The first thing you'll notice about Lil Dicky is his ridiculous name, which, it turns out, is more than an elementary dick joke. The next thing you'll notice about Lil Dicky are his ridiculous lyrics. On his 2015 single, "$ave Dat Money," featuring Fetty Wap and Rich Homie Quan, he raps about his frugal approach to life: "I ain't parkin' that unless the meter green, homie/Hair cut several months in-between, homie/Hit the motherf**kin' lights when I leave, homie." 

It's almost easy to overlook Lil Dicky's prowess as a hilarious lyricist and technically skilled rapper. Still, underneath all the incisive punchlines about petty crimes and broken relationships, the rapper flips the script on mainstream rap culture, tackling issues like hypermasculinity ("Classic Male Pregame") and white privilege ("White Dude") in a manner offering both comical relief and sharp social commentary. 

"It's hard for people to take being funny seriously, even though I don't think it's mutually exclusive," Lil Dicky tells the Recording Academy. "I think I can be funny and still very musically credible." 

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After breaking out in 2013 with his viral music video "Ex-Boyfriend," Lil Dicky has since become a bona fide rap star. His 2015 debut album, Professional Rapper, topped the Top Rap Albums and the Comedy Albums charts in the U.S. and featured rap royalty like Snoop Dogg and T-Pain. 

Now, Lil Dicky is giving fans an inside look (kinda) into his life on his new FXX TV show, "Dave." Debuted this month, "Dave" tells a fictionalized version of Dave Burd, the man behind Lil Dicky, and his pursuit of his hip-hop dreams. On the show, Lil Dicky, in his neurotic mind, is convinced he's destined to be one of the best rappers of all time, and now he's proving it to the world—one dick joke at a time. 

As the show's co-creator, executive producer and lead actor, Burd steps into new artistic roles beyond the mic for the first time ever, which present him with a different set of creative challenges. 

"I guess the main challenge is one of ignorance in the sense that… there's no test in our history I can lean on," Burd says. "I'm no longer nervous about doing concerts because I can, in my head, think of all the concerts I've done and know that it's going to go well because I've done this in the past… [With the] TV show, it's my first time doing it… But I think I was able to overcome that by just going with my gut more."

Much like his sardonic songs and witty lyrics, "Dave" also deals with social issues through a sarcastic yet keen perspective some may initially miss. In one episode, Lil Dicky explains his absurd moniker to his friend's bewildered mom: "It's actually a super-intellectual commentary on hypermasculinity." It's a story he's told more than once.

"It's easy to look at a rapper named Lil Dicky—who acts the way I do, the content's the way it is, and his rap name is a small penis joke—and not inherently feel like taking him seriously as a rapper," Burd explains. "But I really think I should be taken very seriously as a rapper. I don't even feel remotely satisfied in terms of accomplishing my rap dream. I can't wait to be taken even more seriously."

The Recording Academy caught up with Lil Dicky to discuss his life as a newfound Hollywood triple threat, his creative challenges behind "Dave" and his future ambitions on- and off-screen.

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"Dave" sees you taking on the role of actor, writer and producer, on top of your main gig as a rapper. Which do you consider yourself first: actor, comedian, rapper? Is there a difference? 

There's definitely a difference between being a rapper and an actor. But I guess I consider myself to be Dave Burd, who is an actor and a rapper. I consider myself the person that I am first and foremost, and then I guess the other things are various occupations. But I guess I have more occupations now than I did when I was just a rapper, if that makes sense. And I don't think I can prioritize either of them right now, but I think rapper has more of a shelf life than actor.

How so?

I just think it will be hard for me to be a relevant rapper when I'm 50. But as an actor I might be like... Will Ferrell is still killing it. Larry David, look at him—he's an older guy. I just think the second half of my life I think will be primarily acting, but that almost makes me want to prioritize rap even more than I ever have, because I know that I only have so many years of being able to be relevant in that space.

"Dave" sees you wearing many hats and expanding your creative roles beyond music. What sorts of creative challenges did you face when you started this project? How did you try to overcome them?

I guess the main challenge is one of ignorance in the sense that… there's no test in our history I can lean on… I'm no longer nervous about doing concerts because I can, in my head, think of all the concerts I've done and know that it's going to go well because I've done this in the past. When I make a music video, I'm like, "Oh, I've done this. I know it's going to end up being good, because I've done it so many times." [With the] TV show, it's my first time doing it.

As much as I believe in myself, I don't have any context. Doing the whole thing with an ignorance of, "Am I even doing the right thing?", was a challenging perspective. But I think I was able to overcome that by just going with my gut more. There's a reason I haven't put out an album in five years, because I can just dwell on an issue and just nitpick and try to correct it over and over again.

