blueface baby yeah yeah aight lyrics – Blueface Rolling Stone

L.A. rapper Blueface made a snap decision to abandon his dreams of playing football and in under a year went from never even contemplating making music to being one of the more buzzed-about rappers in the game.

blueface thotiana net worth – “Who Got The Hardest Jewelry In The Rap Game?”

BLUEFACEIt sounds like Blueface has put his trust in Wack 100 (also Game’s manager), and that’s the most important part of any artist-manager relationship. However, his lack of specifics or knowledge of anybody beyond Wack 100 and Cash Money West (including their connection to Universal Music Group, Republic Records, and even Cash Money Records—all parties to this deal) made many ask how it was possible that he didn’t understand his own contractual situation. Others seemed surprised that he could be under contract to four different entities, and worried that it was unwise to sign such a deal.

On October 8, 2018, WorldStarHipHop debuted the music video for Respect My Crypn’,” which quickly became a viral sensation due to Blueface’s bizarre, off-beat flow and high-pitched delivery. Following the music video’s release, some of his other songs, like Thotiana” and Next Big Thing,” also started to go viral.

Blueface has been in a polyamorous relationship with two women for some time now, and he revealed in his earlier interview with Big Boy that he never has sex with one of them at a time. “We can’t do it without each other. Can’t do the one without the other one,” he said.

Blueface then thanked the tattoo artist who was also shown in the video for coming out to his home to tattoo. As everyone looks for the next superstar to usurp the throne in hip-hop, Los Angeles rapper Blueface looks to be next in line with a chance to wear the crown.

After the interview, as he waits in the lobby, a shy fan tries to sneak a picture a few feet away. Hours later, I find the same woman — now one blurry photo of Blueface richer — ready to take my order at Starbucks. The barista quickly registers that I was the one accompanying Blueface’s team through the building, and grills me on how I know the West Coast star. Listening to her talk, I get the sense that Blueface was right. Whether his critics like it or not, right now he is the next big thing he dreams of being.

Theorizers have theorized that instead of responding to the beat, Blueface is actually rapping to some fugitive tempo inside his head. Even so, he takes a persistent approach to his most exhilarating lines, starting and ending pretty much where we expect him to, but accelerating through the internal syllables like he’s revving an alien dirt bike. Here’s another vehicular visualization: Imagine a train wreck. The locomotive plows into an immovable object, and while the engine and the caboose stay pinned to the ground, every boxcar in between goes flying off the tracks. That’s how Blueface raps. Sometimes. And instead of a big disaster, it sounds like a tiny miracle.

Expectations changed in the ’90s as new faces from the West Coast and the South began rapping slightly behind the beat with cool consistency. The effect remains mesmerizing — a defiant expression of comfort and a comfortable expression of defiance all at once. Plus, rapping behind the beat doesn’t freak us out with its riskiness because we’re entirely familiar with the near past. The memory is fresh, we were just there. Our heroes have figured out how to stay there a little longer.

In October 2018, after releasing the music video for his song “Respect My Cryppin'”, he became a viral internet meme due to his off-beat style of rapping and his tattoo of Benjamin Franklin on the side of his face. In November 2018, he signed to Cash Money West, the West Coast branch of Birdman’s Cash Money Records label. In 2019, a remix of his song “Thotiana”, featuring Cardi B and YG, became his most successful single to date, peaking at number 8 on the Billboard Hot 100.

At the time of the arrest, the 22-year-old MC (born Jonathan Porter) was carrying a large amount of cash and jewelry in an area of Los Angeles prone to robberies. When police officers approached Blueface and his group, they scattered and several of them tossed their guns away as they fled,” TMZ reports.

The unlikely and wild moments are arriving ever more quickly these days, now that Blueface has catapulted from local Los Angeles rap notoriety to national ubiquity thanks to his single Thotiana,” which recently reached No. 9 on the Billboard Hot 100. The slow-tempo bacchanal full of nearly whispered boasts was originally released last summer, but has recently exploded: first as a viral sensation with accompanying dances, and lately via a couple of remixes — one, with YG , to bolster its street authority, and a second, with Cardi B , to ease its path into pop ubiquity.

