Xavier Wulf Brings Memphis History to Emo Rap

Xavier “Xavier Wulf” Beard: I ain’t trying to be nobody’s father, but if a young man listens to my music, I’m going to tell him something that he can use to survive. I don’t want to scream some stupid-ass, dumb-ass, ignorant hook in his ear the whole time about nothing.… I always knew what I could do, but I was like, ‘I need to keep it like this for right now.’ But—why wait? Time to pull the blade. I kept it concealed as long as I could, but I can’t hold myself back anymore. But the problem is, I know what’s gonna come with this. If I go back to that wild-style shit and those crazy flow patterns, I will out-rap and out-flow yo’ ass. For anybody reading this interview, shaking their head and going, ‘I don’t know about that,’ take yo’ bitch ass to one of my Ethelwulf songs. And that’s 2012. I was a baby doing that shit back then, so imagine now.1

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Memphis rapper Xavier Wulf is one of the founding fathers of SoundCloud rap. Growing up on the “hard rap” of his city—most notably Three 6 Mafia—Wulf began rapping in eleventh grade after a stint of listening to oddball icon Lil B. Wulf cites 2012 as the year he figured out his sound, resulting in his earliest releases under the Ethelwulf alias, whose stringy vocal layerings and dark tones telegraphed the intensity of Xavier Wulf’s music to follow. Wulf started up his home studio at the top of 2012, rapping over Konflict OD beats, and creating his first mixtape in the span of two months. Initially named after the Old English for “noble wolf,” Xavier’s immediate confidence in himself was palpable.

A former member of rap collective Raider Klan, Wulf brought classic 1990s Memphis phonk to the 2010s rap landscape. He was introduced to the Klan by Key Nyata and later invited to join by founding member SpaceGhostPurrp. “Basically, we all love the phonk man,” Wulf shared in 2012.2 “Straight like that. Like the old school nineties stuff, like dudes you probably don’t even know from the nineties that we all listen to, people these days don’t listen to all that. We hate the way 2012 fools rap, like we hate the way these dudes rap these days. We’re cool with a few artists. Like I like Danny Brown, Odd Future—Earl all them—and you know just a few more people after that. We don’t really like this era of music, so we’re just doing our thing [to] bring the phonk back. That’s the one thing about the Klan, we’re all bringing the phonk.”

Phonk itself has a subset of subgenres, but the defining characteristics lie in the cutting drum patterns and brooding basslines. Beyond Memphis rap history, Wulf declares a spectrum of influences, including “Mystikal, Korn, Gangsta Pat, Bizzy Bone, Juicy J, Koopsta Knicca, Japanese anime music, Enya, Friendzone.”3 A skater kid, Wulf was turned onto rock music by a fellow skater in the seventh grade. The music stuck to his ribs, the folds of his brain, and, in tandem with phonk, has shaped the core of his sound. The sprawl of visual and sonic signatures making an impression on Xavier facilitated the early development of his flow—in his first in-person interview, he likened this to the creation of a raw energy.4 “You can’t fight the beat,” he said. “I don’t rap—I decorate music.”

Early single “Dark Destruction” borrows heavily from Wulf’s Memphis roots: gruesome imagery, pained delivery, and dark visuals. “I’m working for my life, but I know I’m not alright,” he raps. As Ethelwulf, Xavier deals with the angst of daily struggle. There is a heft to the song, undercut only slightly by Wulf’s uneven flow. The song is unintentionally charming. Still, there is a strong sincerity: he sounds serious and dedicated to rap. With his staccatoed flow, there’s an obvious reverence to his city’s hip-hop history. On the YouTube page for the video, Xavier left a telling comment: “Ethelwulf did not curse once. yet still so dark.” Humor aside, Wulf’s comment speaks to the balance good emo rap must strike between gloomy scenes and raw writing. As Wulf would go on to say in an interview with Our Generation Music,5 “when the listener hears [the music], they feel it.… You have to—this is the most important—it has to sound good.”

On March 6, 2012, Ethelwulf released his debut mixtape, The Wolf Gang’s Rodolphe. Each song unspools a portion of Wulf’s personal hell. The playground of Southern production signatures and Wulf’s tinny register drives the music—as well as his overwhelming conviction. Rodolphe bursts with wanton passion. As with all great debuts, there’s an urgency; as if Wulf is at a life-or-death crossroads. The backing melodies on “Blunts on My Mind” are an eerie fall wind. His swagger on “Black Magic” pulses against a shapeshifting beat. “Watch Yoo Back” waterfalls syrupy notes into even more breathless raps.

“We don’t care about being lyrical, that’s not what’s important,” Wulf said. “You know how it is when that beat gets into your body, and you feel that shit in your bones? That’s the thing about old school music, they didn’t care about being lyrical.… It’s funky, it’s lo-fi. We don’t give a fuck about crisp clean sounds, we don’t give a damn about the mainstream. We’re anti-mainstream, fuck the mainstream, we don’t need a fuckin’ hardass engineer. I engineer all my own music, first of all. I record my shit, I mix my shit, and I put my shit out. I don’t need nobody touching my shit straight up.”