And with the TV show, you got to make a decision and move on. It's like I'm almost forced to make decisions in ways that I'm not in music. And going into it, that was a fear because I'm like, "Oh, I like taking my time and being able to really think things through." And with this, sometimes you just got to make a decision, go with your gut and react. And that was daunting initially. But I think by the end, it was almost liberating, because it's like I do have good instincts and I think trusting my instincts is a good thing to do. And I think it's a relief to not be able to dwell on certain things for so long, because then a guy like me can just spin in circles.

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"Dave" is a fictionalized version of your life and career. How much of the scenes and scenarios that happen in the show, if anything at all, really happened in your life?

There's lots of truth in it. I couldn't give you a percentage. But I definitely pull from a lot of real-life experiences. And a lot of things you've seen in the show actually did happen. Even some of the things that feel really ridiculous and impossible, some of those things happened in real life. So, it's just kind of a combination.

Your character in the show, Dave, has a hard time convincing people to take his music and art seriously. Did you ever face that yourself as Lil Dicky?

Yeah, for sure, I think even still now, sometimes it's like, "Oh, is he even a real rapper? Or he kind of just like a [musical comedian] 'Weird Al' [Yankovic]?" It's not a big, enormous plight that I have, but there have been times where I'm onstage waiting to do a sound check and I'm sitting there and the sound guy is like, "So when is the rapper going to get here?" And I'm just like, "I'm here. Literally, I'm waiting." I think a lot of times it surprises people. It's hard for people to take being funny seriously, even though I don't think it's mutually exclusive. I think I can be funny and still very musically credible.

It's easy to look at a rapper named Lil Dicky—who acts the way I do, the content's the way it is, and his rap name is a small penis joke—and not inherently feel like taking him seriously as a rapper. But I really think I should be taken very seriously as a rapper. I don't even feel remotely satisfied in terms of accomplishing my rap dream. I can't wait to be taken even more seriously.

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Who are some of your inspirations as a rapper and as an actor?

As a rapper, the first two names that are coming to my head are Kanye [West] and Drake. And as an actor, I think about Larry David, I think about guys like Seth Rogen. I don't really think about [Leonardo DiCaprio], even though I know he's the best actor of my generation. I don't think about him as an inspiration to me. I think about comedians when I think about actors.

That being said, I want to be a great actor. I want people, when they watch my show, to be like, "Oh, he's a really good actor, too." I take pride in the acting, but I think inspirationally, I was always inspired by comedians.

Will Smith is the ultimate because I think he entered as a funny rapper and then transitioned to an iconic TV show and then became, honestly, one of the best and most revered movie stars of his time. He's a great model.

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The show depicts your character Dave struggling with splitting the Lil Dicky persona and Dave, the actual person. In a previous interview, you've also mentioned that you're "sick of being called Lil Dicky" when you meet someone. That seems to be a big theme on the show and in your real life.

Yeah, I think I face it every day. Especially before the show, I put so much into my music career to the point where I can become isolated and not do X, Y, and Z. I had a girlfriend, but… Lil Dicky became more of my priority to my own relationship. I guess I'm just a hyper-ambitious person. When people meet me on the street, people say, "Man, you're really Lil Dicky? Rap for me." It's like, "Yes, I am a rapper, but I'm also a human being just going about my life." I prefer people [taking] that into account than think that I'm just the guy they see in a music video popping a bottle of champagne or whatever I'm doing.

I wouldn't say in real life it's constantly a battle of Lil Dicky versus Dave. For me, it's always a battle of being a prisoner of my own ambition, because I feel like it requires every ounce of my energy to achieve what I feel capable of achieving. But I know that there's more in life than just achieving X, Y, and Z creatively.

I feel like if life is a circle and satisfaction's a circle, half of that circle is creative endeavors, and a half probably divided for me in two halves between music and comedy. And then there's still a whole other half of life that I think is equally as important to me, which is falling in love and having a family and all your relationships and friendships. I just don't want to neglect that other half forever.

I'm sure a lot of that is going to change now with this new level of fame via "Dave."

I don't know. I've been stuck inside ever since the show's come out, so I haven't really been able to feel that. But already, for whatever reason, I get stopped and noticed more in public than I really probably should. I get stopped at such a ridiculously high rate, even before the show, that I'm kind of used to being stopped. There was like one week of traveling I did while the show was out, and I was surprised by how many people in just one week had come up to me. It wasn't like, "Hey, man. Love the music." It was like, "Hey, man. Love the show."

I think what the show does, is it contextualizes Lil Dicky, and I think people love Lil Dicky because they relate to him. I think that's why people come up to me more, because if they saw Diddy in an airport, they'd probably be scared to go talk to him because he's so larger-than-life and I'm so not. I think the show just amplifies that relatability, because instead of me rapping all those things, it's just me being myself on camera. I've always, in my head, thought that I'm creating a life that will be as impacted by fame as possible, unfortunately. But time will tell.

