The original wave of rap rockers were fairly easy to map out with simple equations, such as: Run-DMC + Lynyrd Skynyrd + AC/DC = Kid Rock. Suddenly, at a time when Limp Bizkit are playing nostalgia-tour boat cruises, the specter of rap rock has arisen anew. New generations always compensate for their own myopias by correcting yours, and now a fresh batch of teens and twentysomethings offer us all a chance to reshuffle our perceptions, one sound at a time. And along with his generational cohorts-from Post Malone to Lil Yachty, from Travis Scott to Trippie Redd, from Lil Uzi Vert to PnB Rock, and beyond-he grew up with these hybrid flailings rattling around his subconscious. The same logic stands for fans: If you were a fervent devotee of any said rap-rock hybrids, you are likely embarrassed by the memory, which you have tucked far, far away, like a goony old T-shirt.īut, it just so happens, Peep was born in 1996. The cultural imagination is littered with the unlovely offspring of attempted copulation between the styles if, at some point, you made a name for yourself through combining rap and rock, chances are you either distance yourself vigorously from such efforts now or have learned to adjust to life as a walking joke. In this quasi-intimate space, familiar yet not, the line markers between punk, emo, grunge, and rap don’t just seem useless-it’s as if they had never been drawn.įor anyone born before 1995 or so, the mere mention of the term “rap rock” is likely to produce reflexive shudders.
The stage is decorated to resemble his childhood bedroom: a twin mattress with rumpled sheets positioned stage left, along with a few anime posters, torn down from his actual bedroom, added for effect. Peep, wandering around with bug eye glasses, resembles Kurt Cobain rendered as a Bitmoji.
Next to her, a shaved-head kid in a white tee looks at her, licks his lips nervously, and hops up on the bar too-he stretches out his arms and falls forward on his friends’ upstretched hands.
During “ Beamer Boy ,” which samples lo-fi indie heroes the Microphones, a girl with a backpack and a camouflage bandana over her face leaps up on the bar and body rolls, throwing her hands up and singing along to every word. They know every song in Peep’s hour-long set, each one rolling out in the same downcast haze. The kids in the room who know this song-fervently, avidly-do not care either. This is music that fundamentally does not care if it is rap or rock. The drowsy trap drums and downtuned guitars all dissolve together like a codeine lozenge in the back of your throat. The loping melody directly recalls Houston screw icon Z-Ro, but Peep’s voice seems to be on loan from Good Charlotte’s Joel Madden. Like all of Peep’s music, the song is sticky, with the lint of about nine other tracks rubbed off on it. Then his DJ queues up the sub-aquatic glimmer of guitars that introduces “ Girls ,” one of his biggest internet hits. When they finish, Peep smiles a little wider and flicks his eyes down: “That’s the most people that ever sang happy birthday to me in my life,” he mumbles. He flashes a bashful little grin as the sold-out, 700-strong audience sings him happy birthday-in about three hours, he will be able to drink legally. Peep wanders out, dazed, skinny and faded, looking like the kid in the back of Saturday detention. The pop-punk anthem announces the arrival of emo rapper Lil Peep, and the all-ages crowd gathered beneath him treats it like a wrestler’s entrance music. It’s Halloween night, and Blink-182’s “Dammit” blares over the house speakers at Manhattan’s Highline Ballroom.
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