Only two and a half years passed between Young Thug’s RICO indictment with his YSL crew and his release, yet the world transformed completely in that time. Streamers became reporters, TikTok and Instagram Reels turned into the main news sources for young people, and 2024 presidential candidates promoted themselves through podcast appearances. Today, being a star—whether in politics or hip-hop—means being a content creator.
In 2019, Young Thug reached new heights with So Much Fun, his first No. 1 album after years of releasing some of Atlanta’s most inventive rap. It felt like watching an indie director suddenly master blockbuster filmmaking—glossy but still playful. Since then, Thug has fought to maintain that fame, diluting his music in the process. “I just had to dumb it down… the world couldn’t catch on to it,” he admitted recently in a tone-deaf, homophobic podcast clip.
Then came 2022’s jail time and the 2023 YSL trial circus, which clearly took a toll on him mentally and financially. Instagram gossip pages turned the case into reality TV, as minor YSL members gained YouTube fame. Gunna, Thug’s YSL co-star, accepted a plea deal that many online labeled as “snitching.” By Thug’s release, fans seemed more interested in whether he’d reconcile with or condemn Gunna than in what his new music would sound like. He teased his comeback album, UY SCUTI, several times, but after leaked jail calls surfaced—where he dissed much of the rap world—he finally embraced the online chaos: ranting on X, clashing with Gunna on podcasts, and dropping drama-filled “leaks” meant to go viral. The album itself is part of that same content loop.
Named after one of the largest known stars, UY SCUTI is a chaotic and attention-hungry project that often turns Thug into a meme. The album cover—an image of him with bleached skin and light eyes—feels more like shock bait than satire. It lacks the intention behind his iconic Jeffery cover and instead seems designed to go viral for virality’s sake. If you squint, you might interpret it as commentary on how audiences would embrace his work more if he were white—but mostly, it’s just noise.
The songs follow suit. “Whoopty Doo,” based on a viral quote from one of his interviews, exists only to be mocked online. It’s momentarily funny but quickly grating, built on lazy chants and an overcooked beat. “Miss My Dogs,” a seven-minute apology track, feels hollow as Thug begs for forgiveness from his superstar peers—Drake, Future, Lil Baby, 21 Savage, Gucci Mane—while assuring them he’s still a “good guy.” His vulnerability surfaces slightly when addressing his girlfriend, Mariah the Scientist, confessing, “One of my biggest fears is losing you to the internet,” a line that perfectly captures how blurred his reality has become. Even the grand, AI-generated soul samples meant to add emotion sound like cheap imitations of Silk Sonic.
There are glimpses of sincerity—his fragile falsetto on “Blaming Jesus” or his honest reflection on “Catch Me I’m Falling,” where he sings, “Turned me to a felon now nobody would hire me/This rap shit gotta sell ’cause that’s the only commodity.” But much of UY SCUTI feels driven by desperation rather than creativity.
Many tracks obsess over Gunna, turning their fallout into another marketing ploy. “I been cryin’ all day/I seen my brother turn rat in my face,” he croons on “Sad Spider,” with all the authenticity of a child faking tears for attention. On “Dreams Rarely Do Come True,” a duet with Mariah, he undercuts genuine emotion with a bitter jab: “Why would I cry over a bitch I gave to Gunna police-ass?” It’s emblematic of Thug’s current state—caught between performance and sincerity, unsure whether he’s baring his soul or just playing for clicks.
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