On his breakthrough single “Lost My Mind,” Lil Wop reminisced about growing up wanting to be like Gucci Mane. Of course, Gucci has inspired his share of disciples, but none of them have taken their hero worship to such extremes as Wop, who not only christened himself after his favorite rapper but also had his signature electric ice cream cone tattooed on his own cheek. Even before he signed to Gucci’s 1017 label this summer, Wop was rapping about wearing a Rolex permanently stopped at 10:17—that Oct. 17 also happens to be his birthday is either a fateful coincidence or the kind of lie a determined psychopath might tell as part of an All About Eve-esque plot to infiltrate their idol’s life.
If Wop’s biography paints him as rap’s most shameless sycophant, his over the top Gucci fandom belies just how original his own vision is. The two share some of the same bone-dry comedic sensibilities, but beyond that, Lil Wop doesn’t borrow much from the elder Wop. He’s his own creation, and easily the most distinctive 1017 signee since Young Thug: a demonic, blood-crazed madman who likens himself to Michael Myers, brags about his zombie walk, and raps in the same unnerving croak as Tony, Danny Torrance’s freaky imaginary friend from The Shining. All cobwebs and sawdust, it’s a voice so pained and parched it makes you vicariously crave the drink of water he apparently denies himself between takes. It also makes his 1017 debut Wopavelli 3, for all its infectious lunacy, a very acquired taste, and a rough listen on headphones.
Wop plays on more or less the same horrorcore tropes that have periodically come into vogue since the Gravediggaz days, but he tackles them with a rare commitment to character. “Fresh as hell, I just woke up in a coffin,” he rasps on “Topgolf,” “Red tape around the trap, bitch don’t cross it.” He’s still early in his career, but already his rapping is considerably richer, weirder, and more vivid than it was on this year’s “Lost My Mind.” Wopavelli 3, his fourth mixtape of 2017, captures him just as his persona begins to click, but still in the creation stage of writing his own mythos. Sometimes he leaves open the possibility all the violence is a Percocet-fueled fantasy; sometimes he hints at a Jekyll/Hyde relationship with his body spurred by his indiscriminate drug intake. Mostly, he doesn’t overanalyze it. “I raise the murder rate, put a nigga on a plate,” he raps with typical brevity on “Murder Rate.”
Where vanguard rappers like Lil Uzi Vert and Lil Yachty have modeled themselves in part after rock stars, Wop has taken that mentality to its logical extreme. “This ain’t rap it’s hard rock,” he repeats throughout the tape, and although that’s not literally true, he taps into the same vein of showmanship and exploitation as so many ’80s metal acts. He’s aided in his spectacle by a sharp cast of producers, mostly talented upstarts like Digital Nas and Kenny Beats, who conjure a similar mix of whimsy and brutality, creating beats that fall somewhere between Saturday morning cartoons and torture porn.
Early on the mixtape, there’s a moment that Wop’s been anticipating for his entire career: his first Gucci Mane feature. If you can judge how vested Gucci is in his protégés based on the quality of guest verses, then “Paid in Full” bodes well for Wop. But as charismatic as Gucci is, he sounds irreconcilably out of place. He’s too mirthful for his surroundings, and he tips the scale a little too far toward silliness—it’s a bit like watching your favorite sitcom character wander into a slasher film for a scene. Lil Wop’s aesthetic is already so singular that it doesn’t leave a lot of room for outsiders, even ones he grew up idolizing. He may adore Gucci Mane, but with Wopavelli 3 he proves that he doesn’t need him.