That doesn’t make it holy. When Blueface blurts out his most jumbled threats and hectic sex-brags, it’s as if he’s peeking into the future and smirking back at us. It’s rule-breaking music — a tacit reminder that America’s dominant rebel art form is also a rebellion against time.

L.A. rapper Blueface made a snap decision to abandon his dreams of playing football and in under a year went from never even contemplating making music to being one of the more buzzed-about rappers in the game.

So why do people feel so chafed when they hear Blueface rapping offbeat?” Because they’ve been conditioned by decades of vacuum-sealed rap verses. The importance of rapping tightly to a rhythm was practically written into rap music’s Magna Carta — Now what you hear is not a test, I’m rapping to the beat” — and at the dawn of hip-hop, such measures probably felt necessary. These were marginalized voices who wanted the rest of the world to hear them. Rapping close to the beat was a way of aligning your human voice with the unstoppable clarity and authority of time.

Finally, Blueface’s “Thotiana” is currently No. 28 on the Hot 100 , dated Feb. 9. When the 22-year-old rapper born Johnathan Porter posts these happenings on his Instagram story, he often gives the camera a little flat-affect eyebrow-raise, a Jim Halpert out in the hip-hop wilds.

The thing that people get hung up on is the offbeat flow. Blueface says that he writes to beats, but when he raps, he ignores beats almost completely. Instead, his words come out in hasty jumbles, sudden and excited rushes. Sometimes, that voice will jump into a high-pitched yip, like a dog who really wants to go outside. Again and again, he insists that he doesn’t even care about rap: I just do this on the weekend.” It’s a boast. Blueface doesn’t care. Also: I could sit here and talk offbeat, my shit still slap like a pimp on his worst day.” He’s right, of course.

Herbo knows what he’s doing. Those offbeat flows convey a different kind of chaos: The kind where you can’t depend on anything, where your world could be ripped apart at any moment. His offbeat flows are an artistic choice. I don’t know whether Blueface’s offbeat flows are an artistic choice, but it doesn’t matter because his shit slaps. The offbeat flow isn’t the latest plague that’s descended upon rap. It’s one technique among many. And if offbeat rapping becomes a dominant trend in 2019 (a real possibility), it won’t be the apocalypse. It’ll just be a new iteration of an old thing.

Does Blueface know how to rap? As in: Is he even capable of it? That’s been the question that’s followed the 22-year-old LA rapper since he started blowing up a couple of months ago. This isn’t a question of people not liking Blueface’s rap style, or wondering why younger generations of rap always stick with derivative subject matters, or any of the usual complaints that people hurl at young rappers as they’re first getting famous. The question isn’t even whether Blueface raps well. The question is whether he has even the most basic command of the skill of rapping. It’s a fun thing to think about.


Blueface’s songs are short, surreal and hilarious. His biggest hits — Thotiana” (which has been streamed 88 million times on Spotify), Respect My Cryppin’” (12 million), Dead Locs” (8 million) and Freak Bitch” (5 million) — are all built using the same unorthodox approach. His flow doesn’t fit into the traditional pockets of the beat, most of his songs are under three minutes and his lyrics concern two main topics: gang life and women. In person, his jokes border on the misogynistic, and weeks after we speak he’s called out for posting transphobic comments on Instagram. It’s difficult to detect where the trolling stops and the offensive begins.

The first part is totally right, but the second part is totally depressing and, in this case, totally wrong. (Blueface is only about 75 percent wrong.) No rapper has ever climbed so high on the charts sounding quite like this. His sound isn’t an accent. It’s the source. Everything else follows.

