Musali’s There’s A Body In The Trunk mixtape is a cratedigger’s paradise, with laidback beats constructed around gorgeous jazz and soul samples. The relaxed movement of the instrumentals is the perfect vehicle for Musali’s calm and measured delivery, as the MC raps candidly about the emotions, connections, and self-examination that eternally come and go with the passage of time.
In an interview with HotK, Musali discusses finding self-affirmations in music, speaking the imagination into existence, and offers some thoughts on seeking meaningful attention and communal support in online music spaces.
HotK: In a message to your Bandcamp followers, you explained, “I made my first mixtape over the course of my time since I left home, about the feelings I developed, relationships I formed, relationships I lost, existentialist nonsense.” With the tape now being out, has your outlook on those feelings, relationships formed and lost, and existentiality changed at all?
Musali: The most important dogma I’ve formed for myself is that life happens whether or not you’re ready for it. These songs span over two to three years apart, and the maturation is pretty blatant when listening. The experiences that came along the way of me making these songs molded me into who I am today, but I have no other choice but to embrace my flaws. For example, at one point I realized I had to end a relationship with someone that I really cared about, and I handled it poorly. Afterward, I made myself walk around the town, writing “i left town and lost all my contacts.” Then went home and recorded it all in one take. It sucked to go through, but it made all of my future relationships better– that’s just life. With that being said, I’m only human, so I often forget the lessons I learned. And sometimes the only thing that snaps me out of my funks are my own words on wax. I now understand the words I use and the decisions I make are ones that I’m going to die by, so I need to be real with myself.
Well said, I find your description of returning to your music to remind yourself of lessons learned to be very interesting. It’s common for us to look to the music of others to be a source of validation and affirmation, but perhaps it makes even more sense to find that through returning to what we wrote and recorded ourselves.
In addition to chronicling and coming to terms with the past, do you also see music as a tool through which to envision the future?
Most definitely, I would say a decent portion of what I depict in my music is an attempt at foresight. Taking what I’ve experienced and speaking my imagination into existence, but at times it can be a dichotomy, Jekyll and Hyde. Considering what positives I look forward to experiencing in life, I am also aware of how mentally checked-in I have to be for those chapters to come to fruition. I’ve spent a lot of time alone and separated from people I consider my family, my people, so a lot of what I envision is connecting with them and taking them with me wherever I go. Instinctively I have a very tribal mentality. If I talk about having something in a song, I emphasize that the people around me also have it. Hopefully, reaping the rewards of any future risks I take.
It’s kind of funny now thinking about these things outside of the moment of creation. At this moment, I know what I’m saying to be accurate, but at the end of the day, my perspective on the music constantly evolves. At the peak of this past winter, some of these songs had me severely stressed out, just thinking at that time: “Wow, I am not in a good space.” “Gas tank on e” was one of the songs I just sat and recorded, saying everything that kept me awake at night–past, present, and future. But now, all of those words are motivational for me.
Related to that tribal mentality you speak of, you’re a member of the Mac Kambridge music group. How do the intentions that the group sets for collaborative projects differ from those of your solo work?
For us, Mac Kambridge is practically an event. Recording for the group is such a special occasion, so sparse that everything surrounding it is so dear to us. Unlike my work, there isn’t as much time for the lows, the sadness of life. Because of COVID-19, our schedules got messed up. We had to be cautious, so we haven’t recorded since December 2019. In the past, I’d say the most time we had dedicated to a mixtape was about five consecutive days, and we came out with eight songs good enough for that tape. There is no way we’re spending that time speaking about what makes us sad–we can sit down or text each other about that at any time. The limited time we get is getting dedicated to getting ignorant, taking all the things we did since the last recording session (money, girls, cars, people we have problems with), and turning it into fun. I also find Mac Kambridge to be an exercise for me, and that’s where I really try to rap my ass off, high tempo, not there to relax. When we play around and have fun, have four or five of our friends around, we just freestyle for 8 minutes and yell, then post under a spam profile because the inside jokes are too embarrassing for public consumption. With that said, maybe next time we’ll get a little emotional. We want this next project we have planned to stand the test of time, and the fun can’t last forever.
Also I know that you make music too, I have something to run by you.
I often find myself making music, enjoying it, but then as soon as I play someone else’s that I enjoy, I tend to scrutinize myself for how different it may be. While it may not necessarily help my development, I still find myself wanting to be able to expand my sound beyond my comfort level and towards the individuals that I envy and appreciate. How do you feel about comparing yourself and your music to those of your inspirations? Do you strive to push yourself to their sound, or do you try to stick to what is yours and use their music merely as a drive to pursue your own?
