Every member of the COVID generation probably remembers the first day they stepped outside, met up with a friend and was finally seen by someone else—not their partner or pet. Childish Major is acutely aware of this. The Atlanta MC wanted to drop his new six-song project, Thank you, God. For it all., throughout the first wave of the pandemic, but it never felt right given its extroverted, block-party energy.

Especially after the murder of George Floyd, which left him—a Black man himself—devastated.

"It was pretty dark," he tells GRAMMY.com over Zoom from his parked ride. "It put me in a position where I was like, 'What do I do? What do I need to do? How can I help?'" While he briefly considered making some music in response, the idea felt flimsy. Instead, Major opted to band together with his friends, family and colleagues in the rap game to commiserate, vent and heal.

One year after George Floyd, the world is opening up in fits and starts amid the Delta variant setback. After a period of sitting back, thinking and listening, it feels like the perfect time for Thank you, God. For it all., which had been in the can all this time. Brief, incisive and fat-free, the EP, which dropped July 23, features potent collaborations with Yung Baby Tate ("Check"), ScHoolboy Q ("Disrespectful") and other modern greats.

Read More: Yung Baby Tate On Success, Working With Issa Rae & 'After The Rain Deluxe'

GRAMMY.com caught up with Childish Major about Thank you, God. For it all. and why it's a soundtrack to feeling yourself—in his words, "fly," "hot," and like "poppin' s***"—while cruising around the ATL.

How does it feel to have Thank you, God. For it all. dropping soon?

Man, we've been waiting for a minute to drop this project. I feel like I've made three projects, maybe, since COVID hit. We've been itching to drop something in general. This seemed like perfect timing. The music is for outside, and outside is kind of opening back up now. So, that's the energy.

Was it delayed due to the virus?

No, it wasn't pushed back due to the virus, really. In the beginning, it was more like I had music that was ready to drop. Then, COVID hit, and it was like, "OK, what do we do?" Then it's like, "OK, I'm ready to drop!" and then George Floyd happens. I'm messed up about that. I'm like, "I can't self-promote during this time." Then, I get past that to a certain extent and it's like, "Alright, now I'm ready." It just so happened to be the time that everything's opening up. It's the perfect time.

Read More: One Year After #TheShowMustBePaused, Where Do We Stand? Black Music Industry Leaders Discuss

What went through your head when you saw the news about Floyd?

Ah, man. I mean, it was the news, it was conversations, it was my grandparents, family. It was pretty dark. It put me in a position where I was like, "What do I do? What do I need to do? How can I help?"

Did you feel like you wanted to respond with music in some way? Or, perhaps, with silence?

I felt like I wanted to respond with music initially, but then I felt like, "Maybe a musical response is kind of corny right now. Maybe my silence is a little bit better." Yeah, man. I just remember having a lot of conversations during that time. It was very heavy.

After all, there were already a lot of songs with titles like "Say Their Names" out there.

Yeah, you don't want to play with moments like that. It's a very serious thing. Even right now, I'm thinking about it, and that's taking me to a place where I definitely don't want to go back to.

I mean, there are people like Anderson .Paak. [He] dropped his song ["Lockdown"] and seeing the visual, man, he executed it very well and in a very respectful way. For me, it wasn't important to be seen at that moment. I was just filling it with people, honestly.

Read More: George Floyd, Breonna Taylor And Elijah McClain Are Drifting From The National Discourse—These Musicians Remind Us To "Say Their Names"

Now, we're in a different space in time. What did you want to say with this project that differed from past ones?

Well, the title itself is Thank you, God. For it all. Before thinking about the title, when I was in the music process, having conversations with Don Cannon, who was the executive producer, I was sending him what I was working on prior to this project. It's more vibey, it's moodier. It's a storyline; it's strings and poetry. It's this world that I created.

He's like, "This is dope, but I feel like we need to cut through. You make music that cuts through and grabs the attention, and then you start taking people into a world." So, that was his mindset while coaching me through this project. He started sending me production. I don't know if you've ever been to Atlanta, but it's Atlanta energy. You've got to come down one time.

