On the immense and troubling genius of Nu Jerzey Twork
We don’t quite know what to do with genius, we humans. We see it rarely, and become frantic when we face it, and want to protect, and nurture and retreat from, and extinguish it in equal parts. A great and terrible thing, genius is.
In growing arts and endeavors, tribe and community may go a lifetime and not see their own true genius born, and certainly a community so blurred and niche as those of us who love battler rap could not have imagined that anything resembling genius would be birthed to us.
To be certain, there has been greatness in a choice few who practice the craft. The sermons of Loaded Lux. The humor, narrative lyricism and punches of Charlie Clips. The towering antihero bravado of Aye Verb. The endless offensive barrage of punches of a B Magic or Rum Nitty. The tireless consistency of an DNA, or precision writing of a JC. All over the landscape of battle rap, in its history, there has been actual, or near, greatness.
But never genius.
Never has there been a battler who pulled together the creativity inherent in the art form, and melded it with an ability to evolve the craft, and mixed in the necessary aggression, charisma, intelligence and ability to make the community feel that they were experiencing something entirely novel. I would venture a guess and say that most of us simply never considered that genius in the pursuit of battle rap were possible, and so never gave it much thought at all, or what it would look, feel or sound like.
2016 changed things slightly. One battle did anyway, and not that it was necessarily a great battle. It was fine for what it was, but it was remarkable for ushering in a very specific battler, and a very specific moment.
Nu Jerzey Twork and Dougy, two rookies, would battle in what the Ultimate Rap League (URL) calls a Proving Ground battle. It was clear that both were slightly anxious, but dialed in, and had come ready to take their opponent’s head off. Over those 6 rounds, there was some clear separation, and I responded in much the same way as did the rest of the battle rap community.
We couldn’t take eyes and ears of of this Nu Jerzey Twork kid. He had the weird name, was obscenely large on the stage, had a profoundly interesting delivery, and while he was talking about much of what all others use as material, he was delivering it all in ways that felt fresh, somehow alien, and necessary.
We battle rap fans enjoy the game of identifying a battler’s influences and identifying who they sound like and mimic. It is more a cultural norm than tick or pastime. We practice it as something rather like religion. Twork was difficult to pin down. He had moments where he sounded rather like a Baptist preacher, others like a rapper, sometimes a sage, mixing words and phrases which much of our audience, hell, any audience, were likely entirely unfamiliar with.
He was explosive. Throwing his entire person into the intricate violence of the bars he was spitting. Watching that first battle, I found myself transfixed. Out of nowhere he shouts “I’m strapped in!”…and we all realized in one way or another, that we were seeing something seismic, moving, a step, in battle rap.
Twork has gone on to become one of the most popular battle rappers in the sport. With good reason(s), truly. There is little true agreement about how best to assess the careers of battle rappers as there are no formal wins and losses tallied, typically. Rarely are battles judged, and even those are often contested and debated by the culture. Battlers are organized under which attributes they best employ, their most memorable rounds, how memorable a slogan they create…and well and truly so many other vague markers. But…
Ultimately, battle rap is performance art. It is the most unique of the elements of hip-hop in that the individual pieces of art can never be recycled, and their creators can never benefit from them again. For each opponent, battlers must create three unique pieces of art. An “on beat” rapper may perform the same song every night of their career. Battlers must always prepare new material. As artists, they are truly exceptional. Considering this, there are none who have moved the culture forward, none who have energized conversation and debate, more than Nu Jerzey Twork. For good and ill, his presence is a fulcrum in this sport. We in the culture have been processing and reacting to that since 2016.
His skill as a writer is obvious, always has been. You know that the gun bars are coming, that isn’t what draws you in. The question will always be the creativity with which he uses verse and simile and hyperbole, and metaphor to tell the story of what his guns do. His violence in rhyme, his aggression, are all poetry. He appears to be experimenting with what one can fundamentally do to bend the meaning of ideas in a war of words. He appears to be a bright, curious mad scientist in his battles. He wishes to win certainly, that is apparent, but he is clearly intent on painting a profoundly meaningful picture while doing so. Above wins and losses, Twork battles are an experience. There are nearly always moments where, if you are paying attention, you will come away having felt that you shared a living creative space with an artist at work. There is value in that, especially in a craft like battle rap, which is still maturing.
