Read: The New Yorker x Rick Ross

A few weeks ago when Rozay dropped Rich Forever, The New York Times spotlighted him (read here). Now it’s The New Yorker‘s turn as Sasha Frere-Jones takes his stab at the Bawse’s story. Read the full story here.

Here’s an excerpt via The New Yorker

What matters is not the rap sheet but the rhyme, and the spin the m.c. can give to the trade. Nas generally paints a grim picture of it; Clipse offer a cynical endorsement of dealing; Jeezy sounds both thrilled and scared by the amount of power that drug dealers have. Ross has become a respected rapper by depicting the life style of a boss, or a don, two words that he loves. He never cares to unpack the morals of the drug trade—what he revels in is the security and relief of being fabulously wealthy. This is what his voice sells, the way Sinatra once sold an implacable but supple kind of confidence.

Ross’s success in mimicking drug lords has brought him the ability to live like one of them. Profiles have documented his large homes, his fleet of cars, his shopping sprees at watch stores, his solicitous entourage and flexible schedule. Ross may represent the final abandonment of hip-hop’s mandate to “keep it real,” a concept that goes by different names now but has not gone away. Perhaps listeners know that this is a version of “Miami Vice,” a show that Ross claims to have been inspired by. The appeal is less some kind of documentary thrill than Ross’s ability to transmit the confidence that comes from blithely running up roaming fees while driving a Rolls-Royce through Samoa.

While Frere-Jones hits somes some notes, he fails to see the growth in Ross’s work since his infamous rhyming Atlantic with Atlantic days. There’s no mention of the onslaught he received from 50, which has killed a bunch of careers, and he even goes as far to nitpick at Ross’s beat selection.