Baby Keem the Poet? Makes No Matter

BY TRISTAN SZAPARY ‘24

Content Warning: Cited lyrics contain profanity and language that may be inappropriate

This piece was written in January, and “family ties” has since then earned Baby Keem his first Grammy for 2022 Best Rap Performance.

Biking to 7 am lift through pre-daybreak fog? Baby Keem.

Walking to McCosh 50 on my way to bomb an Orgo midterm? Baby Keem. 

Showering in my quad’s bathroom when my roommates are out? Baby Keem.

 What artist makes you feel untouchable, carefree, and occasionally cringe? You can likely guess my pick. The young Vegas rapper has had for himself a massive year, releasing his first studio album The Melodic Blue this past September and appearing on projects with Kanye (“Praise God”), Travis Scott (“Durag Activity”), and Don Tolliver (“OUTERSPACE”) on some of their biggest recent hits. Perhaps more importantly, Keem played a critical role in the much-awaited return of his cousin Kendrick Lamar from a prolonged hiatus that had left fans of the rap world starved. The two dropped a shared single titled “family ties” that immediately blew up the Billboard 100, soaring to spot N.18 and awarding Keem his first-ever Top 40 song. 

 In recent years, it seems that rap and hip-hop have garnered a sizable share of respect. After its inception in the 70s, rap spent the first few decades polarizing the masses––pastors and politicians denigrated the genre as moral filth and dangerous propaganda while others heralded it as a means of self-expression for oppressed communities. Yet now, critics are beginning to agree that rap acts not as the progenitor of violence, misogyny, and financial despair, but rather as the reaction to them. Furthermore, the literary merit of rap has also become widely appreciated, with rappers’ bars making their way into high school English classrooms and rappers themselves winning the same prizes previously awarded to classical composers and world-class poets (i.e. Kendrick’s 2018 Pulitzer Prize in Music for the album DAMN.). 

As someone who has always loved rappers because of their ability to beautifully tell heart-wrenching stories while riding the beat the entire way, the rising awareness of rap’s literary appeal seemed like old news to me. Yet, I cannot hide my own confusion as to why I’m so drawn to Baby Keem’s discography. If his first hit “ORANGE SODA” had me bouncing off the walls in my empty dorm room, it’s only because I blinded myself to the words Keem was saying in favor of the way he’s saying them. That is, there’s nothing particularly prosaic about his lyrics that could immediately explain their allure. Look no further than this choice line from the song “first order of business” off The Melodic Blue to get a sense of what I mean: “What’s your favorite color? Oh, that’s mine too / Just to get that p*ssy, I’m gon’ lie to you.” So why should “family ties” be different?

 Perhaps the presence of Pulitzer Prize-winning K. Dot on the track pushed his cousin to perform at a higher standard. Perhaps Keem uses this tour de force to expel rumors that nepotism acted as the source of his fast-track to the top. Perhaps I’ve been too hard on his lyrics, which really aren’t much different from those of the rest of his peer generation of rappers. Whatever the reason, there’s no doubt that the duo did something right in their new scathing single. Will some element within the lyrics explain why Keem’s music so effectively reels me in? What will it teach us about literary merit as a criterion of rap? I ventured to answer these questions in the only way I know how, laying the lyrics of “family ties” victim to the coveted close read.

 Keem’s verse precedes Kendrick’s, accompanied by a regular blow of a high horn and the pounding of a low drum that sets the beat’s pace. Within his bars is a confident tone and proclamations of wealth found in most Keem lyrics: “Jump in that fire, ha, Jump in that b*tch” or “I'm OD in Paris, I'm OD in France.” Yet one notable feature in the language itself is the curious presence of pairs, doubles, and the number two. It begins a quarter of the way through the song: “I was seein' double in the projects / Mad at myself when I put it to the side.” These bars may refer to Keem’s struggle in balancing the dual pursuits of rapping and trapping, where casting aside one of the commitments in favor of the other may raise in Keem a pang of regret. Yet, when considering the context of the song as Kendrick’s return to the game after a three-year lull, I cannot help but wonder whether this motif of doubles speaks to Keem’s perception of the relationship between him and his cousin. Does Keem see himself and his expedient rise to fame as a mirror image to the well–established, industry-giant Kenny? His second-coming, perhaps?

