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Hypebeast
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Hypebeast
Feid: All Green Everything
This article originally appeared in Hypebeast Magazine Issue 35: The Wavelength Issue. The moment you step off the plane at José María Córdova International Airport in Colombia, it's impossible to ignore: The musician Feid isn't just a national treasure; he's the sonic manifestation of the country's youth culture itself. His presence is everywhere, from suitcases, glasses, and t-shirts emblazoned with 'Ferxxo' stickers, referencing Feid's nickname, to street vendors lining the sidewalks with bootleg merch. His unmistakable reggaeton anthems boom from passing cars in an endless loop, and just beyond the terminal, a towering 50-foot billboard cements his status. Feid is more than an artist here—he's a movement. I'll be honest: I had only heard a couple songs by the reggaeton don before I accepted an offer to fly to Medellín to watch him perform in front of 70,000 people three nights in a row. I say this with more than a hint of shame: In 2024, Feid was the 10th most-streamed artist in the world, and a number of his tracks were the most played in all of Latin America. He's been nominated for 10 Latin Grammys, and he won Best Reggaeton Performance in 2024 for his song 'Perro Negro' with Bad Bunny. The 32-year-old Colombian artist has also written multiple Billboard-topping hits for J Balvin, including the 2016 globe-dominating smash 'Ginza.' As if that wasn't enough, he's collaborated with every major player in the reggaeton MVP league, from Balvin and Bunny, to Rauw Alejandro, Karol G, Maluma, and Ryan Castro. Music critics like Robert Christgau, Chuck Klosterman, and Jon Caramanica have all posited that there is no monoculture anymore. This suggests that in an era of globalization, the infinite jukebox offered by streaming technology—and countless subcultures and subgenres waning and waxing at an increasing clip—even South America's biggest musicians don't necessarily become household names elsewhere. Feid may have more than a billion streams on singles like 'Luna' and 'Feliz Cumpleaños Ferxxo,' but that doesn't mean he's being played on Hot 97 in New York. Maybe I'm just making excuses to hide my age. Now, in my early thirties, I could be getting too complacent, trapped in algorithmically-driven filter bubbles and 'taste neighborhoods.' Sure, I like Colombian post-dubstep producer Verraco, or the Bronx-raised, techno-cumbia hybrid DJ hellotones. But I'm not a native Spanish speaker, and when it comes to pop music, I only know the crossover successes by virtue of their press coverage—Rosalia, Bad Bunny, J Balvin, etc. Statistically, Feid is as big as any of these artists. But he's just starting to grace the covers of US-based magazines and the lineups of festivals like Governor's Ball, where he's headlining this spring. The man born Salomón Villada Hoyos is an undeniable superstar back home, but remains a relative newcomer to gringo ears. When I first discussed a Feid interview with his publicist—and, later, my de facto fixer in Medellín—Albert Piedrahita, he repeatedly stressed that a Zoom chat wouldn't cut it. I had to come to Colombia, he said, and witness firsthand that Ferxxo is a movement, one that could very soon be embraced the world over. The concert took place at a stadium, Estadio Atanasio Girardot, home to football clubs Atlético Nacional and Independiente Medellín. The venue typically has a capacity of 45,000, but Feid's team worked with the government to extend the space by an additional 25,000 seats each night. I was told again and again that the three-night suite was expected to be such a spectacle that people flew in from all over the continent just to witness the glory— the event for reggaeton lovers throughout all of LATAM. It's alleged that this was the biggest show in the history of Medellín, if not all of Colombia. Further (or Furxxther), the shows would coincide with Las Velitas, the unofficial start of the Christmas season, when Colombians place candles and paper lanterns on windowsills, sidewalks, streets, and parks as a symbolic tribute to the Virgin Mary and her Immaculate Conception. The stadium shows weren't just a homecoming, but an extension of one of Medellín's most significant holidays. In effect, it was to be a spiritual spectacle that Feid and