The rejection of polish falls in line with sentiments from the hardcore and emo scenes of the early 2000s, where “selling out” was a sin. In addition to being a direct link to the Southern rap tradition that is the backbone of emo rap’s soundscapes, Wulf is also pulling from a rock lineage in how he maneuvers as a creative. He and BONES each embody the essence of what it means to be punk, and their resilience and success in the music industry is—beyond just being shocking given the flow of the streaming era—proof positive of an appetite rap fans have for unabashed independence.

Almost exactly a year later, operating as Ethelwulf, Xavier released Damare Shizukani, a five-track tape emphasizing Wulf’s resistance to trends and just being “cool by my damn self,” as he says on opener “Tamashi.” The tape’s Japanese title translates to “shut up, be quiet,” and precedes the Shut Up And Listen EP by eight months. By the release of Shut Up And Listen, Wulf had grown into his rap name. “I’ve always liked my real name since I was a kid,” Wulf said in 2014.6 “I got serious to a point within my music—I wanted to be taken serious, and I’m serious about my music and the way I sound and shit. I wanted to be known for me.”

A dense haze blankets Damare, like thick fog in a haunted forest. On “Kurokumo,” Wulf elevates the spirituality laden in his gothic flavor of emo rap, underscored by the holy howls. It’s the most poised he’s sounded on the mic to-date. These early Ethelwulf standouts are bridges between the blunt raps of Atmosphere that put emo rap on the map and the genre’s cloudy future. The piano-driven production choices coil up alongside chaotic electronic accents, as on “Dengen,” and make for an out-of-body experience. Damare’s drums have a familiar trappy feel, but the twinkling sounds in the periphery leave you feeling like you’ve been hurled into an intense body high.

“When I made Ethelwulf shit, that was some crazy shit,” Wulf reflected in 2017.7 “My Ethelwulf shit was really Three 6-influenced, but still metal. Still punk. Then, I got older and made the transition from Ethel to Xavier, and that’s me growin’ up. Still crazy, but more of a collected crazy.”

In emo rap, the compulsion to break the barrier between performer and self correlates directly to the way the genre feels uniquely personal to each listener. Emo artists necessarily belong to their fans, and when Xavier Wulf donned his current artist name in a bid to be his most authentic self, he entered into a crucial lineage that spans the history of music. That is, he gave himself over to the listener. The value of naming in rap is crucial, and as rap names have changed over time to be less fantastical, so too have the relationships between fans and artists. Even outside of emo rap, with the flow of social media marketing pushing artists to give more and more of themselves to fans, there is a wave of unmasking happening in hip-hop. As the digital landscape of the music industry evolves, the genre of overcoming and triumph is being asked to simultaneously stop putting on airs and deal in exaggerations fit for the most gluttonous of voyeurs. The wild antics and subsequent legal fallout of rapper 6ix9ine are a prime example of this manifesting in an extreme case.

Authenticity itself is a performance, and draws up the question of who, exactly, is the arbiter of what is and isn’t real. Emo rap has the propensity to be taken as literally as possible, in part because emo writing is so navel-gazing, and as well because it’s dominated by young, white artists who draw from coded-white rock songs. Wulf’s place in the genre is unique. He has a longstanding love for punk, fusing it with his East Memphis roots.

“I get the most emotional feeling from that—guitars, drums, all that goes crazy,” Wulf said in a 2018 interview with Pigeons & Planes. By that time, Wulf had over half a decade in hip-hop under his belt, had moved on from the rowdy Florida collective Raider Klan, and had linked up with emo rap pioneer BONES and formed the superteam of Seshollowaterboyz. Alongside BONES, Chris Travis, and Eddy Baker, Wulf rose to underground prominence with his melancholy and honest music. No image too dark, no emotional subject too taboo, “I’d say punk rap is me, because when I do shows and aggressive music, I think about those bands that made me feel that type of way when I was a kid,” Wulf said.

The music that blew Wulf’s mind in middle and high school, like Korn, Slipknot, and blink-182, took on a bigger role in his work, making 2013’s Lame a primordial soup of emo rap. “Ki Capsules” features the staggered flow Wulf was becoming known for, matched perfectly to the deep bass drums driving the song. Other fine details on Lame—the opening chords of “Bloody Gown,” the ghostly voices on “After Death,” the rushing delivery Wulf employs on “Blood Rain”—help build up to Xavier Wulf’s first apex: Blood Shore Season 1. The one-two punch of “East Memphis Maniac” into “Public Announcement” is dizzying. The former song carries the clarity and confidence that marks a growing emcee, while “Public Announcement” borrows from the “Dark Destruction” and Ethelwulf playbook with a newfound brute force cadence.

