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Recognizing the impact of video game music, the Recording Academy created a new GRAMMY Award category: Best Score Soundtrack for Video Games and Other Interactive Media. Industry experts discuss what's next for the billion dollar video game music market.
From the introduction of the 8-bit Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) in 1985, video games have proliferated global markets — from massive, online interactive worlds to free smartphone apps. Like music, video games have become an integral part of daily lives, while sound and music are an increasingly important aspect of gaming.
According to a Deloitte survey , 83 percent of Millennials and 87 percent of Gen Zers play some format of video games at least once a week. Fifty-eight percent of adult gamers and 70 percent of teen gamers stated that video games help them to stay connected with their friends, make connections, and express themselves. As such, the music within video games are a vital part of the experience and identity of a game.
"Music and games have always been intertwined in my mind," says Tayler Backman, Sound Designer and Composer at Hyper Hippo . "Whenever I hear a theme from 'Super Mario 64,' I’m immediately brought back to my childhood and some of my favorite memories playing the game with friends."
Music helps weave the tapestry that heightens a gaming experience through "emotion, immersion, and story," adds sound designer and composer David Fairfield. Games can also inspire; long-time gamer Jon Batiste told the Washington Post that he has been influenced by video game music since childhood.
Video games have given a broader platform to established artists and working musicians as well. Consider the connection between "Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater" and punk and ska music — the 1999 game introduced those genres to hundreds of thousands of new, young listeners — or the way the "Crazy Taxi" soundtrack featured Bad Religion and the Offspring. System Of A Down 's Serj Tankian contributed to the soundtrack for " Metal Hellsinger " while jazz has been used in a variety of games.
The connection between video games and music has evolved into a massive market that's projected to exceed $200 billion globally this year. Recognizing its significant cultural impact, the Recording Academy has even created a new category: Best Score Soundtrack for Video Games and Other Interactive Media .
Music will continue to evolve, but its fundamentals and importance will not. "In the beginning, video games reflected global culture. Over the next generation, video games began to influence culture," says Steve Schnur, Worldwide Executive & President of Music at video game company Electronic Arts. "Today, video games have become culture. And their principal cultural driver will always be music."
From its inception, video games have maintained a complementary relationship with music. Yet the way music is used in video games has evolved substantially over the last 40 years (and its genesis can be traced back to the 50s before the first video game even existed).
Early '80s gaming platforms like the 8-bit Commadore 64 home computer could only produce three notes; while the NES was a vast improvement, its musical output was still highly limited. Back then, a developer couldn’t make music and sound effects play simultaneously. This climate required composer-developers to exercise the full breadth of their creativity.
"When video games first started, the composer was often a developer on the same project. It was a solo endeavor," Fairfield says. Working alone has its limits. It's understandable, then, that the sound of a game would take a backseat to its functionality.
Still, the music and sounds from these older games are classics, and have had an undeniable influence on modern music, from EDM to synthwave. Today, game studios have entire departments dedicated to music and sound effects.
"We are now entering a time when technology enables greater collaboration and community. We inspire, push, challenge, and encourage each other to greater levels," Fairfield continues. "Game studios that recognize the value in creative collaboration will find better ways to enable it, and reap the rewards."
Video game music has several formats and pushes music forward in various ways. "It can be defined as the music composed natively for specific games or artists that activate/integrate themselves into existing games," notes Mark Rasoul, founder of MARK THE FUTURE and former VP of Marketing for 100 Thieves , a brand and gaming organization. "Ultimately, it’s important to understand the benefits from three different groups — the game publisher/studio, the musician/artist, and the actual gamers themselves, each of which has different POVs, needs and opportunities."
The way composers and artists find their way into video game music is somewhat similar to the traditional music industry. Both require putting in the work to develop your talent, find your voice, and get your work out there. But the video game industry also requires a level of technical know-how, as well as knowledge about how sounds work in a digital or virtual platform. These particulars have left the music industry attempting to navigate a new landscape.
"Video games have been making waves with new revenue streams for some time," says Uziel Colón, the former Senior Project Manager, Latin & Music For Visual Media at the Recording Academy, who played a role in the development of the new GRAMMY category. "There are lots of platforms through which people are monetizing video games, and the Metaverse brings even more new revenue streams. In the future, video games and music will merge — it’s already happening."
As the music world catches up to gaming, be prepared to see fascinating innovations — not just in how music is distributed and marketed, but how it is created and how it interacts with fans.
