Migos And I Explore The Nuances Of Hip Hop, Love, And Vagina Hair

Before I interviewed Migos, the rap trio who brought you the summer anthem “Versace” in 2013, and who will soon bless your Halloween with the release of “Migos Thuggin”, a joint mixtape with Young Thug, I Googled them. Then I felt embarrassed, like the kind of embarrassed you feel when you’re watching someone fail on “American Idol”. All I wanted was to understand why people commonly say (or tweet), “Migos are better than the Beatles” and all I got was this, via Noisey:

“Migos represents the freedom that comes with being a young person in 2014 who has the power to choose their own canon, while The Beatles embody an idealized, old-school liberalism, where the liberties and concerns of marginalized groups, such as women and those who identify as LGBTQ, are framed by the tacit understanding that they are free to pursue these liberties as part of the privilege that comes hand in hand with being white.”

Writing about rap music can get embarrassing. As a music writer, you’ve got to make sense of these cultural icons, their sounds, to try and make connections between what they produce and their context—it can be hard to know when to just. stop. analyzing. My question wasn’t really even answered by the explanation above, but more importantly, this over-intellectualization seems like a gross misunderstanding of Migos themselves. Do you know who Migos is? The Atlanta-born trio, made up of Quavius Marshall aka Quavo, Kiari Cephus or Offset, and Kirshnik Ball, aka Takeoff are famous for “Migos flow”, for establishing themselves as professional ad-libbers, rappers who can really just actually do whatever they want. They’re handsome and wealthy; they invite you to like them, but if you don’t, they won’t care. 

But when my time came to talk to Migos on the phone, they were nowhere to be found. Their publicist called me back a few hours later and connected me, letting me know that they were in a tour bus on the way to Arizona.

“Hi! Hi,” I started, leveling my voice to a frequency that would hopefully resonate with Quavius Marshall.

“Wassup,” Quavo responded.

I jumped right in. “So I hear you guys are on tour with Chris Brown. How’s that going?

“It’s good, it’s good. Yeah.”

“Really? Like you’re excited to go to Arizona? Isn’t Arizona maybe the worst place in the world?”

He paused. “Nah, it’s cool. All the cities we visit are the same, all of them are different, you know, it’s all cool.

“Fair enough,” I nodded, not to be deterred, making a mental note not to bring up the incidents that took place this past April, while on tour at a university in Georgia, leading to a few arrests of the band members. “Can you tell me about your new album?”

“Yeah, shit is hot,” Quavo said. “We’re excited for everybody who’s been waiting for so long to hear it.”

“Where did you draw inspiration from for this? Like, what’s your process?”

“Everywhere, man, everywhere. We could record everywhere, on this bus even, we can just do our shit anywhere.

I paused, considering this. “What do you mean, you can do ‘this’ anywhere?”

“We be freestyling every verse, you know, ‘cause if you try too hard it doesn’t come naturally, and that’s wack. You just gotta come to the studio and see.”

“Every verse?”

“Every verse.”

“Alright,” I conceded. “And for Yung Rich Nation, your new fashion line, where did you take inspiration from?”

“Everywhere, man.”

Enough of the ‘everywhere’ answer. “Do movies inspire you? Do women inspire your fashion line? What women’s style do you like?”

“Yeah, I mean, we like movies. We like Scarface, Straight Outta Compton…you know,”

Again—“And women?”

“Any female who be dazzling, you know? I like when they wear tank tops, leggings…you know, Beyonce be dazzling, Dej be dazzling…”

I wondered if he was sitting next to Chris Brown on the bus. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Nope. No, we don’t love no hos,” he explained. “Only woman I love is my mama.”

“Okay.” Fear rose up in my throat, realizing that I was actually starting to really bore a member of Migos, and he was soon going to completely stop paying attention to me, or maybe just hang up. “What’s your sign?”

“I don’t be going too deep into that shit. Don’t know ’bout that shit. Females be telling me about that shit, but that ain’t me—”

I gave up. “What’s your favorite sex position?”

He knew I gave up, and it excited him. He started laughing. “You know, it’s all good, as long as you bend that ass over, you know, don’t be scared to throw that ass back.”

I attempted a laugh-sound, horrified. “Right, right. And would you prefer a vagina to be shaved, or hairy?”

He laughed back. “Well, if it’s clean, make it scream, you know? What’s your favorite sex position?”

“I don’t know, dude, I’m interviewing you, not the other way around—”

“You got Instagram? What’s your Instagram?”

We hung up soon after that. Did we talk about anything, really? I wasn’t sure. Does it matter? Probably not.


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