Italian Rap

NOTE TO THE READER (updated 08/01/2023): this article was written in September 2018 — practically centuries ago, if you consider the speed at which the contemporary Italian music industry keeps changing. As with any respectable piece of internet archaeology, it can already be said to be a product of its time, written by a different, somewhat less mature pen than the one writing these lines. It's certainly loaded with a number of expectations that were, for the most part, not met by the artists described here, but let's not forget that at the time Italian trap was barely three years old and still represented something new. Seeing names like Rkomi and Achille Lauro mentioned here might feel strange today, but it's worth stressing this point, because anyone who was there remembers: in 2018 there was a new, tight-knit hip-hop scene that was still "alternative" (in every sense of the word) to the Italian musical mainstream. The author's intention was simply to describe, without prejudice, a world that, like it or not, exists, trying to convey some of the excitement that this — let's just say it — new kind of music was generating among younger listeners (a category the author still belonged to at the time). To anyone who wants to venture into reading this page, the suggestion is to view it with the right amount of distance and judge it for what it is: an article from five years ago, attempting to capture a fast-changing moment in Italian music.

It's no longer possible to ignore rap. You can refuse to listen to it, you can even come to despise it, but the generational impact this culture is having is simply staggering, and there's no denying it. Speaking strictly about Italy (although the point could be extended to plenty of other countries), rap is the new pop — and it's not the radio stations saying so, it's the listeners. The Spotify streaming records — active streams, mind you, not the passive kind from someone with the radio on in the car — aren't set by Biagio Antonacci, but by Sfera Ebbasta; the most-streamed song isn't the latest by Laura Pausini, but "Cara Italy" by Ghali, or "Malibu" by Vegas Jones. Want harder numbers? "Rockstar" by Sfera Ebbasta was the best-selling physical CD of 2018, while Ghali, Guè Pequeno and Salmo will each have their own date at the Forum di Assago, already scheduled — a series of events that has the unmistakable feel of a final coronation to popstar status.

Today, rap has a unique immediacy going for it, both in its expressive means – a very colloquial, down-to-earth language – and in its musical vehicle, built on catchy beats that stay attuned to the freshest urban sounds. The charisma of its protagonists, pop icons in every sense, lends the right transgressive, "young" image to a genre that's grown tired of dragging along the legacy of Nineties street culture. Rap, by now, is no longer confined to the street any more than it is to the club, the nightclub, the well-off university girl's phone, or the rich kid's car downtown.

The arrival of trap sounds in Italian rap effectively opened the genre up to a whole new range of expressive possibilities. And trap wasn't simply copied, but assimilated, contaminated, bent to suit the creative needs of our hip-hop artists. Italian rap today, trap or not, is a world that pulses with its own energy, an industry in full creative ferment, whose fruits are often unripe, but in many cases genuinely good. Some young artists have allowed Italian rap to break out of its provincialism and forge a new identity, tuned in to French and American frequencies, yet firmly rooted in the melodic traditions of our country. Always looking ahead.

Below you'll find write-ups on ten essential works in the genre's recent evolution. Without claiming to offer objective judgments, we're proposing a guide to understanding the key milestones in the renewal process of Italian rap.

Maruego – "Che Ne Sai" (2014, 2nd Roof Music)

In an era of instant everything, it only takes a couple of not-so-standout albums for people to forget your name. Almost nobody today remembers Italian-Moroccan rapper Maruego, and yet his debut EP contained all the guidelines that, within a handful of years, would reshape Italian rap from the ground up: trap production (courtesy of 2nd Roof), autotune-sung vocals, and a thorough overhaul of hip-hop vocabulary. "Cioccolata" still stands today as a lesson in swag; "Click Hallal" fused Italian and Arabic to great effect, years before Ghali brought that formula to the mainstream; "Nuova Ex" landed on a melody that would still come in handy for any urban artist today. The rest doesn't excel, but holds up well. Too bad the promise wasn't followed through in his later work.