his team were treating with meticulous devotion. As the musician told me later, 'This day, Las Velitas, is the most nostalgic one for me.' Feid's green gold manifests sonically in a myriad of ways. While he notes that he grew up in Colombia with 'all this Puerto Rican influence,' his aim is to 'keep the roots of Puerto Rican reggaeton and try to always create something new in the beat.' This translates into his signature 'sentimental reggaeton' style (sometimes called 'sad boy perreo') where lovelorn ballads rest on top of production not typically found in the genre: hip-hop-style 808s, synths, Afrobeats, smooth tech-house, and more. Feid regularly incorporates local Colombian slang into his lyrics, too, such as 'Hey mor' and 'chimba' (meaning cool) to pay homage to his native country. Plus, it's worth noting that his music and visual universe have a distinct sense of humor. He has lyrics, for example, that paint him as both a lover in the doghouse and simultaneously a dog in heat. His music videos take the disposition even further. One that comes to mind is 'PPCP,' which features close-up shots of strippers smoking weed juxtaposed with a group of nuns blurred as though mandated to comply with local censors. The album cover for LOS 9 , too, features three fisheye photos of Feid and Sky alongside Taz from Looney Tunes where the three mess around with dynamite and get their Acme-induced comeuppance. 'A lot of reggaeton artists are focused on being cool—who's the craziest dresser, or who has the craziest music videos,' Feid told me later. 'But for me personally, it's about being myself with my music.' The recurring caricature of Feid with an oversized, devilish grin couldn't be more on point: The man is a cartoon come to life. This is reflected to the umpteenth degree in his pupil-dilating live shows that embrace maximalism and soulfulness in equal measure. Before every concert, Feid's whole camp engages in a pre-show prayer, usually followed by a shot of Aguardiente—the anise-flavored liqueur popular in the Andean region. On the first night of his stadium shows, the team prayed longer than usual due to the sheer scale of the event. 'We always put everything in God and le fe [faith],' the artist explained. 'And this show is special because my parents are here and it's a holiday. But I'm ready. Once we get the prayer in, it's just a deep breath and boom.' Showtime. Feid makes it sound easy and stress free. While his artist persona is outsized, he's modest and easygoing—almost carefree—in conversation. The truth is that the concert was, bar none, the most grandiose and swaggering performance I've ever witnessed. It kicked off with a sleight-of-hand: Feid snuck into a box as if he were Houdini's assistant and was discreetly rolled through the crowd before slipping under the behemoth stage. There, he popped out of the trunk wearing a mask and hoodie before swapping the fit for his signature white Oakleys, snapback hat, and a custom black-and-green tactical vest made by the Colombian brand 747. The stage featured modular stacks of scaffolding that stood over 300 feet tall, resembling a halfway-built skyscraper. Inside the structure were platforms at varying heights, and close to a dozen LED screens positioned to cover every angle of the oval-shaped arena. The whole stage was dark and the pre-show DJs paused their sets as Feid secretly climbed his way to the top. The 70,000 concert goers collectively held their breath, aware that the sensory respite signaled that things were about to explode — literally. After an almost deafening silence, church-like organs began emanating from the speaker stacks followed by what sounded like Gregorian chanting. The screens lit up with black-and-green animations depicting a dystopian society of people seemingly under despotic rule. Military trucks pulled by barking Rottweilers sped by lines of people awaiting a grim fate. Close-ups of green pupils blinked everywhere. As the organs reached a crescendo, the myriad screens displayed a composite image of a child who suddenly grinned with Feid's monster teeth. The chanting got faster and the imagery responded in kind: Smirking child, a cartoon of Feid, guard dogs, and then an apocalyptic landscape: FERRXOCALIPSIS. The visuals transformed from 2D to 3D as the stage cameras focused on Feid standing atop the scaffolding's highest platform. He started rapping the