 The use of pairs continues a few verses later: “And n****s wanna play both sides / F*ck around and bury two of them guys.” Keem seems to condemn an unspecified double agent, someone who profits from dual affiliations with opposing parties. Yet the mention of “two guys” here strikes me as less obvious. Maybe the verse simply demonstrates the rapper’s strength as he takes on more than one opponent at a time. It could also be a reflection of Keem viewing the world around him in pairs, so that by extension he and Kendrick also blend into one cohesive duo in the eyes of others.

 The song’s jubilee horns and controlled chaos derail as Kendrick jumps in and delivers a vicious verse to a brand-new beat. In two minutes, he establishes himself as the uncontested G.O.A.T on everyone’s “Top Five” list, assumes a momentary southern accent, promotes the creative company pgLang that he and business partner Dave Free recently created, and more than occasionally gets religious––“I answer to Metatron and Gabriel.” Keem returns in the outro, though, where he and his cousin go bar for bar, and in which the number two appears … twice!

Keem: Two phones, but I only bring one in this b*tch

Kendrick: One daughter, but they all my sons in this b*tch

Keem: No h**s, ain't sh*t gettin' done in this b*tch

Kendrick: I'm scary, I got a gun in this b*tch / Smokin' on top fives, stop playin', I'm that guy

Keem: Number two DM'ing my b*tch / That's cool, I don't ask why

The mere fact that the cousins trade bars here, rather than simply having Kendrick finish off the song after his lengthy verse, again might suggest that Keem sees himself as a pair, partner, and maybe even equal, to Kendrick. The mention of two phones is elsewhere in the artist’s songs, as he even names himself “Two phone Baby Keem” in his song “Vent.” Furthermore, the “Number Two” could be referencing the second artist on the “Top Five” list of rappers that Kendrick established in earlier verses, of which he placed himself at the top. In this light, the final line acts as a subtle jab at an undisclosed rapping peer who seems to have pursued one of Keem’s own love interests.

Yet these “twos” that frame the beginning and end of the outro might further reveal how Keem positions himself next to Kendrick. Looking at the final scene of the “family ties” music video, which in itself is a beautiful example of how rappers know the power of visual aids, we see the two cousins facing each other as they deliver their outro one-liners. In the backdrop stand opaque squares of equal size, joined together with one gray line that acts as an axis of symmetry for the parallel figures on either end. The message is no longer covert: now that Keem is out of the incubator, the two cousins can and will work side by side to produce music they know their fans eat up. Considering that Kendrick’s company pgLang recently picked up Keem as a partner, we can expect this pair to continue to flourish. 

 So then, after this dive into the potential subtleties in Keem’s lyrical decisions, has anything changed about the way I can understand his music? Yes. But do I believe that the artist hid in his verses a covert message about his position in relation to Kendrick with subliminal twos and doubles scattered throughout the lines? To be honest, it’s hard to say.

 What’s changed is my understanding of the role words and language play within a piece of music. Prose in a novel does not have to be a perfect analog to lyrics in rap. While critics are finally noticing and celebrating the literary merit of certain rappers’ music, this does not require the whole genre to submit to these expectations. Regardless of poetry prizes and extended metaphors, rap continues to experiment with sounds, beats, and visual aids and broach untouched themes that together provide a voice to communities. And part of the genre’s value lies in its ability to paint these pictures within songs that can enchant anyone. They get everyone to tune in, including a listener like me whose reality could not be more different from those detailed in the lyrics.

Thus, though my specific ear may initially be inclined to search for literary meaning within the lyrics and feel disappointed when these strained expectations are not met, I cannot forget the fact that the song has moved me––or at least has quite literally gotten me to move––and therefore served its purpose. Baby Keem’s music makes you feel invincible, but there’s also a carelessness in the way he chants his bars, and maybe the way he writes them too, that undoubtedly adds to the appeal. You’re untouchable without even trying, invulnerable by default. 

 So, credit to Keem where credit is due. Maybe he cleverly deployed twos in “family ties” to ratify his spot at the top with the big dogs. But he has certainly figured out how to imbue his music with permanent, contagious bravado. And I’ve figured out that lyrics don’t have to be literary to be effective.

 And by effective, I mean have me rapping in the shower.