Memphis rapper Moneybagg Yo’s voice falls somewhere between the monotone largesse of his mentor, Yo Gotti, and the watery warble of Kevin Gates. It’s a voice that, at first listen, is unremarkable, but, after a few songs, reveals its humor and dexterity like a magic trick. Like his voice, Moneybagg himself is a revelation hiding in plain sight. Largely unknown to mainstream rap audiences but a full-blown celebrity in his hometown and, increasingly, beyond, he’s finally starting to see the payoff to his patient and calculated approach to regional rap stardom. The street album Federal 3x, the highlight of his highly productive 2017, debuted at number five on the Billboard 200 last summer, outselling SZA, Ed Sheeran, and Bruno Mars that week. A polished collection of outsized brags and ominous trap instrumentals that lacked a clear single or a notable guest appearance outside frequent collaborator YoungBoy Never Broke Again, that album provided the strongest argument yet that Moneybagg is headed toward a broader breakthrough.
2 Heartless, Moneybagg’s first project of 2018, builds on his momentum. At a bloated 18 tracks, it lacks the efficiency of Federal 3x, or the bounce of Moneybagg’s 2016 collaborative tape with Yo Gotti, 2 Federal. But the new album, which features Quavo, Gotti, BlocBoy JB, and Lil Baby, succeeds as a fruitful exercise in sticking to what works. This isn’t to say that Moneybagg’s execution is simplistic. Instead, he’s a self-sufficient enterprise of one, capable of conveying on his own what many rappers struggle to do with help. It’s sometimes hard to identify the highlights of a Moneybagg project, but that’s the point: Whether threatening his enemies or mourning lost love, his songs purposefully blend into one another, making his albums best consumed in a single sitting. In an age of relentless single-chasing in rap music, Moneybagg Yo’s low-concept, consistent work ethic is refreshing.
Moneybagg, a 26-year-old father of seven, is a master of colorful wordplay. Each song is a treasure trove of quotables: “Fire up the Backwood, it smell like a skunk dead,” he snarls on “Back Then,” “I been gettin’ to it, a hundred thou trap cash/Pockets lookin’ like bunk beds.” On the Tay Keith-produced standout “Super Fake,” he takes a similar thought a step further: “Chandeliers on both my ears, my earrings look like two lamps,” he starts, before continuing in the same breath, “This might not mean nothin’ to you, but I used to get food stamps.” Moneybagg wields vulnerability the same way he does his boasting, with an offhanded speed that nonetheless provides a deeper look into his psyche. His reliance on rhetorical questions and conversational ad-libs—“Remember Mario from eleventh grade?/(Remember me from Mitchell?)” he asks on “Super Fake”—can make it sound like he’s talking to himself, or confiding in a close friend.
Really, though, he’s more of a lone wolf. “Earn my trust, keep all my secrets,” he whispers in the fading moments of 2 Heartless, rewarding us for making it to the end of yet another project. But unlike most musicians on the come-up, Moneybagg genuinely doesn’t seem to care if you listen. He’s so brazenly secure in his sound, so convinced of his impending success, that you’re left feeling like you have to win him over, and not the other way around.
