12.
The hate rolled in like a hurricane.
This is the dumbest shit I have seen in my LIFE!!!
My brother died from suicide last year. Treating self harm as an aesthetic is absolutely disgusting.
“Despicable Me” yeah your damn right bro. Why the fuck did you make this?
this shit is so fake and pandering and like five years too late
Trappa makes Machine Gun Kelly look like Mozart
im selling my ticket for next week, this aint it…
*sigh* I didn’t want to have to do this. I really didn’t. But if you’ve been following music in any capacity this past week, it has been IMPOSSIBLE to avoid discussion and criticism of rising Atlanta trap star Trappa’s latest effort, “Despicable Me.” This single finds Trappa making a bizarre pivot into the emo rap, emo trap genre, which, in my opinion, was one of the more obnoxious trends to come out of the late 2010s soundcloud scene. I thought we were done with this, I thought we’d moved on, but apparently Trappa disagrees. Let’s get it out of the way, this track is awful, hands down the WORST song I have heard all year, if not this decade. Trappa is bandwagoning on a dead trend that was bandwagoning on an even deader trend and he does nothing right. The beat sounds like some royalty free garbage from a canceled soap opera, the delivery is lifeless and uninspired, and the lyrics. Oh boy. The freaking lyrics on this thing. “Despicable me, but I feel like a minion, don’t want your opinion, but I’m lost without you.” Are you kidding me? I don’t want to get too personal, but does Trappa have any real friends in his orbit? Because who the hell heard that and didn’t do everything in their power to stop this song from ever seeing the light of day? Maybe it was intentional, maybe this song was designed to be a lightning rod for controversy, but even if that was the case, it has completely backfired because there is now a growing movement to BOYCOTT Trappa! I have never seen this level of vitriol from an artist’s fanbase. This song is in uncharted territories of bad. I have nothing nice to say, except that if there’s any silver lining to be found here, it’s that maybe, just maybe, this will be the final nail in the coffin for emo rap. I’m feeling a light ZERO on this, do yourself a favor and listen to literally anything else.
Superchat from JimJam22 says when are you going to review despicable me? Bruh, I’m not gonna do it. I’m just not. I know I’m not gonna like it. I told y’all, last year, that Trappa was an obvious industry plant, and here we are. No, dude, I’m not gonna review it. I know it’s bad. I’m not a sadist or a masochist or whatever the fuck, I’m not gonna subject myself to that.
This new Trappa, man. We gotta talk about it.
Do we?
*laughing* We have to.
Man.
I have never seen anyone destroy their reputation this quickly, over so little. It’s truly amazing.
Man, you know, when I heard there was a new Trappa single, I was actually kind of excited. Like, he’s not the best, but he gets the job done for what he does, you know, and he’d been teasing a new direction, so like, I was hoping he was gonna show us a different side of himself as an artist and like—
Well he did that.
Unfortunately, yes he did. But like yeah, as soon as I saw that title—just the title—I got nervous. I was like, is this nigga gonna rap about minions? There’s no way.
I still can’t believe it, bro.
And it was even worse than I thought. I clicked the video and saw that nigga in a minion costume, and I was like, uh-uh. Time to go work on my garden.
Honestly, that was a great move, man.
It was, man, it was, ‘cause I mean, like, I knew I’d have to listen to it for this, but like, once you see a nigga in a minion costume, you know you’ve been spending too much time on the internet.
Absolutely, man. I seriously wish he never ever ever made this. I wish we could go back to a time before this song was released. But this is the world we live in now.
Trappa fans in shambles #BoycottTrappa
how u gonna act like u bout that life and dress up like a damn emo minion??? #BoycottTrappa
bruh I cant believe this nigga bout to get canceled over 1 song 😂😂😂 #BoycottTrappa
#BoycottTrappa
#BoycottTrappa
#BoycottTrappa
At first I thought the boycott hashtag was a joke, and for a lot of people it was, but the next day a venue in Atlanta canceled Trappa’s show, then another in Philadelphia, then his whole tour fell apart.
I couldn’t make music, I couldn’t do anything. Kevin stopped barking orders at me, stopped watching me through his camera. I’d spend all day lying on the floor scrolling through every article, tweet, and post, watching every reaction video through the slits between my fingers. One day, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I threw my phone at the wall, checked to make sure it wasn’t cracked, then ran downstairs, put my shoes on, and left.
I walked in a random direction until I reached a concrete river, then walked along the bike path. The river was a pathetic trickle clogged with trash, its huge concrete channel a looming reminder of unfulfilled potential. On the other side a homeless looking guy was wheeling a bike and a half along the other path. I must have stared at him for too long because he shouted something at me, but I couldn’t understand what he said, or whether it was hostile.
Eventually the sun and distance caught up to me and I abandoned the river path in search of shade and water. I passed house after house, but no parks, no stores, nowhere to even sit without attracting suspicion. Finally the suburbs parted and a busy intersection with a gas station appeared. I went into the snack shop and bought a big yellow Gatorade. There wasn’t anywhere shady to sit outside except in the shadow of a wired wooden fence by the water and air station. I sat against it and watched the cars on the main road drive past and pull up for gas, the drivers glancing over at me occasionally as they filled their tanks. I wondered if any of them had heard “Despicable Me” and it all came rushing back. I finished the bottle and stood up. I didn’t want to go home, but my legs were killing me. I bought a Snickers bar and another Gatorade and set off back the way I came, but I made a wrong turn somewhere and got completely lost.
The sun was low by the time I made it home. My legs were useless wrecks and I was a sunburned, sweat-drenched shell of myself. I collapsed on the lawn, a controlled demolition, lying on my back in the grass. Passing neighbors barely noticed me, lost in their phones and earbuds. Only their sniffing dogs took an interest in my situation.
