Lil Durk's Case Is Another Sad Arrest in Hip-Hop
Lil Durk was arrested last Friday. I wrote about the case, and whether authenticity in hip-hop is damaging.
Had you roamed the wild remnants of the internet, where nameless users who are faceless in their avatars start dubiously encouraging the violence you listen to in your earphones, you would not be shocked at what transpires in the streets when violence leaks out of the earphones onto the concrete. It’s now happened quite a lot — in that bitter spot between a regular occurrence and a gaudy error — and it can no longer be considered a fad, or a bug. Some of the best drill, or street, rappers in the past decade are also in trouble, or have had past troubles, with the law, with the arrest warrants detailing the crimes, the same crimes that the rappers themselves are talking about in their music. It’s a secondary feature of an extraordinary genre. Drill changed the rap landscape; the drums that occupy the controlled maximalism of the music in the scene halted poverty and fastened incomes. What gangster rap did for the 1990’s, drill is doing now. Drill might have come out of trap music, but it is firmly a sub-genre of gangster rap, a companion piece for the violence we heard in the early 1990’s, but much stranger, with information filling out in a faster way. And, the music is exuberant, crowded with bruising drums and lyrics about designer clothing. Those aforementioned incomes are aided by Americans' appetite for violence; a cautionary fact of sorts, despite the obvious allure one has with violence and its ability to put faces to outlaws, its masculine ideals, and, at least when it comes to hip-hop, its socioeconomic backdrop.
Chicago rapper Lil Durk is the latest rapper to get arrested on charges relating to violence. This time, it is a conspiracy to commit murder-for-fire charge, which constitutes a maximum charge of life in federal prison if he is convicted. Durk, a drill rapper who came up in the era’s zenith — who was then able to progress to a mainstream career that has been profitable — was arrested near the airport in Miami while attempting to board a private plane to Italy. Although it is unclear why he was boarding a plane, the image online is of someone attempting to escape what he knows is coming. Fans posted the music video to Beanie Sigel’s “Feel It in the Air”, where Sigel is being tracked by federal agents, waiting to arrest him. His mugshot, always comedic fodder, was blasted all over Instagram and X; Durk is in a jumpsuit and his wide and brown eyes look expanded, as if he is staring at a blistering sun.
The case is based on the murder of the rapper Quando Rondo’s friend, Lul Pab, retribution for the murder of King Von, an uncomfortably incredible rapper who was signed under Durk’s Only the Family label. In November 2020, Von and his crew were involved in an altercation with Rondo’s crew outside of a lounge in Atlanta. The dispute, which was brewing on social media for months, escalated into gunfire. Von died from his injuries; he was 26 years old.
Von’s death sent shockwaves, including to Durk, who was left alone without his protege, someone who he invested time, money, and brotherhood in. Fans would tweet pithy expressions like “slide for Von” after Von’s murder, begetting further strife and ego stroking. The image of Von as a shooter, perhaps even a serial killer, is sad, despite its possible veracity. People who consume Trap Lore Ross videos in the hopes that they can be entertained by this cycle of violence can forget how mournful the violence is. He was also someone’s son, brother, father, friend; then again, so were the people he was credibly accused of murdering. Durk is also being credibly accused. In the case files, it is said that Durk, and his co-conspirators (O.T.F members) coordinated and paid for hitmen, using Durk’s funds, to take flights from Chicago to California. At one point, Durk told one of the co-conspirators: “don’t book no flights under no names involved with me.”
It’s gutting to read this. A while back, after Takeoff of the Atlanta group, Migos, got murdered, I lost my account on X because Jason Whitlock, who in fairness to me is widely known as an ungodly, horrible person, tweeted that hip-hop had a murder problem. I replied to him with a bunch of words that would not be fit to print if Ben Bradlee was my editor; thus, I won’t print them here. While I am young and allowed to be messy, it was dumb of me to do this, a mistake that I can’t have back, and an act of a Black man who was not being what he needs to be — twice as better — in a country that is based on a white power structure. Furthermore, a sad thing is that he might have been right — although, he was clearly saying it to be antagonistic. There was a tweet that made the rounds on the timeline (I now have a new and improved account, @UPTOWNBUF, that everyone should follow) that reminded me of my verbal scuffle with Whitlock. The tweet said: “Drill went global because drill resonantes with people who have nothing — the majority of people in the world. I don’t understand the critiques about the music or rappers when the conditions that inspired drill still exist.”
