Lots of people undoubtedly still picture a thuggish black dude in diamond-encrusted chains when they hear the word "rapper," but over the past decade the face of rap has changed radically, and the public's expectations are changing with it: witness the recent mainstream popularity of Asher Roth (a white-bread college kid) and Nicki Minaj (an aggressively eccentric young black woman with a serious postmodernist streak). But is rap ready for a black, bisexual video-game geek who's into indie rock?
Fortunately rap still has a while to prepare. Emanuel Vinson, a political science major at Northern Illinois University in DeKalb, is just 18, and he's only been making music for the past three years. He and some friends at Morgan Park High School on the south side had a postrock band that he describes as a less-than-polished ripoff of Explosions in the Sky. They were called Christmas in the Attic, and Vinson played drums. "We got all of our gear and shit for Christmas," he says, "and we played in my friend's attic."
He wasn't much of a drummer, though, which is how he got into rapping. "When we first started the band, we'd jam, and I would get bored of not being able to play drums," he says. During rehearsals he'd freestyle while he played to keep himself entertained.
Christmas in the Attic never went far—they played maybe five shows and recorded an album they tried to sell to their friends—but Vinson carried the band's DIY philosophy with him when he started making proper rap songs. He didn't exactly know what he was doing, but that wasn't going to stop him: since he turned 17 he's made six full-lengths, both albums and mix tapes, the latest of which, Special Moves, came out April 10. More of his tracks are built from samples of rock bands like Yeasayer and Boris than, say, beats jacked from Drake or Usher.
I ask how he developed his aesthetic. "I guess just being a kid who was obsessed with MTV, then MTV2, then Subterranean, and then 'What is this Feist woman,' and search that," he says. "And then I started going on video-game message boards, and off of the nerds on there who were talking about Deltron and Sufjan."
- Jim Newberry
- Emanuel Vinson
Vinson spent a lot of time on those message boards between the ages of 12 and 17—the peak years of a gaming habit that spanned at least half a dozen consoles—but he didn't fit in with the culture there, which tolerates an alarming level of casual homophobia. "Everybody hated me," he says. "They were all dicks, and I guess I was a dick sometimes. It was like bad chemistry." He bailed after he figured out that his online arguments showed up in Google searches for his name.
By then he'd been out of the closet for a couple years, but he says he talked about bisexual sex in his lyrics a lot more than he did it. "I would always write about that shit like three years before I had sex," he says. "I like fantasy or something."
It should be said that Vinson has never tried terribly hard to fit in anywhere. "I think more when I was younger I'd get called an Oreo or something by some kids," he says. By the time he got to high school, though, he was catching a different kind of flak. "I was so bizarre that it had nothing to do with race. I had an Afro and wore, like, skirts and Cure shirts to school. People liked me; they just thought I was crazy. It wasn't a white or black thing."
The influence of indie rock on Vinson's music goes deeper than samples. His songs don't boom or snap so much as crackle and buzz, like a four-track punk demo. A track he never got around to entering in a Major Lazer remix contest last year evolved into "Ghost de Megafloor," where he raps over a slowed-down, radically degraded version of the duo's twitchy, dancehall-influenced "Pon de Floor." It sounds like a fourth-generation cassette dub dressed up with murky piano chords, hissing and buzzing of indeterminate origin, and a sample from Lightning Bolt's "Mega Ghost." Stripped of its manic energy and most of its low end, the song ends up hollow, staticky, and more than a little spooky.