opening bars of 'Alakran': La' chimbitas, ¿a ver, dónde están? / Que pelen la' nalguita como chin-chan / Se sientan en la silla del huracán / Viper, viper, no confía en na', ey. Then, a deep breath and BOOM: fireworks exploded round after round, bursts of flames shot into the air, confetti rained down, and decibels surged as spotlights locked on to the superstar as he appeared seemingly from nowhere. The audience responded with a scream that matched the scene's intensity, evoking the frenzied excitement of fans watching The Beatles play the Washington Coliseum in 1964. For the next three hours and twenty minutes, Feid never stopped moving, nor did the deluge of pyrotechnics, lasers, and green-tinged chaos of his LED-driven simulacra. Medellín wanted an extravaganza worthy of Las Velitas and they got just that: A concert longer than most Grateful Dead shows, more gunpowder than NYC's East River on the Fourth of July, and no fewer than six surprise guests—including Rauw Alejandro, Miky Woodz, Maisak, Sech, Ryan Castro, Yandel, and ATL Jacob. (Nights two and three would feature appearances from Majid Jordan, J Balvin, Bad Bunny, Karol G, Maluma, and others). Hell, his guitarist even had a custom Fury Road -style axe that unleashed balls of fire. 'Here I can sing songs that I haven't sung on the tour because we're in Medellín,' Feid said to the sea of fans. This wasn't exactly a surprise, as the set list confirmed he performed over 50 tracks each night, from bigger hits like 'Luna' and 'Perro Negro,' to deeper cuts like 'Tengo Fe' and 'Ey Chory.' Throughout the musical melee, Feid was in perpetual motion—embracing something between a skip and a jog. He told me later that 'I jump a lot because that's the way I get people to connect with my energy,' adding that his outfits were chosen specifically to aid his continuous kinetics. On top of rocking his collaborative Salomons, Feid later changed into a breathable Stone Island shirt, and kept his white Oakleys on all night to protect his eyes from cornea-eviscerating LEDs. 'The more comfortable I can feel when I'm performing, the better.' By the time the marathon concert ended, close to 2am, confetti was sticking to his sweat-covered skin. On night two, I met a representative from the Guinness Book of World Records in an official-looking uniform (including a GBOWR nametag) who was there to confirm another milestone for Feid. Each night, he broke the record for the greatest distance traveled during a live musical performance on stage—more than 10 kilometers. 'This achievement is the result of teamwork, passion, and dedication. Today, you've shown that every step counts,' said the rep upon presenting him the official certificate. The teamwork nod was on point. As Feid emphasized multiple times during our interview, 'It's not all about me, it's about a lot of people working together, sharing a dream, on the project called Feid, Ferxxo, Ferxxocalipsis. I always tell my crew, 'I want to be the bridge for you guys to make your dreams come true, too.'' This ethos was reflected in the comedown after each whirl wind performance, where the team lined the corridors leading up to the green room and chanted a victory song as every performer and crew member made their way backstage: Mira como mueve los hombritos! Y como se llama usted? ('Look at how he moves his shoulders! And what's your name?'). One by one, each passerby shouted their name, did a little dance, then received overjoyed bear hugs from dozens of people. Feid came last, and the love hit an apex —cheers, daps, jokes, more hugs. After, the entire team, including Feid's family, gathered for arepas con huevo and sopa de costilla as they went over the show highlights. 'For me, it's all about giving peace to people,' Feid explained. 'It's not like I'm selling feelings, but yes, the music is like I'm transferring emotions to the people. And those feelings translate better in person. You have to live with me in the moment and you'll get it. That's why you needed to come to Colombia to truly understand my thing.' And Las Velitas represents the city at its most triumphant, the people experiencing a collective high. 'When you feel that energy—people out on the streets, eating chicharon, drinking cervezas and aguardiente, it's something that I'm not afraid to show the world.' Feid said. I am from this city —and I want the world to understand that.'