I think there is plenty of merit to looking to the music of others for inspiration, as sometimes it can help you unlock new ideas of your own that you wouldn’t have discovered if you hadn’t tuned in what another perspective had to offer.
At the same time, it can be hard not to fall into the trap of constant comparison. We live in economic and sociocultural systems built on competition, in which we are conditioned to constantly compare ourselves to others. Often that comparison is upwards, directed at someone more accomplished, prestiged, or privileged, which can lead to us being quite self-critical and deprecating.
Sometimes, I have to remind myself of the fact that when I am in the moment of creation, I am not concerned with sounding like or better than someone else. In that moment, I am only trying to make something that sounds good to me, and whatever comes out of it does so in an organic and spontaneous way. It is only after the creation process ends that the self-doubt, sense of inferiority, and internalized gaze of others tends to creep in.
I also have to remind myself that for many of my influences, they were not so concerned with trying to meet a standard or fit into a norm. They made due with what resources and technical proficiency (or lack thereof) they had, and often disregarded past musical customs to create something novel and true to themselves. I’m sure the doubt and self-questioning came up at times, they’re only human, but them not holding back from creating something raw and honest is in part what attracted me to their work in the first place.
I agree with the admiration and aspiration of other musicians and their process. Beyond that comes an issue amplified by the commercialization of art in general. Observations being drawn in by an artist’s acclaim and financial success rather than their product. There are many times I find songs and albums of different genres that I absolutely adore and will never drive to embody in myself. However, beyond the music, I have little to no knowledge of the artist and how well they are doing in life. The issue comes when I become familiar with an artist, their music, their success, and I begin to draw unrealistic parallels to myself. The worst part of it all is that information is limited to what artists are willing to share with their audience. That includes little to no information pertaining to the trials and tribulations they faced or all of the favors they received and took advantage of to reach a prestigious place in their career. I make my music out of a bookbag, microphone, power supply box, headphones, and a laptop. But there are plenty of occasions where I compare my sound quality to artists in studios with expensive equipment that I would have to steal to afford. I always have to remember to steer the focus onto myself when it’s time to create because, at the end of the day, it’s for me before anyone else. Just like a painting or a drawing, the focus of judgement is about performance, confidence, and arrangement.
I’m wondering if you have any more thoughts on the topic of art’s commercialization, especially since music is simultaneously commodified and devalued in today’s age. It’s hard to put a price on the labour spent creating a piece of music, and on the value it may have for one who listens to it, but people in the music industry do so to make their money. At the same time, to find or keep an audience, artists often must be willing to share their art for the tiniest of crumbs, be it paltry streaming revenues or free downloads. You yourself have your tape available for Bandcamp for only $1.
There exists a tension between making music accessible to the listener and prescribing some fair exchange value to respect the time and effort that an artist puts into creating a piece of work. How do you think balance between these two sides of the coin could be best achieved?
I grew up pirating on Frostwire, downloading mixtapes off of Datpiff and HotNewHipHop, prior to streaming, the music world on the internet was the Wild West. Those mixtapes were posted on those websites for free downloads because “Hey, this is just the beginning. Support this, come out to my performances when I come to your city, then I can amass enough money from crowdfunding or a record label advance to release an album that will go on sale for $19.99.” Now for half of that price, you can listen to any album available in the world for an entire month.
The recommended starting price for an album is $7, for this project, I didn’t need that. I have my SoundCloud links for people to listen to the same music on a free platform. I understand the value of my time and product at this time is not at a place where I want to hold someone hostage for $7 just to listen to my mixtape. However, I also understand how little value of a dollar is relative to the average music consumer’s bank. I would have made the tape 50¢, but $1 is the minimum, and I utilize the sales I do receive as a legitimate acknowledgment that I’m headed in the right direction.
I do not believe that just because you have 100,000 streams on a song, you are thus entitled to compensation in which all of those streams are treated equally. I’d say the true issue in the fair exchange in value for artists, is when you have thousands of people online saying how much they love your music, but your Distrokid payout for all of those listeners is $32. In combatant with streaming farms and consumers’ loose attention spans, I understand the perspective of services such as Spotify treating each stream like a microscopic crumb. Bandcamp has a great statistics algorithm when it comes to song playtime, as streams are distinguished to either ‘complete’ ‘partial’ or ‘skip’, each based on the proportion of time spent listening to the song. In my mind, if 6,000 of the 100,000 streams are complete, those are the only ones I care about, and those are the ones that I would seek fair compensation for. But no industry is ever perfect.
At the end of the day, as an artist, it is your obligation to post your art on the proper platform that you deem to be valuable of your time and efforts. I have about a third of Mac Kambridge’s discography on all of the popular streaming services to see what we would get back. Now I know that it is not a lot and it is not worth it. That is why from this point forward, we are focused on music platforms such as Bandcamp, where you set your price and establish your value.