Sfera Ebbasta – "XDVR" (2015, mixtape)

Italian rap before 2015 is full of works or individual songs that could be called "proto-trap," but there's no doubt that the first true trap work, written and produced with full awareness of what it was doing, is Sfera Ebbasta's "XDVR". Gionata Boschetti (b. 1992), teamed up with the talented producer Charlie Charles (b. 1994), transplanted the imagery of Atlanta's trap houses – closed-off apartments where you "cook" and get high between recording sessions – into the Milan hinterland. Sfera and Charlie painted Italian rap purple and green, recreating a darker, more alienating dimension; they merged rapping with singing, blurring the line between the two ever further. They revolutionized a sound, an aesthetic, and above all a language: they introduced expressive economy, the essential and incisive melodic hook, and did so with such freshness that the rest of rap suddenly looked like a mere writing exercise. "XDVR", "No Champagne", "Brutti Sogni" and "Panette" remain unshakeable contemporary street anthems, while "Mercedes Nero" introduced Italy to Izi and Tedua, two future stars. Like it or not, this mixtape remains a cornerstone of this decade's rap music.

Dark Polo Gang – "Crack Musica" (2016, mixtape)

Dark Polo Gang barged into the scene with their bizarre vision of rap music and aesthetics. Irreverent like no one before them, in reality these four Roman kids simply played up what they already were: wealthy, arrogant kids from Rome's upper-middle class, devoid of any values beyond love for themselves and for the "gang," obsessed with American trap and hard drugs. Pushed to the extreme, their persona was nothing more than the ultimate projection of the life expectations of today's teenager born on the margins, and, as such, paradoxically, cynically realistic. Sick Luke's productions held it all together, giving a dark, catchy trap framework to the Gang's pseudo-rap mumbling. Rhyme became a mere affectation, and as such was often dropped altogether, while political incorrectness and hedonism made up the group's modus vivendi ("Kiss on the mouth like the mafiosi / emerald round my neck, I'm mixing coke" from "Mafia").

Now swallowed up by the very system they used to mock, Tony Effe and his crew today are nothing but caricatures of themselves, memes enslaved to their own persona and relegated to the role of Instagram stars; for a brief period, though, they introduced an ambiguous, unprecedented slant into a genre like rap, which is already inherently "disruptive" by nature. At once hateful and hilarious, discriminatory and in their own way progressive, both "bad" and "good," they short-circuited the scene, confusing pretty much everyone, but at least leaving an indelible mark on their way through.

Tedua – "Orange County" (2016, mixtape)

A childhood and adolescence forever caught between Genoa and Milan, "from foster homes to housing projects," between a boxing match and a run from the cops; Tedua's exuberant, at times rambling rap carries the full weight of his life experience, all his pain and all his rebirths. Mario Molinari's (b. 1994) torrential rap is as cerebral as it is naïve, full of odd words and bizarre wordplay, but it has two much more important qualities going for it: the fighting spirit of someone who never lets life beat him down, and above all an emotional pull that seeps out of every line and every word. The production on "Orange County", handled by Charlie Charles and the excellent Chris Nolan, is sun-drenched and summery, yet born out of a Balearic kind of melancholy, the kind felt by someone watching the sunset over the sea with eyes still fixed on the past. Over this sonic backdrop, Tedua's flow dances, runs, and suddenly curves into round, memorable melodies ("Buste della Spesa" above all), drawing you in to the point of pure enthusiasm. All the features here are excellent, from Sfera Ebbasta on "Lingerie" to Ghali on "Fifty-Fity", down to Izi on the tiny chill gem that is "Circonvalley". "Orange County" stands as a fine exception within Italian rap, a singular life story steeped in a picturesque bittersweet vibe. True to his own words, Tedua brought the sea to Milan.

