WE CAN'T HELP IT IF WE'RE FROM FLORIDA

Miami is rap's Potemkin village. Every year Urban Beach Week grabs dubious headlines. Ocean Avenue and the MacArthur Causeway make good backdrops in music videos. But outside of some middlemen and clubland hustlers, there aren't a lot of real moves being made. In The Book Of Luke, Luther Campbell credits himself with creating the infrastructure of Southern rap; true or not, everyone knows Atlanta has long eclipsed Miami as the beating heart and production center of the South. These days Miami is really just a playground for rap's ruling class.




Broward County, Miami's neighbor to the north, has produced the two most promising talents of late: 1WayFrank and the folk hero known as Kodak Black. Hailing from Pompano Beach, Gank Gaank practices the rap&bullshit robot soul we've heard recently from Skooly and YFN Lucci, and which T-Pain doesn't get enough credit for pioneering. Vocally he most resembles Ralo. I'm happy that rappers are now singing their hearts out, because as I grow older, I realize hot bars can't warm my cold heart. This shit got me crying tattooed tears of pain and love.

People think Miami is a tropical wastehole of Brazilian buttlifts and face cannibals, but those are insulting stereotypes. There's also Sabado Gigante and occasional rap music. Carol City Mafia, who released one of my favorite songs of last year (presumably also one of Denzel Curry's favorites), have followed up with Heart Of The Streets, now at a whopping 87 plays on DatPiff. It's street-rap of unexpectedly polished songwriting, with mannerisms ranging from earthbound Goodie spiritualism to melodrama and the obligatory ride-out music. The group has compelling presence on mic—most importantly, they actually rap like they're from Miami—but suffer from an unfortunate affinity for strained similes and corny metaphors (And we comin with them tools / No screwdriver / Leave a nigga wet, now he a scuba diver). The best track might be "Woolin," a posse cut featuring Gula Woo flowing inna Kingpin Skinny Pimp style. More contemplative souls might like "Fell In Love With It." Hit the booty club, now I love strippers: now them's lyrics I can relate to.




Sped-up and fast raps over classic breaks never get old, especially if they are about butts. DJ Smooth continues in the Miami Bass tradition, enlisting the legend DJ Chipman for "Put Your Weight Down," a song that pays homage to butts large and small. DJ Smooth seems partial to Team Little Booty, and while I don't necessarily agree, I respect a man who is willing to buck mainstream convention.

This is RAP MUSIC HYSTERIA! broadcasting live from a melting beach chair. Over and out.

DON'T FORGET THE STRUGGLE, DON'T FORGET THE STREETS

The bulk of Lil Herb's music is unwelcoming by design: cold and cacophonous, with dense word cascades growled by the agitated son of Tone Loc. It don't make no concessions to the casual listener. The term street rap gets thrown around a lot these days, but it's treated more as a straightforward descriptor than a genre with its own unique characteristics. What differentiates street rap from the gangsta rap of yore is the absence of the broad-stroke blockbusterisms and mythologizing of the latter. It's an attempt at no-frills realism - they makin The French Connection, not Scarface.

As a rapper Herb is one of the most conventional drillmen. Whereas Keef came hot out the gate with a viral song and vid, Herb has built his reputation by delivering goods of consistent and dependable quality. With the possible exception of Mozzy, no one of Herb's generation or kind is writing with as much depth and intensity of detail.



Shy Glizzy gets by more on strength of personality. There ain't much redeeming about his music, which is kind of the point. He plays the villain, Lil Zé rappin about shootin up blocks in an absurd Jerry Lewis voice like the dude about to yell, "Laaady!" any minute. The voice can be a dealbreaker, but it's also his greatest strength. You can rap about atrocities if you sound like a caustic munchkin, and Ima still be waitin with the noogie like, "Come over here you little rascal!"

Not to get all Migos > Beatles on yo' ass, but Zaytoven's name is looking less like bravado than fact with the passing of each year.



Straight up homer, if you want me you can find me down in Dade! My starry eyes might be blind to clumsy raps and cornball lines like "My last name ain't Dumpty, I will never fall off!" but I still believe Carol City Mafia made an overlooked banger. In a city flush with rap money, it's a travesty that there's almost no interest in developing local artists. Sad when Jim Jones is doin more for the city than any of the natives, even if Miami Vampin is stuffed with more doodoo than a septic tank. Carpetbaggers watch ya chains. Rozay, keep ya fat ass in Boca. It's 2015 and Rap Music Hysteria is goin for the gusto.