In The Global Moral Panic Over Drill, Were Ignoring The Message Behind The Art
Christopher Thomas still remembers the first time he heard exercise music. In 2011, he worked at the Nancy B. Jefferson Alternative School at the Cook County Juvenile Detention Center, trying to get incarcerated youth interested in footwork and other forms of fashion culture.
One afternoon he suggested recording a DVD of his band FootworkKINGz to connect with teenagers. Before the video was released, one of the teens proposed marriage to Thomas, a 39-year-old street dancer and youth educator who grew up in Altgeld Gardens on the South Side and was nicknamed "Mad Dog" by his peers. "This cat said, 'We'll do whatever you want if you let us hear the song.' I thought I could meet these conditions. And the song was 'I Don't Like It'."
The teenager who made the deal was none other than Keith “Chief Keef” Cozart, a 15-year-old who was in a juvenile detention center at the time. It was Keef's own song, but it took another year for the rapper to release the video, which was filmed at his grandmother's house during his house arrest. The video would go viral and gain national attention from teenagers (and Chicago) within months.
Known for epic horror soundtracks and explicit depictions of street life, Training Music is often criticized for lyrics and videos that criticize gangs and reference alleged crimes. Outside the United States, the practice has gone viral in the past five years, with artists re-appropriating the genre in places as far away as Ghana, Germany and Japan. The enthusiasm for their uplifting music and sometimes dark themes has been accompanied by a police backlash and moral panic that is sometimes not unfounded. The texts and videos are currently at the center of two high-profile trials in the US: the FBG Duck murder trial in Chicago and the Young Thug murder trial in Atlanta.
As youth researchers and educators, we recognize the desire for connections between violence and music. But this enthusiasm is overshadowed by a message of loss and disappointment for the young artists and the audiences who respond. Critics of military exercises often overlook the pain that burns beneath the noise.
Today, Mad Dog works as program director at Kuumba Lynx, a nonprofit organization that prepares Chicago's youth for creative careers. He remembers that moment in prison with fondness. "I'm not going to lie, I said, 'It's hard!' Seconds later the boys appeared in the room. They sang a song and I started dancing with them. Next thing you know, security is dancing, dancing, and we all start turning up the volume.
However, he despises the record industry's "black death celebration" and the excessive bravado of a training culture aimed at maximizing Internet clicks. But he also argues that sports music is a liberation for young people who have been confronted with gun violence and systemic racism for generations.
“Is it wrong for him to say something he doesn't like?” says Thomas, referring to the chorus of Keef's hit song. “It depends on your living conditions, where you are, where you can go and where you can't. Because he has people like him, who live in the same conditions as him and want to kill him.
Drill's global virality
In its original form, drill music emerged in an environment where people felt hopeless and life seemed fragile. This darker sound gained national recognition in the mid-2010s through artists such as Keef and Young Chop, as well as King Louie, who coined the term "Chiraq".
In the last five years, the rap style has spread worldwide and the genre has also been adopted in the United Kingdom. Techno and South London originals made British music truly exotic to international audiences, helped in no small part by England's famous tabloid music press and public art programs. Lighter, club-friendly workout tracks emerged, as well as viral dances like Gun Lean and Sturdy, which became party favorites for some professional athletes.
It used to be funny to see girls complaining when [Keef]'s "Faneto" came on. Everyone will complain. “Oh, they're going to break up,” said Kasera Haining, also known as DJ Ca$h Era, who was named Best Hip-Hop DJ of 2022 by Chicago Reader.
Ca$h Era regularly appears at the United Center for Chicago Bulls games and offers even more fun practice routes at Chicago Sky games. A few years after “Faneto,” he said, a song called “Barbie World” appeared in the movie “Barbie .” “I don’t think Chief Keefe could have ever predicted this.”
However, drill rap was eventually tested in Cook County and around the world. In the ongoing trial in Chicago, lawyers have used phrases like "BDK" (a reference to the Black Disciples) and "Not from 63rd Street" (an area near Parkway Gardens) to trace the historic feud between the murdered rappers. and FBG Duck on Instagram and in their training texts.
In Atlanta, prosecutors are using internet personalities, song lyrics and social media videos to build an assault case surrounding Grammy Award-winning artist Young Thug. Construction artists in Britain have been accused of posting videos on social media linking them to deadly knife crime and mocking the victims. Detectives there regularly cite social media posts describing gang threats from rappers wearing hoodies reminiscent of video games like “Call of Duty.”
Swedish rappers have been linked to bombings in Stockholm during the war and crimes abroad, including in Iraq. A Netflix documentary released this fall examines the OneFour Pacific Island oil rig's ongoing relationship with Australian police.
While violence is inextricably linked to this Chicago-born music, Ca$h Era sees art beyond the stigma of physical activity.
"I think the appeal of exercise music is, 'Hey, I can tell my story and get you excited and uplifted at the same time,'" he said. “Listen to the stories. People around the world struggle with similar issues. Lifestyles and violence. These are not just issues affecting children in Chicago.
Hear the traumas of young people
When drill went viral in the early 2010s, most of the main artists were underage. Chief Keef signed a $6 million record deal with Interscope based on the records he released when he was 16 years old. Lil Mouse signed a contract at the age of 13 to perform songs like “Get Smoked.”
When Lil Durk raps, "In my town they hate me... I can't show up 'cause I'm terrorizing my town," we see the tortured inner lives of people who always seem to be tested. Songs like “Say Ain't What U Want” describe worlds that are only strengthened by the exploitative channels of social media, the weapons industry and the illegal drug trade.
While we can celebrate rappers' lyrical prowess and introspection in new songs like G Herbo's "PTSD," we understand that there are so many songs like "GD Anthem" and "Crazy Story" that go viral and spread sparks. Gang rivalry.
Algorithms that control streaming platforms appear to reinforce the worst aspects of gender culture by showing violent and dramatic videos. News audiences benefit when artists are linked to criminal activity. Less noticed is when rappers donate money to advocacy groups like Good Kids Mad City or create community organizations like Swervin Thru Stress that support young people's mental health.
“If their experience scares you, you might want to listen to these songs more often,” DJ Ca$h told Era. “Why should you avoid it at all costs? People who make music don’t have that luxury. “They literally put it in the music to escape for two seconds and let you know what they're going through.”
As this exercise becomes commonplace, we should reconsider our efforts to isolate and neutralize this unique form of cultural expression in Chicago. Young people who want to express themselves through a bold and visionary art form and legitimately pursue a career do not lack humanity. And they do not go beyond our compassion.
Mobilizations like the “Protect Black Art” campaign are a step in the right direction. But instead of asking, “Which came first: violence or violent music?” “We need to ask ourselves what public health and safety officials can do to listen to the voices of young people speaking about their pain.
Dr. Reginold Royston studies digital innovation at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and conducts research with DJs, musicians and dancers in Chicago and West Africa. Neil Lansana is an interdisciplinary artist and youth educator who grew up on the South Side and a member and coach of the poetry ensemble Rilindja. He contributed to America's Guns, a 2020 publication focused on gun violence in the city.