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"Dave" is now part of a long history of cultural crossovers between the hip-hop and comedy worlds. Wu-Tang Clan founder RZA has acted and appeared in several comedies. Comedians Aziz Ansari and Dave Chappelle are both huge hip-hop fans. Why do you think there's so much crossover between hip-hop and comedy?

I don't know that answer. They're both entertaining, and I think they both give people an escape when they experience them. I think people love to laugh and be distracted from their day and be happy and laughing. I know when I was a kid, I wanted nothing more than to listen to Kanye talk about himself and his life and that escape and just living through another artist vicariously. I think like all art, people can relate to it and escape their own reality and enjoy something different. I don't really have a good answer for that, but it is interesting. I think both are just very cool.

I think one of the things that seems attractive for both industries, perhaps, is the concept of storytelling within each of those individual worlds, whereas a comedian, you can build a long, detailed narrative in your standup sets in the same way you can build worlds in a hip-hop album. In the same vein, hip-hop artists and comedians share their personal lives and vulnerabilities quite openly in their individual art.

That's the answer. I'm going to use that.

You want to steal my answer?

Yeah, what you said.

Have you ever thought about making "Dave," the movie?

Very roughly, but I got to think about making "Dave" [the TV show] season two first. I don't know the future, in terms of what I'll want to do or not want to do. But knowing how all-encompassing and time-consuming and, like, every detail matters so much to me, I don't know how I can be like [FX TV show] "It's Always Sunny [In Philadelphia]," where I'm on for 13 years. I just feel like I won't have a life if I do that. I've never thought about it like, "Oh, this is going to be a 13-season show." I think about it a little differently. But I don't know the answer to that. I have thought about the movie. But it's like, why don't I see where I'm at after, like, four seasons and see what needs to be resolved?

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Are you enjoying this new experience, this new creative challenge?

Oh, absolutely. I've always, first and foremost, wanted to be a comedian. I believed in myself as a comedian. That kind of is what drove me to become a rapper. And as much as I love rap, and I've always loved hip-hop, it wasn't even necessarily something I saw coming to the extent that I always saw this coming. So, it's very validating just to have a different outlet. I've been working on an album for like four-and-a-half years; you get a little burned out by it. 

We finished editing [the show] last week and now it's the first week where I'm not editing. So, I can now work on my album again, and now I'm excited to get back into music. Where before the show, nine months ago, I was ready for a break from the music. I think having both of these things is a very powerful thing for me, because like anything, you do it too much, you get a little bit burned out and it's not good to feel sick of doing something when you're trying to be funny and creative.

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Do you approach your music and the show in completely different creative mindsets? Or is there any artistic overlap?

I would say the common theme is, I call it "no stone unturned." I'm very much a no-stone-unturned kind of guy. Even if there's a moment in a scene where the take is perfect, I'll still look at every other take, just to make sure there's not one that's maybe slightly better. I really do exhaust every option, so that way I have the internal peace of mind that this moment in this piece of art cannot be better.

I think I do that exact same thing in music and everything. It's very nitpicky and hyper-neurotic and exhausting. But for me, it yields the ultimate peace of mind that I know that this could not have been better. Once I do that and I have that feeling, then I'm OK with the results. But it's like, just make sure that you don't leave anything on the table.

Do you foresee yourself continuing to work in film and TV as an actor as well as behind the scenes as a writer and producer?

I think I'm just getting started, but yes. Right now, I think I have so much on my plate with just my music career and my TV show. But I think when it's all said and done, yes, I'll try to get my hand as a producer or a writer, a production house—all those types of things. I think I will have a very active presence in the comedy and film space for the rest of my life.

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In 2020, Megan Thee Stallion solidified herself as one of rap's most promising new stars, thanks to her hit single "Savage." Not only was it her first No. 1 song on the Billboard Hot 100, but the "sassy, moody, nasty" single also helped Megan win three GRAMMYs in 2021.

In this episode of GRAMMY Rewind, revisit the sentimental moment the Houston "Hottie" accepted one of those golden gramophones, for Best New Artist.

"I don't want to cry," Megan Thee Stallion said after a speechless moment at the microphone. Before starting her praises, she gave a round of applause to her fellow nominees in the category, who she called "amazing."

Along with thanking God, she also acknowledged her manager, T. Farris, for "always being with me, being by my side"; her record label, 300 Entertainment, for "always believing in me, sticking by through my craziness"; and her mother, who "always believed I could do it."

Megan Thee Stallion's "Savage" remix with Beyoncé also helped her win Best Rap Song and Best Rap Performance that night — marking the first wins in the category by a female lead rapper.

Press play on the video above to watch Megan Thee Stallion's complete acceptance speech for Best New Artist at the 2021 GRAMMY Awards, and remember to check back to GRAMMY.com for more new episodes of GRAMMY Rewind.

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"You don't know that people are going to 40 years later call you up and say, ‘Can you talk about this record from 40 years ago?’"

