Race and Space in Rap: Conceptions of (Multi)Racial Identity and Urban Life in Rap Music

Abstract

Existing research focuses on how different actors infuse space and place with social meaning. In this paper, I examine how biracial rap artists Drake, Logic, and J. Cole construct their racial identities and depict urban areas in line with the strong-willed trope prevalent in rap discourse, drawing on theories and insights regarding the production of space. Specifically, I hypothesize that these artists will affirm a Black male identity and perceive place as a hazardous environment, embracing a specific motif in rap mythology. I conducted a content analysis of 386 songs from 2010 to 2023 and found that not all identify as Black and that two artists portray their surroundings as threatening. Nonetheless, each rapper incorporates their environment as a facet of their rap persona. Focusing on biracial artists enables an exploration of meaning-making at the intersection of racial identity and socio-spatial cultural production, thereby broadening our understanding of place.

1. Introduction

Extant research identifies race and gender as socially constructed categories that frequently intersect with social, political, and economic forces (Omi and Winant 1994; Butler 1990; Cornell and Hartmann 1998). In the same vein, space and place are considered sociospatial constructs (Lefebvre 1991; Forman 2002; Hunter and Robinson 2018; Hunter et al. 2016; Sriskandarajah 2020). Various entities infuse environments with meanings that extend beyond physical boundaries. Theorist Henri Lefebvre (1991) asserts that social practices shape the connotations associated with landscape, transforming space into a social product. In cultural production, individuals use symbols and signs to represent physical locations (Forman 2002; Lefebvre 1991). This process leads to what Forman (2002, p. 23) describes as “visual (i.e., maps and cartography) and lexical (i.e., descriptive terminology)” categorizations of geospatial areas.

In this paper, I examine how biracial rap artists Drake, Logic, and J. Cole construct their racial identities and frame urban areas to legitimize a rap persona through their lyrics, drawing on Lefebvre’s (1991) and Forman’s (2002) theories. Various public officials and city planners depict city environments as treacherous locations, necessitating overhaul and renewal. I suggest that the artists highlighted in this paper conceptualize their settings as perilous—similarly to authority figures—but do so to convey a common trope or rhetorical device in rap discourse. I hypothesize that these artists will deliberately present a Black male identity, closely tied to a dangerous city and urban life, to construct a Black urbanity—an identity rooted in Blackness and urban space—through their rap music. I also draw on theories that unpack racial identity construction for mixed-race Black-white individuals in the United States and Canada (Davis 1991; Manuel et al. 2022; Rockquemore and Brunsma 2002). Focusing on biracial artists offers insight into the meaning-making process at the intersection of racial identity and socio-spatial cultural production.

2. Literature Review

Lefebvre’s (1991) seminal work presents space as more than mere physical terrain, characterizing it as a social product defined by power dimensions and cultural practices. He introduces a spatial triad—spatial practice, representations of space, and representational space. Sriskandarajah (2020), distilling Lefebvre’s work, states, “Representations of space are configured by planners created through discourse. Representational space is experienced through complex symbols and images… Spatial practices are how people live in actual space every day” (2). Using this framework, Sriskandarajah (2020) examines how Black youth in a low-income Toronto neighborhood navigate negative media portrayals of their area as dangerous and dirty. The youth resist and challenge such judgmental depictions of their communities; instead, they (re)define their areas as locations where they build deep attachments with one another and overcome hardship, leading to a shared sense of purpose. Applying Lefebvre’s (1991) framework, Sriskandarajah’s (2020) research illuminates how policymakers and the media racialize space while inhabitants offer counternarratives. Residents reject depictions of their neighborhoods as threatening and instead articulate a community-based orientation.

Malone (2017) applies Lefebvre’s (1991) theory to examine the uneven economic growth in Jersey City, New Jersey, during the 2000s. He describes tensions between “abstract space”—urban locales valued for their size, width, area, and location—and “social space,” which considers public areas as venues for work, play, and worship. Urban developers, exploiting the former, primarily envision the city adorned with luxury housing and expensive storefronts. The increasing employment in the financial sector, alongside a decline in jobs in manufacturing and construction, accompanies these transformations. This new development reduces affordable housing, resulting in the relocation of impoverished and minoritized residents. Malone (2017) argues that the local authorities’ neoliberal city development approach advantages the wealthy white corporate sector, hurting the lower class. He concludes, “Growth mainly benefitted downtown corporate interests at the expense of neighborhoods, especially the minority community” (56). Malone (2017) and Sriskandarajah (2020) provide insights into the intersections of class and race in reimagining urban areas.

Similarly to the previously mentioned work, Hunter et al. (2016) argue that although city planners and officials depict South Side Chicago as depressing, violent, and downtrodden, Black residents engage in Black placemaking, defined as “the ways that urban black Americans create sites of endurance, belonging and resistance” (32). Placemaking happens despite characterizations of the city as harsh and unsafe. Black residents find joy in their neighborhoods despite supposed high levels of disorganization or instability. For instance, the authors note the happiness of residents attending a local gay club to enjoy nightlife and Black boys’ baseball games on weekends in public parks. Furthermore, these scholars observe that Black residents forcibly removed from public housing continued to gather together to celebrate after their displacement. These experiences fostered unity among these groups, serving as an act of resistance against negative portrayals of the city. Ultimately, these scholars propose that Black residents exercise agency when defining their environments.

Synthesizing themes from these findings, Forman (2002, p. 2) asserts, “Spatialized power manifests within a range of contexts, such as official housing policy and localized politics of urban development.” He continues, “Spatial conflict involves engagements of…fluctuating scales as various transformative strategies are deployed to extend control and domination over the social landscape, with space emerging as a crucial vector among many for expressing dominant-subordinate relations.” Media, city planners, and political and administrative elites—whether corporate or individual—attempt to (re)define actual and symbolic space for their purposes, as seen in Sriskandarajah’s (2020), Malone’s (2017), and Hunter et al.’s (2016) research. Wacquant (2010, p. 4) agrees with Forman (2002), writing, “…when [perceived] urban degradation and symbolic devaluation intensify to the point where neighborhoods of relegation appear beyond salvage, they provide political leaders and state bureaucrats with warrants for deploying aggressive policies of containment, discipline, and dispersal that further disorganize the urban poor under the pretext of improving their opportunities.” Consequently, to “better” the site, authorities impose their vision of city life onto poor, racialized, and marginalized residents in a top-down approach. This dynamic also occurred in the birthplace of Hip Hop, the South Bronx.

Deindustrialization, an exodus of whites to the suburbs, and urban renewal programs hobbled the South Bronx, causing it (and other cities across the United States) to descend into poverty and decay, leading to high rates of joblessness (Chang 2005; Forman 2002; Richardson and Skott-Myhre 2012). Media and political leaders depicted the Bronx as a dystopian, “dangerous” and “ghetto” landscape (Chang 2005; Richardson and Skott-Myhre 2012; Wacquant 2010). Furthermore, race and space became synonymous. Forman (2002, p. 40) illustrates my claim, stating, “The dominant image of the Bronx, reinforced by photographs or television and movie footage, is one of poverty, disease, violence, and danger, all coded as Black.” Indeed, public officials held negative views of this and other cities with substantial Black populations (Chang 2005; Hunter and Robinson 2018; Hunter et al. 2016).