This is not untrue: it was once said that the Negro was in a state of confusion because of jazz music, which we now know to be a racist statement. No, we know that the conditions that made jazz music such a unique genre in American culture is the conditions of poverty, racism, segregation, and systemic police violence. Jazz was drill music for that time. Miles Davis was overdosing; then, coming out with Kind of Blue. Negroes would walk out of jazz clubs and get stabbed for the pennies that they made when they had to work for scraps. The material conditions of the ghettos were the point; it’s why the music hit the way it did. While the conditions of Black people have not changed since then, a sad fact in America, it strikes me as naïve — despite the kindness and empathy that it does take to think of these crimes as a function of white supremacy — to think material conditions are the reason for Lil Durk’s arrest, and other arrests like Durk’s.
Durk, or King Von, or even Young Thug — men that I have an unlimited amount of affection for — are not pauper kids escaping crime anymore; nor, were they making jazz music. Billie Holliday didn’t sing about her dead opponents, as much as those drill songs can be as euphoric as they are disturbing. Tay-K’s “The Race”, perhaps the greatest and most controversial out of the street tales that were reputedly truthful, was popular precisely because first, it sounded exquisite, the production sounding like a riotus carnival and his raps being as frank and meticulous as Reynolds Woodcock’s stitches while making dresses; secondly, it was popular because of the violent truth it conveyed. Tay-K became a desperado; an outlaw, despite the innocence he took from people, sadly overshadowing the innocence of his baby-like face. He was 17 years old when he made “The Race”, perhaps far too young to be considered a lost cause. Tay-K enters my mind a lot; his crimes are undeniably concerning, but I don’t resent anyone who thinks that 27 years in a Texas jail is punitive punishment for a young kid.
However, Durk, who’s net worth is eight million, did not need to do this. He’s been featured on number top five hits before, “Laugh Now Cry Later” with Drake is a breezy, anthemic, single, and he’s now a decade-plus into his career. Durk is a veteran; a recipient of the key to Chicago. Running down Quando Rondo and his friends at a gas station in front of civilians wasn’t the act of outlaws staring down the state; it was an act of revenge for the sake of egocentrism and archaic principles.
With that being said, I’m wondering, still, about the carceral state and what they’re attempting to do when they put rappers on trial. Durk’s case has nothing to do with lyrics, according to the files — at least not right now — but Young Thug is on trial for his life for a case that is based on the possible autobiographical details he puts in songs. It’s upsetting. Thug is an epochal artist; he’s made music that will last generations, from when my nephews are born, to when I grow older. He’s traditional, but a mutation; a gun-toter with a dress. One thing that I want people to remember, myself included: Durk, Thug, Von, Sheff G, Kay Flock, and more, are innocent until proven guilty. It is up to the state to prove their claims; to prove that these guys are more than just rappers saying words for our entertainment. To be human is to be innocent until proven guilty. My status as a journalist will never allow me to forget that it is the state — a state that has a criminal justice system that is undoubtedly racist — that needs to prove guilt. At the same time, my status as a rap fan will not allow me to ignore that it is quite possible that all of these men are gangsters as well as rappers. It can be hard to see musicians — otherworldly geniuses we listen to during personal events like weddings, birthday parties, baptisms; inventive men and women that we want to emulate style wise, and swagger-wise — get packed up by the law. It can seem almost like a personal affront to hip-hop; a jab at the rappers, surely men and women of color, who created it, and its contributions to the world. However, street life and gang ties have a further depth than what the casual rap fan is truly capable of understanding. Rappers aren’t congressmen; they are mostly egocentric young men who either refuse to leave the street life behind, or have a hard time doing so, despite their success.
It’s important to have a balance about this. God help me if I sound like I work for the state. I also don’t want to be on X joking about dead opps, or parking my soul and conscience at the yield sign, because I am enjoying violent rap too much to criticize rappers. Intuition tells me that fans should wait, and delay any action or words for Durk. More details are set to come out about Durk’s case; it won’t be cute and cuddly.
Do you know what Durk’s arrest reminds me of? Chief Keef, who deserves endless adoration for his contributions to making hip-hop the greatest genre of American life, was smart enough to leave gang life — especially after he made it to the top of the rap world — behind, and it’s greatly benefitting him. He is now able to enjoy his time with his daughter, who joined him on stage for his first show in Chicago since his teenage years. It was not lost on me that Keef had undergone significant changes as he performed at Lyrical Lemonade: he got sober, he stopped tweeting about “dead opps”, and he looks healthy, the smile he flashes could be worth millions. His legacy is intact without the internet chatter and street hype that defines the culture of Drill.
Why can’t more Drill rappers leave the actual life behind? It is partly, in my opinion, because the very nature of the music is based on authenticity, a code of authenticity that has become slightly damaging and unsophisticated. Fans are not fans of the music; they are fans of a dubious brand of authenticity that functions as both music and an ethos for cynical lawlessness. There is not an authenticity in the world that can take away from anyone’s talent level, the reason why I love this art form in the first place. Eventually, it’ll be my hope that the music itself — not the fetishism of autobiographical details — will be what is important to people.