Bbymutha via Instagram

Special Artist Spotlight: In Conversation with Bbymutha (Part 2/2)

Where we last left off, the Chattanooga-born rapper discussed some of the difficulties of being in the industry, like being boxed in by fans and dealing with all the nonsense that comes with social media.

Continuing down this train of thought, I ask Bbymutha to tell us what it was like for her during “the come up,” and whether things have changed.

The rapper says she started rapping “for fake” (her words) during the blog era - a sweet spot in the early digital era before the big labels were able to swoop in and claim authority. For a moment in time, what was “in” was dictated by ordinary people on the internet. Some big names got their renown from this era - think A$AP Rocky, Gucci Mane, Joey Bada$$, even Drake. This era took place before the time period covered on Underground-Archives, but it definitely deserves mentioning as a precursor to the modern internet era of music.

Mutha details the struggles of coming up as a female rapper at that time, reminiscing how producers wouldn’t want to give you a beat because you were a girl. However, she looks back on this era fondly too, because at the time, it was cool to be different. It seemed like that was the “thing” - everybody was trying to be different. Now, she feels female rap has become oversaturated and more “cookie cutter” since those days.

She is concerned that too many people get famous too quickly, and artists are looked at like trend cycles. It is dehumanizing and unsustainable.

“This person might not wanna be a rapper in 10 years” she states, to which I respond “they might not even wanna be a rapper now,” thinking about all the examples of people catapulted into accidental stardom through memes and viral moments.

“Right,” the rapper agrees, “they just wanna get some bread or get famous, or like…I don’t know.” 

Mutha also notes how the standards for female rappers specifically have increased since the days of her early career. She says it's refreshing to see artists like Doechii and Doja Cat giving it their all, stating that “When I was coming up the rap bitches was not giving RnB, Beyonce 8 counts and shit. The playing field has leveled up but at the same time the shit has also been watered down.” She notes that she gives it 100%, “but I’m not about to get up there and do choreography though” she laughs.

Somehow we have circled back to the idea of that perpetual obsession with chasing a moment. The rapper criticizes how readily listeners, who she astutely describes as “consumers,” dispose of artists once they outgrow that moment.

“They don’t even outgrow you as a artist, they just outgrow that moment”

“You outgrew that one thirty second snippet now you don’t like the s- now I’m washed up,” she continues. She admits that this model of consuming music is daunting to her, and that she’s not always sure of where she’s supposed to be “because everything’s on 10 now.” 

She states that she is too “lazy” to compete, and tries to be satisfied with where she is now, but it’s hard not to internalize other people’s ideas of where she should be in her career or the idea that her time has passed.

“The internet and the ‘microwaveization’ of hip hop rn makes you feel like you're missing out on so much and like the world is moving so fast around you...” 

She states that when she was coming up, yeah, people were getting famous - but not every other week! It is intimidating and overstimulating enough, and then she’ll have family in her ear saying things like “oh, you should put your songs on TikTok!” It’s not hard to imagine the toll this can take on artists. If this anxiety reaches even a seasoned artist like Bbymutha, who has over a decade in the game and has certainly earned her stripes by now, it must be madness for the new up and coming artists of today.

But Mutha admits that the pressure she feels is mostly external. She may feel like she’s not doing enough, but then she will go on tour and remember she’s exactly where she needs to be.

“Its fucked up to watch people build people up so fast and then tear them down…y'all don't know these people!” 

“It’s an icky time to put yourself out there” Mutha says, “especially as a woman.” She describes the trade off artists are forced to face - gaining that unhealthy level of fame and visibility in order to survive off their art (would you choose to stay at that 9-5 if you had the chance?) - as selling your soul. A person becomes a moment, a trend, an idol even, until they are forgotten about or discarded. Where can we find the balance? Is fame the only option for musicians? Mutha admits that she doesn’t know what the answer is, but she does know that her dream is “not to be harassed by strangers!”

I pivot the conversation back to “Rules,” since we’ve circled back to that topic of fans placing artists into their own box. I ask Mutha if there is a song she would choose to take its place, and she audibly groans (LOL). Let’s be clear - Mutha doesn’t want any song to become what “Rules” has for her fanbase, and dreads the possibility of having to perform yet another song over and over again like that. So we decide to compromise on a song to replace “Rules” for a year. The rapper takes a second to think, and settles on “Ghostface” off her Sleep Paralysis album (2024).

The song is so simple - the rapper says she got the beat, and got it done in “like five minutes” - but so Mutha. The beat’s drums are minimal on this one, very Plugg; the haunting melody taking center stage to provide the type of hype required for Mutha’s rage-adelic lyrics. If you close your eyes, you can almost picture yourself in one of her iconic twerk-pits (the rapper’s take on a mosh pit) while she raps the hook: 

Bitches want my life

Come and get it

Bring a knife! 

But the rapper also wants to shout out some other underrated tracks, stating that her more straight-rap, non hook having songs don’t necessarily get as much love at her shows, so she tends to keep those on the shelf in favor of ones she knows will get the crowd hype. The honorable mentions in question are “Dragon” (listen here), in which the rapper spits two minutes of straight verse over a more experimental, dance inspired type of beat featuring elements from hard techno and ambient music; and “Urban Legend” (listen here ), a track specifically tagged “#storytelling” on Soundcloud with a more traditional trap beat that, combined with Mutha’s braggadocious lyrics, feels like something a boxer would listen to as they step into the ring. That’s one of the things Mutha seems to do best - hype. Confidence. Swagger! 

It’s almost time for the interview to come to a close (sadly), and I only have one last question for Bbymutha. 

What are the seasoned rapper’s thoughts on the future of alternative hip-hop? 

