Up Next: Young Don

In the first video uploaded to Young Don’s Youtube channel—for his “Choke Hold” track—a then-15-year-old in a gray hoodie, faded blue jeans, rocking four gold teeth bounces between familiar scenes. When the video starts, he’s surrounded by friends in a bare room playing a game of craps. At another point, he posts on steps in the building’s doorway. At others, he sits on the famed green generator box outside the apartment building, in the middle of what looks to be a wooded area. None of that chosen scenery causes much excitement, as it’s become customary for many rappers on the rise to utilize whatever locales are the most accessible to them. But what does cause a spark is the oomph in Don’s raps. On a one key-mashing, DMV type beat the West Baltimore native talks about the pressure he’s applying to adversaries, with no signs of letting up. 

“Choke Hold,” though released near the end of 2018, is featured on Young Don’s first proper project, a 10-track mixtape of the same title that was dropped in April of 2019. Throughout its duration, it proves that Young Don is an extremely gifted teenage anecdotalist. On the tape’s closer, “Cold,” he offers drawn out harmonies about losing family and close friends to the complications of life in the street. But even in less explicit instances, like “Obligation,” he’s able to toss in life lessons even while professing to his own wrongdoing in more turned up tracks that the average listener would unconsciously bang their heads to. Don being 16 is one of the leading factors in why he impresses so much, but it’s far from the main draw. An easy trap to fall into when assessing artists who are in his age range is overreacting to skill as if it is especially prescribed to someone based on when they were born, but in this case—and many others—Don’s skill impresses because he’s just good at what he does. 

There is a type of finesse, control over his voice, and adaptability to a range of production styles that puts him in the conversation with rappers in the Baltimore area that have been at this for a long while. But that’s likely because Don has been developing his artistry since his elementary school days. That’s especially apparent in his most recent project, Smoke Cleared I’m Here. On the seven-track EP, there are moments of lyrical gymnastics (“Amnesia”), impressive back-and-forth raps (“Life of a Don” with Big6ixx), and sobering accounts of the ways in which he’s traumatized (“Still”). 

During a recent phone call and a visit to the apartment complex he stays, I spoke with the promising artist about his drive to make it, how he plans on improving, and who he hopes his music speaks to. 

When I listen to your music, the thought behind some of the songs makes me feel like it’s written material, but I know a lot of young artists go in and freestyle. How do you go about it? 

Some of my music is really written but I be freestyling for the most part. Like me and 6ixx song, we freestyled that shit. Or I’ll put that shit together while I’m in the booth, bar for bar. 

I was listening to “Still” off of your Smoke Cleared I’m Here EP. Is that a song you wrote? It feels like it. 

Yeah definitely. I wrote that song in probably 25 minutes. That’s one of my favorite songs right now too because I really meant what I said. 

When did you start rapping? I know you just started releasing music officially, but for somebody that’s 16, it sounds like you been doing this for a while. 

I been rapping for a minute. I started freestyling around 9, 10. By the time I was 13, I was putting music out on Soundcloud. I’d took a trip to Miami when I was 13 and that was the first time I got in a real booth. I had got up with these people that owned a record label—I don’t even remember how that happened but it did. I had got locked up when I was 14. I turned 15 when I was there. And ever since I got out, I just took that shit serious. I was writing music in there. I been hard though, since back when I was 13. You listen to some of that shit and you’ll be like, “Damn his little ass nice.” 

What part of Baltimore did you grow up in? 

West Baltimore, around Dolfield and Wabash area. Park Heights. Baltimore Street. I was back and forth out the county: Baltimore County, Columbia, then back to the city. Just moving around. I done lived out Randallstown. Out Hagerstown.  

What kind of music is easier for you to make? The shit that just bangs or the ones where you really open up about your life? Or better yet, which one feels better to make? 

It depends on the vibe. And it depend on the situation I’m in. But I fuck with the vibe when I talk about the pain. But more so my music is that uptempo shit when the beat is crazy and I’m really dragging. I like talking my shit most of the time but the pain shit hit different. 

On your more uptempo shit, something I noticed—that a whole lot of Baltimore artists haven’t done—is that you rap on beats that have the DMV sound. And I like that because, although there are some similarities in the accents, the Baltimore accent over that production is refreshing to hear because it doesn’t happen that often. Do you listen to a lot of DMV artists? 

Yeah I definitely do. I fuck with MoneyMarr, I fuck with Xanman, I fuck with Q Da Fool. I fuck with a couple of those guys. I had did this show out DC and the promoter had a relationship with MoneyMarr. He was tryna set up a feature but it just ain’t work out. But hopefully in the future we’ll make something. 

What about that production style do you like? 

They beats and their engineers, they really tight with that shit. I can’t really describe their type of flow or beats. I can cut up on their beats, though. 

Do you get support from areas like PG County and DC as far as people listening to your music? 

Hell yeah. I got a couple niggas I was locked up with from PG and DC that I was in placement with. My man Lil Glock, he be out DC and he got a song with the nigga Fat Yee called “Street Light.” He ain’t really no rapper but them niggas got a hard ass song together. 