That said, some aspects of the music composition side of things will remain the same. It’s important for artists to follow what drives them , not be driven by what to follow. "I think the best way to get started is to just spend as much time as you can making music that means something to you and that you're proud of. How things sound sonically really matters in such a competitive field," advises composer Jonas Friedman, who has created music for video games such as "Splinterlands."
The best way into the industry is preparation; Fairfield suggests 10,000 hours of learning is a good target. "That's around 5 years of full-time employment, or 10 years of part-time evenings and weekends. I started earning my hours in middle school with my first [Digital Audio Workstation]," he notes. "Create, fail, learn, fix, and repeat. GET YOUR REPS IN. From there, it was evenings and weekends, side-projects, and tours."
Any evolving and competitive market requires time and knowledge. It’s also important to know the gaming landscape, as well as its various fanbases, because this is also your fanbase.
Gaming has a monumental global platform, offering the music within games an international recognizability that may otherwise take years or decades to cultivate. According to Deloitte, 34 percent of Gen Z gamers look up the music they hear in games to buy or stream; nearly a quarter share music recommendations with fellow gamers.
"Video games are bigger than the film and music industries combined," says Schnur. "And I believe one of the main reasons is that gaming has never feared technology. We’ve embraced technology from the very beginning, and often evolved it. Video games are an entertainment medium that always shifts towards the consumer. That’s why the future of this industry is driven solely by players’ imagination."
With constant enhancements in technology, access to music and the ability to create it will also increase. Fairfield believes that the decade-plus trend of proliferant music-making tech will only continue.
"This will bring in a new pool of talented creators into our industry….The downside of this accessibility is that it will flood the industry with mid to low quality content, and potentially drive prices down due to supply and demand (we've seen this with Spotify)," he says. "It means that game studios will have a lot of unique talent available to them — when they learn how to parse through the noise — which will lead to some really amazing innovation."
Gaming is ingrained in Gen Z's culture and its earnings are projected to be over $260 billion by 2025, notes Rasoul. There are over 2.7 billion current casual gamers worldwide — over a third of the world’s total population. Consider that number for a second: video games are a nearly unparalleled musical platform; it's like hitting a Konami code to access.
As video game music continues to evolve, there will be a whole host of new opportunities. These opportunities have yet to be fully capitalized on in the music industry, but the turn has already begun.
"I think it will be a continuation of what we’re seeing now with more opportunities for game soundtracks and composers to be recognized and reach new audiences," echoes Friedman, adding his enthusiasm for the new GRAMMY category. "That sort of acknowledgement for the artists behind the music, and respect for the industry as a whole, I think will become more commonplace."
Some even believe that musicians will soon prefer placing songs in a video game over films and television.
"Movies are much more fleeting and moments in time. Video games, behaviorally, bring people back, over and over to play," Rasoul says, positing that the nature of video games makes them a more dynamic and evergreen platform. "Games update over time, which gives the artist more opportunities to re-engage their music and audience." With the metaverse peeking its head into the conversation, this interaction has the potential to become even more lively, organic, and customizable.
In the future, Rasoul strongly believes musicians will inform gaming. "Artists will simply produce their own game experiences to communicate their music stories, versus needing a partnership with an existing title. Development resources are more abundant than ever, and creating their own franchises can produce long term fan engagement."
Backman, the composer, agrees, suggesting that mainstream artists may release an album within a video game, or curate a radio station within the game's universe (like Flying Lotus and others did in "Grand Theft Auto"). "We just saw Dr. Dre in their last [downloadable content]; your mission involves helping him get his stolen phone back, but you also see him and Anderson .Paak record a song together. I think we’re only going to see more and more of this type of merging of video game music and mainstream artists."
GRAMMY-winning composers have created scores and themes for video games, among them Hans Zimmer ("Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2") and Danny Elfman ("Fable"). "The work that’s happening in game themes and music is already incredible, but I think our part of the craft of game making might gain a little more notice and prestige if we have an Oscar winner composing the theme to the next 'Uncharted' game," continues Backman.
Video games create new worlds — some familiar, some fantastical — but they all have music. The future of video game music is full of endless possibilities, with the chance to tell new stories in different ways, to have music interact with fans on a completely new level, and with unprecedented levels of global access.
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Panic At The Disco!'s new album, 'Viva Las Vengeance,' sees a multitude of classic-rock references in the lyrics and melodies. Here's a track-by-track breakdown, based on further records to explore.
How many beloved bands evolve into a solo project — and then arguably become more famous for it? Needless to say, that's a short list. And on top of that, how many of those acts go on to wield the entire 20th-century rock encyclopedia? Panic! at the Disco might be the only name remaining.