Despite its characterization as a threatening place, residents of the South Bronx embraced their neighborhood as a badge of honor. Described as a testament to their toughness (Forman 2002, p. 38), youth of color viewed overcoming adversity in this place as a recognition of their personal strength and fearlessness. Furthermore, these areas fostered a sense of community; youth connected through house parties, breakdancing competitions, and rap battles, among other activities (Chang 2005). For residents, living in the ghetto symbolizes resilience, camaraderie, and communal bonds. Themes of fun, survival, strength, and grit transitioned from city streets to the lyrics of artists. Forman (2002, p. 60) notes, “The ghetto, in all of its negative complexity, is still heralded as an idealized space for minority teens within rap’s cultural discourses precisely because it is considered as being somehow more ‘real’ than other spaces and places…”

For working-class and poor Black rappers, the challenges and struggles of urban living nurtured believable rap alter egos. The blend of city life and rap music created “the ghetto as a privileged sociospatial site and an idealized image of black authenticity within hip-hop discourse [that] has continually threatened to override other possible images of lived cultural space…” (Forman 2002, p. 61). Thus, a dynamic emerged between the city as a physical location and its perceived precarity as a character-building experience. In short, despite rap’s recent growth in suburban and rural areas, it remains rooted in Black urban ghetto residence or Black urbanity.

Of course, diverse experiences exist within and among Black groups, such as expressions of upper-class and middle-class Black lifestyles, as well as ethnic representations of Black urban life, exemplified by working-class African Americans, Africans, Caribbeans, and Afro-Puerto Ricans, among others. Indeed, Jamaicans, Barbadians, and Afro-Puerto Ricans heavily contributed to the creation of the elements of Hip Hop in the Bronx (i.e., djing, breakdancing, rapping, and graffiti art) (Ogbar 2007; Rose 1994). For example, Kool Herc, a Jamaican American credited as one of the founders of Hip-Hop, innovated turntablism by emphasizing the breakbeat in music. Grandmaster Flash—of Barbadian roots—transformed scratching and mixing in the genre, while Afro-Puerto Rican Adolfo “Shabba Doo” Quinones revolutionized break dancing (Chang 2005; Rose 1994). Hence, poor Black and working-class cultural expressions of city life remain a central aspect within Hip Hop (Forman 2002). Exploring this idea, my research examines how minoritized individuals define their spaces in relation to their racial identity. It provides a bottom-up analysis of spatial construction, diverging from the top-down approach of politicians, bureaucrats, and urban planners.

More specifically, this work explores how rap artists culturally define race, space and place in their music. Drawing on insights from Lefebvre (1991) and Forman (2002), I apply their concepts to biracial rap artists Drake, J. Cole, and Logic. I hypothesize that these individuals utilize racialized constructions of space and place—specifically cities and their neighborhoods—to legitimize their rap identities. Here, I speculate that J. Cole, from Fayetteville, North Carolina, and Logic, from Gaithersburg, Maryland, leverage their locales to enhance their rap personas. Despite being Canadian, I contend that Drake references American southern cities to establish rap credibility. Lastly, I hypothesize that, as part of cultural production, these individuals will embrace a Black male identity that aligns with a conventional rap image.

To provide context, I briefly explore theories on Black and multiracial identity development in the United States and Canada, which are the backgrounds of these artists. I argue that Logic, Drake, and J. Cole exemplify these frameworks in their music to varying degrees. Next, I examine the intersection of race and Hip Hop, emphasizing the importance of focusing on Black-identified males and rap music. Then, I outline my methodology, which involves a content analysis of Drake, J. Cole, and Logic’s discography from 2010 to 2023. I analyze how these artists depict their racial identities and urban environments. In conclusion, I consider the broader impacts of spatial and cultural production on racial identity.

2.1. Conceptions of Black and Multiracial Identity and Ethnicity in the U.S. and Canada

Given that I analyze the songs of three mixed-race Black-white artists—two born in the United States (Logic and J. Cole) and one in Canada (Drake)—conceptions of Black identity, race, and ethnicity deserve examination. Generally, race and ethnicity are understood as socially constructed, rather than biologically fixed categories (Hall 1993; Omi and Winant 1994; West 1990). Race is a Westernized, pseudo-scientific concept that dates back to the 17th century, whereas ethnicity originated in the 19th century and was based on factors such as language, religion, cultural beliefs, and related aspects (Cornell and Hartmann 1998). Because of European expansion, Western ideas regarding race and ethnicity spread globally, including notions of racial and ethnic superiority. Leading scholars Cornell West (1990) and Stuart Hall (1993), who study these topics, argue that “Black” is also a politically and culturally constructed category. West (1990) suggests that America’s emergence as a global power after World War II helped spread U.S. culture across the Western world. According to West (1990) and Hall (1993), a key part of what became American cultural dominance was “black cultural vernacular traditions,” such as Blues, Jazz, and later, Hip Hop music, which challenged mainstream white norms of cultural expression (Hall 1993, p. 105).

In what West (1990) calls the “new cultural politics of difference,” people of color resist “white male normative gazes” that define Black life. White supremacist beliefs promote the essentialist idea of a single, unified Black culture and community, ignoring the reality that Black identity is diverse, shaped by intersections of sex, ethnicity, positionalities, region, and more. For West (1990) and Hall (1993), new culture critics challenge the concept of “Black” identity itself, rejecting narrowly defined notions of Blackness. Indeed, Hall (1993) questions what is “Black” in Black popular culture, arguing that this label remains contradictory, hybrid, dialogical, and relational; rather than inherent or a given. Yet, in the United States, Black and Black mixed-race identities have been defined based on the belief of the “one drop rule.”

Even though the percentage of multiracial individuals has substantially increased since 2000, with 1 in 10 people claiming a multiracial background—including 3.1 million who identify as Black-white—the “one-drop rule” persists in the United States (Daniel 2021; Khanna 2010; Jones et al. 2021). This is an essentialist framework created by Europeans during the 17th and 18th centuries (Davis 1991; Daniel 2021), primarily targeting Black and white sexual encounters. Varied blood quantum laws were established across the U.S., culminating in the one-drop rule.1 Any person with a percentage or “one drop” of African blood was considered racially Black. This policy was used to enforce the enslavement of Black people in the South, no matter their white lineage. After slavery ended, Daniel (2021, p. 109) states that the one-drop rule became the “cornerstone of the U.S. binary racial order.” Indeed, some minoritized groups encouraged Black-nonblack individuals to identify as Black for reasons of racial solidarity and political strength. This was the intent when demographic data was collected for the 2000 Census. Organizations such as the NAACP urged biracial Blacks to claim a Black background in order to avoid an undercount. Daniel (2021) notes that some “communities of color up[held] monoraciality…” (110)—insisting that Black biracial people identify with their subaltern identities for political purposes.

Johnston and Nadal (2010) argue that such thinking led to monoracism, where the message communicated to mixed-race people implied that multiraciality meant inferiority (p. 130). Clearly, in the case of Black-white combinations, this reinforces the one-drop rule. Although multiracial movements in the 1980s and 1990s pushed for allowing biracial individuals of all backgrounds to openly classify however they felt, achieving success in several areas—such as choosing multiple racial categories on administrative documents and forms (e.g., Census forms and college applications)—monoraciality and the one-drop rule still pervade racial thought (Daniel 2021; Johnston and Nadal 2010). Khanna (2010) demonstrates this phenomenon in her interviews with Black-white biracial college students. Some select a Black identity instead of biracial or white to fit in with their Black peers. Specifically, some participants dressed similarly (e.g., baggy clothes), expressed the same vernacular, and listened to the same rap music as their Black peers. However, she also found cases where biracial individuals asserted biracial identities. Based on the above, racialized meaning-making—where mixed-race individuals may choose racial makeup according to primordial notions (Cornell and Hartmann 1998)—permeates American society, despite being socially, politically, and culturally created (Hall 1993; Omi and Winant 1994; West 1990).