When we talk about Atlanta energy, it's young. It's hot. It's being in the streets. It's being at the strip clubs. It's fly. It's riding with your top down. It's that type of energy. That's what I feel people are going to take from it. These are records people are going to listen to on the weekends. "F Yah Job," that's going to be out on Friday. Everybody's Friday is like, "Man, I'm not trying to be here right now. I'm out of the office!" You know what I'm saying?

Childish Major. Photo: Al Pham 

That's the vibe of the project, but the title itself—Thank you, God. For it all.—especially from all of us coming off of COVID and the George Floyd thing, that's been my mindset and my personal mantra as far as what could get me to whatever this next step is in my life. I know a lot of people who are trying to figure out work or their living situations due to what COVID did.

Thank you, God. For it all. is like an agreement ahead of time. I'm grateful for where this is going to go, because I know it'll lead me somewhere I need to be.

Musically, what separates Atlanta hip-hop from other scenes?

Well, for one, Atlanta is a young city. It's a young Black city. And when I say "young Black city," I don't even just mean age. I feel like even older people in the city, we all talk alike. We all talk the same. There's a language. It's very Southern. It's very gritty. It's very raw.

It's suave, for lack of a better word. It's poppin' shit. When you put on a fly outfit and you look in the mirror and you're feeling yourself, that's the energy. But that's the energy of an average person in Atlanta, you know what I'm saying? Everybody is feeling themselves to a certain degree.

Especially with Instagram and all that, which usually gets a negative connotation as far as being narcissistic or conceited. But in real life, we all need confidence because that's what's going to get you to the next day.

What do you appreciate about your collaborators on this project?

Ah, man. Everybody has their own little niches, but Hollywood Cole is super diverse. He had the single "F Yah Job," which is probably the most top-down record we've got on here. But he also produced the title track, which is more boom-bap. That's what I love about Cole: That he has a lot of diversity.

Cannon is a coach, but he can play, too. You know what I'm saying? He oversaw the whole project, but then came through and gave us the record "Down South." Wavy Wallace, man, he has a lot of different styles, too, but he gave us a bop on here. DJ Mark B, well, he's a DJ, so he knows what needs to happen. He knows what's going on, so he gives us bangers every time.

I feel like some rap fans view boom-bap as being a little backward or antiquated, although it's the style I gravitate to the most.

You've got to have it. It's necessary. Even Drake without his boom-bap records, I feel like he doesn't become exactly who he is right now. I feel like it's necessary.

Sounds like it's the equivalent of the 12-bar blues in rock music. You can't stray too far from it.

Yeah, it's the core! You've got to feed the core.

"I'm grateful for where this is going to go, because I know it'll lead me somewhere I need to be."

What's the state of the rap game? Is it straying from sing-rap or mumble rap into a more traditional territory or the opposite?

Nah, it's always going to be a mixture. I feel like you always need diversity. It's necessary. Sometimes, it doesn't feel like [the deal], like "Damn, I don't like this." You just have s*** you don't like; excuse my language. But it's a necessary evil. You have to have that gauge or that range from super amazingly talented people to people who are just trying s*** and it just goes. 

There are flukes all the time, but are you going to turn it into what they call 15 minutes of fame, or are you going to stretch it? And the people who want to stretch it, they'll home in on their craft a little bit more and be like, "Oh, wow! I did that on a fluke! Well, let me try to get better!" Sometimes, they turn that 15 minutes into five years.

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I'm primarily in the jazz world these days, but I feel like it's the same as all scenes: There are humble, talented people and then there are opportunists. Is the rap world like that, too?

Man, the rap world is completely like that. I'd say it's more like that than in jazz. In the rap world, I've got friends whose four-year-old daughters make rap songs. And they sound good! Or good to the extent of what kids are going for, especially with TikTok and all that stuff going on right now. It's the people's music.

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On their new Jersey club-inspired single "Bling-Bang-Bang-Born," Japanese hip-hop duo Creepy Nuts narrate the inner monologue of a confident man, unbothered by others’ negativity and the everyday pressures of life.

In this episode of Global Spin, watch Creepy Nuts deliver an electrifying performance of the track, made more lively with its bright flashing lights and changing LED backdrop.