Yes, the band is just Brendon Urie now, but he's more than embraced the role. As it turns out, a large part of OG Panic!'s appeal was Urie's vocal prowess; now, those pipes are more golden than ever. And when you've got an inimitable presence like Urie front and center, you can play around with the musical components without messing up the magic.
And in the case of Viva Las Vengeance — Panic! at the Disco's vibrant new album — you can travel all the way back to the AOR era, when bands like Journey , Steve Miller Band , Electric Light Orchestra , and Boston dominated the airwaves.
Described by Urie in a press release as "a look back at who I was 17 years ago and who I am now with the fondness I didn't have before," the album is an examination of misspent youth in Sin City, beamed through a kaleidoscope of classic-rock references. (And at least partly recorded on analog equipment, to boot!)
It's all there in the lyrics: "Middle of a Breakup" contains an exhortation to "gimme T. Rex," "Local God" references the hesher-ready B.C. Rich electric guitar, and "Star Spangled Banger" namedrops Dead Kennedys — and that's just on the first half. Throughout the album's 12 tracks, the exultant music bounces from punk to bar-rock to new wave and back again — your parents' record collection, raided.
If you're unfamiliar with the classic-rock and punk-adjacent canons, Viva Las Vengeance can act as a Rosetta Stone to find some new (old) jams. Here's a guide to how each song can lead you to a classic album from rock's past — ranging from artists from the early '70s to the early '90s.
To clarify, nothing on the record can be considered a "ripoff." When you're a musician of any persuasion, everything that came before you should be considered the lending library. Also: none of the below selections are carbon copies of any sort — most songs blend half a dozen other acts in the stew.
Rather, take the following as mere guideposts; these Panic! at the Disco songs merely evoke their feeling, their vibe, their groove. And most importantly, use it to check out some monumental music of yore — that perhaps you may have never heard until now.
From its first seconds, Viva Las Vengeance 's title track conjures the Ramones (hello, "Beat on the Brat"!). But once Urie's nimble vocal melody enters, it recontextualizes those pounding power chords, suggesting something brainier and more emotional.
Ergo, the song’s spiritual descendants are moreso the English punk-pop heroes the Buzzcocks . What should be your first stop? Their immortal 1979 compilation Singles Going Steady .
Lyrically, the proximally closest analog to this chorus might be Machine Gun Kelly (the "make up" and "break up" rhyme evokes his "Make Up Sex").
But as far as the intro and verses, the classically rumbling drum roll and tightly-wound guitar interplay — coupled with the relentless melodicism — recalls obscure power-poppers the Records, most famous for 1978's "Starry Eyes."
Before the tragic, early deaths of key members Tom Evans and Pete Ham, Badfinger emerged from under the Beatles' wing to write and record some of the most aching, soulful songs of the '70s.
Sure, it's a stretch to say that "Don't Let the Light Go Out" is any sort of homage. But if you connect with the jingle-jangling guitars, aching tempo and lump in Urie's throat here, you might have a new favorite band.
Unclassifiable alt-rock proginators Sparks are having a moment — both with a documentary and a new affiliation with Adam Driver by way of the 2021 film Annette — and the comically high-strung and dizzyingly sugary "Local God" most clearly recalls them.
If this is your highlight of Viva Las Vengeance , go for Sparks' early albums like 1982's Angst in My Pants , which were more firmly rooted in a new-wave language.
Then, if you dig that, check out their album Kimono My House , which built upon that influence (and many others, including glam) and resulted in something utterly original and idiosyncratic.
The stampeding chorus of "Star Spangled Banger" is purely in that Queen or Sparks mold — no, nothing to do with the Dan at all.
But that shuffling verse, with Urie stuffing in too many syllables over economical, harmonized leads, has everything to do with them. If you love this song but bought into Donald Fagen and co.'s unfairly negative associations, please reevaluate your position.
Queen is naturally going to be the go-to comparison tossed at Viva Las Vengeance , which makes sense — not just because of the Mercury -like harmonies echoing across the album, but the fact that Panic! covered "Bohemian Rhapsody" for the 2016 Suicide Squad soundtrack.
Now, Urie has a "Bohemian Rhapsody" of his own — thanks to the overture and overall arrangement of "God Killed Rock and Roll."
If you only know that theatrical classic in a bubble, let this Panic! track lead you to the LP home of "Bohemian Rhapsody": A Night at the Opera . From there, check out other classic Queen offerings, like 1974's Sheer Heart Attack and 1977's News of the World .
The angular offbeats and drum-machine-style rhythm that open "Say it Louder" recall the mechanistic economy of the Cars . Well, not just them, but the new-wave milieu that birthed them, which went on to influence the sound of early-aughts acts like the Strokes and Franz Ferdinand .