As Xavier Wulf developed his flavor of punk rap, he injected more and more of himself into his music, particularly leaning into anime influences and love of cars, building himself up in his music as an anime character. Consequently, Wulf’s music became more heartfelt and resonant. “The beat is the world,” he told Mass Appeal.

The blaring guitars that open 2015’s Project X capture the sheer adrenaline rush of Xavier’s music. You’re immediately thrown into Wulf’s obsessions. You can feel the electricity of taking a tight corner, leaving skid marks, and dusting everyone around you. Wulf treks through a rolodex of anime influences with his booming voice. The samples across the tape, all pulled from anime Initial D, help build a cohesive world. On “Akina Speed Star,” the closing sample goes, “A better engine isn’t automatically gonna make the car a better machine.” Given the pride Wulf has over his independence and path in the industry, this sample choice feels like a subtle flex. No amount of gear and money can substitute for talent.

On “1st Summer Night,” Wulf continues a cursory exploration into the impact singing could have on his music. The song hews closely to the more immediately familiar emo rap of the 2010s while still retaining that chopping and gnawing flow that makes Xavier’s music distinct. The reward of Project X comes from those smooth transitions and the thoughtful use of Initial D’s score. It is an uncompromising body of work—a reminder that Wulf, Hollow Squad, and this vein of emo rap are not interested in trends.

Wulf has evolved into a legend to his legion of fans. The meticulously maintained online communities dedicated to him and his Seshollowaterboyz comrades is a testament to what Wulf means to listeners. The Wulf archives are thoughtfully maintained, ranging from rare records, to live material, to merch, to the general sharing of moving stories among the community. To call it a cult following feels like an undersell of just how active and hands-on the fans are and how reciprocal the relationship appears to be. Wulf has a pure view of his fans—and of his impact on listeners. “If you look at my supporters, a lot of these kids are artists,” Wulf told Pigeons. “They’re amazing, smart kids. I pull a different type of situation out of people.… I’m telling you, it’s a different type of situation. I’ve got a responsibility out here with this shit.”

Concert footage from a Raider Klan tour in 2013 shows the early command Wulf had on his fans.8 Performing at Slim’s in San Francisco with a mob of people behind him on stage, Wulf summons an outsized energy from the crowd. A sea of rap hands and bodies barreling into each other speaks to the immediate connection Wulf developed with fans. There was a need for this music, this flavor of emo rap that brings the pulse of the 1990s back into view for a new generation.

Wulf remains a key inspiration for artists in his wake—including Lil Peep, who scored a Xavier Wulf feature on his 2016 mixtape HELLBOY. Without question, Wulf is a pillar of emo rap’s existence in the 2010s. His Memphis roots help tie the genre together, and though aesthetically there’s a gulf between Juice WRLD’s heartbroken wails and Wulf’s guttural howls, one would not exist without the other.

“It was probably Xavier Wulf,” multi-Platinum Internet Money founder Taz Taylor says of his early memories of emo rap. “I remember people getting hip to him through SoundCloud. That’s where it started for a lot of people.” As a frequent and close collaborator of Juice WRLD, these connections between musicians cannot be understated. Juice would go on to be one of the biggest artists in the mainstream canon, but he is not a foil to Wulf. They work together to validate the genre. “There’s a reason we the underground legends,” Xavier Wulf told MONTREALITY during a spirited interview with the rest of Seshollowaterboyz.9

“For the most part, [the underground rap scene] is doing alright,” Wulf said in 2017. “It has progressed, because labels have started to figure out what the fuck is going on.… Now, they’re trying to catch onto it and see how they can finesse.… I’m OG in that shit—you don’t go into the underground without knowing Wulf. That’s a beautiful thing.”

Pointing to Wulf, and then reaching further back to Memphis rap history, gives emo rap stronger legs within hip-hop’s fifty-year existence. This is in direct contrast to the -coreification of new music genres in the 2020s, and how communities are being formed and named before they can establish a history.

“The internet changes microscenes really fast,” Pitchfork writer and editor Cat Zhang tells me. “It also makes it a lot—the process of branding a scene is now really quick. If your scenes are more based in real life, it takes a while for it to be a thing, and to give it a name. It doesn’t take that long for something to get a ‘-core’ slapped on, even if it doesn’t have a coherent identity. That gets branded as a microscene, but there might not even be a real scene. Then it disappears into the ether.”

Xavier Wulf’s prolific output and grounded lineage fights against the fizzing feeling of -cores Zhang describes. There is meat on the bones of emo rap thanks to Wulf’s unwavering dedication to Memphis—and to his craft. “You can’t do Memphis music unless you a Memphis dude,” he told Pigeons & Planes. “The attitude and shit, it’s just genuinely authentic. I make the type of music I make and it’s not really hard. I just do me. I do Memphis.”