Capturing the complexity of racial identification, Rockquemore and Brunsma (2002) propose four ways that biracial Blacks may identify. The first model, a singular identity, involves mixed-race and biracial individuals asserting a monoracial Black or white background. The second, a border identity, describes those who identify only as biracial. In contrast, the third, a protean identity, suggests that mixed-race people pick a Black, white, or biracial identity depending on the context. Harris and Sim’s (2002) research exemplifies this approach, showing how self-designation shifts between school and home environments due to parental and peer influence. The final archetype, the transcendental identity, involves individuals choosing “human” as their identifier, thereby rejecting racial categories altogether. Hence, biracial and Black identities can be interpreted as mutually exclusive or inclusive depending on context and factors such as social and political movements, societal norms, parental and peer group influence, and, as I posit below, conventions within rap music.2

Differing from American racial logics, racial identity in Canada is rooted in ethnicity and culture (Manuel et al. 2022). Canadians did not follow the “one-drop rule.” After slavery ended in Canada in 1838, instead of embracing essentialist beliefs that separated groups, Krashinsky (2025) writes that over time, Canadians conveyed support for multiculturalism and inclusion. However, this approach did not advance Black liberation and freedom. Instead, Canadian nationality shrouded anti-Blackness and anti-indigeneity (Kelly 2004). Nonetheless, racist attitudes did not emanate from or promote the belief in genetically distinct groups. The divisions in Canada supposedly centered around culture, language, and religion (Kelly 2004).

The primacy of ethnicity and culture appears in the Canadian census. Manuel et al. (2022) argue that identity in Canada manifests as ethnic origin (e.g., South Indian, Jamaican, Nigerian, etc.), not United States-based racialized categories (e.g., Black, white, Asian). Racial origin questions were removed from the Canadian census in 1941 and replaced with “ethnic or cultural groups.” Furthermore, in 1986, respondents could identify with more than one ethnic or cultural group: “To which ethnic or cultural group(s) do you or did your ancestors belong? Mark or specify as many as possible. Groups include: French, English, Irish, Scottish, German, Italian, Ukrainian, Dutch, Chinese, Jewish, Polish, Black, Inuit, North American Indian, Métis.” (Manuel et al. 2022). Thus, one can classify as Black and Jewish, or Black and Dutch, among other combinations. Additionally, in 1996, the census introduced the category “visible minorities”: “persons, other than Aboriginal peoples, who are non-Caucasian in race or non-white in color” (Manuel et al. 2022). Hence, Canadian and American racial classificatory systems diverge from one another. American racial ideology emerges from and responds to the one-drop rule for Blacks and Black multiracials, the system in which J. Cole, Logic, and Drake—who moves between the United States and Canada—find themselves embedded. In contrast, Canada’s system, where Drake was born, anchors itself in notions of ethnicity and culture.

Despite discrepancies in racial logics, Kelly (2004) argues that Black Canadian identity is heavily influenced by Black American youth. Highlighting this point, she claims that “within present-day Canadian society, there is an existing common-sense discourse that positions rap as synonymous with black identity and considers consumption of rap music an inherent aspect of blackness and cultural formation” (Kelly 2004, p. 63). Furthermore, United States Black identity holds such overwhelming influence that among Black Canadians, “Canadian rap music is seen as imitative rather than innovative, mimetic rather than ‘authentic’” (Kelly 2004, p. 111). Here, Kelly’s (2004) work highlights Forman (2002), West (1990), and Hall’s (1993) reflections. In this instance, Black American rappers (including African American, Afro-Caribbean, Afro-Puerto Rican, and other Black ethnic groups contributing to Hip Hop culture) influence Black Canadian notions of Black identity, and therefore, claim to a legitimate rap persona (Kelly 2004). For my analysis, based on previous research, credibility in rap is predicated on racial background, space, and place. Specifically, I suggest that Black American males residing in urban spaces influence American and Canadian constructions of a legitimate Black male rap persona.

2.2. Race, Ethnicity, and Hip Hop

Although a diversity of experience and background exists within the genre, rap music remains deeply rooted in Black American male heteronormativity. Kehrer (2022, p. 69) observes, “hip hop is overall understood as a Black male masculine culture and that artists, especially rappers who are not Black men, must define themselves both in relation and opposition to that identity in order to be read as authentic performers in the genre.”3 Moreover, Black males referencing “rough” neighborhoods may more easily achieve rap bona fides than non-Black males. For instance, Oates (2021) argues that Jay-Z, an African American male rap artist, effectively incorporates the notorious Marcy Houses, low-income tenements in Bedford-Stuyvesant, New York, into his lyrics. Jay-Z depicts “Bed-Stuy” as a ghetto—a poverty-stricken, lawless, urban Black space dominated by violence. By referencing the “ghetto,” Jay-Z embellishes one type of Black male rap persona.4 Consequently, numerous Black artists exploit this (mis)understanding and racist view of inner-city Black environments, with the subgroup of “drill” rappers presenting the current incarnation of such performers (Stuart 2020).

Stuart (2020) finds that Chicago’s Black male drill rappers gain clout by glorifying and exaggerating violence in their settings through social media. However, this strategy for obtaining credibility may not readily apply to non-Black males, even those with multiracial Black backgrounds. Based on existing research suggesting a strong connection between urban residence and Black racial identity—Black urbanity—I argue that biracial artists, particularly those of Black and white descent, must navigate the racialized and geographical conventions of rap music. Specifically, I hypothesize that (a) biracial artists will express a Black male racial identity, and (b) such individuals will emphasize connections to urban areas, presenting these spaces as threatening, which aligns with a particular motif in rap music.5 Thus, my research examines how racial identity intersects with place, informing the meaning-making of rap personas and ultimately revealing the role of racialized city spaces in art and cultural production.

I analyze the music of three well-known performers, each with one Black parent and one white parent: Drake (Aubrey Drake Graham), Logic (Robert Bryson Hall), and J. Cole (Jermaine Lamarr Cole). These prominent figures have built rap careers spanning over a decade, resulting in a substantial discography for examination. Furthermore, their start in the early 2000s makes them suitable subjects for analysis, as all three began their careers around the same time and are close in age, enabling a meaningful comparison. I focus on these three because their legitimacy within rap may not be automatically granted, unlike that of monoracial Black American male performers. As Forman (2002, p. 62) notes, “For black artists, the projection of ghetto associations is less difficult and less contentious, since the dominant social perspective…interpolates black youths, especially males, as ghetto citizens, if not ghetto thugs.”

Young monoracial Black males may benefit from the assumption of ghetto or hood residence and, by extension, authentic rap artistry, regardless of their actual involvement with urban life or this art form. This stereotype may not easily apply to biracial males, who often face questions regarding their identity from others. For example, Waring (2023) and Campion (2019) both show how monoracial Black individuals often criticize and dismiss the racial identity of biracial Black-white males because of perceived racial differences. Specifically, both scholars find that darker-skinned males tend to express skepticism towards lighter-skinned biracial individuals because of their complexion. Some fairer biracial Black-white males have even been involved in physical conflicts or referred to derogatorily as “light-skin softies” by darker monoracial Black males due to essentialized beliefs about Blackness (Campion 2019; Joseph-Salisbury 2018; Omi and Winant 1994). In these instances, darker skin tones are seen as a legitimate expression of Black identity by monoracial Black individuals (Campion 2019; Waring 2023). Hence, racialized stereotypes of Black males may not be applicable to biracial Black males who, depending on the context, may or may not claim a Black identity based on their interactions with others (Harris and Sim 2002; Khanna 2010; Rockquemore and Brunsma 2002). Therefore, drawing from previous research, the biracial artists examined in this paper serve as test cases for exploring racialized and spatialized meaning-making within rap music.