But it doesn't stay that way: "Say it Louder" then evokes a many-hued fantasy realm that would make Goodbye Yellow Brick Road -era Elton proud.
While the frazzled opening of "Sugar Soaker" might seem to foreshadow a noisy meltdown, it soon settles into an easy, chooglin' groove that classic-rock favorites Steve Miller Band largely dealt in. (And when the barrelhouse piano arrives, you get a tint of Stones .)
A vanguard of the West Coast " unpopular pop " scene of the '90s, Jellyfish could both indulge in whimsical, theater-type excursions and sublime baroque pop a la the Beach Boys — oftentimes in the same song.
Of their two albums, check out Spilt Milk first; the irrepressible "Something About Maggie" could be a long-lost B-side thanks to its carnivalesque energy and fountain of melodies.
Urie lets his inner Jeff Lynne fly on "Sad Clown," which fussily toggles between sections while never failing to grab your ear.
To some extent, ELO were a greatest-hits band. But many of their records hold up from front to back, like 1976's A New World Record and their earlier opus, 1974's El Dorado .
Amid all of the Beach Boys ', well, beachy hits and their 1966 classic Pet Sounds , their run of '70s albums remain somewhat underrated — like 1970's Sunflower . "All By Yourself" subtly recalls that autumnal masterpiece in how it marries a mellow, stony feel with a rainbow of harmonies.
Like that classic passion project by multi-instrumentalist Tom Scholz, "Do It To Death" both sounds like a rock band from Mars and the expression of one man — and the fact that Panic! at the Disco pulled that off with "Do it to Death" speaks volumes about his longevity. Viva Urie!
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Demi Lovato's eighth studio LP, 'HOLY FVCK,' brings the singer back to her rocker-girl roots — but this time, with a new perspective and a whole lot more sex appeal.
On the eve of her 30th birthday, Demi Lovato released her eighth studio album, HOLY FVCK . Upon the album's arrival, Lovato celebrated with a message to fans.
"HOLY FVCK gave me the freedom to express myself in ways I didn't know were possible and find joy I'd been missing when making music," she wrote in a social media post . "It's cathartic and grounded, yet exhilarating and a hell of a good time."
That pretty much sums up HOLY FVCK 's 16 tracks. The album is a whirlwind of hard rock sounds and hard-felt emotions, but overall, it feels like Lovato is home.
Those who have been following Lovato since her 2008 debut Don't Forget remember that her pop music is rooted in rock. As she makes a return to her guitar-heavy beginnings, Lovato does so with growth both personally and musically — making HOLY FVCK a wild ride that has seemingly set Lovato free.
As you dive in yourself, take a look at five takeaways from Demi Lovato's HOLY FVCK .
Four days after Lovato held a "funeral" for her pop music this past January, she shared a photo of a sweaty, teenage Demi performing with the caption "15 & it wasn't a phase." Lovato was a teenager in the emo era of the mid-2000s — the " Warped Tour days ," as she put it — which in part inspired the rock-leaning sound of her first two albums. That influence makes a comeback on HOLY FVCK .
While "SUBSTANCE" and "HAPPY ENDING" are more reminiscent of the pop-rock she displayed on her first two albums, Lovato channeled her heavy-metal interests on "HEAVEN," "FREAK" and "EAT ME." But whatever the rock route she takes, every song sounds like Lovato is fully in her element.
From the moment she wailed on the bridge of her debut single "Get Back," it's been no secret that Lovato has insane vocal power. But as even Lovato herself admits , "I never went this hard."
There are several high notes across HOLY FVCK that will have you saying exactly that — particularly the final notes of "CITY OF ANGELS" and "SUBSTANCE," or the bridge of "COME TOGETHER." Demi goes hardest on "EAT ME," with thrashing guitars that pair with Lovato's impressive scream-singing for one hell of a headbanger.
If you thought Lovato couldn't get any more provocative than 2015's "Cool For the Summer" or 2017's Tell Me You Love Me deep cut "Concentrate," brace yourself for HOLY FVCK . (She's not in bondage on the cover for nothing!)
Several tracks on the album make it clear that Lovato is feeling herself, including the title track which flips the idiom into a confident remark for the bedroom: "I'm a holy f—." Elsewhere, she feels the adrenaline rush of attraction ("BONES"), fantasizes about a sexual venture through Los Angeles ("CITY OF ANGELS"), and sneakily praises the climax ("COME TOGETHER").