In a sport given over to opponents competing for which might craft the greatest brutal narrative, Twork has managed to evolve wordplay to include verses that feel like opera, tragedy and fable. While brutal in his own right, he appears to be more the gifted orator and genius lecturer.
And there, I have said it, genius. And indeed, I do mean it. True genius, as in first mastering and then evolving the given human interest. Genius. And that may be as much tragedy as victory. Like geniuses, he is an influencer. An entire generation of battlers make random and effusive gun sounds (Bow!) in their rounds. They have taken to mimicking his physical animation, and growl while rhyming. His influence is felt in this generation.
Tragedy, in that his genius allows him to approach the craft with his unique skill set and not give his full attention over to it. As often as he has introduced newness to the approach of wordplay, he has presented as unprepared and outright disinterested in certain battles. While stunningly thoughtful and inquisitive, he will at times appear entitled, self destructive and obstinate. None of the are foreign to geniuses in other pursuits, but they do often stunt the flow of the genius they are tethered to.
Perhaps it is a burden, these gifts, and how he deploys them in his craft. To think so freely and view his art in so many colors, to have the innate ability to wrestle so dominantly with wordplay, perhaps the knowledge that he can, and should, be great, every time he makes contact with us, weighs heavy. Perhaps knowing that an audience, everywhere, grows still to hang on to not only his every word, but the immortality that he may give that word in a performance, is a frightening thing for one so young. Perhaps, being able to touch a thing so bright as greatness so easily is scary. Perhaps.
Some of the blame for this belongs to us as supporters of the craft and sport. We allow for Twork to stumble and choke in battles, and accept that he has been some combination of disinterested and unprepared, without consequence. We want to forgive, we do truly, and want to simply see the genius at work.
When motivated, he is a force of nature. He elevates the craft of battle rap to epic human endeavor. Against some of his best competition (JC, Aye Verb), he has given us some of the most powerful creative moments that we have enjoyed in the sport. That can’t be underestimated.
It does, however, make his poor performances and preparation that much more startling. The urge is there to excuse these as the temperament of the troubled artist, but at some point, those tropes simply cant, and shouldn’t satisfy our community. We are family, but customers, as well. We are invested in this sport.
Nu Jerzey Twork has the potential to not only be the greatest battle rapper who has ever practiced the craft, but he has the potential to draw in and hold an audience which may have no prior interest in the sport. His approach is that different, that stunning, and that captivating. He should appreciate those gifts, and we should refuse to enable him and demand that he do so.
No other battler appears to draw the envy and respect of veterans in the sport in the way that Twork does. No other battler draws energy out of an audience or viewing public in the way that he does. He is playing his instrument in ways and with notes that no batler before has done. That is powerful, and meaningful. In every battle, he could launch into an otherwordly fit of murderous poetry, or spectacularly crash and burn, or both. Rocket ship, or train wreck, in the same battle. It is provocative, and frustrating. And most certainly, the work of a growing genius, not yet fully ready to wear the armor necessary for the job.
His recent comments and performances suggest that he may be growing into the role, better and more fully. He is human, and should be allowed that.
If he is fully committed, he could spend the rest of his career evolving an already rapidly evolving craft at a record pace. He has that much pure talent and potential. I could also see him retiring in a years time and doing any of a thousand other things that may catch his dexterous attention.
I expect the genius to be fully ready when he next hits the stage, in Philly, against future Hall-of-Famer Calicoe. Should he be ready, and fully focused in his lab, there is no reason why Calicoe should get a round on him. None. For the moment, I have Twork 2–1 in that battle. Hopefully, it sends him well on to a prime where he dominates and steers this sport. It’s all his for the taking.
I fully expect that whatever style, or narrative devices, or content, become the next flavor in battle rap, Twork will have firs experimented with, and perfected these. He will be critical in moving the culture forward, or regressing it should he lose his way.
Bigger Nine.
