Milwaukee-born, Atlanta-based rapper Kristopher Thomas Campbell - or, K Camp - is yet another testament to the unfairness of making music for a living. K Camp is the kind of outstanding talent you should be hearing all about, but aren't. His music flows with remarkable ease. And all great music seems to have been birthed by their authors, easily (no doubt having to do with our absence during the music’s gestation, with its initial imagining, repeated false starts, countless revisions; in this we grant artists their privacy and, we - connoisseurs - arrive only after the musician’s product is swaddled and bewitching). Good music has so flooded the landscape as to submerge genre-wide swaths of fertile artistry. The two genres with which I am familiar enough to comment upon - hip-hop and indie (a broad label, I know, but what else am I going to say, “shoe-gaze bubbleyum”?) - are rife with unexplored talent, and its attendant music that a lifetime of curiosity would'n’t suffice to unearth.
The casualties of today’s landscape - those undiscovered talents among whom you can count K Camp - are no less pleasing than a Drake, Lil Uzi Vert or Future, if you’d only get a chance to hear them. Thankfully, for a nominal monthly fee, you can access virtually every volume of the library of the world’s recorded music and can, as part of that nominal fee, avail yourself of an algorithm that shoulders the time-consuming and expensive work of selecting pieces for display at your next house party.
Hearing this song, you’ll see what I mean. K-Camp deserves to be better known, have more fans and occupy the space in your playlists that befits all your favorite music.