Chicago-raised rapper Polo G made his first chart impact in 2019 with his single “Pop Out,” which hit No. 11 on the Billboard Hot 100 and appeared on his top 10 debut album, “Die a Legend.” His continuing ascent since then has been steady and incremental. In interviews, he articulates a methodical approach to his career, always looking an album or two ahead. While talking with the online magazine Complex about the possibility of working with acclaimed rappers like J. Cole and Kendrick Lamar, the 22-year-old, born Taurus Bartlett, said he wants “to get a little bit better lyrically in that style before I would jump on that type of song.” This intense focus, building on his strengths while identifying and improving upon shortcomings, led to a strong sophomore effort—2020’s “The Goat”—and now “Hall of Fame” (Columbia), his excellent third LP.
Polo G’s music is haunted by loss, and there’s a pervasive sadness to his voice. Anxiety and melancholy are draped over his music like a weighted blanket. Even when he’s rapping about having escaped the struggles of his childhood and making lots of money, he sounds wistful rather than celebratory, as if aware of how quickly things could change. In the world of his music, nothing is promised and you can never rest on past accomplishments. Something is always coming for you, even if it’s your dark visions that plague your mind.
On the opening “Painting Pictures,” Polo G pays tribute to the friends and relatives close to him who have died. A somber vocal sample, slowed down, gives it a bluesy cast, and a slow, gospel-style piano line underscores the heavy mood. He remembers people from his neighborhood, and mourns not only their passing but the fading of their memory. “They killed Lamp, he took three with him, they all know what your name about / Ain’t see you in so long, it’s like your voice is slowly fadin’ out.”
If you haven’t been following hip-hop music for a while, the hit “Rapstar,” the second track here, which topped the Billboard Hot 100 in April, demonstrates how much has changed since the genre’s louder and more aggressive days. Polo G’s melodic singsong style, often accented with Auto-Tune, makes it seem as if each thought emerges with a musical note attached to it. Though “Rapstar” is ostensibly about making it big and enjoying the fruits of one’s labor, Polo G sounds weary and sorrowful, and its central refrain is a quietly picked chord played on a ukulele. It’s the perfect backdrop for a song that vacillates between over-the-top boasts and depressing observations. “I hear planes flyin’, crowds screamin’, money counters, chains clangin’ / I guess that’s how it sound when you winnin’,” he raps, almost as if all the good things coming his way are happening to someone else. (This past Saturday, a seemingly triumphant moment went awry: Following the Miami release party for this record, Polo G was arrested and charged with battery of a police officer, among other offenses.)
Polo G has mentioned in interviews that his plan was to make his name on his own before bringing in guest spots. “Hall of Fame” has more vocal collaborators than his two previous albums combined, including young hometown compatriots G Herbo and Lil Durk and established veterans like Young Thug and Lil Wayne. “Party Lyfe,” track 14 of 20, features rapper DaBaby, who topped the singles charts with a song called “Rockstar” in 2020. It seems likely to be the next hit off “Hall of Fame.” The loose and fun party tune designed for hanging out is a rap staple that doesn’t come naturally to Polo G, but he holds his own alongside DaBaby’s fleet baritone rhymes.
Not all of the guest spots work. Late in the record we hear a collaboration with Nicki Minaj, “For the Love of New York,” which makes no thematic sense and whose only real virtue is to give Polo G space to flow over a Caribbean stutter-step groove. And “Clueless,” featuring vocals from Brooklyn rapper Pop Smoke, who was shot and killed in early 2020, is intriguing on paper but doesn’t quite come across in practice—it’s ultimately too fragmented, and shows its assembled-after-the-fact origins.
The final track, “Bloody Canvas,” once again features Polo G alone. It’s the set’s longest and also its most narratively ambitious, filled with vivid lines about an escalating street conflict that ends in tragedy. His writing is cinematic and emotionally gripping, and the song unfolds like a film, shot-by-shot: “Sed pulled up to the lo’, lights off, it’s like one o’clock / Grippin’ on the silver Smith & Wesson with like thirty shots / He ain’t gotta put one in the head, it’s already cocked / Rodney got his back turned, he trying to sell his last rock.” Few of rap’s other young superstars have Polo G’s combination of emotional vulnerability and flair for third-person storytelling. He even manages a couple of convincing numbers about love and heartbreak; “So Real,” a portrait of his girlfriend and mother of his child, is particularly affecting.
Each of Polo G’s three albums has a provocative title that suggests he deserves to be considered alongside the genre’s all-time greats. It’ll be at least a few years and a few more records before we start to have such conversations about his work. But if he continues the upward trajectory affirmed by “Hall of Fame,” at some point his claims might have the ring of truth.
—Mr. Richardson is the Journal’s rock and pop music critic.
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