ReasonableMatic
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GloRilla is so fine
What happens after a video drops on the internet is in the hands of the lords of the algorithm. Whether it spawns a dance craze, lingers in limbo, or springs the dawn of a new rap superstar, the “For You” page has catapulted or throttled many a creator traversing the digital realm. The results are as thrilling as they are disorienting. GloRillaknows this feeling well. Her music video for “F.N.F (Let’s Go)” debuted on YouTube in April, and over the summer, fans quickly made it a viral hit, propelling the song, a collaboration with music producer Hitkidd, onto the top of year-end “Best Of” lists. Its bumpy, staccato spelling-bee chorus — “I’m F-R-E-E fukk nikka free / That mean I ain’t gotta worry ’bout no fukk nikka cheating” — just as swiftly made its way onto TikTok, where thousands flooded feeds with #FNFChallenge-tagged bouncy dance moves that might make purveyors of classic Memphis juke joints side-eye. Today, the YouTube video has amassed more than 58 million views, and the TikTok hashtag has more than 22.6 million — that is to say, it was a certifiable smash.
Usually the short attention spans of the clock app end the story there. Not this time.
What made the “F.N.F. (Let’s Go)” video work wasn’t just that the song is a femme anthem. It also has on-the-block relatability. Here was a woman, a round-the-way girl, petite and brash and with a deeper register than many of the dudes in her airspace, who’d simply had it with the pettiness of men. It felt real because it was real. Two months before the track’s release, Glo and her friends Teezy and Keila decided to go on a cleanse. They cut out men, partying, and alcohol and homed in on money moves. For Glo, this was recovery — from the heartbreak left behind by a skeevy ex, the heart obliteration brought on by a (now) ex-friend who had hooked up with said dude behind her back, and the mental taxation of an abortion. This was the funk that produced her TikTok hit, a bop born of betrayal and sacrifice.
The video’s two minutes and 33 seconds are lit in the most DIY fashion. After Glo and her homegirls break from a huddle like hood majorettes screaming, “Let’s goooo,” it’s all women poppin’ ass in front of midsize sedans, waterfalling Hennessy, and chiefing weed-packed Backwoods. Glo’s nearest and dearest play the role of ghetto choir to her praise-team leader. Neither the video nor the parking lot it was shot in are paved with gloss; fittingly, the sound has that real rap raw energy. The lyrics drip with the rage that persists even when you’re shouting, “I’m S-I-N-G-L-E again,” while “hanging out the windows with my ratchet-ass friends.”
That fall, Glo picked up her first Grammy nomination and released an EP, Anyways, Life’s Great … She was tapped to star in a commercial for the Memphis Grizzlies’ 2022–23 NBA season. She also picked up the Cardi B co-sign when the Bronx superstar surprised her with a guest verse on the take-no-shyt remix for “Tomorrow 2.” Glo’s verse is packed with unforgiving couplets and wordplay aimed squarely at the haters in the closed chapter of her life: “They say they don’t fukk wit’ me / But I say they can’t fukk wit’ me / Just like the air, I’m everywhere / How you say it’s up wit’ me?” They also say success is the best revenge, and “Tomorrow 2” peaked at No. 9 on Billboard’s “Hot 100” chart, solidifying her spot in the hip-hop firmament. Both Glo and Cardi were nominated for Favorite Female Hip-Hop Artist and performed together for the first time at the American Music Awards in November. Standing ovation.
So to recap: Ain’t an ounce of one-hit wonder to her. Glo is headed for your headtop.
The thing about stars, though, is the more massive and colossal they are, the faster they burn. Their level of exposure is like a bright light — quick to mesmerize but hard to consider up close. And at times, we Earthlings pay no mind to how an artist with a schedule as packed as GloRilla’s may actually feel. “They be on my ass,” she says with a small but kinda serious laugh. “They be tellin’ me, ‘You still gotta do it. There’s no one else.’” She says this as she’s coming off a ten-hour workday, still dolled up for this cover shoot in Atlanta with thick lashes and hooded lids over exhausted eyes. She’s recovering from an ill-timed cold that stole her voice the day prior because calling out sick wasn’t an option.
She’s used to the sacrifices at this point. “Me blowing up changed a lot,” she tells me. “Like 50 percent of my family …” When I push her to finish the sentence, she cuts me off — “I really don’t even care to talk about it” — before elaborating anyway. “Money change the people around you. It don’t change you, per se. It fasho change people around you, though.” Obviously, this is a sore spot. Something happened here that was too painful, or too personal, or both, to explain in detail to a stranger. How she dealt with it is a different story. “I don’t got a problem cutting people off, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But I have no problem cutting people off once I see what type of stuff they be on,” she says, her pace quickening. “They just got to go. Because it ain’t no room for that no more. I’m on a whole ’nother level now, and if you’re still on bullshyt, then I just don’t want to talk to you.”