Hypebeast
10-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hypebeast
Sexyy Red: Raunchy, Raw, and Running the Game
This article originally appeared in Hypebeast Magazine Issue 35: The Wavelength Issue. Sexyy Red isn't just fashionable—she's fashionably late, too. And for a rap diva whose star rises higher by the day, is there any other way to be? The LA Arts District photo studio where I'm supposed to interview Sexyy on this sunny February afternoon isn't the worst place to hold court, either, and the extra time gives me a moment to reflect. Sexyy's world moves fast—chart-dominating singles, A-list collaborations, and headline-grabbing moments unfold faster than fans (and haters) can keep up. As if that wasn't enough, the 26-year-old St. Louis native is also a mother of two who handles her art, her aspirations, her business, and her home life in a seemingly-impossible balancing act that continues to propel her pop culture rise at breakneck speed. Need proof? Her recent single featuring Bruno Mars, 'Fat Juicy & Wet' is testament to her crossover appeal—using her uniquely 'Sexyy' energy to create must-listen songs that even her detractors can't help but enjoy. After the track's release in late January 2025, it quickly shot into the top 10 not just in the US, but in Japan, Sweden, and Australia, as well. The video for the song, which features fellow Mars collaborators Lady Gaga and ROSÉ, also racked up nearly 30 million views in its first month alone. 'Fat Juicy & Wet' is far from Sexyy's first taste of breakout success, though. Her 2023 Tay Keith-produced single 'Pound Town' turned the internet on its head and made Sexyy an over-night superstar. With bass-heavy beats, unapologetically raunchy lyrics, and the now-iconic hook 'my coochie pink, my bootyhole brown,' Sexyy didn't just go viral—she imprinted herself in pop culture's DNA. She also proved she isn't just an entertainer—she's a liberator, unafraid to indulge in forbidden fun and filthy pleasures. 'Pound Town' made her 2023 mixtape Hood Hottest Princess a smash hit. And she followed that success with 2024's similarly acclaimed In Sexyy We Trust . That record included the hit 'SkeeYee,' which was notable not only as an infectious catchphrase but also for its ability to bridge the gender gap. Numerous viral videos featured the song in male-dominated spaces in what felt like an unprecedented embrace of a female-centered track. Teams and athletes like the Baltimore Orioles, the Ole Miss football team, UFC fighter Bobby Green, and NFL receiver Stephon Diggs used the song as the soundtrack for grand entrances and celebrations. 'SkeeYee's' brand of crossover appeal has become a signature of Sexyy Red's rise. She doesn't just make hits—she makes moments, tapping into a raw, unfiltered energy that resonates far beyond her core fanbase. And while her style is unmistakably her own, it also carries echoes of past trailblazers. Bits and pieces of 2 Live Crew, golden era Gucci Mane, Chief Keef, Trina, and Project Pat all find their way into Sexyy Red's potent potion. Maybe that's why superstars continue to flock to Sexyy. Not only has she collabed with Nicki Minaj and Megan Thee Stallion on her own songs and remixes, but she's also hopped on tracks with everyone from Tyler, The Creator ('Sticky'), to Drake and SZA ('Rich Baby Daddy'). Back at the photo studio, the anticipation of Sexyy's arrival is punctuated by a jarring noise that breaks the silence. A massive, 30-foot-high garage door groans open, revealing the LA sky that's now faded from day to night. A Ferrari 458, painted in blazing Rosso Corsa (Italian racing red), rolls into the studio—a slow-moving tribute to wealth, power, and beauty. Almost on cue, from the opposite end of the studio, Sexxy makes her similarly stunning entrance and heads straight to her dressing room. I follow her inside and for the hour that follows, we talk all things Red as she simultaneously curates her wardrobe and meticulously directs her makeup artist's every move—all while enjoying a thick slice of Prince Street pepperoni pizza. What's your connection to the color red? Has it always been your thing, or did it become part of your identity over time? It's either you love red or you love blue. Rihanna had red hair in the 'Man Down' video and I definitely liked how that looked… I even had red hair back when I was in middle school. I heard you were kind of a punk rocker back in the day. What are some of your favorite bands from you were in that era? I like Green Day, I like Pink, I