At the same time, Lovato's hyper-sexual vibe may inspired by a new love, as she teases in the metaphorical anthem "WASTED" ("The highest high can't hold a candle to/ Getting wasted on you," she belts). Whatever is bringing it out, she's not afraid to let it be known.
After Lovato posed the question, "Demi leaves rehab again/ When is this s— gonna end?" in HOLY FVCK 's lead single "SKIN OF MY TEETH," it seemed the album may be another detailed account of her complicated relationship with addiction like 2021's Dancing with the Devil… the Art of Starting Over . Instead, she takes a step back and reflects on much of what she's been through.
Perhaps the most surprising perspective comes on "29," which assesses her relationship with actor Wilmer Valderrama — which began when she was 17 and he was 29 — in scathing fashion. "Finally 29/ Funny, just like you were at the time," she sings. "Thought it was a teenage dream, just a fantasy/ But was it yours or was it mine?"
According to HOLY FVCK 's balladic closer "4 EVER 4 ME," some of Lovato's realizations about her relationship with Valderrama came from her newest romance, which might be a bit more stable. "I can't hold back/ I've fallen in love," she gushes on the final chorus. "I think this is forever for me."
Other revelations seemed to come within Lovato herself. She admits survivor's guilt on "DEAD FRIENDS" and questions whether she'll find peace on "HAPPY ENDING," but ultimately asserts on "FEED" that she has a hold on her demons — at least for now: "I got two wolves inside of me/ But I decide which one to feed."
"I know the part I've played before/ I know the s— that I've ignored/ I know the girl that you adored/ She's dead, it's time to f—ing mourn," Lovato proclaims on the chorus of "EAT ME." Though it's not the opening track, the song serves as the singer's predominant declaration from HOLY FVCK : I'm done caring what you think.
Whether she's shutting down haters on "HELP ME," inviting everyone to her freakshow on "FREAK," or delivering headline-worthy lyrics on "29," Lovato brings plenty of statement pieces to HOLY FVCK . She seems to have grown from the lessons she's learned, and put in the work to feel better than ever — so now it's time to rock.
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On their 2002 debut album 'Lord Willin',' Clipse’s drug-slinging rhymes and the Neptunes’ pop-centric production established Virginia’s foothold on street rap.
As rap moved into the new millennia, the industry abandoned the antiquities of its past and widened the margins, drawing in musical talents from all corners and elevating them to astronomical heights. Street rap duo Clipse was instrumental in the geographical shift, with 2002’s Lord Willin' establishing Virginia’s foothold on coke rap and a new era of lyrical titans.
By the early 2000s, hip-hop’s maturation was in full swing: Atlanta was building towards its future reign, the boom of Houston’s hip-hop scene was on the horizon, and Virginia’s spotlight grew brighter over the decade as Timbaland , Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo of the Neptunes crafted the era’s most innovative sounds.
While Timbo went on to guide the careers of Ginuwine , Aaliyah and Missy Elliot , local legend Teddy Riley brought Pharrell and Hugo under his wing. As the Neptunes, the two produced records for the likes of Ma$e, N.O.R.E. and R&B groups SWV and Total. Eventually, the duo revisited their relationship with two childhood friends who would later chronicle their hometown’s booming drug trade under the moniker Clipse.
Virginia-based MCs and brothers Gene "No Malice" and Terrence "Pusha T" Thornton aspired to leave a life of selling drugs in favor of cooking up hit records. With the help of Pharrell, Clipse signed to Elektra Records in 1998, and by the next year, had an album, Exclusive Audio Footage , ready to hit retail stores.
"That album was nothing more than friends together doing something they love," Pusha explained in a 2002 interview with XXL . "No outside interference, no arguing. It was all happy times."
Despite a record slated for a 1999 release date, the group’s triumph was short-lived. The album’s lead single, "The Funeral," failed to make a mark outside of Virginia radio, and the project was shelved. While the album was heavily bootlegged for years — and mysteriously released on streaming platforms this May — the two brothers were dropped from the label.
"I’m gonna tell you who was disappointed the most," Pusha recounted to XXL . "That was Pharrell. He was like real hyped about working with [established artists] but he’s always been like, ‘Yo, we gotta show them how we do it.’"
Determined to shepherd their career success, Pharrell build up enough cache to establish Star Track Entertainment with Arista Records in 2001. He brought No Malice and Pusha in as the imprint’s first signees and released their debut album, Lord Willin ’, on Aug. 20, 2002.
Boasting guest spots from heavyweights like Jermaine Dupri, Jadakiss, Styles P, Faith Evans, Fabolous and others, Lord Willin is a mesmerizing journey through the Thortons' roots in the Indian Lakes section of Virginia Beach — an environment that fed their hunger for life’s treasures and fueled their rap careers.
