Veeze is just like us — except he's one of the best rappers alive
When I enter the Manhattan studio where I'm scheduled to meet Veeze, he's working, looking over his producer Tye Beats' shoulder as he chops up a sample of "EARFQUAKE" by Tyler, The Creator. Tye deftly stitches the neck-breaking drums that have become the trademark of Michigan rap to the pattern. Swiveling in an office chair, Veeze seems exhausted, maybe slightly annoyed by the presence of another journalist deep in a rare press run. (He hates doing interviews). Right here, facing a rack of screens and speakers, is the mode in which the Detroit rapper seems most comfortable — a studio rat through-and-through; studious, skilled and focused.
But when Veeze refocuses his attention towards me, his ridiculous personality immediately jumps out. He cracks jokes constantly — about his idol-turned-mentor Future, about struggling to censor himself in a Pistons halftime performance, about his vision for his own Jimmy Fallon-esque late-night show, about rappers in the Far East biting the Michigan sound. He practically fanboys talking about a random studio session with one of his favorite artists, Playboi Carti, who praised his music and played him the scrapped deluxe edition of Whole Lotta Red.
Somehow Veeze is one of the best rappers and one of , a frank, relatable and often hilarious. Even with his music, he'll to a snippet he's premiering on IG Live as though he can't believe he came up with it. This balance between the cool and the personable, effortless bars and Twitter memes, has vaulted Veeze into the vanguard of Michigan's rap scene. Like every great before him, he's developed a style that is utterly his own. Rapping in a deceptively versatile mutter-croak, Veeze ekes out dense, snake-like verses that are as captionable and clever as they are transparent about his vices: "The drank be calling me the most when I feel like quitting." (I've seen some first-listeners struggle to get into Veeze; I'll just say that when you get it, you it.)