In the nine months since “F.N.F. (Let’s Go)” came out, the 23-year-old artist has learned the logistical alchemy needed to become a rap star. The day after our interview, she’s shooting a music video for a song from her forthcoming album; the day after, a commercial for a tech brand you probably have in your pocket. A star in her position is compelled to take on that grind mentality — as long as she doesn’t burn out first.
Usually the short attention spans of the clock app end the story there. Not this time.
What made the “F.N.F. (Let’s Go)” video work wasn’t just that the song is a femme anthem. It also has on-the-block relatability. Here was a woman, a round-the-way girl, petite and brash and with a deeper register than many of the dudes in her airspace, who’d simply had it with the pettiness of men. It felt real because it was real. Two months before the track’s release, Glo and her friends Teezy and Keila decided to go on a cleanse. They cut out men, partying, and alcohol and homed in on money moves. For Glo, this was recovery — from the heartbreak left behind by a skeevy ex, the heart obliteration brought on by a (now) ex-friend who had hooked up with said dude behind her back, and the mental taxation of an abortion. This was the funk that produced her TikTok hit, a bop born of betrayal and sacrifice.
The video’s two minutes and 33 seconds are lit in the most DIY fashion. After Glo and her homegirls break from a huddle like hood majorettes screaming, “Let’s goooo,” it’s all women poppin’ ass in front of midsize sedans, waterfalling Hennessy, and chiefing weed-packed Backwoods. Glo’s nearest and dearest play the role of ghetto choir to her praise-team leader. Neither the video nor the parking lot it was shot in are paved with gloss; fittingly, the sound has that real rap raw energy. The lyrics drip with the rage that persists even when you’re shouting, “I’m S-I-N-G-L-E again,” while “hanging out the windows with my ratchet-ass friends.”
That fall, Glo picked up her first Grammy nomination and released an EP, Anyways, Life’s Great … She was tapped to star in a commercial for the Memphis Grizzlies’ 2022–23 NBA season. She also picked up the Cardi B co-sign when the Bronx superstar surprised her with a guest verse on the take-no-shyt remix for “Tomorrow 2.” Glo’s verse is packed with unforgiving couplets and wordplay aimed squarely at the haters in the closed chapter of her life: “They say they don’t fukk wit’ me / But I say they can’t fukk wit’ me / Just like the air, I’m everywhere / How you say it’s up wit’ me?” They also say success is the best revenge, and “Tomorrow 2” peaked at No. 9 on Billboard’s “Hot 100” chart, solidifying her spot in the hip-hop firmament. Both Glo and Cardi were nominated for Favorite Female Hip-Hop Artist and performed together for the first time at the American Music Awards in November. Standing ovation.
So to recap: Ain’t an ounce of one-hit wonder to her. Glo is headed for your headtop.
The thing about stars, though, is the more massive and colossal they are, the faster they burn. Their level of exposure is like a bright light — quick to mesmerize but hard to consider up close. And at times, we Earthlings pay no mind to how an artist with a schedule as packed as GloRilla’s may actually feel. “They be on my ass,” she says with a small but kinda serious laugh. “They be tellin’ me, ‘You still gotta do it. There’s no one else.’” She says this as she’s coming off a ten-hour workday, still dolled up for this cover shoot in Atlanta with thick lashes and hooded lids over exhausted eyes. She’s recovering from an ill-timed cold that stole her voice the day prior because calling out sick wasn’t an option.
She’s used to the sacrifices at this point. “Me blowing up changed a lot,” she tells me. “Like 50 percent of my family …” When I push her to finish the sentence, she cuts me off — “I really don’t even care to talk about it” — before elaborating anyway. “Money change the people around you. It don’t change you, per se. It fasho change people around you, though.” Obviously, this is a sore spot. Something happened here that was too painful, or too personal, or both, to explain in detail to a stranger. How she dealt with it is a different story. “I don’t got a problem cutting people off, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But I have no problem cutting people off once I see what type of stuff they be on,” she says, her pace quickening. “They just got to go. Because it ain’t no room for that no more. I’m on a whole ’nother level now, and if you’re still on bullshyt, then I just don’t want to talk to you.”
In the nine months since “F.N.F. (Let’s Go)” came out, the 23-year-old artist has learned the logistical alchemy needed to become a rap star. The day after our interview, she’s shooting a music video for a song from her forthcoming album; the day after, a commercial for a tech brand you probably have in your pocket. A star in her position is compelled to take on that grind mentality — as long as she doesn’t burn out first.