"It was really about establishing identity, and, like, putting our flag in the ground," Pusha recalled in a 2012 interview with Life +Times . "We basically wanted people to understand and know where we were coming from — no one had ever seen this side of Virginia before. We knew that this music was a bit newer."
The Clipse were outside of what the Neptunes were doing, Pusha continued. "This was at a time when Pharrell was hot, the Neptunes were hot. He was on every hook from Nelly to Mystikal, everybody" and is the first voice on "Grindin'." "The intro…basically set the tone for all of those maneuvers and moves. It was just like, 'This is what we are, we’re different. This is the streets, this is Virginia, this is new, this is risk-taking.' Playas, we ain’t the same. You know."
Led by street anthem "Grindin’" and radio smash "When The Last Time," the album is laced with sooty tales about the duo’s drug-and-gun dealings and the glamorized corruption of their past hustle ("Virginia"), a lifestyle sown from the pillars of their own family tree. On the LP’s "Intro" No Malice raps, "Scouts honor, started with my grandmama / Who distributed yay she had flown in from the Bahamas."
All 13 tracks are produced by The Neptunes, who were at the peak of their powers and fresh off collaborations with Britney Spears, Jay-Z, Usher and other artists. The Clipse meld their minimalistic and radio-seeking production with the rawness of No Malice and Pusha’s coke-slinging rhymes on "Cot Damn" and "Gangster Lean."
Along with the riches of big-time dealing on "Let’s Talk About It," No Malice offered a sign of empathy on "I’m Not You," rapping, "To feed poison to those who could very well be my kin / But where there’s demand, someone will supply / So I feed them their needs at the same time cry / Yes it pains me to see them need this / All of them lost souls and I’m their Jesus."
The production of Lord Willin’ doesn’t always match the gravity of No Malice and Pusha’s mountainous themes and enthralling anecdotes, with the pop-ish sounds of songs like "Young Boy" muffling the accounts of their upbringing. But by all measures, the Clipse’s debut placed the military town and tourist city on the hip-hop map — a foray that was driven by the duo’s vivid lyrics and the Neptunes’ generally immersive production.
Clipse’s first full-length showing landed at No. 4 on the Billboard 200 and sold 122,000 units in its first week of release. It was certified Gold by the RIAA on Oct. 1, 2002, and sold upwards of 950,000 copies as of December 2009, according to Nielsen Soundscan. In validating its classic status, Rolling Stone also ranked the album No. 12 on its 100 Best Debut Albums of All-Time list.
Lord Willin’ sparked Clipse’s continued success and popularity. Their 2006 follow-up Hell Hath No Fury is now a classic, while the We Got It 4 Cheap mixtape series with Re-Up Gang members and Philadelphia-based rappers Ab-Liva and Sandman is beloved. But in the years since No Malice and Pusha’s third outing, Til The Casket Drops ,in 2009 , their musical paths couldn’t have grown more detached.
While Pusha has built a stellar solo career with the same coke raps and command he came to the game with, No Malice found solace in his faith. He distanced himself from the rap industry and altered his former moniker "Malice" on Twitter back in 2012 .
"Can you imagine how many people went to jail listening to things that I said? Forget everybody else and other rappers and other groups, think about how many times people got pulled over, went to jail (and) my record playing in the car," No Malice told Vlad TV in 2017. "Think about how many times somebody’s head was blown out, and the theme music is still playing."
The brothers have collaborated sparingly over the years, with the group coming together for Pusha’s "I Pray For You," Kanye’s "Use This Gospel" and on the I Know Nigo! compilation cut "Punch Bowl." Every time the duo reunites, fans clamor for another classic from the group, including King Push, who, admittedly, is just as uncertain as the public.
"I talked to him this morning and he was like, ‘Yo, I’m hearing what people saying,’ but he’s not committing," the "Diet Coke" rapper told The Breakfast Club in April. "Regardless of whatever perspective he wants to attack it from, me and him are creative enough to definitely make it work. That’s not an issue, it’s just him and what does he want to do."
It's been two decades since the release of Lord Willin' , but the album has only appreciated in the years since No Malice and Pusha first put the city of Virginia Beach on their backs. While the older Thorton has squared his focus on his spirituality, and Pusha has forged a path as the "Martin Scorsese of street rap," their contributions will remain linked and their legacies forever immortalized.
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The multihyphenate is riding high thanks to the success of "Boyfriend," a song that combines vulnerability with liberation. In return, it became a breakthrough hit.