Sfera Ebbasta – "Sfera Ebbasta" (2016, Def Jam)

The follow-up to the "XDVR" mixtape, Sfera Ebbasta's first self-titled album is probably the finest record to come out of Italian rap's new wave. First of all, it's a work true to its own intentions, a solid record with a well-calibrated tracklist, where the sound of the Sfera-Charlie partnership, as well as the Cinisello rapper's narrative style, come through clearly defined. Secondly, it's made up of a string of excellent songs that take the claustrophobic feel of the previous tape and elevate it into a metropolitan epic steeped in nocturnal melancholy. The dark rise and fall of keyboards on opener "Equilibrio" makes for a gripping start, letting Sfera's melodic flow shine, as usual simple but perfectly suited to the track. Along the same introspective lines, we find "Cartine Cartier" (alongside French rapper Sch, also featured on "Balenciaga") and above all "BRNBQ" ("bravi ragazzi nei brutti quartieri" – good kids in bad neighborhoods), a romantic and disillusioned street tale. "Bang Bang" is an honest love song that avoids slipping into schmaltz, while "Figli di Papà" pushes into new territory, blending trap and reggaeton into an unrestrained dance track. "Notti" is crooked, rainy and poetic, probably Sfera's finest track and one of the high points of contemporary urban music. And while "No No" and "Quello Che Mi Va" are rather forgettable, there's also room for the pouring darkness of "Visiera A Becco" and, by contrast, the carefree "BHMG", couldn't-care-less and sharp-witted, an answer that's always valid for any hater out there. Sfera doesn't fumble his debut, striking a perfect balance between a singles collection and a cohesive artistic statement, between pop ambition and eternal love for the block. A lively, unsurpassed show of strength.

Achille Lauro – "Ragazzi Madre" (2016, No Face)

Rome's Achille Lauro (1990) is a raw street chronicler. His storytelling exudes a genuine sense of unease, one that connects him to all those lost kids – the "motherless kids" ("ragazzi madre") – who had to raise themselves, looking after one another just to survive. Achille's voice is as eccentric as it is powerful, and his pen spits out anguished, evocative verses, vividly coloured lyrical blends with a core of authentic poetry. “Soli in questa bolgia/ le persone sole sotto questa pioggia/ sottile linea tra paura e gloria/ se non resteranno i nomi resterà una storia”: the opening track "Teatro & Cinema" makes it clear right away that we're dealing with a lyricist of superior talent, a talent that shows throughout a work of great taste, attentive to both the lyrical side and – above all – the musical side, which is a far cry from hip-hop trends and much closer to an innovative, strobe-lit, vibrant electro-pop (kudos to producer Boss Doms). The electro-dub brew of "Ulalala" strays from the style of the other tracks, but it's an experiment not to be missed; the title track "Ragazzi Madre", "Amore & Grammi" and "Barabba II" are the most affecting episodes. For what is his third album, Lauro has nailed a theatrical, unprecedented work, not just for rap but for Italian music as a whole.

Ghali – "Album" (2017, Sto Records)

Ghali Amdouni (1993) arrived at his solo debut under enormous pressure and expectation. The singles previously released – excellent songs like "Dende", "Cazzo Mene" and "Wily Wily" – handled trap with a thoroughly personal touch. In a wholly original formula, his lyrics blended autobiography, pop culture, restlessness, Dragon Ball, melancholy and heaps of style; Ghali also knew how to deliver his own writing, with a theatrical flow that shifted from melodic to schizophrenic, in what Fabri Fibra rightly described as "cerebral" rap. The productions Charlie Charles gave him, finally, were truly gorgeous. "Son of a cleaning lady/ with dad in a cell", Ghali quickly became an idol for the very young as well as the ambassador of the new mixed-race rap, one beyond genre and beyond any kind of discrimination. And while his debut "Album", all too accommodating and commercial, turned out to be a less interesting work than his career up to that point had promised, it still had the merit of steering the Italian-Tunisian away from trap's vicious circle. The rapper from Baggio, more a fan of Michael Jackson than of Tupac, effectively began his path as a popstar with a record that, at its best, is versatile and fun ("Happy Days", "Ricchi Dentro"). Not caring for street credibility, proud to appeal to kids and to reach a huge audience, Ghali is relentlessly changing the rules of the game.