Do you feel that there’s more of a connection between Baltimore and The DMV than it has been historically? 

For me it is because, like I said, I be in and out them counties and a lot of muhfuckas from different places be out in Columbia and that’s like their second home; you know out Columbia, Baltimore close as shit and DC close as shit. And when you locked up, you gonna meet different muhfuckas and that’s how you network. 

What music had the most impact on you growing up? 

I’d say when I came home I was really fucking with Q Da Fool shit. I fuck with yo vibe; I listened to him a lot coming up, going outside and shit. My man Snoop (Big6ixx), I can look up to him and bump his shit. Chief Keef and shit like that, but that was back in the day. I’m more so talking about shit I can relate to, like living the life. I listen to a lot of YoungBoy and Future. 

Any artists from Baltimore you grew up listening to? 

You know, Scoota. Gotta fuck with Scoota. I fuck with YG Teck shit, his shit hard for real. Tonynexttoblow, he nice. 

So the EP just dropped. Something I pay attention to is that a lot of the DMV artists drop a lot music. Like three tapes a year. And a lot of times, Baltimore artists don’t put a lot of projects out from what I’ve seen. What type of approach do you feel like you need to have when it comes to releasing music? 

I feel like I gotta drop hella times because I’m consistent. If the shit hard it’s gon’ speak for itself but consistency is key regardless. I like putting out tapes. I’m about to drop a tape in December. The EP was just something to hold them because I been was supposed to drop more music. I plan on dropping hella mixtapes to be honest. Ima be here for the long run so Ima just go with the flow. 

What do you feel like is helping your music spread the most: the internet, your neighborhood, or word circulating through your school? 

The internet play a big part, but people knowing me and word of mouth and staying consistent. And the town—once a muhfucka hear this shit—if they ain’t no hater, then they should support. 

What’s something you wanna get better at as an artist? 

I don’t know. How can I put it—mastering different flows and putting different flows together. I got songs like “Still” and songs like “Life of a Don” but you gotta be able to put that shit together all in one song; just be real versatile. I feel like I’m versatile as it is but I can get better at really playing with these beats. I’m only gonna get better. 

Do you want your music to impact people a specific way or are you just cool with however people absorb it? 

Anybody that got a good head on they shoulders and been through anything I been through, they gon’ understand what I’m saying. They gon’ get it—this shit just ain’t punchlines. I don't wanna paint no picture that I don’t need to. I’m just me, you dig? I’m just a young nigga that live how he want and make decisions on my own. When they listen to my shit, I ain’t tryna influence nobody, but they gonna take it however they take it. 

Kelow Latesha, On Her Terms

Written by: Briana Younger 

Photography: Meron Menghistab 

Styling: Will Thompson

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Kelow LaTesha has seven videos ready to go and two more for which she's waiting to see the final edits. On a chilly November night, during a week that's seen her travel from DC to New York and back again, she's just received the completed version of one of them, and it's got her reeling with excitement, as she's camped out in her car for a quick chat over FaceTime. 

The 26-year-old rapper, who was raised in Forestville, MD in Prince George's County, is coming off her most productive year to date. Her 9-track EP, TSA, which was released in April, was supported by videos for over half of the songs, and the process of brainstorming treatments and seeing her visions come to life has given her a burst of energy. Take a look at any of them and the naturalness she exudes in front of the camera comes just as easily behind-the-scenes and, compared to hip-hop at large, can be a revelation: "Hammer Time" proudly thrusts darker-skinned women to the forefront, while "Call Security" a whimsical depiction of a failed wedding, doubles as a celebration of queer, trans, and gender-fluid people. 

Longtime fans know that Kelow’s aesthetics have always been crafted as lovingly as her music, but there's some portion of the world who heard her long before they saw her. Her voice is the last one heard on GoldLink's 2017 album At What Cost, offering a profane prayer (also heard at the beginning of the video for "Crew"). The words have become iconic in their own right—a prophecy and a flex rolled into one: "Lord, I pray for wealth and power over all these motherfuckers. For the DMV to reign for many moons..." There may be no better voice than Kelow's to deliver those lines. “Fuck these bitches, you hear me. They killed my nigga and I pray for revenge.” Her accent, like her cool-headed aplomb, is DMV through and through. 

It comes as no surprise, then, that she's been an integral part of the modern iteration of the region's hip-hop scene since it was still in its most embryonic stages. She released her first project, Colored Pencils, in 2011—a lighthearted showcase of spacey stoner raps that stood in stark contrast to Fat Trel's street anthems which had begun to make waves. Even then, it was clear Kelow was tuned into her own unique voice. A regular on the local circuit, she frequented the Everlasting Life and Spit Dat open mics where she cut her teeth performing with some of her most talented peers. She, like many of that era, is an OG in her own right for another generation who came of age at a time when the city was churning out viable rappers far quicker than go-go bands. "I'm so happy to see what the younger artists are doing right now. I'm excited for them. I'm excited for us all too—artists my age and older— because it's just like the door is really opening," she says. "It's endless talent out here. And I just want to see everybody win. I mean that shit."