Dove Cameron has long been a star. Audiences first met her in the Disney Channel series "Liv and Maddie" — which won her an Emmy thanks to her dual-role duties as twin sisters — followed by her starring role in the wildly popular Disney Channel franchise The Descendants. More recently, she added a GRAMMY nomination to her repertoire thanks to her turn in the Apple TV+ musical parody series, "Schmigadoon!"
But earlier this year, Cameron kicked off a new chapter with the dramatic power-pop anthem "Boyfriend." The song served as a liberating moment for Cameron in part because it touches on her queerness — but perhaps more prominently, it was a re-introduction to the singer and actress the world met nearly 10 years ago.
"I couldn't find my authentic mode of expression until not long ago," she admits to GRAMMY.com. "I felt my whole life I've been making shapes of myself and I knew I felt very trapped, though I didn't know where I was going to go. I didn't know who I was."
"Boyfriend" wasn't Cameron's first step into her career as a pop singer/songwriter — she's released a handful of one-off singles since 2019 — but it was her first that frankly addressed her sexuality. "Ladies first, baby, I insist," she sings. "I could be a better boyfriend than him."
Cameron continued speaking her truth with the provocative follow-up single "Breakfast," which confidently declares "I eat boys like you for breakfast" in the chorus. As she preps her debut EP , she's making it clear that nothing is too raw and real to say in song.
In a vulnerable conversation with GRAMMY.com , Cameron opened up about how baring her soul into this new music has led to her biggest triumph. "The idea of being seen for everything I actually am is heaven to me."
The lyrics to "Boyfriend" lived on your phone long before it ever became anything. So was that just one moment of, "Oh my god, I need to write this down" and then you put it away? Or was that the result of a lot of different moments of you pecking away at the lyrics?
"Boyfriend" came out of a really awful night that I think I'm never going to elaborate on. But it always happens to me — there's a big traumatic event and I'll be wrecked by it for a few days.
A week later, I was sending one of my best girlfriends, [actress] Kiersey Clemons, a voice note about this night I had. She's queer, and we'll talk about the experience of walking around as a queer person in the world quite often.
At that point I was laughing about what had happened and framing it in more colloquial ways — putting it in terms that were more soundbitey and lyrical. That's probably where the first iteration of "Boyfriend" came from. It was me kind of joking with her.
Something important with me in my writing process is taking a huge event, emotion or concept and dissolving it down into a cheeky retelling. I'm big into laughing at my trauma, it's definitely my coping mechanism. I find that things that are highly emotional to me can end up turning into laissez-faire retellings.
You've said the night in question that inspired "Boyfriend" was multidimensional, both positive and negative. So does that mean it was negative at first and then you made it into a positive through turning this difficult night into a song?
It was definitely mostly negative that night. I left in fits of tears and called my best friend saying, "I don't know what to do!" But I'm also able to take myself out of it and ask myself, "There's a reason why this experience is happening — what can I find in it that I'm supposed to receive?"
This time it happened pretty quick after I was done crying and melatonined myself. I was already looking for a seedling of what was going to make me better from that experience. Just like chipping away at a piece of marble to reveal the beautiful statue underneath, I feel that every moment of suffering in my life is meant to carve me out better. I got way more out of that night than I ever thought I was going to.
"Boyfriend" is very raw. You've said the song is "an amalgamation of the feeling of growing up queer." Was there ever a moment when you said, "I don't know if I want to be this honest and vulnerable in my music?"
Well, I think that the answer to that is layered. I definitely think that it was not in my plan to write an intensely queer, broad, somewhat-anthem. I didn't set out to do that and didn't think it was going to be how my music career found its footing.
I'm not thinking how people are going to perceive this. It's a huge gift I've given myself to have tunnel vision and be present.
More than anything, this is something I've tried to communicate before, but I have this deep, deep, deep fear of never being seen for what I actually am. I spent a lot of my life being what I need to be to survive in actual danger and actual traumatic situations, as a young straight-presenting woman in the industry — as a young girl, in terrible relationships, in my family home, in fashion, film, and TV. I felt my whole life I've been making shapes of myself and I knew I felt very trapped, though I didn't know where I was going to go. I didn't know who I was.
The idea of being seen for everything I actually am is heaven to me. It feels intimate, and it feels connected, and it feels like human-on-human life — which is really our whole existence, isn't it?
The idea of being loved by the masses — as society has defined it — is way scarier to me than the idea of being so authentic, and being known for that. Being liked or hated, I'm not as attached to. I just couldn't find my authentic mode of expression until not that long ago.
