The Atlanta rap scene, like the rest of the music world, is still mourning the loss of Rich Homie Quan. Last week, the 33-year-old artist was found unresponsive in his girlfriend’s Atlanta home, leaving behind five children and an immense musical legacy. With hits like 2013’s “Type of Way” and 2015’s “Flex (Ooh, Ooh, Ooh),” there was a period where he looked like the next star out of Atlanta. By the late 2010s, label woes had stalled his climb up toward the pop culture stratosphere, and those in the know lament that he didn’t get the chance to fulfill his superstar potential.
In 2013, Quan began collaborating with fellow rising Atlanta star Young Thug. Though Rich Gang was never a formal group signed to a label, Rich Gang: Tha Tour Pt. 1 — the project they released under that name in 2014 — showcased their generational chemistry on syrupy, infectious songs like “Lifestyle” and “Tell Em.” Many agree with writer Jeff Weiss, who theorized, “If Young Thug was the rocket ship bending time and space at the speed of light, Quan operated as ground control, offering a raspy gravity and indelible counterpoint.” Even before his passing, Quan’s bond with Young Thug continued to be discussed up to this day; his last interview featured journalist Alanah Story asking him about unreleased Rich Gang music.
But as incredible as he was in Rich Gang, Quan also excelled on his own. His solo catalog, buoyed by projects like Still Goin In: Reloaded and I Promise I Will Never Stop Going In (both from 2013), demonstrated a knack for melody; feel-good, relatable themes; and ever-malleable vocals. Thanks to him, anyone could feel like the man when they “Walk Thru.” And anyone who’s watched his interviews has noticed his jovial nature and star quality. It all could have added up to a winning combination for solo superstardom.
In an interview last week about Quan’s loss, Wicked — a member of the ’90s Atlanta group Ghetto Mafia — bemoaned that he’s also still reeling from the recent death of Organized Noize producer Rico Wade at age 52. He’s not alone in grieving. Quavo posted a highly circulated Instagram story featuring a picture of himself a few years back with his Migos partners Offset and the late Takeoff, Young Thug, and Rich Homie Quan. The emojis posted over each man’s head hinted at the loss of both Takeoff and Quan, Thug’s current incarceration, and Quavo being on the outs with Offset (though they’ve since talked). His post read, “May God be with US[,] never saw this being apart of our journey.” In a fairer world, these five men, none of them older than their early thirties, would all still be dominating the charts. Instead, pictures like these evoke memories of what could have been.
Atlanta has been rap’s mecca for the better part of three decades, but now the bridge to the next generation feels unsteady, in part because of losses like these. Young Thug and YFN Lucci are both facing uncertain jail stints. And, unfortunately, there’s a long list of artists who have died: Takeoff, Bankroll Fresh, Trouble, Lil Keed, Lil Marlo, Slim Dunkin, Shawty Lo, and now Rich Homie Quan. We’ve also lost Atlanta elders like Rico Wade who still had game and insight to offer. Gucci Mane, luckily, credits his mid-2010s prison stint with waking him up before his career came to an unfortunate ending. But he’s also had trouble getting the next generation of 1017 off the ground because jail or prison terms have befallen so many of his recent signees. Atlanta isn’t losing its artistic mojo — it’s losing its talents.
Atlanta’s solidarity has been one of hip-hop’s most nationally understood facts of life for many years. Even if you didn’t know much about the city’s hip-hop scene, you knew that for the most part, those Atlanta guys stuck together and put each other on. It’s not just that Atlanta had a high concentration of talent, it’s that the artists there were accessible and intent on taking it upon themselves to help the next artist. We remember the video of a hungry Lil Keed rapping for Young Thug before he was famous. We recall the stories of Young Thug paying Lil Baby to get out of the streets, or a young Future being around Outkast in the Dungeon, or Gucci Mane putting on anyone who pulled up to his Brick Factory studio. The city attracted transplants like French Montana and even the Buffalo-based crew Griselda, who made various inroads there during their formative years. In time, the city has become a music factory, like a neo-Motown with lustrous diamonds. It was the place to be for Black musicians, and it still is. But now, with fewer beacons, there are fewer chances for the city to find its next stars.
To consider where the city is going, one must retrace the social and political factors that inspired Atlanta’s trap generation in the first place. In September 1990, the city won its bid to host the 1996 Olympics, and spent the next few years on an “urban renewal” campaign of destroying public housing, displacing thousands of residents and widening the city’s economic disparity. The first generation of trap rappers depicted the gruff realities of Atlanta’s left-behind neighborhoods, and younger artists followed behind.
Years later, Atlanta’s politicians are on a new displacement mission that has had similarly damaging cultural effects. Devin Franklin, an attorney at the Southern Center for Human Rights, told Complex in 2022 that he feels the city brass is vying to gentrify many of the areas immortalized in Atlanta rap songs, noting, “There is absolutely a desire to rid Atlanta of this element that once upon a time is what made Atlanta cool in the first place. It’s like, ‘We used it, we got popular off of it, but now we got another level that we want to get to, so we need to get you all out of here.’” Fulton County’s district attorney, Fani Willis, has been relentless with RICO prosecutions that currently have Young Thug, YFN Lucci, and RX Peso incarcerated (with Hoodrich Pablo Juan doing five years from another RICO prosecution in nearby Upson County).
As in any “law and order” city, a focus on prosecution means the negligence of other institutions that make a city healthy. Structural racism breeds violent communities and the desire for escapism, whether that’s through doing the wrong thing in search of financial freedom or falling prey to addiction. These factors are nothing new for many communities of color, but seeing them decimate a beloved music community is sobering.
There are dire consequences looming over Atlanta’s cultural depletion. The rap industry is changing exponentially. In time, 2024’s “white boy summer” could turn into a “white boy year” or “white boy generation,” with more tone-deaf rappers like Ian doing their best impressions of Atlanta’s kings. We need the progenitors alive to bring the real, or at the least retell the stories to those looking to document this great movement. And the bridge from one generation of Atlanta rappers to another needs to stay stable. But with every city-shattering death like Quan’s, one more pillar is gone too soon.