If an artist feels that the commercialization of music is tarnishing the art and streaming services are scamming creators, then the answer is simply to walk away. Walk away and either be willing to put that work up for free. Or, be willing to sell it at full value and be prepared for a minute fraction of consumers/listeners to buy it.
I often wonder what would happen if there were to be a mass artist exodus from corporate streaming. I feel if it was coordinated and enough moderately influential people left, you’d likely have a sizable amount of fans following them to the platforms and distribution methods they’d rather work with.
There’s also part of me that feels like we as consumers will inevitably move away from Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon Music, etc. Even though the companies behind them are extremely powerful, we’ve seen several listening and discovery platforms (FM Radio, Pandora, mixtape sites, etc.) rise and fall in relevancy time after time. If the downfall does happen, I hope that whatever takes its place will provide greater opportunity for artists to have more financial autonomy and decision-making power, with less of it monopolized by techbros and venture capitalists.
Some might consider this to be utopian thinking on my part, but it doesn’t hurt to dream big.
On a semi-related note, what does your vision of a supportive, sustainable, and successful music community (online, offline, or both) look like?
My biggest pet peeve right now about online music communities is the invasion of grading every single album with a 1-10. Anthony Fantano from The Needle Drop is a cool guy, I’ve been watching him for five years now, but his influence on music-listening online has been absolutely heinous. I feel as if he and Buzzfeed were direct Millennial contributors to hipsters being the new mainstream. Everyone wants to have their own exclusive niche, sense of individualism, to be edgy, to start discussions and arguments. I’ve never understood people “learning to enjoy” music, forcing something inorganic. I love Death Grips’s Bottomless Pit, but I’m not going to sit down and force myself to enjoy the rest of their albums. I tried, they didn’t give me the same feeling, so I moved on. At the end of the day, I respect them and their artistry.
The only sense of relief I get online or offline anymore when it comes to music is when someone actually likes something, and that’s the end of their stance. “I love this album!” and then play the songs; no obscure nuance, no forced attempts at building a perspective, and no ranking system. Unless they’re a musician in some form, I do not want to listen to people talk about production, lyrics, or sound quality in a critical manner. Especially when the only takes of these ‘Music Enthusiasts’ are putting down and demeaning one artist in order to praise another.
I’d say that my vision of a healthy music community is one where everyone can co-exist and find appreciation in one another. In my group chat of friends, we send each other Folk, Rap, Dance, Pop, Country, Jazz, and nobody complains. Of course, one person isn’t going to like every single one of those songs, but we understand that someone we care about enjoys the music. The internet as an environment thrives on depersonalization and apathy, so I say if you’re struggling to find a healthy community, you need to scale it down and start on a one-to-one level. Look for at least one person that respects your interests and engages in civil discourse. From that point on, it can grow. A friend or acquaintance adds someone to the community, and respect is maintained for one another because you know these people as people, not just faceless opinions.
I agree that the internet discussion spaces for music can be a hostile place at times. The space and patience for nuance and civility that can be found in smaller groups tends to be hard to come by in the rapid-fire hot take arena that social media often breeds.
Let’s talk about your drawings. Do you tend to see them as being a distinct practice or do you view them as interconnected with your musical output?
I consider my drawings and my music to be pretty intertwined in practice. I tend to do them in spurts of energy, as I can go three or four months without touching ink or paper. The same goes for music while I go months without writing or producing something. Then it all hits at once, and all of the things I think about get to be let loose. I like ink because you can’t erase it once it touches the surface, you have to make do with it. I tend to treat drawing more nonchalantly because I’ve been doing it all my life, but I’ve only been recording music for four years. I’d consider music to be more work, while drawing is a pure release. But in the end, I go into every drawing like I’m going to hang it on my wall forever, just as I record each song like I’m going to listen to it forever. I would like to reach a point musically where I can treat my sounds like ink and embrace my imperfections in strides.
To be able to confidently embrace imperfections would be very liberating for many musicians.
We’ve covered a lot of ground and I’ve really enjoyed this conversation. Any final thoughts, announcements, or wisdom that you’d like to share?
The only thing that comes to mind is that everything in life happens for a vast multitude of reasons. So many factors in play that the only way for a plan to truly come to fruition is by not having one at all. More music will come from wherever the wind blows. This project had two years of material on it, but the next one might only need three weeks—who knows. I appreciate you for your interest and taking the time to speak with me. Thank you for having me on your platform.
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Follow Musali on Bandcamp and Soundcloud and support the artist by purchasing There’s A Body In The Trunk here.