like Avril Lavigne… You would be surprised at the stuff I like. Would you do a record with Green Day? Man, I definitely would do a record with Green Day. I like that kind of stuff. That's fresh. I just listen to all the genres. Speaking of all the genres, your single with Bruno Mars 'Fat Juicy & Wet' made some serious noise. Was making that record a fun experience? Yeah, Bruno, he's crazy. We had talked on the phone and brainstormed. I liked what we came up with and then we recorded it in the studio. It was something different. How picky are you when it comes to producers and beats? Do you spend a lot of time listening to music and finding the right track? Yeah, I do. I spend a lot of time listening to beats. If I can hear a song in my head, like if lyrics pop up in my head to the beat, then I'll be like, Okay, I can work with this. But if I'm just listening to the beat and nothing is popping up… NEXT! You're part of this wave of women running rap right now. In your eyes, what sets you apart? What's Sexy Red's unique stamp on the game? I ain't got no filter. I just don't know when I'm saying something crazy, so I guess that's it. Speaking of the glorious ladies of rap, if you were stranded on a desert island and could only have one female rapper by your side, who's making the cut? Recently I've been hanging out with Latto and GloRilla. It's between them two. They're fun. If you were stuck on that island with them, what would be Sexxy's survival superpower? Probably rapping to the mermaids. That's an important skill. You'll be like, 'You, get us some fish!' Yeah. Gotta get in with the mermaids. Then they'd hook us up. Do you ever watch survival reality shows? Hell yeah. I used to watch them back in the day. That stuff is totally crazy, like Naked and Afraid. Who does that? They're crazy. Facts. On the topic of survival skills, you popped up at a WWE match a while back. Are you a wrestling fan? My team approaches me with ideas like this from time to time. When they presented WWE, I immediately was like, 'Yeah, I would do that.' There's an element of the WWE that's obviously theatrical. Do you see yourself exploring acting more as your career continues to evolve? I could portray any kind of character. I could be an alien. I can do whatever. Do you believe in aliens? Definitely. I kind of believe humans are aliens. I do too. I think my ancestors were aliens. You know, I'm Aries and Aries are from Mars. For sure. Mars is Aries' ruling planet. You know, maybe that's why you like the color red. Exactly. It's in me. Red is hot and spicy, you know what I'm saying? Let's talk a little bit more about how you incubated your otherworldly sense of style. You used to work in hair. What was your name back then, Trill Red? Take us back to the Trill Red era — what was that time like for you? I used to be doing everybody's hair—braids and glue ins—out of my house. I used to be known for dressing pretty and having all the clothes and shoes and stuff. I was just into the ladies' fashions. But I also used to hate it because all my friends would make me do their hair. We'd be just hanging out and they'd be like, 'Can you do my edges?' I'd be like, 'No, I'm off work. Leave me alone, bro. For real.' Now that you have such a big platform, tell me about some of the boss lady moves you're making in the hair and beauty world. I want to get a salon and I want to do everything: clothes, nails, hair, makeup, lashes, waxing, whatever. One stop shop. Just go to different rooms, you know? I want to be the first one. I think it would be fun. Also, lip gloss… Yeah, your Northside Princess lip gloss line is next level. I feel like you're the only person in the beauty world that can pull of product names like 'Coochie Juice' and 'Gonorrhea.' Besides x-rated names, what makes a good lip gloss? The glitter, shine. Shit like that. I just like how mine is. I just put certain stuff in it that I would like, you know? Definitely. So beyond rocking great lip gloss, dressing fabulous, and having great hair, what does 'sexy' really mean to you regarding how you express yourself? Sexy is confidence. It's high self-esteem. It's basically feeling yourself. Just kind of like can't tell you nothing. Do you feel like people misunderstand what sexy is? Yeah, they can. Because it's not just about physical beauty? No, it's not. It's about how you feel for real. Because you could be ugly, but if you feel like you're sexy, can't nobody tell you nothing. That's called confidence. And confidence is sexiness. Exactly.