That was Cory Robbins, former president of Profile Records, reaction to speaking to Grammy.com about one of the first albums his then-fledgling label released. Run-DMC’s self-titled debut made its way into the world four decades ago this week on March 27, 1984 and established the group, in Robbins’ words, "the Beatles of hip-hop." 

Rarely in music, or anything else, is there a clear demarcation between old and new. Styles change gradually, and artistic movements usually get contextualized, and often even named, after they’ve already passed from the scene. But Run-DMC the album, and the singles that led up to it, were a definitive breaking point. Rap before it instantly, and eternally, became “old school.” And three guys from Hollis, Queens — Joseph "Run" Simmons, Jason "Jam Master Jay" Mizell, Darryl "D.M.C." McDaniels — helped turn a burgeoning genre on its head.

What exactly was different about Run-DMC? Some of the answers can be glimpsed by a look at the record’s opening song. "Hard Times" is a cover of a Kurtis Blow track from his 1980 debut album. The connection makes sense. Kurtis and Run’s older brother Russell Simmons met in college, and Russell quickly became the rapper’s manager. That led to Run working as Kurtis’ DJ. Larry Smith, who produced Run-DMC, even played on Kurtis’ original version of the song.

But despite those tie-ins, the two takes on "Hard Times" are night and day. Kurtis Blow’s is exactly what rap music was in its earliest recorded form: a full band playing something familiar (in this case, a James Brown-esque groove, bridge and percussion breakdown inclusive.)

What Run-DMC does with it is entirely different. The song is stripped down to its bare essence. There’s a drum machine, a sole repeated keyboard stab, vocals, and… well, that’s about it. No solos, no guitar, no band at all. Run and DMC are trading off lines in an aggressive near-shout. It’s simple and ruthlessly effective, a throwback to the then-fading culture of live park jams. But it was so starkly different from other rap recordings of the time, which were pretty much all in the style of Blow’s record, that it felt new and vital.

"Production-wise, Sugar Hill [the record label that released many key early rap singles] built themselves on the model of Motown, which is to say, they had their own production studios and they had a house band and they recorded on the premises," explains Bill Adler, who handled PR for Run-DMC and other key rap acts at the time.

"They made magnificent records, but that’s not how rap was performed in parks," he continues. "It’s not how it was performed live by the kids who were actually making the music."

Run-DMC’s musical aesthetic was, in some ways, a lucky accident. Larry Smith, the musician who produced the album, had worked with a band previously. In fact, the reason two of the songs on the album bear the subtitle "Krush Groove" is because the drum patterns are taken from his band Orange Krush’s song “Action.”

Read more: Essential Hip-Hop Releases From The 1970s: Kurtis Blow, Grandmaster Flash, Sugarhill Gang & More

But by the time sessions for Run-DMC came around, the money had run out and, despite his desire to have the music done by a full band, Smith was forced to go without them and rely on a drum machine. 

His artistic partner on the production side was Russell Simmons. Simmons, who has been accused over the past seven years of numerous instances of sexual assault dating back decades, was back in 1983-4 the person providing the creative vision to match Smith’s musical knowledge.

Orange Krush’s drummer Trevor Gale remembered the dynamic like this (as quoted in Geoff Edgers’ Walk This Way: Run-DMC, Aerosmith, and the Song that Changed American Music Forever): “Larry was the guy who said, 'Play four bars, stop on the fifth bar, come back in on the fourth beat of the fifth bar.' Russell was the guy that was there that said, ‘I don’t like how that feels. Make it sound like mashed potato with gravy on it.’”

It wasn’t just the music that set Run-DMC apart from its predecessors. Their look was also starkly different, and that influenced everything about the group, including the way their audience viewed them.

Most of the first generation of recorded rappers were, Bill Adler remembers, influenced visually by either Michael Jackson or George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic. Run-DMC was different.

"Their fashion sense was very street oriented," Adler explains. "And that was something that emanated from Jam Master Jay. Jason just always had a ton of style. He got a lot of his sartorial style from his older brother, Marvin Thompson. Jay looked up to his older brother and kind of dressed the way that Marvin did, including the Stetson hat. 

"When Run and D told Russ, Jason is going to be our deejay, Russell got one look at Jay and said, ‘Okay, from now on, you guys are going to dress like him.’"

Run, DMC, and Jay looked like their audience. That not only set them apart from the costumed likes of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, it also cemented the group’s relationship with their listeners. 

"When you saw Run-DMC, you didn’t see celebrity. You saw yourself," DMC said in the group’s recent docuseries. 

Read more: 20 Iconic Hip-Hop Style Moments: From Run-D.M.C. To Runways

Another thing that set Run-DMC (the album) and Run-DMC (the group) apart from what came before was the fact that they released a cohesive rap album. Nine songs that all belonged together, not just a collection of already-released singles and some novelties. Rappers had released albums prior to Run-DMC, but that’s exactly what they were: hits and some other stuff — sung love ballads or rock and roll covers, or other experiments rightfully near-forgotten.

