"Although I didn't write this song, it spoke to me in a way that made me feel as if it was my own story,” Brandon said. “I found myself playing it over and over again in my bedroom, remembering situations that I've been through.”
Check out the video for yourself below.
Proving time and time again to be a star power we can all see ourselves in, with his added verification, “...this shit is crazy, because I’m deadass a normal person,” maybe A-Boogie’s success isn’t solely reliant on his ability to curate a highly specialized voice or his attention-worthy hooks. Maybe it can be chalked up to the profound fact that the masses can relate and trust him to convey messages felt by an entire generation.
Tell me a bit about your earliest musical memory.
I remember hearing this Michael Jackson song pretty young that made my mom cry.
Which one?
It went something like, “I treated you bad.” It’s called “Who’s Lovin’ You.”
So who were you inspired by growing up? Any New York artists?
It was mostly people in New York, but as the era has moved on, it became everybody—everybody got a chance to shine. I know someone from Australia now, and I think they’re about to become pretty big in America. And that’s a whole 20 hours away from here! His name is Laroi, shout out to him.
Do you think your music has adapted from your inspirations, or are you in your own lane?
Music is a cycle. I’m not gonna say I copy, but I will say that I do get influence from certain artists that I grew up on. And nowadays, I just try to find new sounds. Ultimately, that’s why I always say I have my own sound, because I’m constantly trying to find something new. I know how the game works, people that follow behind the current era are gonna sound like this era a bit, because it’s hard to hit that target. For example, Lil Uzi. No one can sound like him if you think about it. People can try to use his voice a little bit, but that’s his style, and only one person can do that.
I read that you would rap at lunchtime back in school, is this true?
I wasn’t really performing. I was just having fun—banging on the table, freestyling. Everybody would get in the cypher and take turns.
Were those early thoughts of you thinking you wanted to make a living out of this?
I always dreamed of it. You know how you always think of something like, “damn, imagine?” It was one of those things, and you never really think it will happen. Because there’s so many rappers in New York, DC, Atlanta. Out of all those millions of rappers who are trying to be that one rapper, you’re like, “Damn, I can’t do it.” But then some people just go with it, because they’re talented, and you can’t stop talent.
So what made you want to keep going?
I saw the talent in myself. I knew I was going to make it. I had to really practice my craft to get to the level I’m at right now, and I’m still working on it. I always had a low voice—it isn’t really a singing voice, but I made it my own. I call it rapping with a melody.
Well it’s clearly been working well for you. I know you’re really well-known for collaborating—and the younger generation, especially within New York, definitely isn't afraid of working together. Do you think you’ve benefited as an artist being apart of this current generation?
It became a big advantage. Me and my manager were actually just talking about this in the car. This era has a head start if you compare it back to the Jay-Z era. They were selling CDs, and it wasn't hitting like streaming, or other ways you can more easily make money off music now. So we have a big head start, and imagine how that will change in the next 10 years. I feel like somebody like me could be a billionaire in half the time. Everything is speeding up. And you can see it in the stock market too.
I know you recently had a daughter, congrats! Which of your own songs do you sing to her?
I like to sing the hook to “Come Closer.” She likes that one, but she likes hard songs too.
What’s one thing you’ve learned since becoming a father?
When it comes to being a father, you learn how to balance yourself. Not even yourself—your family. You understand that you’re not just doing stuff for yourself anymore, it’s for your family. Your life becomes more valuable, because you want to leave your kid better than you were.
You recently instagrammed a picture with the caption, “I wish I was regular.”
Yeah, it’s a song I just made. It’s my new project—nobody would know though. You know when you want to talk about something, but you just keep holding it in?
Yeah, of course.
That’s one of those songs where I kind of just started venting and going back and forth. I never like to stay on one topic, especially when it comes to love songs. If it’s too lovey-dovey, I can’t listen to it.
Love isn’t all good parts anyway. It’s compromise and work.
Yup, I know that.
Tell me one thing that I don’t know about.
It’s a lot of things, but one thing? I don’t like to tie my shoes. I just slide them on. I don’t like that big bowtie look.
*Looks down at my tied-up sneakers*
Fuck, sorry.
So, what’s one thing about the music industry that surprised you?
You know how you see a person on TV as a kid, and you meet them? And then you learn, “Oh shit, this is actually a real person.” Now, I always have flashbacks to times like that, and I look at where I am now, and I’m really in their shoes. It’s hard to still think about how it feels in my own shoes.
What is that feeling like?
It’s a big accomplishment. It makes me want more, to become the best in the world. Imagine becoming the best in your lane, in your era.
What for you would mean being the “best”?
I don’t look at the most popular—I look at the numbers. I like numbers.
Tell me a bit about the creative process on Hoodie SZN.
A lot of artists have the same process, in a way. Everybody freestyles now. Freestyling isn’t freestyling anymore. You just go off the top. But when you get the bar, you can just try it over and over again. It’s easy now, because you can fix your mistakes, and people gotta realize that. A lot of people will just make a song and not pay attention to the actual quality.
