Hip-hop debates sounded very different. People argued about lyrics, flows, albums, and influence. Fans debated whether a rapper had the best verse of the year or if an album would become a classic. Now the conversation sounds more like: first-week numbers, monthly listeners, and how many streams. Somewhere along the way, hip-hop stopped sounding like a culture and more like pocket watching.

For the past few weeks, the so-called “Epstein Files” have dominated headlines and timelines. It’s the number one trending topic across media platforms. Regardless, this being the number 1 trending topic in media and entertainment, the fact is that nobody is really being held accountable.

For years now, the underground rap scene has been marketed as raw, unfiltered, anti-industry, and closer to the people. No labels. No rules. Just vibes, Discord servers, and “realness”. But buried beneath the aesthetics, the fashion, and the cult followings is an uncomfortable truth that too many fans have accepted as the new normal. A recurring pattern of grooming and inappropriate relationships with minors!

Pitchfork reviews music the same way narcissistic parents name their kids: with zero soul and way too much performance. These dimwits don’t review music. They chase moments. They are like a thirst-trapping influencer refreshing her notifications. They’re the escorts of music criticism: pay them enough, and suddenly your project is “important,” “genre-pushing,” and “redefining the conversation.”

It’s almost 2026, a whole decade later, and somehow, people are still  talking about 2016 like it was the second coming of Christ. What happened that year? Did humanity ascend? Did the school system finally make sense? Nah. None of that. Just a bunch of young internet dickheads acting like boomers, crying about how “ great things used to be back in those days .” Harambe. The Soundcloud Era, Pokémon GO. Damn Daniel. That horrible 2016 XXL Freshman Class freestyle. Vine. Suicid