“Winston.”
I rolled my eyes back to look behind me. Kevin was standing in the doorway, a half-empty bottle of soju dangling from his fingers.
“What are you doing?”
“Resting.”
He took a sip. “You look like a junkie. Come inside.”
I got up, my legs crackling with pain, and staggered across the lawn. Kevin took another long sip, watching me with cold, bag-saddled eyes. He closed the door behind me and I took my shoes off. In the kitchen he opened a new bottle of soju and poured me a glass, then sat down and drank from his bottle and stared into space. For once I felt he wasn’t pressuring me to drink, but had simply assumed I’d want to. I took a sip and we listened to the refrigerator buzz.
“What are we going to do?”
He didn’t hear me.
“I hope Julie doesn’t think this is all my fault. I mean, Trappa’s the one who made that video and the song’s not even—”
He slammed his fist down on the table, knocking the bottle over. It rolled in a circle and the soju spilled out in a viscous mesa.
“Nancy’s gone.”
“Huh?”
“She took my son.”
“Oh, wow. Um, I’m sorry, Kevin.”
He vaguely nodded, and I couldn’t tell if he’d actually been talking to me or just thinking out loud. The soju was dripping onto the floor. I reached over and righted the bottle but there was barely any left. Kevin picked it up and put it back on its side. I’d been about to clean up the spill with some paper towels, but decided against it. The mess was his territory.
Someone started banging on the front door, relentless, furious.
Kevin just sat there.
“Um, should we get that?”
“If it’s the police, they need a warrant.”
“Why would the police be here?”
“You tell me.”
“But I didn’t do anything!”
“WINSTON!” Dun dun dun dun dun. “COME OUT YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”
Kevin raised an eyebrow.
“WINSTON!”
“I think that’s Trappa,” I said.
“Mm.”
“Maybe I should go talk to him.”
“Do what you want.” He picked up the fallen bottle, drank the rest, and got up and took another one out of the fridge. I walked slowly towards the foyer, hoping he might follow after me, but he just sat down and kept drinking.
Dun dun dun dun dun.
“Come on, Winston, be a fucking man. I know you’re in there!”
I gulped and trembled as I reached for the door handle, then opened it a crack.
Trappa stood on the stoop huffing and sweaty, a bottle of liquor in his hand, his face scrunched into a fist. His entourage, or what was left of it, were scattered on the lawn and the sidewalk, keeping a lookout, keeping their distance. Angry as he was, Trappa seemed surprised that I’d actually answered the door and was at a loss for a moment before it all came rushing back.
“You motherfucker! You fucking snake! You set me up!”
“Huh?”
“Don’t play dumb, nigga! Mei Li fucking hired you to infiltrate my shit and feed me a poison song, didn’t she?”
“Um, no, I—”
“Oh yes she did. I see right through you, nigga. That’s why you’ve got all these Asian niggas around you on this shit. That’s why you’re Asian! I’m not stupid, bro, I know how y’all move, all your ching chong connections and shit!”
“Yo, come on, man…” said the doubtful homie.
“Shut the fuck up!” Trappa spun around, the liquor sloshing.
“I’m just saying, bro, that’s like—”
“I said SHUT! UP!” Trappa threw the bottle and the doubtful homie ducked and it shattered in the street.
“Man, fuck you, nigga! I ain’t done nothing but had your back since day one! And I told you that song was trash and here we fucking are, so fuck you! I’m so out, bro.” He started walking away.
“Good, nigga! Get the fuck out of here! You never told me shit!”
“Yes I did!”
“No you didn’t!”
A gun cocked behind me and everyone on the lawn backed away with their hands up. Trappa and I turned around. Kevin was in the doorway holding an AR-15 over my head.
“Time to go.”
Everyone on the lawn ran off. Trappa backed down the stairs.
“This ain’t over, nigga.”
“Yes it is,” said Kevin. “Never come back here.”
Trappa had more to say but turned and ran with the rest of them.
Kevin pulled me back inside and slammed the door. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I—I don’t know—”
“You’d throw your life away for ‘I don’t know?’”
“No, I mean, I just—”
“You just what?”
“I thought I could talk to him. I thought we could figure things out. He was nice earlier.”
“That’s because you were useful to him.”
“I know, but—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“You could be lying in a pool of blood right now.”
“I know—”
“All our hard work, just for that? Just so you could ‘figure things out’ with some drunk thug?”
“I’m sorry.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I said I’m sorry!” I started crying, my hands balled into fists. Kevin sighed. I heard him put the gun back in the lockbox, and when I wiped my eyes he was back at the kitchen table, drinking.
I woke up in the middle of the night and he was orbiting over me, harsh shadows across his face like lunar craters.
“This is my room,” he muttered.
I pretended to be asleep.
“This is my house. I built this life. This is mine!” He flipped the light on.
“Um, Kevin?”
“This is my guitar!” he shouted, picking up my guitar. He stepped a foot up on my chair and strummed an awful chord. “I am the pop star.” He strummed again. “I am the pop star!” He strummed faster. “I AM THE POP STAR!” He started singing as he abused my guitar, a blood-curdling, wordless ballad of despair. I lay in bed petrified at the violent possibilities interrupting him might bring, catastrophizing over the trajectory of his performance, and my fears came true when he slammed my guitar against the chair, though it just bounced off and clattered to the floor, ringing with a distressed echo as he fell to his knees and pounded the floor, groaning and growling. I reached over the side of the bed and picked up yesterday’s shorts and shirt, scooped up my phone, wallet, and keys, and slipped downstairs and out the door in my underwear and untied shoes.