Are you obsessed about each piece of the puzzle when you make a song?
Every word. I make sure every word is heard, and if not, it’s for a reason.
You have a lot of amazing features on the album. Who was the most interesting person to collaborate with?
These dudes be interesting. I ain’t gonna lie, this shit is crazy, because I’m deadass a normal person. I’m not too normal though, I be doing weird shit.
What are you listening to right now?
Artist 2.0.
Anything else?
Nah, Uzi and I have like seven songs I’ve been listening to lately. We just made them, but I’ve been listening to them all day.
Which is your favorite?
We did a reggaeton-type beat, and people won’t expect it. That’s why it’s fire.
If you could return to one time in your life, not to re-do it but just to relive it, where would you return?
There’s not too much shit I would go back to—I was bad back then. If i didn't move from New York to Florida for the rest of my high school years, I wouldn't be here. I’m good moving forward.
What’s next?
My next step is to show people instead of telling them.
“I see it all [the song, the video, the clothing] as different components of the same storytelling. I like to flesh an idea out with these different tools because each part is an opportunity to reveal a bit more of my position to people,” Gussy tells me over email. “I like the music video because of how it allows me to compose with images.” For their live performances — at least those that I have been fortunate to see — Gussy’s look transforms. They hinge on the way their body (classically trained in dance) reacts to the music, moving intuitively to the beat in a strapless dress and knee-high boots. It’s just as electric to watch, but Gussy unlocks a different code of gestures and temperament; they seem even more poised and stripped back singing live. The power of their work lies in its wavering contradictions; its unspooling multitudes.
Sydney was once a city renowned for its club scene. Oxford Street, a metropolitan thoroughfare, was known as the Gay Golden Mile in its heyday. In February 2014, the State Government — provoked by two fatal, and completely random, one-punch attacks that occurred in the infamous Kings Cross neighborhood — implemented lockout laws: bars and clubs closed their doors at 1.30am, and a call for last drinks for whoever was still inside at 3am. The contentious decision received notable dissent from two of Sydney’s richest cultural hubs: the live music scene and the queer community, whose late-night visibility and profit would undoubtedly disintegrate. As a queer performing artist, though, Gussy is skeptical of the conflation.
“I think it’s important to recognize that queer people can make community outside of the club,” they note. “Scene and community mean different things to me. A council that preferences gentrification and corporations over art and entertainment and fun is somewhat unsurprising to me, considering the country I live in.”
This tension between community and isolation has an influence on Gussy’s craft, particularly given the current climate of the music industry. “I don’t find my environment to be imprinted on my music in any tangible way… I’ve taken in sounds from around me because of proximity to other artists — and because my music is often co-produced with other people — but we are far less localized as artists today.” Such isolation may be particularly felt in a country as far removed as Australia, but the more international commercialization of queer artists — Janelle Monae, Christine and the Queens, Sophie and Kim Petras, to name a few — is still a profound and exciting rupture of the heteronormative zeitgeist. “I think it definitely instills confidence in emerging artists to see their experiences reflected and upheld in the industry,” Gussy says, although believes that the influence is more a result of their dynamic talent, rather than their explorations of gender identity. “I don’t think [these artists] are beholden to a narrative of queerness… their music speaks for itself entirely.”
Gussy’s new EP, Tantrum, released later this year, comes after a two-year hiatus, and marks a new age for their sound. “I really sense a shift in how I feel about making music.” They acknowledge, too, the pertinent pressure to keep up appearances. “Maintaining self confidence [is hard]... I also really suffer from perfectionist’s procrastination, but I’m ready to let it go.” They’ve collaborated with Australian-based producers—Jikuroux from Sydney and CORIN from Melbourne—to tap into more of a club-ready vibe, but assure that their self-described “Neue emo lyrics” remain all over the record. “This feels like a really natural progression for me and I’m excited to put it out,” Gussy says. I, and all their other fans, wait eagerly for a new incarnation of their work; a mirror that reflects another fragment of their complex and evolving style.
Follow Gussy for more updates on Tantrum.
Now Mikael is back and more sure of himself and his sound. Last year, he released the first of his two part EP project “I C U U C ME PART I,” started a series of freestyle videos called “From Scratch,” and joined Lion Babe for a select dates on their Cosmic Wind tour this month.
The video for “Rain” is a clay animated representation, created by the artist duo Dare Dollz, of Mikael and his depression. In it, the artist sits in a dark room watching TV and scrolling through social media as the world moves around him, leaving him feeling trapped within the confines of his inner world, searching tirelessly for a way to break this bondage.
“These days, social media plays a big role in depression; you’re constantly comparing yourself to others because you’re seeing what they have and what you don’t,” Mikael shared with office. “When the ‘likes’ don’t add up, it affects your entire mood, you start to think you’re not doing enough. Truth is—it’s an illusion that we create for ourselves.”
Catch Mikael’s new video below.