Hypebeast
03-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hypebeast
Kaytranada: Waves of Rhythm
This article originally appeared in Hypebeast Magazine Issue 35: The Wavelength Issue. Whether we inspect the behavioral mechanisms that propel the cosmological motions of the universe or the spiritual shifts within us, the wave is nature's most fundamental rhythm. One either learns the power of its force—or drowns beneath it. For the two-time Grammy-winning artist KAYTRANADA, success—as producer, DJ, and now singer—has been predicated on a profound understanding and manipulation of how the waves flow. This mastery has been both self-evident and continuously evolving throughout his career, as reflected through his production's maturation. Sonic alchemy appears on the track 'Feel a Way,' from 2024's TIMELESS , where his adroit ears transmute the quotidian into gold. It is a seemingly effortless feat in chopping samples to fit his swinging grooves. Here, he takes an innocuous sound, a drag-of-a-joint, from an obscure Jack Margolis record and transforms it into a slinking percussive loop. This is the kind of aural latticing that might be lost on casual listeners, but in perceiving its sonic nature, one realizes how each part of the whole is important—where, in this instance, the sample texturally accentuates the song's salient and hazy ambiance. Throughout KAYTRANADA's process, sounds are expertly flipped, stretched, and run through an effect bus, ultimately becoming his LPs or loosies. Those recordings are then tightly curated onto unassuming flash drives. Tracks are spun on CDJs from a sleek, lectern-like station; his DJ sets become gatherings where the 32-year-old, Port-au-Prince-born artist can commune with the energy his music stirs in the crowd. His sets unfold as an emotionally-pendulous journey. Bodies in the crowd ripple in waves and screams as his careful choreography guides every listener's pulse to his whim. That is craft at work. If it truly takes ten years to become a renowned household name, KAYTRANADA's fifteen-plus have turned him into a cultural fixture. Even a cursory search reveals how trusted he is in the industry, evidenced by an extensive list of credits: from Kali Uchis and PinkPantheress to Mach-Hommy, Aminé, and many other titans. But you don't even need to look; just listen. Whether you're a diehard fan or not, his influence on modern music is ubiquitous. That's not to say he has single-handedly created 'the sound.' He's undeniably a product of his upbringing on the internet, shaped by torchbearers like J Dilla and Madlib. But rest assured, if you hear a bouncy, staccato bass line accented by bright, jazzy synth chords, KAYTRANADA is likely the foundational driver behind those 'type beats.' Yet, even as he appears culturally buoyant, seemingly steady while the industry is engrossed with what's en vogue, his emotional buoyancy is another story. KAYTRANADA, or the public-facing persona many know, is informed by Louis Kevin Celestin, the person. And artistry is nothing without introspection. In conversation, KAYTRANADA describes TIMELESS as one of his most expressive and unencumbered projects to date, explaining that achieving solidity as an artist required an evaluation of his ongoing relationship with existentialism. And through this reflection, KAYTRANADA learned to embrace what we can't control—that we must surrender to the flow of uncertainty. HYPEBEAST: First off, congrats on the three latest Grammy nods. You've been nominated eight times now. How do you mentally process that? What's changed since your first nominations? KAYTRANADA: I feel good. I'm not putting all my attention on it, though, because it'll be disappointing if I lose. I'm nominated alongside some heavy hitters, and it's a toss-up. But they're all amazing peers. Whoever wins, it'll make sense. So yeah, I'm not trying to put my heart into it. Whatever happens, I'm not going to overreact. The core of that sounds like radical acceptance, which reminds me of a Creole proverb I learned: 'Dlo pa janbe trou.' To me, it feels like it's about resilience and understanding that we can't control all hardships, but we can control how we move through them. TIMELESS has that feeling. Yeah, I saw that when I was making this album—especially across the years since Bubba . The pandemic and moving to LA coincided with so many changes. Big life changes. I had to accept that when it comes to making music, it doesn't