Chris Crack blends pitch-black humour with a relentless work ethic, releasing multiple albums per year packed to the brim with outlandish, provocative raps. Life on the underground circuit isn’t always a breeze, but the Chicago MC believes he’s built differently: for him, each setback presents a chance to evolve, an opportunity to seek out the hilarity amid the hurt.
Text: Thomas Hobbs Photography: Azuree Wiitala
CHAPTER 4
“THIS MUSIC THING HAS NEARLY BROKEN ME,” ADMITS CHICAGO rap maverick Chris Crack. The 32-year-old – real name Christopher Harris – is speaking over a fuzzy transatlantic phone connection and he’s in a candid mood. “I’ve had nights where I’ve cried. Nights where I’ve been so mad I’ve gone outside and shot my gun into the air! ‘Is this rap shit even working – do I need to wait until I am 55 to get any credit?’ Those were questions I asked myself this morning.”
I bring up ‘Don’t Be a Vic’, a gorgeous dose of surrealist soul where Harris complains that he’s not dreaming due to a lack of sleep. “I’ve literally been up [for] three days straight making music in the studio,” he replies, providing a raw insight into the effort required to build your name on the underground rap circuit. “Sleepless nights,” he continues. “I’m hallucinating cos I’m so tired from working! I am losing money. This rap thing is supposed to be a dream, right? Well, can I still dream if I don’t sleep?”
Suddenly remembering who he is, the doubts fade, and the towering, larger-than-life confidence of Chris Crack comes into sharp focus. “But it’s balls to the motherfucking wall… that’s what Chris Crack represents,” he says, half-reassuring himself. “I am built differently.”
It’s hard to disagree with that notion. Since emerging in the mid-2010s, Crack, who sounds as if Ginuwine’s melodies are coming out of Pimp C’s mouth, has pioneered his own purple-hued flip on trap music. On his rapid-fire, genre-blurring songs, of which there are many (Crack has released more than 20 records so far, typically releasing three to four albums a year), a blitzed-out funk sample tends to dissolve into an irreverent bar – “Why do the strip clubs always got the best food?” – or rousing R&B hook.
Crack has a host of high-profile admirers – including the likes of Madlib and Earl Sweatshirt. Pitchfork rightly called his music “addictive”. The rapper possesses the instinct of someone raised by the streets and the wit of a self-aware troll who gets his kicks from terrorising white yuppies on the internet. Wearing the kind of outfits that turn heads (there’