"There were a few [rap] albums [at the time], but they were pretty crappy. They were usually just a bunch of singles thrown together," Cory Robbins recalls.

Not this album. It set a template that lasted for years: Some social commentary, some bragging, a song or two to show off the DJ. A balance of records aimed at the radio and at the hard-core fans. You can still see traces of Run-DMC in pretty much every rap album released today.

Listeners and critics reacted. The album got a four-star review in Rolling Stone with “the music…that backs these tracks is surprisingly varied, for all its bare bones” and an A minus from Robert Christgau who claimed “It's easily the canniest and most formally sustained rap album ever.” Just nine months after its release, Run-DMC was certified gold, the first rap LP ever to earn that honor. "Rock Box" also single-handedly invented rap-rock, thanks to Eddie Martinez’s loud guitars. 

There is another major way in which the record was revolutionary. The video for "Rock Box" was the first rap video to ever get into regular rotation on MTV and, the first true rap video ever played on the channel at all, period. Run-DMC’s rise to MTV fame represented a significant moment in breaking racial barriers in mainstream music broadcasting. 

"There’s no overstating the importance of that video," Adler tells me. vIt broke through the color line at MTV and opened the door to a cataclysmic change." 

"Everybody watched MTV forty years ago," Robbins agrees. "It was a phenomenal thing nationwide. Even if we got three or four plays a week of ‘Rock Box’ on MTV, that did move the needle."

All of this: the new musical style, the relatable image, the MTV pathbreaking, and the attendant critical love and huge sales (well over 10 times what their label head was expecting when he commissioned the album from a reluctant Russell Simmons — "I hoping it would sell thirty or forty thousand," Robbins says now): all of it contributed to making Run-DMC what it is: a game-changer.

"It was the first serious rap album," Robbins tells me. And while you could well accuse him of bias — the group making an album at all was his idea in the first place — he’s absolutely right. 

Run-DMC changed everything. It split the rap world into old school and new school, and things would never be the same.

Perhaps the record’s only flaw is one that wouldn’t be discovered for years. As we’re about to get off the phone, Robbins tells me about a mistake on the cover, one he didn’t notice until the record was printed and it was too late. 

There was something (Robbins doesn’t quite recall what) between Run and DMC in the cover photo. The art director didn’t like it and proceeded to airbrush it out. But he missed something. On the vinyl, if you look between the letters "M" and "C,", you can see DMC’s disembodied left hand, floating ghost-like in mid-air. While it was an oversight, it’s hard not to see this as a sign, a sort of premonition that the album itself would hang over all of hip-hop, with an influence that might be hard to see at first, but that never goes away. 

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African music has become increasingly mainstream, with Afrobeats gaining global popularity in recent years. As Burna Boy, Davido, Wizkid, and Tems have become household names, and the Recording Academy presented the inaugural Best African Music Performance award in 2024, all eyes are on Africa.

Hip-hop is a crucial thread running through Afrobeats, which also mixes traditional African rhythms with pop and dancehall. Hip-hop landed in Africa between the 1980s and 1990s, first in Senegal in 1985 and in South Africa the following decade. Over time, African hip-hop advanced from imitating American styles, to a focus on artists incorporating their own cultural experiences, languages, and social commentary.

The result was a distinctly African sound, present across the continent from West to East Africa. In Nigeria, the rap scene is almost mainstream with artists like Olamide earning a GRAMMY nomination for Best African Music Performance for his hit song with Asake; Tanzania has gained enormous respect on the international rap scene for its own "Bongo Flava." 

Women have been a part of African hip-hop since its onset, contributing to the genre’s foundation. Nazizi Hirji is known as the "First Lady of Kenyan Rap" for becoming the first successful female artist in her country at age 16. Mariam of the Malian duo Amadou and Mariam created a distinctive sound by fusing elements of hip-hop and traditional Malian music. 

Africa's hip-hop community is ever-evolving, and women are at the forefront. The following 10 African women rappers are bringing their unique voices, experiences and sounds to the scene.

SGaWD

After leaving her career as a lawyer to pursue music, the Nigerian rapper SGaWD is beginning to make her mark on the scene. Fusing elements of hip-hop and Nigerian alté, SGaWD creates a sound without restrictions. 

She released her debut EP, Savage Bitch Juice, in 2021 and collaborated with fellow Nigerian artist Somadina on flirty lead single "Pop S—." In the second single "Rude," SGaWD detailed the nuances of her romantic and sexual experiences with men. She followed this with a slew of singles, including "INTERMISSION " and "Dump All Your Worries On The Dance Floor."

Her summer anthem "Boy Toy" is a sexy and melodic blend of rap and R&B. Her comfort with sexuality goes beyond lyricism; the music video for "Boy Toy" shows her comfort and embrace of sexuality via wardrobe choices and choreography.