Blueface is a phenomenon. It’s been about four months since Worldstar posted his video for Respect My Crypn,” the clip that kicked off his viral rise. But now Blueface’s videos are getting millions upon millions of hits. As I’m writing this, Thotiana,” a 2018 mixtape track, has just shot up to #28 on the Billboard Hot 100, and it seems certain to go a whole lot higher. Blueface is currently collecting all the established-rapper cosigns — Drake, Kendrick Lamar — that every young rap sensation must collect. And he’s signed with Cash Money, making him just the latest in a long line of street-rap stars to buy into Birdman’s line of bullshit. (So that’s one rap tradition he’s following, anyway.) And Blueface has accomplished all of this without showing even the tiniest inkling of conventional rap skill, which, in a way, makes his meteoric rise even more impressive.

It’s easy to confuse what makes an artist famous and what makes art important. Sometimes, the only way to understand a song’s magnetism is by parsing all the stuff that the song has magnetized — but these songs are doing new things, making time feel blurry in new ways, and they deserve more. To dismiss Blueface as an amateur, or to downplay him as a stylistic facsimile, or to think of him as a spritz of social media ambiance is to deny his music the breadth of its mystery.


Taking the name Blueface to represent both an association with the Crips and the “blue” 100 dollar bill, the face-tatted rapper broke out in 2018 with several releases that highlighted his asymmetrical flow and cleverly surreal lyrical styles.

Maybe that’s why rapping ahead of the beat makes so many of us feel so anxious. It’s not just that it’s atypical; it’s that nobody has been to the future. So whenever Blueface gets ahead of himself, it puts our ears on edge. He’s pushing us into a place we can’t go.


Before we try to leap outside of temporality itself, let’s hear a round of applause for Blueface , the most inventive voice on the Billboard Hot 100 right now — inventive enough to make the concept of right now” feel slippery.

There are plenty of rap precedents for what Blueface is doing, and we’ll get to those. But Blueface reminds me more of the late ’70s party comedian Rudy Ray Moore than he does of any particular rapper. (His delivery is more Katt Williams than Rudy Ray Moore, but that’s still a similar skill set at work.) If you ever seen Rudy Ray Moore in one of no-budget ’70s movies — Dolemite, The Human Tornado, Disco Godfather — there’s a scene where he raps,” telling some long ribald story that sort of rhymes and never fits any earthly meter. Blueface does that. Like Rudy Ray Moore, he mostly talks about sex and violence, and he does it with a wild and unpredictable sense of humor. And he’s funny. You probably won’t feel good about yourself for laughing at the shit that Blueface talks, but you might laugh anyway.

Blueface began as Johnathan Porter’s hood name, drawn from his love of the $100 bill and his Crip ties. He tripped into a music career in 2017, after ending up in a studio session with a rapper he knew, TeeCee4800 , and seizing the opportunity.

He’s a rapper from the dystopian paradise of Los Angeles who vocalizes as if he’s allergic to time, frequently rushing out in front of the beat with such audacity, his music has ignited a months-long argument inside the digital rap bubble over whether we’re hearing new-school virtuosity or old-fashioned ineptitude. It’s obviously the former, or at least something like it. But until all of that noise dies down, the best thing we could possibly hope to hear in this 22-year-old’s blessed anti-flow is opportunity — an opportunity to think about how we use rhythm to measure time, and what it means when a rapper refuses.

If you fully submit to what Blueface is doing, if you stop trying to force him to fit predetermined rules and just accept his style for what it is, Blueface’s music is ridiculously fun. Famous Cryp, the mixtape that he released last year, is 10 songs long, and it’s only 21 minutes. Blueface never puts more than one verse on a song. He raps over cheap, simplistic West Coast beats. There’s a punk energy to the whole thing: Short songs, indifferent recording quality, a complete lack of technical chops. And like the best punk bands, Blueface gets over on hooks, immediacy, and personality.

The math required to answer such a question is over my head—it likely involves multiplying the number of women backstage at each of his shows by some weird fraction, or using the ! symbol, or quantum computing—but at the end of the day, it would prove unnecessary. There is no goddamn way Blueface has banged 1,000 people in the past six months. Consider that claim empirically, verifiably false.

Sharing is caring!