"Before I show them my true ability/ My enemies run away without capability," they declare in Japanese on the second verse. "Raising the bar makes me very happy/ ‘Cause I’m outstanding, absolutely at No.1."

"Bling-Bang-Bang-Born" was released on January 7 via Sony Music and also serves as the season two opening track for the anime "Mashle: Magic and Muscles." The song previously went viral across social media for its accompanying "BBBB Dance."

"Basically, the song is about it’s best to be yourself, like flexing naturally. Of course, even though we put effort into writing its lyrics and music, it’s still a song that can be enjoyed without worrying about such things," they said in a press statement.

Press play on the video above to watch Creepy Nuts’ energetic performance of "Bling-Bang-Bang-Born," and don’t forget to check back to GRAMMY.com for more new episodes of Global Spin.

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Twenty-six-year-old rapper Anycia truly lives in the present. The Atlanta-born artist describes her most viral hits as if they were everyday experiences — she's simply going out of town on "BRB" and mad at a partner in "Back Outside" featuring Latto. 

Despite her calm demeanor and cadence, Anycia is a self-proclaimed "firecracker" and credits her success to her long-held confidence. 

"I [command] any room I walk in, I like to introduce myself first — you never have to worry about me walking into the room and not speaking," Anycia tells GRAMMY.com. "I speak, I yell, I twerk, I do the whole nine," adding, "I see tweets all the time [saying] ‘I like Anycia because she doesn’t rap about her private parts’... are y’all not listening?" 

With authenticity as her cornerstone, Anycia's genuine nature and versatile sound appeal broadly. On her recently released sophomore LP, Princess Pop That, Anycia's playful personality, unique vocal style and skillful flow are on full display. Over 14 tracks, Anycia keeps her usual relaxed delivery while experimenting with different beats from New Orleans, New York, California, and of course, Georgia. 

"I'm learning to be myself in different elements. I'm starting to take my sound and make it adapt to other beats and genres," she says. "But this whole album is definitely a little showing of me dibbling and dabbling.

The rising hip-hop star gained traction in June 2023 with her sultry single, "So What," which samples the song of the same name by Georgia natives Field Mob and Ciara. When Anycia dropped the snippet on her Instagram, she only had a "GoPro and a dream." Today, she has millions of views on her music videos, collaborations with artists like Flo Milli, and a critically acclaimed EP, Extra. On April 26, she'll release her debut album, Princess Pop That, featuring Cash Cobain, Luh Tyler, Kenny Beats, Karrahbooo and others. 

Ahead of the release of Princess Pop That, Anycia spoke with GRAMMY.com about her influences, maintaining individuality, working with female rappers, and using her music as a therapeutic outlet.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Where did the title Princess Pop That come from?

Princess Pop That is my little alter ego, and my Twitter and finsta name. It's kind of like a Sasha Fierce/Beyoncé type of situation. 

The cover of your album gives early 2000 vibes. Is that where you draw most of your inspiration from?

Yeah. My everyday playlist is literally early 2000s music. I even still listen to [music] from the '70s – I just like old music! 

My mom is a big influence on a lot of the music that I like. She had me when she was like 19, 20. She's a Cali girl and has great taste in music. I grew up on everything and I feel like a lot of the stuff that I'm doing, you can kind of see that influence.

I grew up on Usher, Cherish, 112, Jagged Edge, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, Teena Marie, Luther Vandross and Sam Cooke. Usher was my first concert, ever and actually my last concert — I went to his residency in Vegas with my mom. That's like our thing.

I know you had your hand in many different professions — including barbering and working at a daycare — how did you get into rapping?

I always liked music, but [thought] girl, we need some money right now. Rapping and music is cool, but I always had one foot in and one foot out. When I was [working] my jobs, it was more this is what I need to be doing right now — but I wasn't happy. 

It got to a point where I noticed that I was doing all these things, and it worked but it wasn't working for me. I didn't want to get caught up; I didn't want to be stuck doing something just because it works. I wanted to do something that I actually love to do. I decided to quit both jobs because I was literally making me miserable. 

I feel like that's what happened with a lot of our parents — they lose focus of their actual goals or what they actually wanted to do, and they get so caught up in what works in the moment. One thing about me, if I don't like something I'm done. I don't care how much money I put into it, if I'm not happy and it doesn’t feed me spiritually and mentally I'm not doing it. Right after [I quit] I was in the studio back-to-back making music. It eventually paid off.