3. Methodology

I employ content analysis as my methodological approach. Content analysis systematically examines themes, images, or words in various forms of popular culture, including books, newspapers, songs, magazines, and social media (Schutt 2011). This method involves several stages: (1) identifying a population of documents or textual sources for analysis, (2) determining the unit of analysis, (3) selecting a sample from the population, (4) developing coding procedures, and (5) analyzing the data (Schutt 2011). Lyrical analysis, a specific application of this method, is commonly employed by researchers studying rap songs (Kubrin 2005; Chepp 2015). I focus on the studio albums of each artist from 2010 to 2023, excluding EPs, compilations, mixtapes, featured appearances on other artists’ records, or movie soundtracks. This analysis of these rappers’ studio albums corresponds with the relative beginning of their careers. Except for two of Logic’s albums, all others analyzed achieved Platinum status, selling at least one million copies (see Appendix A).

My analysis focuses exclusively on the song lyrics from the artists’ discographies. Black-identified males are often portrayed as the standard-bearers in research on rap music (Forman 2002; Green et al. 2024; Kehrer 2022); therefore, I explore whether Drake, Logic, and J. Cole portray their race within this conventional understanding. First, I identify explicit mentions or references to an artist’s racial background in the music. Specifically, I look for instances where the rapper identifies their race (i.e., Black, biracial, or another race) or mentions the racial background of a parent or family member (i.e., white mother, Black father, etc.) in the song as an indicator of the rapper’s racial makeup. Additionally, I capture racial identity based on mentions of one’s skin tone, for example, “light-skinned” or “high yellow,” or other indirect references, such as phenotypical features believed to be associated with a Black racial identity.6 “Light-skin” and “high-yellow” are phenotypical skin-tones that have been associated with a Black identity, broadly defined, given the large variation in hues represented across Black ethno-racial populations (e.g., African Americans, Caribbeans, Africans, etc.) (Russell-Cole et al. [1992] 2013). Additionally, these terms have been used to refer to mixed-race Black-White males (see Joseph-Salisbury 2018).

If such references appear, the song is coded as “1” for racial identity; otherwise, it is coded as “0.” I do not code for frequency; thus, multiple mentions within a single song are coded as “1.”7 Next, I determine if an artist mentions aspects of an urban locale—such as a city, street, boulevard, neighborhood, telephone area code, or postal service zip code—in their lyrics to signal rap legitimacy (Forman 2002). I make no substantive distinctions between these aspects; such descriptions capture space and place. If any urban references exist, I code the song as “1”; if not, as “0.” For example, if an artist mentions a zip code, such as “20877,” or a city name, like “Gaithersburg,” then the song is coded as an “urban reference.” Each aspect serves as an indicator of urban space. Again, I code for presence, not frequency.

After tabulating data on racial identity and urban references, I address more substantive questions: How do artists frame their racial background? How do they describe specific environments? What kinds of language do they use? Is there racial meaning attributed to the locales they discuss? For instance, is a “rough” environment understood as racially Black? I acknowledge that referencing urban settings or one’s racial identity is not the sole theme in rap music; rappers explore a wide range of topics from partying to dating. Indeed, Drake’s emotional vulnerability regarding his romantic relationships saturates his music (Smith 2023). However, this paper examines questions from prior literature on the racial construction of spaces and places within rap (Forman 2002; Chang 2005; Rose 1994; Stuart 2020). As previously detailed, conveying ties to neighborhoods, cities, and blocks is a motif within rap music: “in hip-hop, space is a dominant concern, occupying a central role in the definition of value, meaning, and practice” (Forman 2002, p. 3). Though other tropes exist, I focus on these aspects of artists’ music.

Although a content analysis of these artists’ lyrics aligns with other research (Kubrin 2005; Chepp 2015), this method has limitations. Specifically, rap artists use double entendres, slang, metaphors, irony, and other rhetorical devices in their lyrics; therefore, there may not be clear or straightforward meanings within the songs. Whenever possible, the context of the lyric within the song was taken into consideration. The primary author hired an additional coder, and a subsample of lyrics was coded separately to reduce potential bias. Although inter-coder reliability reached 85%, interviewing artists would help clarify any misunderstandings or ambiguities in interpretation. Unfortunately, the primary author did not have access to these individuals. Therefore, I supplement my analyses with interviews that these rappers have given to various outlets, providing additional context for my findings.

Another limitation is the backgrounds of the author and the coder. Specifically, the author identifies as African American, while the coder identifies as Asian American. Although both have read the sociological and historical literature on race and ethnicity, they operate from an Americanized view of racial categorization (as discussed above). As a result, a U.S. frame of reference was favored in this analysis. The author acknowledges that the racial logics of other countries may yield different findings and explanations. Below, I outline the backgrounds of Drake, J. Cole, and Logic, and then present my findings.

Drake was born Aubrey Drake Graham in 1986 in Toronto. Census data reveal that 8.5% of Toronto’s population identifies as Black of different ethnic backgrounds, with the majority identifying as Caucasian of varying ethnic backgrounds at 50.2% (Toronto Population 2025).8 Drake’s father, an African American, hails from Memphis, Tennessee, where 63% of people identify as Black and 25% as white (U.S. Census Bureau Quickfacts 2025b).9 His mother, a white Canadian Ashkenazi Jew, did not marry his father. At age 13, Drake celebrated his bar mitzvah, marking his transition into manhood according to Jewish law (JTA and Aaron Binder 2017).10 Before rising to fame as a rap artist, Drake acted on the television show Degrassi: The Next Generation from 2001 to 2008. In his song “Star67,” he declares earning “50 racks,” or $50,000 annually as an actor, indicating a middle-class lifestyle by United States standards. His debut studio album, released in 2010, propelled his career to new heights. Drake has sold over 200 million units and is the second most-streamed artist worldwide, behind Taylor Swift. Additionally, he owns multiple businesses, including a music label and a liquor brand.

Jermaine Lamarr Cole, known professionally as J. Cole, was born in 1985 on a military base in Germany but grew up in Fayetteville, North Carolina, where the population is 42% Black and 38% white (U.S. Census Bureau Quickfacts 2025a).11 His mother identifies as white, while his father claims Black ancestry. Cole’s father abandoned the family when he was young, resulting in his upbringing in a working-class environment (Flavourmag Team 2011).12 After relocating from Germany to Fayetteville with his brother and mother, Cole eventually graduated from St. John’s College in New York and signed with Jay-Z’s Roc Nation label. His first studio album, released in 2011, launched a successful career. Like Drake, J. Cole owns multiple businesses, including his own music label.

Finally, Logic, whose full name is Sir Robert Bryson Hall II, was born in 1990 in Gaithersburg, Maryland, where about 17% of the population is Black and 35% is white (Gaithersburg, Maryland Demographics 2024).13 His father identifies as African American, and his mother claims a white identity; his parents never married. Logic describes his upbringing in an impoverished and violent area of Gaithersburg (Logic Interview the Breakfast Club Power 2014).14 He ultimately dropped out of high school but later signed with Def Jam Records after releasing his third mixtape. His debut album, released in 2014, marked the beginning of a prolific career. In addition to his music, Logic authored two books, “Supermarket” in 2019 and “This Bright Future” in 2021, both of which became New York Times bestsellers. Expanding his creative endeavors, Logic signed an exclusive deal with the streaming service Twitch in 2020 (BBC 2020).15

4. Results

I examined 386 songs from 23 studio albums (See Appendix A). I focused on songs and excluded musical skits and sketches, choosing instead to analyze the artists’ music. Addressing the questions raised in the literature review, I first examined artists’ declarations of their racial background. J. Cole’s discography includes 27% (23/85) of lyrics stating his race (i.e., “Black”). Drake had a 7% (13/178) rate (i.e., “Black”), and Logic had a 25% (31/123) (i.e., “biracial” and “multiracial”) rate of at least one racial reference. Regarding themes of space and place, J. Cole mentions various locales in 32% (27/85) of his songs at least once, but he more frequently describes events in Fayetteville. Logic references different areas in a larger percentage of his tracks, at 51% (63/123), but primarily discusses Gaithersburg, Maryland. In contrast, Drake mentions a broader range of locations in his music at least once, including Toronto (his birthplace), Memphis, Atlanta, Houston, and Miami. Indeed, 61% (109/178) of his songs contain at least one reference to a prominent urban location, more often within the United States.16 However, J. Cole released the fewest albums—six—compared to Drake (9) and Logic (8). Additionally, Cole’s last studio album came out in 2021, two years before those of Drake and Logic. Next, I turn to how these artists address their racial backgrounds—exploring Forman’s (2002) notion of racial authenticity within hip hop and its connection to a Black male rap persona. How do these biracial males discuss their racial makeup in their music? I follow this with an analysis of urban references.

