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Music

How eMTee Rose to the Top of Johannesburg's Trap Movement

The Soweto native is a platinum selling artist in his home country of South Africa but now he's aiming to achieve international stardom.

When trap music was being established in early 2000s Atlanta, the purpose was to give an intimate soundtrack to the life young people were living in the city’s streets, but the form has since become the global language of rap. T.I. undoubtedly coined the term when he named his 2003 sophomore album Trap Muzik and used the project to pull the sheet from over what day-to-day life of a hustler was like on the westside of Atlanta. Two years later, producer Shawty Redd and Young Jeezy upgraded T.I.’s blueprint to a triumphant, almost pastoral guide on how to go from dirty to clean. Around the same time, Zaytoven and Gucci Mane were brewing a piano-flooded, more lighthearted rendition of the genre that still informs its sound almost 15 years later. Now, in every corner of the world, trap is not only being played, but it’s the template people are using to become rappers. What continues to make trap resonate with the international masses is that it takes mesmerizing production and gives space to people from ignored environments to take hold of their own narratives—even though many artists have bypassed the founding principles and traded them in for interchangeable lyrics about outlandish amounts of money and drugs.

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South African rapper eMTee (born Mthembeni Ndevu) was 11 years old when T.I. put trap on a path to flourish. At that time, he was more concerned with playing in his school’s marimba band and listening to Lil’ Bow Wow. But growing up in Johannesburg’s Soweto township, his life was tailor-made for him to identify with what was being molded 8,400 miles away in Atlanta. “My nigga’s auntie not selling dope, but she’s selling alcohol,” he mentioned on an exceptionally hot, early January summer day in Johannesburg. “I don’t have a trap house but I got a shack.”

Now 25, eMTee is arguably his native country’s biggest artist operating within the trap space, with a platinum album and best Southern Africa male act AFRIMA award under his belt. In his work and in conversation, he constantly draws parallels between what he witnessed in Soweto and the world depicted through trap coming from the states. At times, his imagery is of the highest order—regardless of nation. On “Manando,” the title track from his most recent album, he colorfully remembers a slain childhood friend who had looked out for him: “He fucked them up when them niggas would bully me/ Make you say sorry then take all your jewelry/ Rappers think they gangsta. That is not new to me.” In ways, eMTee has done a better job at maintaining the on-the-ground reporting aspect that trap started out with than the artists he was inspired by, who now use the genre as a sound more than a foundation.

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eMTee extends his reach beyond his own creations when he considers what trap means to him. While we drove from the Johannesburg suburb of Midrand where he lives to Soweto, he played Saudi for the majority of our time in the car—a rapper from his independent label Ambitiouz Entertainment who was featured on the Black Panther Soundtrack. Our destination was a pop-up shop established by his friends with a streetwear brand called Styla Gang. This entire group of rappers, designers, managers, and homies is called ATM: African Trap Movement, which is also an indie label eMTee just launched. At the Styla Gang shop, I sat with eMTee to talk about his sense of community, his musical beginnings, and what success looks like for him at this stage of his career.

How long have you been rapping?

When Bow Wow was popular. Around the time when I was nine. The same time I fell in love with basketball, wearing Jordans. So it started make sense. But nobody knew me as a rapper. In school, I was in the marimba band. I still used to write lyrics during class. I never liked school from the beginning. Also, it started with me being a fan and being inspired that made me want to do it.

Were there local rappers that you want to pursue it as a career?

I listened to every genre. One of my favorite genres is jazz. My pops had jazz all day. If I’m not listening to jazz, it’s R&B. Anything.

Is it hard trying to get into the industry in South Africa? I hear a lot of people say that South African artists don’t get support.

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That’s still a struggle that we’re under. Not so long ago, they promised us 90 percent local music on the radio and all we hear is American music.

[ In 2016, the South African Broadcasting Corporation mandated a 90 percent quota of local music on its radio stations. That directive has since been rescinded .]

So did the 90 percent thing even happen?

There was a time when it was promising, then it went back to normal. It felt like a front. Even on my side, it’s hard to get my label on the radio. Because at some point, it’s about who you know. It’s a constant battle. People may see us and think we have everything. Me as a hip-hop artist, the new era in South Africa don’t support me.

Why?

Not that they don’t like me because their kids like my music. I’ve managed to turn people who didn’t like hip-hop to liking hip-hop so it’s vice versa. From my neighborhood, to the schools. We were dissed for liking hip-hop and sagging our pants. People are like, “What are you doing? You trying to be Migos?”

I got on the trap wave and I rolled with it because this shit talks about what we go through. Just in a different way. My nigga’s auntie not selling dope, but she’s selling alcohol. I don’t have a trap house but I got a shack. That’s the African Trap Movement.

Why don’t people here like rap? Is it still perceived as negative?

Nah. Not to sound all political, but they’ve caged us in South Africa. A lot of people I know inside those villages, they can’t walk to the city. They’ve taken certain color people and put them in certain areas. This shit is still happening.

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What’s the challenges of having an independent label?

It gets tricky. My label is just starting and it’s like going to prison. Getting there and realizing that you ain’t as boss as you thought you was. Because there are people up there that permit shit and whether we like it or not, it’s always going to be favoritism. I see that with a lot of people. People expect me to be all social but I don’t like that. When I was broke I wasn’t social so why should I be social now? I can be social with people that I know are gonna take me somewhere in life. I can come to the store and chill with the gang because I know they work for this shit as hard as I do. People are in disbelief that this kid is this big. I used to walk these streets. I used to walk to production companies. Ten-mile walks. But now that I’m here it’s different. It’s challenging because our parents don’t support us and our music. Now they support me just because they see what it can do.

Why didn’t they support you?

Because there’s never been a rapper in the family. We don’t know anybody at a production company. We don’t have plugs. We poor. We need food. We need to eat. You’re talking about you want to be on TV? It feels like an insult to them. But I was stubborn about my shit. I’m gonna be what I wanna be. OK, my parents say no. Well, I say yes. I’d disappear for a week because I was laying down songs.

Do you feel like it’s still going on in a way?

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I still feel like somebody is gonna burst. But I don’t know much about politics. I didn’t wanna be a doctor or lawyer. I just like making music. I don’t want much from life.

What was the best moment of 2017 with your career?

There was one where I won an award from AFRIMA. The All African Music Awards. I won for Best Southern Hip-Hop. For some reason, I was confident that I was gonna take it, but then I got a bombshell because when I got there, niggas didn’t know me. I made sure I wore South African attire so I could represent. It’s an award that a lot people dream of: All Africa, the whole continent. I didn’t even a prepare a speech.

When we were in the car, you mentioned that your main goal for your career is to get to LA. Why do you feel like it’s a necessary stop?

People here will appreciate us even better. When Trevor Noah was here, he was a complete nobody. He was kind of big. He was a presenter on them shows here and there, but soon as he went to The Daily Show, he was that nigga. So I feel like if I can make that move, too, people from home will start feeling the boy. I do what I do with pride and determination. I feel like LA is the center of entertainment. I’m an entertainer.