The way many of those producers lean on distortion, glitching, and pitch changes would be an energizing twist to beats that are too polished and formulaic. But I wouldn’t bet on that. There’s too much money to be made and deals to be signed, and therefore any additional weirdness will take a backseat. Up 2 Më might be as good as it gets.
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