But it's not all sex; SGaWD is dedicated to organizing her community. In December 2023, she organized The Aquarium, a sonic experience that included performances from herself and other female rappers.

Lifesize Teddy

Mavins Records is known for producing back-to-back breakout stars — from Rema to Arya Starr — and fans now expect a new artist from them annually. When Lifesize Teddy was introduced to the scene, rapping as her alter ego PoisonBaby, she got deep. Her intro video dissected her relationship with her inner child and explored her roots in Port-Harcourt, Nigeria. 

After spending three years of artist development in the Mavin Records Academy, she started her music career, by releasing two EPs in the span of four months in 2023. Her self-titled debut EP was led by the single "Hypnotic," a flirty song of sexual freedom that merges hip-hop and Afrobeats. Her second EP, POISN, featured five songs with one featuring her fellow Mavins Records artist, Magixx.

She ended last year headlining different shows in Lagos’ Detty December and is a special guest on Ayra Starr World Tour. 

Eno Barony

Ghanaian rapper Eno Barony's name reflects her aura and essence: "Eno" is Twi for mother, and quite fittingly she is referred to as "The Mother of Rap" in Ghana. Raised by missionary parents, she uses her music to spread the message that women should not be silenced. 

She has been releasing music for over a decade, with singles "Tonga," "Megye Wo Boy", "The Best," "Touch the Body," and "Do Something" gaining mainstream attention on the continent. Eno Barony released her first album in 2020 and, the following year became the first female rapper to win Best Rapper at the Ghana Music Awards. 

Her most recent album, Ladies First, captures the nuances and complexity of being a woman in Ghana and serves as a form of resistance to patriarchy. Opening track "God Is a Woman," featuring Ghanaian singer/songwriter Efya, establishes the tone: Eno is "entering every lane" even though "it’s a man’s world and she entered without a passport". 

Eno Barony continually pours vulnerability into her music. On these lead singles; "Heavy Load" and  "Don’t Judge Me" she raps about accepting her body image and addresses the culture of unconstructive criticism in the music industry, respectively. Last month, she released a new single "Good Enough," a romantic and reflective tune.

Nadai Nakai

Hailing from both Zimbabwe and South Africa, Nadai Nakai has been a fixture in the African rap scene for over a decade. She was the first female rapper to win the Mixtape 101 competition on the hip-hop show, "Shiz Niz."   

A mentee of pioneering Kenyan hip-hop artist Nazizi, Nakai released her first single "Like Me" under Sid Records in September 2013. The rightfully braggadocious song detailed her many talents and skills, wrapped in clever lyricism. She continued to release a slew of singles, including "Naaa Meaan" (a collaboration with Casper Nyovest, a South African male rapper), which garnered over 1 million views. Her debut album, Nadai Naked, was an ode to women making liberating choices. 

Her hip-hop and R&B-inspired songs highlight her values of female free expression and strength. Her most recent single, "Back In," announced Nakai's return to the industry after grieving the death of her boyfriend, AKA. She plans to release a tribute EP dedicated to AKA.

Deela

Deela saw a hole in the Nigerian music industry that needed to be filled. Where were the women who talked and behaved like her, with brazen confidence and an unfiltered sense of expression? 

She started making music during the pandemic lockdown, releasing singles such as the raging "Bitch Boi" and trap track "Rolling Stones." Both tracks later appeared on her debut album, Done Deel. Deela's most popular single, "Get A Grip," shows the rapper is demanding autonomy while owning her promiscuity and single life.

Deela's experimental sound includes ventures into trap, drill and more. Her 2023 album Is This On? showcased this range via UK rap-inspired "Trapstar" and straight-up hip-hop track "Take That Up" featuring Flo Milli.

She hit the ground running in 2024, releasing a collaboration with Somadina titled "Lagos" and a love-themed EP, Love Is Wicked. 

Deto Black

Lagos-based rapper Deto Black is an artistic polymath who dabbles in modeling, acting and photography. Her music spans hip-hop, Afrobeats, rap, pop and rock, and is becoming known in the alté scene following her collaboration with Odunsi the Engine, Amaarae and Gigi Atlantis on "Body Count." Deto’s verse on the 2020 track is  sex-positive, and encourages listeners to follow her example. 

Deto released her debut EP, Yung Everything, in 2021 and followed with singles "Nu Bag" and "Just Like Deto." At the start of 2024, she released "It’s A No From Me" featuring Chi; its music video was directed by notable alté artist Cruel Santino.

Rosa Ree

Tanzanian rapper Rosa Ree addresses the nuances of womanhood in male-dominated spaces. She entered the scene in 2016 with the goal of proving her naysayers wrong, releasing the aggressive "One Time" to dispel any notions that a woman couldn't exist in hip-hop.