5. Racial Identity and Rap Music

5.1. J. Cole

Starting with racial identity, each artist indicates their racial background directly (i.e., stating they are “Black,” “biracial,” etc.) or indirectly (e.g., mentioning a “Black father,” “white mother,” “light-skinned,” or “vanilla” complexion, etc.). Beginning with J. Cole, throughout his discography, he refers to himself racially as a “Black man” or “Black male.” In “Villuminati,” he rhymes, “now they hate to see a young black man with a college degree.” Here, Cole, a college graduate, insinuates that a well-educated Black male poses an existential threat to American society. In a continued critique of American race relations, in his song “Mo Money,” Cole rhymes, “Money control n****/white man control money.” The artist suggests that white males dominate the means of wealth attainment, while non-whites operate at the whims of white men. He adds, “Blacks always broke cause we don’t know money.” He implies Black people lack financial acumen and fail to accumulate wealth. This dearth of knowledge exists alongside racist policies that impede intergenerational wealth (Oliver and Shapiro 1995). Addressing my query regarding racial identity, I suggest Cole identifies as Black since he includes himself as part of the “we”—Black people—in the above lyric. Indeed, he illustrates Rockquemore and Brunsma’s (2002) notion of a singular identity, whereby a mixed-race Black-white person selects a Black identity, in this case.

Furthermore, expressing the personal racism he may encounter living in a hypothetical white area in “Neighbors,” Cole rhymes, “Somethings you can’t escape: death, taxes, and a racist society that makes every n**** feel like a candidate/for a Trayvon kinda fate.” Although Cole possesses substantial wealth, in this song, he suggests that theoretical white neighbors would view him negatively due to his racial background. Moreover, he indicates that his mere presence in this environment may lead to his death, like Trayvon Martin, a young Black male killed while walking through his father’s neighborhood by a white Hispanic male in 2012 (Lebron 2017).17 Here, Lefebvre’s (1991) notion of spatial practices is at play, whereby racist beliefs by whites endanger Cole’s life. In his music, Cole asserts his Black background and articulates the systems of oppression operating at both institutional and individual levels.

In an interview with XXL, a Hip-Hop magazine, when asked about his racial background, the artist states, “But at the end of the day, I never felt White. I don’t know what that feels like. I can identify [with it]. But never have I felt like I’m one of them. Not that I wanted to, or tried to, but it just was what it was. I identify more with what I look like because that’s how I got treated.” (Hip Hop Vibe Staff Writer 2011) The rapper firmly declares that he does not claim a white identity due to his treatment and appearance, implying that he “looks” Black—a belief expressed by laypeople that reifies racial categories (Omi and Winant 1994). More pointedly, in a Colorlines magazine interview, responding to a question about colorism within the Black community, Cole says, “I can’t say it for sure, but I just think we’re still in America. We’re still Black Americans. Those mental chains are still in us. That brainwashing that tells us that light skin is better” (King 2013). 18 The artist identifies himself as part of the Black American community, using the pronouns “we,” “us,” and “light skin.” In his view, this group continues to endure one of the remnants of slavery—preferences for phenotypically white-looking Blacks (Russell-Cole et al. [1992] 2013). Based on these responses, I argue that there are distinct connections between Cole’s personal views and references to his racial makeup in his music.

5.2. Drake

Through his lyrics and magazine interviews, J. Cole explicitly identifies as Black. In contrast, Drake’s Black identity appears more subdued. In his discography, Drake makes very few explicit references to his racial background. In “All Me,” he states, “I’m the light-skinned Keith Sweat.” Keith Sweat was a prominent, darker-complexioned Black R&B singer from the mid-1980s. This line suggests that Drake’s melodic style emulates that of a darker-hued crooner, allowing the listener to infer his racial background. In another song, “Hype,” the rapper hints at a Black male identity—“That boy light as Michael Jackson/But on verses, he been blackin’.” He references R&B legend Michael Jackson’s lighter skin tone during his later years, intimating that Drake, referred to as “that boy,” identifies as a fairer-complexioned Black man. He seems to correlate skin tone with racial identity (Cornell and Hartmann 1998; Omi and Winant 1994). However, by using “blackin’” with a dual meaning, he indicates a more legitimate Black background than Jackson. In the song “Nonstop,” he reiterates this theme, rhyming, “I’m a bar spitta, I’m a hard hitta/Yeah, I’m light-skinned, but I’m still a dark n****.” Despite his light complexion, which may indicate a liability or weakness in the rap world, the artist boasts about his sharp rapping skills. The line “I’m still a dark n****” insinuates a Black racial identity and a type of toughness. In this context, the n-word stands for an unassimilated and strong Black person rather than as a term of endearment (Kennedy 2002). The artist may be drawing on constructions of a Black male rap persona to inform his own rap image, as suggested by Kelly (2004). Yet, in other songs, Drake seems to struggle with his racial background.

In the song “You and the 6,” Drake rhymes, “I used to get teased for being Black/And now I am here and I’m not Black enough.” The artist reflects on a time when he faced ridicule for his racial identity. In a Vibe magazine interview about his background, he mentions, “Jewish kids didn’t understand how I could be Black and Jewish…It was stupid, annoying rich kids that were closed-minded and mean.” This quote reveals that he identifies as both Black and Jewish, a possibility based on the emphasis of ethnic and cultural backgrounds in Canada (Manuel et al. 2022). However, the line “and now I am here and I’m not Black enough” suggests that in his current environment—possibly the American rap landscape—he faces criticism regarding his perceived Blackness. He goes on, “Cause I’m not acting tough/Or making stories up ‘bout where I’m actually from.” In these lines, Drake connects behavior and location to racial identity; his supposed critics argue that a Black male rap persona emerges from “acting hard” or showing strength. References to the “cool pose” and “code of the street,” which require Black men to adhere to hypermasculine ideals, resonate throughout these lyrics (Majors and Billson 1992; Anderson 2000). Additionally, relating the verse to this research, the rapper notes that he does not invent “street life” narratives about his upbringing in Toronto—a point I will explore in the Section 7. Interestingly, Drake addresses the critique of illegitimacy by stating, “But I just roll with it.” His understated response to critics may reveal his reaction to a Black American stylized racial construct (Kelly 2004). Nevertheless, I argue that Drake lyrically signals a Black male rap persona, unlike Logic.

5.3. Logic

Like Drake, Logic uses words such as “light skin” and “vanilla” to describe his appearance. For example, in the song “Everybody,” Logic says he is a “light-skin mutha***,” while in the song “Soul Food,” he rhymes, “though my skin is vanilla…I dare ya to test my killa.” Paralleling Drake, Logic may suspect that his fairer complexion reflects a weaker masculine rap presence compared to his competitors. He expresses braggadocio as a response to this belief, informing his hypothetical opponent to “test his killa”—an aggressive stance. He also reveals the doubts of those who question his identity. In the song “Dark Place,” the rapper articulates his hypothetical critics’ belief that he is “not black enough, [and] not hood enough.” The artist (or his detractors) seems to conflate racial identity and space—the “hood” is a presumed Black space (Forman 2002; Oates 2021; Richardson and Skott-Myhre 2012). Supposedly, Logic falls short in both areas; he purportedly lacks an appropriate Black male rap guise, and his character presumably does not reflect urban strife. As detailed below, the artist seems resolute in his racial background despite these alleged shortcomings.