So no, [being vulnerable] doesn't scare me at all. As a matter of fact, it makes me feel much, much safer. If I died never fully seeing myself or letting other people see me, that would be the greatest tragedy of my life.
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I find it interesting that even though you've been releasing music for a couple years now, you're just this year being regarded as a breakout artist with your first pop hit. It seems your biggest success in music so far is a direct result of your vulnerability.
It backed up this feeling (I've always) had of universality in the specifics. I saw a quote about songwriting that talked about how you need to get on the other side of an experience and have clarity about it, otherwise your lyrics are just complaining about a situation. I think that's so true. We're all so overwhelmed with other people's ideas, emotions, energies, judgments and fears that it's hard to tap out of the noise to make something true for you.
I had to go through a serious deep, dark depression — and then a very reclusive mode and dyed my hair dark, and cut myself off from everybody and everything — to figure out what the f— was wrong with me [and] to find what hurt me so much. I had no clue: not even an inkling or heat signature.
But then I really tapped into my own biosphere of everything I was feeling that no one else could point me toward — because we're only going to end up where we're supposed to go. When I was able to do that, my writing became divorced from other people's ideas, opinions and energies. If I hadn't done that, I'd forever be writing from the point of view of the general populace.
I'm constantly asking myself, "Am I writing for me right now? Or am I writing because I know people are going to hear this?" I do think the way to create the best stuff is to step away from the world and then come back when you have something that you think is true to you — which is easier said than done when there are a million voices around you all the time.
When you set out on your music project, you said you were trying to develop a new sound you didn't have a name for. What was the new sound in your head and what were your influences? I recently heard that success comes down to two things: knowing what you want and knowing how to get it, but sometimes knowing what you want is the most difficult thing.
Definitely. Talking to people in the music industry, the one thing everybody asks is "What's your sound, who are your influences?" And I was always kind of frustrated by this. It'd trigger me because I had no good answer.
But I also thought it was good I couldn't point to another artist, because then maybe that meant I had something new to offer. It's difficult to create your own thing and find your own lane. I think I'm still finding it now.
"Boyfriend" is a pretty straight-up pop track with nothing revolutionary. How I described it to ["Boyfriend producer] Evan [Blair] once is that it's almost as if we made a dubstep track, but with horns. I kind of look at a lot of the friction between the blueprint of dubstep — but instead of electronic production, its horns and strings. Add in jazz vocals combined with R&B and pop vocals, and a viewpoint of a lot of rock songs, but without any of the rock instrumentation. So it's a mix of all of these things that don't go together.
When I hear a song like your new single "Breakfast," with its breathy yet powerful vocals, it makes me think of your motif you've talked about of making music from a villain's perspective. Does that influence your delivery then, because at the same time you are an actress. And if you're thinking of yourself as a villain character, are you then sounding vocally like a villain?
There's been a rise in culture in general of identifying with the villain. I alway grew up loving the villains. I used to go to school in fangs and weird s—, which, looking back, was totally just a normal, natural expression for me, but also very much isolated me. But I was a darker kid who liked darker things.
In my town, everybody was playing soccer. I was a total loser. I kind of grew up not having many friends and being an outsider. Once I found theater, I thought, "Oh, there's more of us."
The binary-obsessed world that we're in — with gender, politics and the black-and-white of it all — it all leaves very little room to empathize with the other . I think that the reason the world is so attracted to the villain these days is that — when you remove a couple of the more theatrical elements from most villains in every movie — they're just an antagonist who has been highly traumatized.
With our post-collective trauma in our world, we all find ourselves feeling like the villain compared to the protagonist, who is so boring, vanilla and milquetoast. No one can relate to the protagonist anymore. I started using that as my descriptor of my sound a couple years ago and no one really knew what I was talking about.
In terms of my vocal quality, for a long time I was doing musical theater, and I spent so much time living very puritan in order to keep my voice in a certain tenor. By the end of every show I did, I was on intense vocal rest every day and I'd speak through typing things out and a robot would say it for me. It was just so monastic and restrictive that I'd rebel afterwards by blowing my voice out and drinking a bunch of coffee and staying up really late. It gave me this kind of this incredibly raspy, smokey tone that I'd try to train myself out of.
But at the end of the day it was like, "Why don't I lean into this, because this is how my voice sounds?" I love listening to jazz and vocals with loads of texture and history. That's really what a smokey tone is: it's vocal damage.
When Evan and I started recording, we were huge fans of super intimate vocals. When you hear all the rasp and the tone, you're hearing air, and it feels highly sexy. It's like someone singing to you in bed.
If I do literally one thing in my career, it's going to be to try to build intimacy between human beings. Music is a great way to do that.
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