Walk us through your music making process. 

A blunt, a little Don Julio Reposado, a space heater because I’m anemic. Eating some tacos and chicken wings or whatever I’m feeling at the moment. It’s not that deep to me, I like to be surrounded by good energy in the studio. 

People like to say female rappers aren’t welcoming or don’t like to work with each other. You’re clearly debunking this myth with songs like "Back Outside" featuring Latto and "Splash Brothers'' featuring Karrahbooo. What was it like working with them and how did these collaborations come about? 

Karrahbooo and I were already friends before we started rapping. It was harder for people to get us to do music because when we were around each other we weren't like, "Oh we need to do a song together." We had a friendship. 

Working with Latto, we didn't collab on that song in the studio. I did the song myself after being really upset at a man. I made the song just venting. I didn't even think that I was ever gonna put that song out, honestly. Latto ended up hitting me up within a week's span just giving me my flowers and telling me she wanted to do a song [together]. I ended up sending her "Back Outside" because I felt like she would eat [it up] and she did just that. 

She did! Are there any other female rappers you’d like to work with?

I really want to work with Cardi B — I love her! I'm also looking forward to collaborating with GloRilla. 

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Many female rappers come into the industry and feel like they have to start changing themself to fit a certain aesthetic or archetype. However, everything about you seems super unique — from your voice to your style and appearance. How do you maintain your individuality? 

Being yourself is literally the easiest job ever. When you're doing everything you're supposed to be doing, you're being genuine while you're doing it and you’re just being 110 percent authentically yourself — I feel like everything works out for you perfectly fine. 

I haven't had the urge to change anything or do anything different. The reason people started liking me was because I was being myself. Even if it wasn't accepted, I'm not going to stop being myself. I do what works for me and I feel like everybody should just do what works for them and not what works for the people outside of them. 

That's what creates discomfort for yourself, that’s how you become a depressed artist — trying to please everybody [but] yourself. I feel like people lose sight of that fact. Aside from this being a job or a career for me now, it’s still my outlet and a way I express myself;  it's still my form of art. I will never let anybody take that from me. It's intimate for me. 

Speaking of intimacy, what was the inspiration behind "Nene’s Prayer"? I want to know who was playing with you.

I was just having a little therapy session in the booth and everyone ended up liking it. Instead of getting mad, flipping out and wanting to go to jail I just put in a song. Even though I said some messed up things in the song, it’s better than me doing those messed up things. 

Have you ever written a lyric or song that you felt went too far or was too personal?

Nope. A lot of the [topics] that I [rap about] is just stuff girls really want to say, but don't have the courage to say. But me, I don’t give a damn! If it resonates with you then it does, and if it doesn't — listen to somebody else. 

Exactly! What advice would you give to upcoming artists trying to get noticed or have that one song that pops?

If you got something that you want to put out into the world, you just have to have that confidence for yourself, and you have to do it for you and not for other people. I feel like people make music and do certain things for other people. That's why [their song] doesn't do what it needs to do because it’s a perspective of what other people want, rather than doing [a song] that you're comfortable with and what you like.

How do you want people to feel after listening to ‘Princess Pop That?’

I just want the girls, and even the boys, to get in their bag. Regardless of how you went into listening to the album, I want you to leave with just a little bit more self confidence. If you’re feeling low, I want you to feel like "I am that bitch." 

It's a no judgment zone. I want everybody to find their purpose, walk in their truth and feel like "that girl" with everything they do. You could even be in a grocery store, I want you to feel like the baddest bitch. 

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In 2020, Megan Thee Stallion solidified herself as one of rap's most promising new stars, thanks to her hit single "Savage." Not only was it her first No. 1 song on the Billboard Hot 100, but the "sassy, moody, nasty" single also helped Megan win three GRAMMYs in 2021.

In this episode of GRAMMY Rewind, revisit the sentimental moment the Houston "Hottie" accepted one of those golden gramophones, for Best New Artist.