Contrary to J. Cole and Drake, Logic identifies as biracial in his music. In the song “Keanu Reeves,” he asserts, “Did you know I’m mixed like Obama…It ain’t a project if Logic ain’t talkin’ about being biracial.” Here, he claims a biracial identity, appropriating former President Barack Obama’s mixed-race ancestry as his own. He foregrounds this identity throughout his discography, drawing on Rockquemore and Brunsma’s (2002) framework of a border identity. For instance, in his song “YSIV,” he raps about being “Black and white like Bob Marley.” Logic aligns himself with other famous biracial individuals such as Marley. To be sure, Logic reflects on the actions and beliefs of his critics; for instance, in the song “AfricAryan,” he rhymes, “Black man screaming, trying to convince me that I am not Black.” However, he responds to such criticisms in “Black Spiderman,” where he states, “I’m just as white as that Mona Lisa/I’m just as black as my cousin Keisha/I’m biracial, so bye Felicia.” In this verse, the artist rejects a singular Black or white background, choosing instead to incorporate both, and continues by directly stating that he possesses a biracial identity, as seen in the work on mixed-race Blacks by other scholars (Joseph-Salisbury 2018; Rockquemore and Brunsma 2002). He ends this declaration with the dismissive rejoinder— “bye Felicia”—popularized by rap artist Ice Cube in his 1995 movie “Friday.” For Logic, the expression “disses” those who question his background. Therefore, Logic does not explicitly identify as Black—and does not align with this trope in rap. He remains steadfast in his biracial identity.

Based on the songs and interviews above, these multiracial artists approach their identities differently in their music. My hypothesis that each would identify as racially Black to gain rap legitimacy was unproven. J. Cole explicitly states his race as Black; furthermore, when collectively addressing the struggles of Black people, he uses the pronoun “we,” suggesting membership in this racial group. In contrast, Drake hints at a Black identity, infrequently referring to himself as “Black” and “light-skinned.” In this context, “light-skin” is interpreted as a fairer-complexioned Black man based on Drake’s other lyrics (i.e., “That boy light as Michael Jackson/But on verses, he been blackin.”). Additionally, the artist provides examples of racial exclusion—stating that he is considered “not Black enough”—but does not affirm a Black identity in response. Thus, Drake expresses implicit Blackness. Finally, Logic asserts a biracial identity in his music, rejecting the idea that he must choose between a Black or white background. Therefore, he does not conform to this trope in rap. I unpack these findings in the Section 7. Next, I turn to how space and place are constructed in their music. As Forman (2002), Rose (1994), and Bradley (2021) point out, these aspects play crucial roles in shaping rap personas.

6. Space, Place, and Rap Identity

6.1. J. Cole

J. Cole frequently spotlights Fayetteville, or the “‘Ville,” throughout his discography. He credits the city for his success in “Ain’t That Some Sh**”: “Well paid for this rapping sh**/’Ville made it to the map and sh**.” By doing so, Cole introduces his city to the rap scene. His strong commitment to his neighborhood inspires him to title his third album after the street where he grew up, “2014 Forest Hills Drive.” Although proud of his home, Cole portrays the city as dangerous on some tracks. For instance, in “Miss American,” he rhymes about living “in a city where n**** don’t really care who they hit,” suggesting that random acts of violence regularly occur. In “Can’t Get Enough,” he reinforces this theme with, “I’m from the ‘Ville where they bang for the money and carry fo’-fives, like change for a twenty,” indicating gang activity through the shorthand “bang.” By mentioning “fo-fives” or 45s, he refers to high-caliber weapons, underscoring the notion of violence in Fayetteville being as commonplace as asking for change for a 20-dollar bill. Responding to his environment, he asserts, “So what I look like scared,” projecting a defiant image.

Fayetteville’s city life seemed to toughen the artist. Around the time Cole released his songs in 2014, Fayetteville had a different crime scene than it did in 2024. According to a 2024 police report from the Fayetteville Police Department, property and violent crimes dropped by 35% since 2014 (Woolverton 2025). More specifically, Fayetteville saw a 35% decrease in reported crimes between 2014 and 2024 (Woolverton 2025). Violent crime peaked in 2015 but fell by 17% in 2024, while property crime plummeted by 42% since 2014 (Woolverton 2025). Additionally, homicides decreased by 57% and aggravated assaults by 29% (Woolverton 2025). These statistics provide context for Cole’s lyrics. Yet, his depiction of volatile surroundings parallels that of other Black male artists who portray cities as harmful spaces, such as Jay-Z’s descriptions of Bedford-Stuyvesant and the Marcy Houses (Forman 2002; Oates 2021; Stuart 2020). Many rappers claim to have been raised in harsh settings, which shaped them into strong-willed individuals. Cole’s apparent hardened demeanor arises from his residence in an “unsafe” city, a persona that might not exist without such a backdrop. While politicians and local authorities view urban areas as scary and in need of reform (Malone 2017; Chang 2005), Cole’s spatial representation of Fayetteville in this manner likely enhances his rap credibility, echoing narratives common among rap artists (Lefebvre 1991; Oates 2021; Stuart 2020).

Expanding his references to the South as a region, J. Cole addresses perceptions held by those in New York, the birthplace of Hip-Hop, in “Side Line Story”: “Some New York n***** thought it was funny callin’ us ‘Bama/Laughin’ at the grammar cause they didn’t understand us/Must’ve thought we slow, but little do they know.” Cole highlights how New Yorkers regard him and others from the South as “slow” or uneducated due to their distinct dialect and grammatical nuances. Bradley (2021) discusses the initial reluctance of New York artists to embrace Southern rappers, stemming from perceived cultural differences and regional inauthenticity, which supports Cole’s narrative. This negative perception from Northerners may benefit Cole. His Southern background sets him apart from those in the North, making him a unique voice. Living in Fayetteville provides him with an unconventional worldview, offering cultural insights that outsiders often overlook. His southern setting, with its distinctive idiom, gives him perspectives unseen by northerners (Miles 2023); as Cole chides, “little do they know.”

6.2. Logic

Logic’s articulations of location mirror those of J. Cole. While the rapper discusses places where he has performed, such as Chicago, New York, and Paris, he frequently emphasizes his roots in Gaithersburg. Throughout his discography, the artist shares his experiences of growing up in a housing project. In “Everybody Dies,” he candidly raps, “Grew up broke as f***,” while in “Growing Pains III,” he vividly portrays his upbringing: “Paint the picture of my life/Growing up what it was like/Section 8, grab a plate,” with “Section 8” referring to subsidized housing. This verse highlights a disadvantaged background, a theme expressed by some Black male rap artists (Forman 2002; Stuart 2020). He also highlights the random acts of violence in his setting. In “Gang Related,” he recounts, “Tales from my hood, not a sight like this/Where they up to no good on a night like this/And they murder mother**** just ‘cause.” This spatial representation renders his neighborhood an unstable space where senseless homicides transpire (Lefebvre 1991). In “Growing Pains III,” Logic maintains this motif, rapping, “Around my way, living day by day/Corn rows and hang time, automatics and gang signs,” illustrating an unstructured existence overshadowed by hostility. According to Logic, his neighborhood in Gaithersburg remains a fearful site.