Her fashion sense—often a tomboyish blend of grunge and glamour bound together by her signature long acrylic nails (on this occasion, money green with holographic tips) and her free-flowing locs, usually colorful as well—is also a product of her hometown’s culture. It's a place where being different is a point of pride, where the sidewalk morphs into a runway on any given day and where Kelow, at one point in her pre-loc years, felt comfortable enough to rock pink cheetah print tracks, which she recalls with a laugh. And though her style these days is a little more contained, it remains all her own. "You see that shit in the area all day long. It's endless inspiration, endless people just doing their thing, so I can't really take all the credit," she says. "It is me, but I'm definitely a reflection of all these people around here who are just so creative."

The combination of her looks coupled with her music and prolific presence on social media has made her a charismatic presence both on and offline. It's not exactly rare to see people doting on Twitter claiming Kelow as their bae, but she's coyly amused at the suggestion that she's a sex symbol of sorts. "Of course it's nice to get compliments, but it don't seem real. I'm a bony girl, you know what I'm saying? The most compliments I really take is [about] the way I dress, but that beauty shit? My self-esteem is only building from the way I view it," she says, admitting that on this particular night, she feels whatever ("my baby hairs ain't laid right now!"), but, like anyone, on other days, she's more assured.

“It’s endless talent out here. And I just want to see everybody win. I mean that shit.”

Maintaining awareness about how she’s feeling internally and externally at any given moment is a theme that emerges over and over. She says she learns new things about herself everyday and is constantly working to ensure she’s not taking things for granted and self-correcting where possible. Maxims like "your body is a whole universe in itself" are peppered in her conversations, and in those moments, it seems both appropriate and astounding that she still maintains her day job at a health food market. On the one hand, selling natural herbs and supplements neatly aligns with her holistic view of wellness; on the other, she's thrown herself so fully into her creative endeavors it's hard to believe she even has time to do both. She's an independent artist in the traditional sense of the word; her team consists of a manager and a lawyer, but she insists on being her "own biggest cheerleader" with the understanding that she can only control herself—even and especially when her Pisces emotions threaten to disrupt her peace. 

In many ways, Kelow is the perfect rapper for this moment. Outside of the renewed interest in the DMV, which is a small if not serendipitous fact, she embodies the ethos of those who want to see hip-hop evolve into a more progressive and inclusive space. She’s a woman and champion of girl-power who is also in the LGBTQ community and who was spreading the gospel of self-care long before Twitter provided the language and framework to popularize it. If ever there was anyone who embodied the genre’s true potential, Kelow would be on the shortlist. As much as she can come across like a hippie of sorts, she radiates enchanting star power, an expert in the millennial art of transforming just figuring it out into a lifestyle choice. But outside of the records and the internet, she still goes to work, checks on loved ones in the hospital, and gets her car window busted out—twice this year in fact. And in each aspect of her life, she finds opportunities to re-calibrate her outlook or approach. Of the hospital visit: "At the end of the day, no matter what it is—money, a bad attitude, you lost something—all that shit can be replaced. If no one died, you're fucking good." And of the windows: "I just put in a conscious, clear mind, like you've gotta clean shit up. You can't just let shit sit around—organize it, put it in the right place." 

It's the kind of wisdom and approach that comes with age, or tragedy, but Kelow's motivation largely seems aimed towards trying to make the best use of her time on the planet—artistically, physically and mentally. That means if she can't find a lesson in the mistakes she's made or fresh perspective in a setback, then those events might as well have been for naught. Her desire for constant evolution and self-improvement is evident in her music. When her single “Finna,” from her 2015 mixtape Amethyst Stoner, dropped, it immediately scanned as a fully-realized version of what she had presented at that point, as clever as it was infectious. But what a difference four years can make. “I've learned how to use my voice, use my instrument better as far as manipulating my tones and practicing my wordplay,” she says, before turning her critiques inward. “But sometimes it was different moments when I took shit too serious, so [now I’m] not worrying about other people's opinions and really enjoying me." 

That posture translates pristinely on TSA. Across the EP's nine tracks, she sounds like she's simply having fun. She's nimble with her flows and skillful with her words without ever sacrificing an overarching sense of playfulness—a euphoric and ostentatious exercise in feeling oneself. But she'd be the first to point out it wasn't always this way and that she remains a work in progress. "Sometimes you get lost and you get distracted—you be like 'fuck, what the fuck am I doing?' And then something just happens. Looking at the balance of how much TSA accumulated, I was like, ‘Just off of niggas listening? Oh my god,’” she gasps in satisfied disbelief. “Now it's just like kill, people really do enjoy what I'm doing. But at the end of the day, I really do it ‘cause it makes me feel good. It brings me joy.” 

If this decade of Kelow's career was spent in search of the balance between self-care and self-expression, then the next is looking more and more like a perfecting of them both. What was once a more measured approach has been replaced with spontaneity, and where there was uncertainty, there is yet still more that is unknowable but she's finally found peace in that. "I'm not waiting. I'm not holding back no more," she says resolutely. “I let me get in the way with doubts and fears, but now, ain't nothing fucking with me—especially myself.”

Pre-order True Laurels Issue 05 featuring Kelow Latesha.

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