7 minute read
BROCKHAMPTON: The Real Thing
You won’t know true fear until you interview 14 people at once. I’m sitting in the green room at Irving Plaza before BROCKHAMPTON, the Los Angeles-based boy band, performs their second out of three sold-out shows in New York City. A loud crowd chant echoes up to our room—muted from the outside through walls of brick and steel. The floor vibrates, the hanging lights seem to sway above.
Yet BROCKHAMPTON is a boy band like, let’s say, an iPhone is a phone. Yes, it performs functions like playing shows and recording—in the way that an iPhone makes phone calls. But then, the group also produces its own music videos. And their own skit series. And their own merchandise.
BROCKHAMPTON is deceptively, profoundly more than its own designation. Really, the term “boy band” feels like an inside joke, or a tagline. It gives people an easy way to digest this group of songwriters, producers, creative directors, photographers, videographers and thinkers. They do it all, they do it themselves and their entire process is expertly streamlined. That’s what made the experience so unnerving; I was staring at the future.
In December of 2014, Ian Simpson, better known as Kevin Abstract, founded BROCKHAMPTON from the ashes of an earlier project, Alive Since Forever. “I felt like I was in a group where I didn’t have room to lead— which I wanted to do in that moment,” says Abstract. Many of the group members met on KanyeToThe—the online fan forum—which in part explains the group’s geographic makeup. Matt Champion, Ashlan Grey, Russell “JOBA” Boring, Ameer Vann and Abstract are all from Texas—specifically, Houston and nearby Corpus Christi. The group is even named after Brockhampton Street in Corpus Christi, where Abstract grew up.
When Romil Hemnani tells me he’s from Connecticut, like members Dom McLennon and Jon Nunes, he makes a fart noise. Kiko Merley and Henock “HK” Sileshi are from Jacksonville, and Robert Ontinient is from Miami. Ciaran McDonald, or Bearface, casually mentions that he’s from Belfast, Northern Ireland, like it’s somewhere around the corner. Merlyn Wood says that he’s from Zamunda—which is a fictional country from the 1988 cult classic Coming to America. But he’s from Texas, too. Although they come from different backgrounds, it’s easy to tell that the members of BROCKHAMPTON are cut from the same cloth. It’s almost an Internet fairytale: they were once wanderers, unsatisfied with the status quo, who found a home amongst each other. They may as well be from Zamunda.
EARLIER this week, BROCKHAMPTON performed on MTV’s Total Request Live. It was gloriously disruptive: the group jerked, thrashed, screamed and kicked around Times Square, decked out in orange jumpsuits and white hoodies, covered in blue body paint. On the side, host DC Young Fly obligingly bobbed, but also looked like someone who’s struggling to process the spectacle. This was the first televised performance of “BOOGIE,” the opener from their wildly successful album Saturation III. It was a milestone, but somehow the spot felt bigger for MTV than it did for its guests. The group masterfully controlled the debut: MTV’s YouTube video of the performance is displayed in BROCKHAMPTON’s custom aspect ratio. Vann artfully returned a question about their blue paint—which is actually a nod to Busta Rhymes’ “Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Can See” music video — by instead referencing an old Frankie Muniz movie, Big Fat Liar.
The irony of BROCKHAMPTON, a boy band formed on the Internet, performing on a cable giant’s onetime flagship program, was too rich to ignore. At its height, the show dictated pop culture with the sort of flashy smiles, Britney-Justin pageantry and sly politesse that helped shape this generation’s worldview. “It’s extremely ironic, that’s one of the reasons we did it,” says Abstract. “We’re a boy band, and we know how we want to be perceived. We already know how people saw us, so we wanted to flip the platform on its head and do the coolest thing we could possibly do.”
If that’s not genius, it’s crazy foresight. Although its members do have bars, BROCKHAMPTON calling itself a boy band spares it from the scrutiny of hip-hop’s old guards and puts the group in a space where it can truly shine. As our culture strives to promote diverse identities across race, gender and sexuality, there’s simply less room for white guy four-pieces. The antiquated pop culture paradigm was begging to be changed. And these days, what’s the difference between a hip-hop group and a boy band anyway?
