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Drill music doesn’t glorify violence; it details the raw realities of everyday life
by Kelly Allen
In a press conference in 2022, New York City Mayor Eric Adams blamed drill music for violence in the city and went so far as to suggest that drill music and drill music videos should be banned on social media platforms. Following Mayor Adam’s comments, rapper Maino defended drill music, explaining, “The music is the manifestation of the direct lifestyle off of what they come from. The music does not influence the life; it is the life that influences the music.” Maino’s observations reveal that while drill music is often categorized as a glorification of violence, it is perhaps more accurately described as a robust social documentation of the history and present-day reality of systemic disinvestment and resulting inequities impacting predominantly Black neighborhoods across our country.
In this way, drill music shares lyrical similarities with hip-hop subgenre trap music, as both trap and drill music discuss the struggle for economic survival. However, while trap music is often characterized by its almost party-like vibe, the drill sound that emerged in the 2010s brought a new flow categorized by its gritty and ominous vibe. Through its slowed-down tempo (around 70 beats per minute compared to trap music’s 140 beats per minute), drawn-out 808s (a bass drum sound), and monotone vocal style, drill music offered a shift away from the upbeat sound of trap music.
Stigmatization of Drill Music
Mayor Adams is not alone in his thinking. Across the country, drill artists face accusations that their music increases violence in their communities, and their lyrics are, at times, used against them in courts of law. Most recently, lyrics discussing violence were at the center of the criminal prosecution of chart-topping rapper Young Thug after prosecutors argued that the discussion of drugs and violence in his lyrics were evidence of “gang conspiracy.” This issue is not unique to Young Thug’s trial or even the United States. Recent research out of the UK shows that over 240 people had rap lyrics used against them in court trials over the past three years.
While some argue that drill music leads to violence, there is no evidence to support this claim. This lack of evidence has led some states, like California, to limit the use of rap lyrics as evidence in court, which has garnered support from rap artists such as Meek Mill and Killer Mike. The stigmatization of drill music has led researchers to argue that genuinely understanding drill music as a musical art form requires understanding the social context that informs the music.
How Drill Music Originated
Drill music emerged from neighborhoods shaped by decades of systematic disinvestment and institutional neglect. Drill music started as an underground hip-hop movement on Chicago’s South Side in 2010, with rappers like King Louie and Pac-Man bringing a new spin to hip-hop sound. As residents of a Black neighborhood in one of the most racially segregated cities in the United States, the early originators of drill music utilized the art form to discuss the environment they were experiencing every day. The South Side of Chicago has been impacted by systemic disinvestment, which has led to increased crime, higher prices for goods and services, and lower home values for homeowners. When drill artists detail their daily realities — from navigating violence to pursuing economic survival — they’re documenting the predictable outcomes of policy choices that have stripped their communities of resources and opportunity.
Drill Music and the Tradition of Black Musical Storytelling
Drill artists are part of a long tradition of Black musical storytelling that transforms narratives of individual struggle into powerful social commentary on systemic inequities that influence everyday realities. Like blues artists such as Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf, who chronicled the Great Migration, or the early hip-hop pioneers who documented life amid the burning Bronx, drill artists speak from communities where redlining’s legacy persists through intentional disinvestment in Black economic centers, inadequate infrastructure, and under-resourced schools. Understanding drill music as a part of a legacy of Black musical storytelling reveals drill not as a celebration of violence but as a raw chronicle of life in places where systematic inequality has been allowed to calcify into crisis. This is exemplified in Lil Durk’s song All My Life where he raps “the system ain’t give me a choice/know some people that’s still unemployed, I know a felon who tryna get FOID/ child support your only support, for a visit I’m goin’ through courts/went to jail they was chainin’ me up.” Through these lines we see Lil Durk specifically calling out systemic inequality for challenges he witnessed in his life, ranging from the underemployment of Black people to issues exacerbated by mass incarceration.
Drill As Social Commentary
Today’s drill artists provide a level of social commentary about marginalized communities’ social and economic conditions that mainstream media often misrepresents or ignores entirely. When drill artist Chief Keef raps, “Cops pull me over they don’t want shit/They just want to say they locked me up” in his song Earned It, he is reflecting on the systemic over-policing and subsequent racial discrimination inherent in the policing practices of Chicago’s South Side.
Similarly, in an interview with Complex, Young Dolph explained that his fifth studio album, Rich Slave, was a narrative of “the realities of being Black in this country.” Through first-hand accounts of economic disinvestment in songs like Rich Slave, where Dolph explains, “Just to get right, had to gamble with my life,” Young Dolph paints the picture that while individuals like himself have gained individual economic success, this success did not come without immense physical risk due to economic barriers that continue to impact Black people in the United States disproportionately.
Artists like Fivio Foreign detail the emotional and psychological impact of growing up in an environment categorized by economic and social disinvestment. Through lyrics in songs like Story Time that explain, “He gon’ adapt to his habitat, even if his habitat get dark,” artists like Fivio Foreign explain how individuals impacted by systemic economic and social disinvestment are forced to adapt to oppressive conditions.
Their songs preserve stories that might otherwise go untold, creating an oral history that future generations will study to understand the real human impact of systemic inequality. Through drill music, artists transform their neighborhoods’ pain into a powerful testimony, ensuring that the reality of life in America’s disinvested communities can’t be dismissed or denied by those who would prefer to look away.
Resistance and Empowerment
While critics focus on drill’s darker themes, they often overlook how the genre has become a powerful vehicle for economic and social empowerment in communities long denied access to traditional advancement paths. Drill artists like Lil Durk have transformed their musical success into community investment, launching non-profit organizations like the Neighborhood Heroes Foundation that aim to promote educational equity, access to economic opportunities, and investments in community infrastructure.
Beyond this, drill artists regularly organize food drives, violence prevention initiatives, youth programs, and mental health programs, demonstrating their commitment to addressing the very conditions their music documents. Further, drill artists commit to advancing local economic ecosystems by uplifting the work of videographers, producers, and entrepreneurs from neighborhoods where legitimate business opportunities are scarce. In engaging in these economic and social initiatives, drill artists not only detail the current realities individuals experience because of systemic disenfranchisement and inequalities; they also utilize their collective power to cultivate and share resources to promote economic mobility.
Reframing the Narrative
Critics who dismiss drill music as merely glorifying violence overlook its profound value as a primary source document of American disenfranchisement and inequality. The unfiltered voices of drill artists represent generations of voices historically excluded from mainstream discourse about urban policy and social change and force listeners to confront truths about the persistent inequities that continue to shape American life. When we engage seriously with drill’s candid descriptions of life in systematically disinvested communities, we gain invaluable insight into how policy decisions — from housing discrimination to school funding to policing practices — shape daily reality in many predominantly Black neighborhoods. These narratives should be centered when advocating for policy changes and making economic investment decisions, not criticized for detailing the raw realities of everyday life.
Kelly Allen researches how teachers think about and implement hip-hop in their practice. She is an assistant professor of curriculum studies at Augusta University.