Despite being described as dangerous, Gaithersburg had a crime rate in 2023 that was 25% lower than the national average, according to FBI data (Gaithersburg, Maryland Crime Rate 2024). Violent crime was 36% below the national average, while property crime was 23% lower than the national average (Gaithersburg, Maryland Crime Rate 2024).19 However, year-to-year fluctuations do occur. For instance, a Gaithersburg Police Department report noted that from 2020 to 2021, total assault offenses increased by 11%, coinciding with the release of Logic’s sixth album, while property crime decreased by 4% (Gaithersburg, Maryland Crime Rate 2024). Like J. Cole, these statistics do not undermine Logic’s description of his location but contextualize his music. According to Logic, the intensity of brutality and crime he faces is significant, prompting him to depict Maryland as a menacing place. In “Soul Food,” he asserts, “Never stolen, I’m from Maryland/Where they shoot you in the dark of the night.” More than just his hometown, the rapper suggests that the entire state harbors individuals inclined toward cruelty.

Like J. Cole, Logic’s descriptions also reiterate a common theme expressed by some Black American male rap artists: depicting homes and neighborhoods as bleak and depressing. Such narratives often buttress a rap persona (Forman 2002; Oates 2021; Stuart 2020). These images of representational space might carry added weight for Logic, who identifies as biracial, not Black (Lefebvre 1991; Forman 2002). Embracing a particular American Black male aesthetic could prove beneficial in establishing rap legitimacy (Kelly 2004). Such descriptions may enhance Logic’s credibility with rap audiences, as he incorporates themes of toughness and adversity based on his environment.

6.3. Drake

Following Logic and J. Cole, Drake often references his hometown, Toronto, referring to it as “the city” and “the 6.” In “Unforgettable,” he raps, “I’m just ridin’ ‘round the city with my hood on and my windows down.” This line offers dual meanings: one suggesting Drake drives through Toronto with his car hood down, and another cleverly alluding to urban settings as “hoods,” or authentic Black spaces. Here, Drake exposes a popular American rap conceit: credible cultural locales often read as “hoods.” However, as discussed below, Drake’s “hood” diverges from orthodox interpretations within United States rap mythology. Furthermore, Drake portrays a symbiotic relationship with his town. In “Underground Kings,” he states, “And I do it for the city ‘cause you know the city love a n****/Do it for the city ‘cause you know the city love a n****.” His lyrical wordplay and bravado create a reciprocal warmth between him and the region. For Drake, a close-knit connection with Toronto arises because they mutually amplify each other.

While Drake refers to Toronto as a “hood,” his music never paints the location as threatening. Instead, the “6” appears harmless. In “9,” he rhymes, “And I turn the 6 upside down, it’s a nine now,” cleverly playing with Toronto’s area codes, 416 and 647, along with the imagery of turning a 6 into a 9, as seen on playing cards. These lyrics demonstrate wittiness rather than portraying an ominous location. Likely, his depiction of Toronto reflects his middle-class background, as evidenced in “You and the 6,” where he addresses criticism for not fabricating stories about his upbringing (as previously mentioned). Unlike J. Cole and Logic, Drake’s residence lacks physical violence. His characterization of Toronto disproves my hypothesis that all these biracial artists would attribute violent meaning to their communities to gain rap legitimacy. However, I argue that Drake still utilizes space and place to create a legible rap image (Kelly 2004).

More often than Logic and J. Cole, Drake frequently references regions beyond his hometown, mentioning American southern cities such as Memphis, Houston, Atlanta, and Miami. I suggest that he strategically references these places with relatively large Black populations to bolster his rap bona fides. As a Canadian rapper who does not racialize his birthplace, Drake explicitly highlights American cities, primarily in the South, to signal his Black male rap persona and enhance his credibility as a rapper. Memphis frequently appears in his lyrics because his father’s side of the family is from there. In “Look What You’ve Done,” Drake states, “And my father living in Memphis now,” and in “6 PM in New York,” he says, “I gotta make it back to Memphis to check on my cousins.” Additionally, the song “Too Much” includes the line, “And all my family from the M-town that I’ve been around.” In each line, he emphasizes his ties to his father’s family. Memphis represents a familial connection for the artist, offering sociospatial credibility and Black urbanity—that is, he frequents a Black city environment and relies on it to inform his rap persona (Kelly 2004).

Contrary to J. Cole and Logic, Drake also portrays places in these cities as hypersexualized sites; in “From Time,” he reminisces, “Uh, thinking ‘bout Texas, back when Porsha used to work at Treasures.” Treasures is a Gentlemen’s Club in Houston. The song “10 Bands” includes references to Atlanta’s nightlife, such as “Treatin’ Diamonds of Atlanta like it’s King of Diamonds” and “I treat V Live like it’s 07 Magic City,” alluding to well-known strip clubs like King of Diamonds and Magic City in Atlanta. Similarly to references to cities in the South, Drake does not describe these places in an untoward or scary way. While his affiliations with Atlanta and Houston lack familial ties, he actively participates in Black American cultural spaces. However, Drake avoids depicting these sites as vicious or threatening; indeed, his presence in them augments his rap persona and his playboy image. I further unpack these artists’ references to race and urban space below.

7. Discussion

Contrary to my hypotheses, the three biracial artists featured do not all identify as Black. Literature suggests that American Black males are often viewed as the default group within rap music; therefore, I expected these rappers to frame their backgrounds in terms of these identities (Forman 2002; Green et al. 2024; Kehrer 2022; Kelly 2004). However, this is not the case for every artist. J. Cole asserts a Black identity in his lyrics, while Drake’s songs intimate a Black male background. Logic identifies as biracial. Also, not all artists presented their locales as dangerous. J. Cole and Logic rely on this trope, but Drake does not. I speculate that these differing ways of expressing racial identity and space help to blur the conventional Black male rap persona, and by extension Black urbanity.

As stated, Cole grew up in a predominantly Black neighborhood with a relatively large population of Black residents in Fayetteville. His songs depict his own experiences and those of Black individuals facing racism and prejudice. He embeds himself in Black life instead of voicing racial tensions with Black people, engaging in Black Placemaking, paralleling the experiences of biracial individuals who select a Black racial identity (Hunter et al. 2016; Khanna 2010). These interactions may heighten his understanding of his Black identity. As mentioned above, he does not identify as white; indeed, throughout his discography, he consistently claims a Black identity. Perhaps he aligns with the one-drop rule, identifying as Black, for social and political reasons (Daniel 2021; Davis 1991).

While J. Cole operates within the conventions of a Black rap persona, Logic operates outside those norms by identifying as biracial. Here, the artist rejects a binary view of racial identity, not only in rap but also in how race is essentialized in the United States (Joseph-Salisbury 2018; Omi and Winant 1994). In line with research on Black-mixed race individuals, Logic challenges common assumptions about who can and cannot identify as Black and biracial (Daniel 2021; Hall 1993; Joseph-Salisbury 2018). Indeed, Logic blurs the lines and boundaries of a Black rap persona by including a “biracial identity” within this concept; hence, his lyric “I’m just as white as that Mona Lisa/I’m just as black as my cousin Keisha/I’m biracial, so bye Felicia.” The artist claims a border identity that questions the typical Black rap male guise, aiming to broaden it by creating a biracial rap persona (Rockquemore and Brunsma 2002). Still, he fulfills the second trope—he may be biracial and “yellow,” but he is “tough,” as expected for a Black male rapper. As he insists, “don’t test his killa.” Moreover, he overcomes his perceived dangerous environment, like J. Cole.