“Before us, a boy band was something that was manufactured and plastic,” says Vann. “Rap groups are about crying out and expressing yourselves. We’re a hybrid.” Got it. But sonically, the work is a grab bag of genres and subgenres spanning shoegaze to G-funk. SATURATION III shifts influences, sometimes midsong. Because there are so many people involved in the creative process, Hemnani tells me, it’s virtually impossible to pinpoint BROCKHAMPTON’s sound— and that’s the point.
When it comes to actually making the music— BROCKHAMPTON’s creative process itself is a combination of Kanye-like commitment, Disney-like efficiency and Warholian collaborative ideals. Their house, which serves as a recording studio, production set and design hub, is even called the Factory. The original BROCKHAMPTON Factory was formed in 2014, when the group all started living together in San Marcos, Texas. Stories from the salad days of the Factory are fitting for a group of college-age guys trying to build their dream. “We couldn’t afford it,” says Vann bluntly. They worked odd jobs to keep the Internet on: Vann worked at a car shop. Wood got a job with a pedicab company and got jumped on his first—and last—day. Champion operated field day rides at local elementary schools.
These days, however, the Factory is more self-sustaining. It’s currently located in North Hollywood, across town from the old house in South LA, where the group first moved from Texas in 2016. The sheer volume of talent—five producers-slash-sound engineers, six rappers-songwriters—makes it easy for the group to produce en masse. Vann describes their process fluently, like he’s reading from a cookbook. A song begins on the walls of a writer’s room. Then, it goes to be recorded in Hemnani’s room. Afterward, it’s passed to Boring for engineering. Hemnani, Abstract and Boring handle the executive production.
And voila. In this case, the recipe yielded three albums and 14 corresponding music videos (amongst other things) in 2017—all conceptualized and executed at the Factory. “There’s a hum in the house,” says Vann, who likened the process to that of a car assembly line. “There’s always art being made. I don’t think anyone here feels like they can stop.”
But songs aren’t the only thing being made in this Factory. Merchandise has become a large, tangible part of BROCKHAMPTON’s success. Designed by Sileshi—also known as “HK”—and Abstract, the sizable collection is yet another canvas for the creative team. Offerings feature an array of lyrics, mantras and custom graphics across sweatshirts, T-shirts, hats and accessories.
Some pieces are more philosophical than others. Take the “Boys Make Me Sad” sweatshirt. Or the “I Never Liked Sports” ringer T-shirt—the silhouette is a middle school gym staple. In 1995, when Wu-Tang launched Wu-Wear, it was more lifestyle wear than tour merch; it was simply a way to identify with the group’s M.O. Sileshi and Abstract are giving their fans a chance to wear the music that they relate to so closely.
HK credits Odd Future as having “definitely laid the blueprint,” a statement underlined by the group’s recent campaign for Converse, who currently has an ongoing partnership with Tyler, the Creator. “We really hone in on creating things within our universe.” That universe is constantly evolving. Boring borrows the mic to reflect: “I’m with my favorite people in the world, performing for people who care,” he says. “I’m part of something bigger than myself.” No one mocks him nor does anybody play down his genuine affection. They embrace it. If you couldn’t tell already, the true appeal of BROCKHAMPTON lies in its members’ authenticity. And as far as boy bands go, even Simon Cowell couldn’t manufacture anything more affecting.
Their plans after the 41-show ‘Love Your Parents’ tour are the same as they ever were: “Keep making things,” Hemnani shrugs. Abstract admits that they will probably release two albums in 2018, and yet it feels like there are bigger things than music in the works. According to him, two albums are probable. But then there’s Question Everything, described as the umbrella company to their film projects, creative direction and yes, even sovereign to the boy band. Like “Alphabet for Google?” I ask. “Yeah,” Abstract readily agreed. “The umbrella’s always up.”
Words: Josh Davis | Photography: Ashlan Grey