"I don't want to cry," Megan Thee Stallion said after a speechless moment at the microphone. Before starting her praises, she gave a round of applause to her fellow nominees in the category, who she called "amazing."

Along with thanking God, she also acknowledged her manager, T. Farris, for "always being with me, being by my side"; her record label, 300 Entertainment, for "always believing in me, sticking by through my craziness"; and her mother, who "always believed I could do it."

Megan Thee Stallion's "Savage" remix with Beyoncé also helped her win Best Rap Song and Best Rap Performance that night — marking the first wins in the category by a female lead rapper.

Press play on the video above to watch Megan Thee Stallion's complete acceptance speech for Best New Artist at the 2021 GRAMMY Awards, and remember to check back to GRAMMY.com for more new episodes of GRAMMY Rewind.

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"You don't know that people are going to 40 years later call you up and say, ‘Can you talk about this record from 40 years ago?’"

That was Cory Robbins, former president of Profile Records, reaction to speaking to Grammy.com about one of the first albums his then-fledgling label released. Run-DMC’s self-titled debut made its way into the world four decades ago this week on March 27, 1984 and established the group, in Robbins’ words, "the Beatles of hip-hop." 

Rarely in music, or anything else, is there a clear demarcation between old and new. Styles change gradually, and artistic movements usually get contextualized, and often even named, after they’ve already passed from the scene. But Run-DMC the album, and the singles that led up to it, were a definitive breaking point. Rap before it instantly, and eternally, became “old school.” And three guys from Hollis, Queens — Joseph "Run" Simmons, Jason "Jam Master Jay" Mizell, Darryl "D.M.C." McDaniels — helped turn a burgeoning genre on its head.

What exactly was different about Run-DMC? Some of the answers can be glimpsed by a look at the record’s opening song. "Hard Times" is a cover of a Kurtis Blow track from his 1980 debut album. The connection makes sense. Kurtis and Run’s older brother Russell Simmons met in college, and Russell quickly became the rapper’s manager. That led to Run working as Kurtis’ DJ. Larry Smith, who produced Run-DMC, even played on Kurtis’ original version of the song.

But despite those tie-ins, the two takes on "Hard Times" are night and day. Kurtis Blow’s is exactly what rap music was in its earliest recorded form: a full band playing something familiar (in this case, a James Brown-esque groove, bridge and percussion breakdown inclusive.)

What Run-DMC does with it is entirely different. The song is stripped down to its bare essence. There’s a drum machine, a sole repeated keyboard stab, vocals, and… well, that’s about it. No solos, no guitar, no band at all. Run and DMC are trading off lines in an aggressive near-shout. It’s simple and ruthlessly effective, a throwback to the then-fading culture of live park jams. But it was so starkly different from other rap recordings of the time, which were pretty much all in the style of Blow’s record, that it felt new and vital.

"Production-wise, Sugar Hill [the record label that released many key early rap singles] built themselves on the model of Motown, which is to say, they had their own production studios and they had a house band and they recorded on the premises," explains Bill Adler, who handled PR for Run-DMC and other key rap acts at the time.

"They made magnificent records, but that’s not how rap was performed in parks," he continues. "It’s not how it was performed live by the kids who were actually making the music."

Run-DMC’s musical aesthetic was, in some ways, a lucky accident. Larry Smith, the musician who produced the album, had worked with a band previously. In fact, the reason two of the songs on the album bear the subtitle "Krush Groove" is because the drum patterns are taken from his band Orange Krush’s song “Action.”

Read more: Essential Hip-Hop Releases From The 1970s: Kurtis Blow, Grandmaster Flash, Sugarhill Gang & More

But by the time sessions for Run-DMC came around, the money had run out and, despite his desire to have the music done by a full band, Smith was forced to go without them and rely on a drum machine. 

His artistic partner on the production side was Russell Simmons. Simmons, who has been accused over the past seven years of numerous instances of sexual assault dating back decades, was back in 1983-4 the person providing the creative vision to match Smith’s musical knowledge.

Orange Krush’s drummer Trevor Gale remembered the dynamic like this (as quoted in Geoff Edgers’ Walk This Way: Run-DMC, Aerosmith, and the Song that Changed American Music Forever): “Larry was the guy who said, 'Play four bars, stop on the fifth bar, come back in on the fourth beat of the fifth bar.' Russell was the guy that was there that said, ‘I don’t like how that feels. Make it sound like mashed potato with gravy on it.’”