Carl Brave X Franco126 – "Polaroid" (2017, Bomba Dischi)

Perhaps the least traditionally urban of the albums listed here, the first joint record by Carl Brave and Franco126, both members of the Trastevere-based 126 crew, is actually one of the cornerstone works in the recent evolution of Italian rap. Not by chance released by Bomba Dischi (the same label as Calcutta and Giorgio Poi), "Polaroid" merged rap's realism with the indie-pop poetics of the undefined, the post-smoke laid-backness of hanging out in the neighbourhood with the existential melancholy of the bedroom singer-songwriter. Carl Brave is an extremely skilled producer, drawing freely on easy-listening pop to tint rap with romance and nostalgia. The lyrics of these ten "polaroids" are made up of a string of individual images, like snapshots of life placed side by side in a photo album; you find everything in there, happy moments and sad ones, a greasy sandwich from the local kebab shop and grandad's funeral, evenings spent chilling at friends' houses and the last cigarette butt used to think back on those no longer part of our lives. By now a classic of both indie and recent rap alike, "Polaroid" retains a rare genuineness, shining both for its production and its writing.

Rkomi – "Io In Terra" (2017, Roccia Music)

Rkomi's writing is a peculiar thing. He'd like it to be called "poetry", but it's something else. Mirko Martorana's pen darts from one side of his psyche to the other, painting indistinct patches of mood, where disjointed images pair up to shape a new, introspective language. More a mood to conjure than a story to tell. Yet out of this hazy emotional backdrop, some sharp, pivotal, almost self-evident lines emerge in stark relief: "Have you ever suffered, have you ever given up?/ You've never suffered but you've already given up" ("Milano Bachata"); "My language is the language of the neighbourhood" ("La solitudine"); "The life I used to lead, the mindset I used to have/ I fear the train won't stop, imagine what you're missing" ("Mai Più"). Throughout, Rkomi's flow is remarkable for its variety: it bends and adapts ("Io in terra", over an excellent nu-jazz production), slows down, breaks apart and stitches itself back together ("Verme"), speeds up again ("Brr brr"). "Origami" tints nostalgia with dub rhythms, and it's the track with the strongest pop pull; "Apnea" picks up the same sad guitar of a serenade gone wrong, and it's the most beautiful song here, the standout of an album whose great merit is opening up Italian rap to unprecedented, vast and deep reflective spaces.

Sfera Ebbasta – "Rockstar" (2018, Def Jam)

In "Bancomat", Sfera Ebbasta raps about having "killed rap with Sprite and autotune". In reality, with his album "Rockstar", the definitive blockbuster of Italian rap, Sfera betrays the very trap ethic that made his fortune. By now Sfera makes pop through and through, a frivolous, carefree pop, far removed from the shadowy tones of the past and geared towards an increasingly childish, colourful hedonism; the trap sounds are just the final decoration, a fizzy rhythmic propulsion for songs now built for easy radio consumption. "Rockstar" is a bad album, but it's relevant as the first purely trap-pop Italian record, one in which the two components cancel each other out into simple little songs to play on repeat without thinking about anything. I'm not joking when I say that many of Sfera's colleagues in Italian music, even among the more mature ones far removed from the genre, might well look to this record for inspiration in their own future work – after all, the hookiness of these songs is remarkable and the album's sales are staggering. The title track "Rockstar", "Sciroppo" and "Cupido", along with "20 Collane" (the only track still markedly trap), are the most successful products of this new direction, one that, I suspect, will soon carry Sfera beyond Italy's borders, towards the international success he now seems destined for.

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