Finally, I suggest that Canadian rapper Drake signals a conventional Black male rap persona in his music through references to: (a) his phenotype—“light-skinned Keith Sweat,” (b) his racial background—“not Black enough” and “blackin’ than Michael Jackson,” and (c) his references to southern cities. He encounters American racialized ideology rooted in the one-drop rule, which states that African ancestry determines a Black racial identity, regardless of white ancestry (Daniel 2021; Omi and Winant 1994). However, unlike J. Cole and Logic, Drake does not portray Toronto as a violent space—countering this motif in the genre. Therefore, like Logic, I suggest that Drake blurs this aspect of the Black male rap persona and expands how artists can present themselves relative to their environment. Drake’s background, as he reflects in his music, is not that of an artist from an intimidating locale. Rather, Toronto is merely “the 6,” a non-threatening and harmless place. Drake redefines the depiction of location within an archetypal Black male rap character. Even when he mentions predominantly Black Southern cities like Atlanta and Houston and frequents Black spaces in these areas (i.e., strip clubs), he does not identify them as troublesome or threatening. He spends his leisure time in the same locations as other predominantly Black male artists (Hunter 2011). Indeed, Hunter (2011) argues that hyper-masculinized rap culture uses female sex workers and strip clubs as part of its aesthetic.

Although there are similarities between J. Cole, Logic, politicians, and media elites in their portrayal of cities and urban life, the meanings behind their representations of these geographic sites differ (Lefebvre 1991). As Malone (2017), Hunter et al. (2016), and Forman (2002) discuss, these latter groups present city environments as unsafe and intimidating to their inhabitants, highlighting a need for restructuring and renewal. Programs like Eminent Domain have been used by federal and local authorities to displace poor and disenfranchised individuals from their communities. Furthermore, large urban areas are depicted negatively because Black and brown individuals reside in them (see the Bronx and Jersey–Chang (2005) and Malone (2017)). These historically Black and brown spaces have been portrayed as dystopian to facilitate the relocation of these groups (Hunter et al. 2016).

Drawing on one aspect of Lefebvre’s (1991) triad, J. Cole and Logic articulate spatial representations of their urban environments as unstable and violent. However, these artists appear empowered by their surroundings. They assert that these spaces have made them tough and strong despite the potential harm inflicted upon them. I argue that such expressions may mirror those of powerful groups—politicians and urban developers—but these artists do not show fear or retreat from these areas; instead, they view their cities as nurturing their resilience and determination, paralleling the first Hip Hop artists from the Bronx (Chang 2005). Their lyrics do not address displacing people from or altering these neighborhoods. The narratives regarding these locations create an image that aligns with a prominent theme in rap music—expressions of guile and strength. Indeed, an artist’s popularity may depend on their ability to overcome adversity, and these rappers’ cities provide numerous opportunities for them to showcase their victories. Therefore, to embody this specific motif, I contend that these spaces are depicted as threatening, and such descriptions, whether accurate or not, may enhance their credibility, connecting to Black urbanity.

Significantly, while J. Coles demonstrates Black urbanity from a conventional Black rap persona, Logic, by asserting a biracial background, introduces a “biracial persona” within the concept of Black urbanity. Drake does not portray his birthplace, Toronto, as a dangerous place; therefore, he does not fit this motif. Like Logic, he reflects an alternative way to express Black male rap performativity, one that is not anchored in expressions of threatening environments. Therefore, Drake reconceptualizes depictions of space within Black urbanity. Ultimately, all three artists present different ways of expressing a Black male rap persona and, thus, Black urbanity.

8. Conclusions

In this paper, I apply Lefebvre’s (1991) and Forman’s (2002) conceptualizations of space and place to explore how biracial rap artists express racial identity and urban life. Media and bureaucrats often portray cities as unsafe and violent, racializing them as Black spaces (Hunter et al. 2016; Malone 2017). Forman (2002) argues that rap artists frequently mention their neighborhoods, cities, and localities to highlight their specific areas, thus enhancing their rap personas. Historically, popular Black American artists have often depicted their neighborhoods and hometowns negatively, which has increased their popularity among certain rap fans (Oates 2021; Stuart 2020). This behavior appears to demonstrate the artists’ resilience and determination to overcome adversity. I hypothesized that Drake, Logic, and J. Cole—who have mixed-race backgrounds—will make references to their neighborhoods as dangerous while identifying as racially Black. This hypothesis was disproven. The content analysis produced more nuanced findings. Specifically, not all three identify as racially Black, yet they all present urban environments as vital settings in their lives—places that strengthen their resilience and, in Drake’s case, support his identity as a legitimate Black rapper. Significantly, Logic affirms a biracial identity, and Drake does not represent his hometown as violent and dangerous.

Overall, these depictions of space highlight the connection between racial identity and urban residency, which I refer to as Black urbanity. In this framework, racial identity is both shaped by and influences city life. Within this context, credible rap identities can be rooted in city landscapes often portrayed as perilous, as seen in the works of J. Cole and Logic, one of many common tropes in rap music. This portrayal may endear these artists to some rap fans, contributing to high record sales. Yet, Drake, through his lyrics about space, shows that benign depictions of place can be just as popular, diverging from the standard trope of a dangerous location.

This work builds on Lefebvre’s (1991) and Forman’s (2002) analyses of how space and place are constructed. I emphasize how biracial spatial identity performance in rap serves as a lens for understanding broader racialized cultural production. When discussing the literature on geographic sites, I observe that not only do elites and the media frame urban spaces and city life, but everyday individuals—such as musicians, local youth, and older folks (Chang 2005; Hunter et al. 2016; Lefebvre 1991; Sriskandarajah 2020)—also play a significant role. In my sample, some rap artists (i.e., J. Cole and Logic) use spatial representations of cities and neighborhoods as violent to gain recognition within the rap genre; they convey a specific motif in rap, regardless of its factual accuracy. Whether these artists are sincere or insincere in their presentation is not in question; instead, the rhetorical deployment and meaning behind these characterizations drive this analysis. This work highlights how the intersection of racial identity and spatiality creates popular culture narratives within rap music. These narratives (through rap lyrics) may reinforce dystopian views of urban environments for the media, politicians, or bureaucrats, but they must be understood from the perspective of those who live in or frequent these communities. Here, I suggest that some rap artists’ deployment of Black urbanity may generate a framework for examining what may be classified as urban crisis and/or degeneration by authority figures. Yet, artists complicate “crisis” narratives while laying claim to urban life in the United States.

Additionally, these findings contribute to research on Black and Black-mixed race identities as socially constructed categories. Because these biracial artists express themselves in diverse ways, the study illustrates how racial identities are used and shaped, rather than being fixed or innate. Racial identity is influenced by place, space, and culture, along with economic and political factors (West 1990; Hall 1993). Furthermore, this research adds to studies on expressions of Black identity (Davis 1991) and explores what defines “Black” in Black popular culture (Hall 1993). Black identity is not something biologically rooted; as Hall (1993) and West (1990) argue, it is relational and context-dependent. These biracial Black male artists present Black rap personas that emphasize the social construction of racial identity and its intersection with cultural production. Overall, they reveal the tension between the “one-drop” rule and moments when biracial identities are invalidated in rap music, paralleling the work of scholars examining the lives of Black-white biracial men and women (Rockquemore and Brunsma 2002; Joseph-Salisbury 2018; Khanna 2010).

Future research should focus on how marginalized groups navigate discourses of cultural production within geographical spaces, especially those defined by elites to the detriment of disenfranchised individuals, as well as their intersections with class and place. Insights from future studies may reveal how marginalized groups assert their agency through the cultural production of space in ways that either align with or differ from those of dominant groups. Additionally, future work should continue to explore the varying ways in which Black and Black mixed-race identities are both blurred and reified in popular culture within and outside of an American racial framework. In conclusion, my research highlights how physical locations, such as cities, are constructed sites that involve continuously negotiated terrains, encompassing public and private authorities, as well as residents and artists.