It wasn’t just the music that set Run-DMC apart from its predecessors. Their look was also starkly different, and that influenced everything about the group, including the way their audience viewed them.

Most of the first generation of recorded rappers were, Bill Adler remembers, influenced visually by either Michael Jackson or George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic. Run-DMC was different.

"Their fashion sense was very street oriented," Adler explains. "And that was something that emanated from Jam Master Jay. Jason just always had a ton of style. He got a lot of his sartorial style from his older brother, Marvin Thompson. Jay looked up to his older brother and kind of dressed the way that Marvin did, including the Stetson hat. 

"When Run and D told Russ, Jason is going to be our deejay, Russell got one look at Jay and said, ‘Okay, from now on, you guys are going to dress like him.’"

Run, DMC, and Jay looked like their audience. That not only set them apart from the costumed likes of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, it also cemented the group’s relationship with their listeners. 

"When you saw Run-DMC, you didn’t see celebrity. You saw yourself," DMC said in the group’s recent docuseries. 

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Another thing that set Run-DMC (the album) and Run-DMC (the group) apart from what came before was the fact that they released a cohesive rap album. Nine songs that all belonged together, not just a collection of already-released singles and some novelties. Rappers had released albums prior to Run-DMC, but that’s exactly what they were: hits and some other stuff — sung love ballads or rock and roll covers, or other experiments rightfully near-forgotten.

"There were a few [rap] albums [at the time], but they were pretty crappy. They were usually just a bunch of singles thrown together," Cory Robbins recalls.

Not this album. It set a template that lasted for years: Some social commentary, some bragging, a song or two to show off the DJ. A balance of records aimed at the radio and at the hard-core fans. You can still see traces of Run-DMC in pretty much every rap album released today.

Listeners and critics reacted. The album got a four-star review in Rolling Stone with “the music…that backs these tracks is surprisingly varied, for all its bare bones” and an A minus from Robert Christgau who claimed “It's easily the canniest and most formally sustained rap album ever.” Just nine months after its release, Run-DMC was certified gold, the first rap LP ever to earn that honor. "Rock Box" also single-handedly invented rap-rock, thanks to Eddie Martinez’s loud guitars. 

There is another major way in which the record was revolutionary. The video for "Rock Box" was the first rap video to ever get into regular rotation on MTV and, the first true rap video ever played on the channel at all, period. Run-DMC’s rise to MTV fame represented a significant moment in breaking racial barriers in mainstream music broadcasting. 

"There’s no overstating the importance of that video," Adler tells me. vIt broke through the color line at MTV and opened the door to a cataclysmic change." 

"Everybody watched MTV forty years ago," Robbins agrees. "It was a phenomenal thing nationwide. Even if we got three or four plays a week of ‘Rock Box’ on MTV, that did move the needle."

All of this: the new musical style, the relatable image, the MTV pathbreaking, and the attendant critical love and huge sales (well over 10 times what their label head was expecting when he commissioned the album from a reluctant Russell Simmons — "I hoping it would sell thirty or forty thousand," Robbins says now): all of it contributed to making Run-DMC what it is: a game-changer.

"It was the first serious rap album," Robbins tells me. And while you could well accuse him of bias — the group making an album at all was his idea in the first place — he’s absolutely right. 

Run-DMC changed everything. It split the rap world into old school and new school, and things would never be the same.

Perhaps the record’s only flaw is one that wouldn’t be discovered for years. As we’re about to get off the phone, Robbins tells me about a mistake on the cover, one he didn’t notice until the record was printed and it was too late. 

There was something (Robbins doesn’t quite recall what) between Run and DMC in the cover photo. The art director didn’t like it and proceeded to airbrush it out. But he missed something. On the vinyl, if you look between the letters "M" and "C,", you can see DMC’s disembodied left hand, floating ghost-like in mid-air. While it was an oversight, it’s hard not to see this as a sign, a sort of premonition that the album itself would hang over all of hip-hop, with an influence that might be hard to see at first, but that never goes away. 

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