In her 2022 single "I’m Not Sorry," Rosa Ree dismisses criticism and asserts that she won’t be sorry for showing her true image or voice. She also explores the unique bond between mother and child in 2023's "Mama Omollo," further showcasing the multifaceted identities of women in music.

Rosa Ree's 2024 single "In Too Deep" further showcased her introspective side by exploring themes of emotional hurt, betrayal and disappointment.

Candy Bleakz

Nigerian rapper Candy Bleakz fuses Afrobeats, amapiano and hip-hop, with heavy emphasis on street music. She started making music in 2019 and quickly began developing a community. Candy Bleakz collaborated with Zlatan and Naira Marley on "Owo Osu." 

Her resume now includes hits like "Baba Nla," "Kelegbe," "Virus", and "Kope." Her single "Won La" was even featured on the American TV series "Flatbush Misdemeanors." The most amazing thing about Candy Bleakz, though, is her courage to question the established quo and push for female representation in the infamously male-dominated street music scene.

She released her debut EP, Fire, in 2022 and raps proudly about her life and talent. On its breakout single, "Tikuku," she addresses her haters head-on. This song has garnered over 300,000 posts on TikTok going as far as eliciting a challenge in the Nigerian section of TikTok.

Candy Bleakz's second EP, Better Days, was released on March 22 and featured lead single "Para," a rap song featuring African drums, strings and chords. 

Femi One

At just 26 years old, Femi One is a renowned  Kenyan rapper and songwriter. Most of her songs are in Swahili and Sheng — a unique offering as many African rappers perform in a more universal language. 

Over the past five years, Femi One has released back-to-back singles, culminating in her 2019 debut EP XXV. " Two years later, her debut album, Greatness, further detailed her wild style and personality. Tracks like "Balance" are jam-packed with witty wordplay and hidden allusions. She also taps into her gospel roots on Greatness, thanking God for her career on "Adonai."

Her latest single, "B.A," is a pure Afrobeats song that invites listeners to lose themselves in the music and positive energy by throwing open the virtual club doors. 

Sho Madjozi

This South African rapper is known for her bold aesthetic, from her rainbow-coloured hair to her bright costumes. She released her first song, "Dumi Hi Phone," in 2017 and dropped her a genre-bending debut album the following year. Limpopo Champions League explores sounds from hip-hop to EDM.

Sho Madjozi has a quirky habit of writing songs about notable individuals. Her breakout single "John Cena," a tribute to the wrestler and actor, earned her the BET award for Best New International Act in 2019. She also collaborated with Sneakbo, Robot Boi and Matthew Otis on the hit amapiano song "Balotelli," which celebrated the renowned African soccer player. 

Sho Madjozi's music is entirely intertwined with her culture; she raps in the Bantu language Xitsonga and performs traditional dances such as xibelani wearing an adapted 

xibelani skirt. The xibelani (which translates to "hitting to the rhythm") dance is native to Tsonga women, and is performed by girls on special occasions as a celebration of their culture. Sho Madjozi's use of the dance and interpretation of its clothing helps shape her region’s cultural identity.

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A quarter century has passed since the mainstream music world was first introduced to a bottle-blonde enfant terrible virtuoso who grabbed everyone’s attention and wouldn’t let go

But enough about Christina Aguilera.

Just kidding. Another artist also exploded into stardom in 1999 — one who would become a big enough pop star, despite not singing a note, that he would soon be feuding with Xtina. Eminem’s biting major label debut The Slim Shady LP turns 25 on Feb. 23. While it was Eminem's second release, the album was the first taste most rap fans got of the man who would go on to be the biggest-selling artist in any genre during the ensuing decade. It also left an indelible imprint on hip-hop.

The Slim Shady LP is a record of a rapper who was white (still a comparative novelty back in 1999), working class and thus seemingly from a different universe than many mainstream rappers in the "shiny suit era." And where many of those contemporaries were braggadocious, Eminem was the loser in his rhymes more often than he was the winner. In fact, he talked so much about his real-life childhood bully on the album that the bully ended up suing him.  

It was also a record that played with truth and identity in ways that would become much more difficult once Em became world famous. Did he mean the outrageous things he was saying? Where were the knowing winks, and where were they absent? The guessing games that the album forced listeners to play were thrilling — and made all the more intense by his use of three personas (Marshall Mathers the person; Eminem the battle rapper; and Slim Shady the unhinged alter ego) that bled into each other.

And, of course, there was the rhyming. Eminem created a dizzying array of complicated compound rhymes and assonances, even finding time to rhyme "orange" — twice. (If you’re playing at home, he paired "foreign tools" with "orange juice" and "ignoring skill" with "orange bill.")