have to be so important that I feel a need to prove myself or stand out against other albums. I was overthinking a lot while making TIMELESS , wondering, 'How can I top my last one?' It got ridiculous. Eventually, I realized I really don't care. I'm just going to express how I felt in those times. That time of evolution and acceptance—giving up control and letting things be—translates into the album. I'm in an acceptance mood, taking things for how they are. That's connected to a quote from you about how it was hard to be yourself in your salad days while still innovating. What parts of your earlier self did you hold onto, and what did you let go of to embrace this evolution? Like I said, I had a lot of controlling thoughts—overthinking and comparing myself to my peers. That kind of thinking kills creativity: How can I be better than everybody else? That felt ridiculous, but you see how a generation was influenced by people like Kanye saying he and his music are better than everyone else. It led people to believe they needed to think the same. I realized that was a manipulation tactic: Why do I need to be better? Therapy showed me a lot: self-discovery, self-love. I always loved myself, but I never knew it was so important to care for yourself in that explicit way. That wasn't taught to me. After winning a Grammy in 2021, I went through things I didn't comprehend until therapy. I just had to go through a lot of old traumas. I get it, especially in a Black family. The idea is to be great first, then worry about trauma later—or not at all. Perfectionism creeps in. Eventually, we realize we can't keep measuring ourselves against everyone else. We need our own standard, our own lane. Yeah. Growing up Haitian, my mom was always like, 'You can do better than that. I was top of the class, so you can be too.' But I had trouble in school—bad grades, shy, found it boring. No matter how hard I tried, getting an A was tough. My mom would say, 'Why can't you get an A-plus? Why come back with a C-minus or B-plus?' It was always, You can do better. That bled into my music. I had to break myself from those chains. I feel that. My mom used to say, 'This is an A household.' I think sometimes our close collaborators can become a chosen family. That can bring 'family-like' clashes. TIMELESS has a lot of collaborators—a broad spectrum of voices. Despite that, it's cohesive. How did you maintain harmony while navigating creative disagreements? That definitely happened. Early on, I struggled to give feedback to artists. I wasn't great at saying, 'Hey, try this.' Sometimes I didn't trust my ideas, or I wasn't sure I had the idea. So I'd let them do their thing while I made the music. It still felt collaborative, but I got a bit more comfortable speaking up by the end of creating the album. I'm shy, and sometimes I feel my ideas aren't the best. Maybe I'm still healing from past trauma where collaborators told me my ideas sucked. That shattered me and made me not want to speak up. But sometimes their ideas are better—so it's about merging ideas. I never want it 100% me or them. I'd rather have a 50/50 approach to show it's truly collaborative. From a listener's perspective, it's hard to imagine you struggling with that, especially with the album's cohesive flow. And it also marks the return of your brother Lou Phelps as a featured artist. Family can be comforting but also tricky. How did that relationship influence you two musically this time around? It's been a journey. There were moments when we disagreed. As The Celestics, our second project was Supreme Laziness . Around that time, I was blowing up with my electronic stuff, but Lou was still trying to 'make it.' In a family, there can be entitlement. He assumed it would be easy— just drop an album, it'll go fine. But headlines made it seem like 'it was just KAYTRANADA and his brother.' That bothered him—and me. I wanted him to have his own shine. Early on, it was easy to give him my opinions, but he'd shut them down, wanting to prove himself. So I'd think, Never mind, do you. Even if I said, 'I'd change this idea,' he'd get defensive. That was something we had to go through. During the pandemic, he had an epiphany: 'Damn, man, all this time you were trying to help me be better.' Subconsciously, I agreed. He wasn't on my previous albums either, though he wanted to be, which was a scandal for my mom. She asked, 'Why not put your brother on?' But it didn't feel