Vince Staples stares at the money mythology and affluent-affixed aesthetic of mainstream rap with disinterest. From the gritty concrete of Long Beach, he critiques the rapper’s throne, destroying it with his gunshot tongue. This “devotee of realism” finds no utopia in ass-clapping, chains or grills. His home is his voice, his piercing voice.
On Prima Donna Staples reinforces the subversive…