While the above are reason enough to revisit this classic album, pinpointing The Slim Shady LP's influence is a more complicated task. Other records from that year — releases from Jay-Z, Nas, Lil Wayne, Ludacris, and even the Ruff Ryders compilation Ryde or Die Vol. 1 — have a more direct throughline to the state of mainstream rap music today. So much of SSLP, on the other hand, is tied into Eminem’s particular personality and position. This makes Slim Shady inimitable; there aren’t many mainstream rappers complaining about their precarious minimum wage job, as Em does on "If I Had." (By the time of his next LP, Em had gone triple-platinum and couldn’t complain about that again himself.)

But there are aspects of SSLP that went on to have a major impact. Here are a few of the most important ones.

It Made Space For Different Narratives In Hip-Hop

Before Kanye rapped about working at The Gap, Eminem rapped about working at a burger joint. The Slim Shady LP opened up space for different narratives in mainstream rap music. 

The Slim Shady LP didn't feature typical rags-to-riches stories, tales of living the high life or stories from the street. Instead, there were bizarre trailer-park narratives (in fact, Eminem was living in a trailer months after the record was released), admissions of suicidal ideation ("That’s why I write songs where I die at the end," he explained on "Cum on Everybody"), memories of a neglectful mother, and even a disturbing story-song about dumping the corpse of his baby’s mother, rapped to his actual child (who cameos on the song). 

Marshall Mathers’ life experience was specific, of course, but every rapper has a story of their own. The fact that this one found such a wide audience demonstrated that audiences would accept tales with unique perspectives. Soon enough, popular rappers would be everything from middle-class college dropouts to theater kids and teen drama TV stars.

The Album Explored The Double-Edged Sword Of The White Rapper

Even as late in the game as 1999, being a white rapper was still a comparative novelty. There’s a reason that Em felt compelled to diss pretty much every white rapper he could think of on "Just Don’t Give a F—," and threatened to rip out Vanilla Ice’s dreadlocks on "Role Model": he didn’t want to be thought of like those guys. 

"People don't have a problem with white rappers now because Eminem ended up being the greatest artist," Kanye West said in 2015. You can take the "greatest artist" designation however you like, but it’s very true that Eminem’s success meant a categorical change in the status of white rappers in the mainstream.

This turned out to be a mixed blessing. While the genre has not, as some feared, turned into a mostly-white phenomenon, America’s racial disparities are often played out in the way white rappers are treated. Sales aside, they have more room to maneuver artistically — playing with different genres while insulting rap a la Post Malone,  or even changing styles completely like Machine Gun Kelly — to commercial approbation. Black artists who attempt similar moves are frequently met with skepticism or disinterest (see André 3000’s New Blue Sun rollout, which was largely spent explaining why the album features no rapping). 

Sales are worth speaking about, too. As Eminem has repeatedly said in song, no small amount of his popularity comes from his race — from the fact that white audiences could finally buy music from a rapper who looked like them. This was, as he has also bemusedly noted, the exact opposite of how his whiteness worked for him before his fame, when it was a barrier to being taken seriously as a rapper. 

For better, worse, or somewhere in between, the sheer volume of white rappers who are currently in the mainstream is largely traceable to the world-beating success of The Slim Shady LP.

It Was Headed Towards An Odd Future

SSLP laid groundwork for the next generation of unconventional rappers, including Tyler, the Creator.

Tyler is a huge Eminem fan. He’s said that listening to Em’s SSLP follow-up The Marshall Mathers LP was "how I learned to rap." And he’s noted that Em’s Relapse was "one of the greatest albums to me." 

"I just wanted to rap like Eminem on my first two albums," he once told GQ. More than flow, the idea of shocking people, being alternately angry and vulnerable, and playing with audience reaction is reflected heavily on Tyler’s first two albums, Goblin and Wolf. That is the template The Slim Shady LP set up. While Tyler may have graduated out of that world and moved on to more mature things, it was following Em’s template that first gained him wide notice. 

Eminem Brought Heat To Cold Detroit

The only guest artist to spit a verse on The Slim Shady LP is Royce da 5’9". This set the template for the next few years of Eminem’s career: Detroit, and especially his pre-fame crew from that city, would be his focus. There was his duo with Royce, Bad Meets Evil, whose pre-SSLP single of "Nuttin’ to Do"/"Scary Movies" would get renewed attention once those same two rappers had a duet, smartly titled "Bad Meets Evil," appear on a triple-platinum album. And of course there was the group D12, five Detroit rappers including his best friend Proof, with whom Eminem would release a whole album at the height of his fame.

This was not the only mainstream rap attention Detroit received in the late 1990s. For one thing, legendary producer James "J Dilla" Yancey, was a native of the city. But Eminem’s explosion helped make way for rappers in the city, even ones he didn’t know personally, to get attention. 

The after-effects of the Eminem tsunami can still be seen. Just look at the rise of so-called "scam rap" over the past few years. Or the success of artists like Babyface Ray, Kash Doll, 42 Dugg, and Veeze. They may owe little to Em artistically, but they admit that he’s done great things for the city — even if they may wish he was a little less reclusive these days. 

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