right until now. Lou was ready, and 'Call You Up' was just a demo of his that I grabbed for the album. This journey took understanding, communicating better, and maturity. We still collaborate. The Celestics haven't broken up. Lou's always been around. In both of your growth processes, you saw that family is family, and we just need to let them have space to be them. Exactly. Lots of patience and maturity. There's a vulnerability in that which extends to TIMELESS and its danceability. I told a homie some tracks feel like 'crying while dancing on the dance floor.' How'd you balance emotional weight while giving people something to move to? Life experiences, plus my favorite disco and boogie songs are often heartbreak anthems that are still upbeat. 'You broke my heart, but I'm going to be okay,' type songs. Think heavy instrumentation, bass, strings, drums — like seven or eight minutes, giving you a breakdown that feels so emotional. That's what inspired me. That was always my type of music. I've always loved danceable sad songs, with big chords and heavy drums but also a vulnerable message. Also, on TIMELESS , I explored more R&B, so some songs lean purely that way. That emotion also comes through on 'Stepped On,' where you follow in the footsteps of J Dilla and Madlib's Quasimoto by putting your voice on the track. What made you express yourself that way — where you're even more vulnerable than being behind the track? Pure self-expression. Nobody else has the melodies or ideas I have for my music, except maybe my brother. My beats are upbeat, but I don't always want house-style vocals. Sometimes I want it off-grid, like Raekwon or Q-Tip. In today's industry, people are often on the beat or even ahead of it, so I decided to do it myself. Also, as a Black gay man, I asked, What would I sing about? On 'Stepped On,' I wrote about a breakup and my personality as a yes-man—just feeling stepped on. The lyrics came easily. Being on tour with The Weeknd pushed me, too. I thought, I'm going to try to write a song for The Weeknd to challenge myself. During Bubba , I had demos singing with Thundercat playing bass; I wasn't confident, but everyone said, 'You sound good, Kevin.' I was like, really? Eventually, outside compliments—and compliments from somebody I was dating—pushed me to take it seriously. Now I have more demos stashed. 'Stepped On' was my test to see if people would like it, and it worked. In previous interviews, you've mentioned referencing punk, new wave, noise and genres known for being subversive and pushing sonic and cultural boundaries. How did they become tools for you to push your own or society's boundaries? In those genres, you don't need a perfect singer. It's purely self-expression, often dark, nighttime vibes. I found a link to some sub-genres of hip-hop—Dilla, Black Milk, Madlib—because they'd sample synthy new wave tracks, making them sound funky, electronic, but still hip-hop. When I started searching for those samples, I really listened and realized, They're just expressing themselves with synths and drum machines. They're not trying to stand out by doing something over-the-top or calling in extra producers. They're just being themselves. That was inspiring. I wanted that formula for my vocals: no rigid approach, just expression. Right, it's about letting go of those boundaries. In a way, you're paying homage to new wave/noise's ethos: Get on a track, say what you need to say, and move on. Exactly. TIMELESS is like a time capsule. Listening to those '80s and '90s artists, they'd just make an album—12 songs, here's how I feel. It could be their best album, their worst, or mid. Who cares? It's how they express themselves. I want my future albums to be that way, too. Not, 'Oh my God, gotta create the biggest album and do the biggest rollout.' No, just express yourself. Don't overthink it. Frankie Knuckles once quoted Robert Owens, saying, 'Give me roses while they're dead because I can't use them when I lay.' As an artist whose evolution has been visible, do you think you're getting the recognition you deserve, or is it too early to call? I'm still learning. I also feel not everyone hears what I'm doing—listeners can be lazy, skimming tracks too fast, creating quick judgments. So a part of me feels I have something to prove, but at the same time, I don't. Music is self-expression. I do it for myself and the people who are waiting for more—not for those who don't like it.