She clarifies that she doesn’t want to come off as shady, but she admits that she is skeptical. Having witnessed the ways in which the industry chews artists up and spits them out, as well as that “microwave-ization” she spoke of earlier, the rapper has her doubts.

“You take these people from TikTok and chew ‘em up and spit em out…”

The oversaturation - and also, let’s be real - the co-optation of the “underground” is daunting. She recalls a time she saw some post about “the underground iceberg” that featured about a million names she did not recognize, and lo and behold, she went to look some of these names up, and about half of them were “little white boys.”

The rapper doesn’t want to be totally pessimistic, but she is definitely unsure - “it’s all up in the air” to her.

Tizm presents: Time To Kill

On Time To Kill, Tizm turns toxic love and inner horror into a vivid, story-driven trap experiment that pushes his sound into new melodic territory.

Tizm is a rap artist with an incredible diverse background, not only drawing from classic rap heavyweights, but also by a lifetime of listening to all kinds of music while on the road. As a truck driver who writes while the highway rolls by, he has been able to tap into his creativity in a very distinctive way.

Time To Kill, his new single, captures one of those moments. The instrumental, sent by a friend, stayed on repeat for hours, and the result is a song that surprised even him. It leans into melody, horror, and fantasy, yet stays rooted in the grit of rap storytelling.

The track unfolds over roughly three minutes, and the tight runtime keeps everything focused and dynamic. It opens with a sampled Eastern string motif that feels mysterious and slightly ominous, setting a world that feels halfway between a dark RPG and a late-night trap session. The beat lands with a crisp trap pulse, but the production is intentionally lean. There are not many elements competing for space. Instead, the arrangement leaves a clear lane for Tizm’s vocal to carry the story, supported by atmospheric background vocals and subtle electronic details that flicker around the main groove. Tizm describes Time To Kill as a sort of medieval style flow, inspired by role-playing worlds like Skyrim, but filtered through a modern lens. That reference fits. The instrumental has a fantasy feel, yet the narrative is grounded in emotional reality. On the surface, the track reads like a horror story about a predatory figure, heavy on blood, pursuit, and possession. Underneath the violence, however, the song is actually about the psychology of obsession and how love can turn poisonous. The narrator is not a hero, and Tizm is clear that this voice is not his true self. It is the version of a person that everyone hopes never to become.

Across the verses, the character Tizm inhabits treats love as a hunt. Affection is intertwined with harm, intimacy with control. The imagery is graphic, but it serves to show how far someone can slide once toxicity is allowed to take over. The narrator believes he is both the undoing and the maker of the person he loves, blurring the line between care and domination. The result is a picture of romance that has completely lost its moral center. Where others see a partner, this protagonist sees prey, and that tension fuels the song.

This focus on twisted love does not appear out of nowhere. Tizm alludes to traumatic past relationships, where he never wanted to harm the people he cared for, but did not always receive the same consideration in return. Time To Kill channels that history into an exaggerated narrative. The song becomes a cautionary tale, using horror to spotlight the mental spiral that can happen when obsession, resentment, and dependence go unchecked. It shows how beautiful beginnings can collapse into something frightening, and how the mind can justify behavior that feels unthinkable in calmer moments.

Vocally, Time To Kill marks a shift for Tizm. His earlier work leaned more heavily on complex bars and technical rhyme patterns. Here, the melodic side plays a larger role, especially in the hook and the opening passages. He glides between tuneful phrases and tighter rhythmic runs, and that blend helps sell the dual nature of the track. The melodic lines underline the romantic promise at the surface, while the rapid-fire segments emphasize the character’s restless, compulsive energy. His delivery stays clear and articulated, which is crucial in a song where the narrative is the main engine.

The production supports that storytelling instinct. The trap beat hits with enough weight to keep the track moving, but it never overwhelms the vocal. The low end feels grounded, the drums snap without becoming harsh, and the string motif threads through the track as a kind of ghostly narrator of its own. Small electronic accents and vocal layers enrich the sound without cluttering it. For a three-minute single, the arrangement evolves just enough to avoid monotony, adding intensity as the narrative grows more unhinged, then circling back to the hook with a renewed sense of dread.

Tizm’s influences help explain the mixture at work here. On the rap side, he cites Tupac, Biggie, Big L, Mobb Deep, Westside Connection, Eminem, Yelawolf, Tech N9ne, and Busta Rhymes, artists known for sharp delivery, strong personalities, and narrative detail. From rock and metal, he draws energy from bands like Papa Roach, Slipknot, Korn, Gojira, and Ill Niño. Time To Kill does not imitate those acts, but it inherits their taste for intensity and drama. The track feels like an intersection of indie-leaning trap, horror-rap storytelling, and the emotional punch of alternative metal, filtered through a distinctly personal lens.

What keeps Time To Kill from becoming pure shock value is the intention behind it. Tizm has said that the song speaks from the mind of a person that everyone tries not to become, twisted and wicked, and that the real message points in the opposite direction. Beneath the gore and chaos, the single suggests that people need structure, self-respect, and inner stability before opening their lives to others. It hints that loneliness can twist perspective, and that unchecked hurt can turn affection into something dangerous. In that sense, the song is less a celebration of darkness and more a warning about what happens when emotional wounds are ignored.

As a step in Tizm’s catalog, Time To Kill feels important. It shows a willingness to experiment with melody, to enter a different mood than his usual output, and to take risks with character-driven writing. The production is sharp and well-balanced, the vocal performance is controlled yet intense, and the concept is fully realized. Time To Kill suggests that Tizm is not content to stay in one lane. Instead, he is building a world where indie sensibilities, rap traditions, fantasy imagery, and personal history can coexist, and that makes Tizm a name worth watching.

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