Future is almost solely the reason I came back to blogging. During my hiatus, I stumbled across Dirty Sprite, after noticing a few friends highlighting the Atlanta rapper’s ode to codeine and pop beverages. Future, whose real name Nayvadius Cash is envious in its strength, was exactly what I’d been looking for in a world crowded by lo-fi bedroom rap and post-Waka trap music. He was just street enough to appeal to the dopeboys and critics infatuated with the lifestyle, while possessing pop sensibilities that allowed him to a crossover success with Racks and Tony Montana.
There’s no denying the fact that Future can make hits. His signature croak, a deep-bellow that is far more sinister than Wayne’s, but not quite as bombastic as his bigger figured peers, give his raps a distinct sound. His sometimes autotuned-assisted hooks work because Future’s God-given voice doesn’t derive too far from the pitch corrector’s often maligned sound. It’s often hard to tell where the autotune starts and ends for Future; sometimes it’s questionable if it’s used at all, or if Future is taking vocal cues from Kermit the Frog.