HeвЂ™s never anything less than vitally poised, and his beat selection is superb. The depictions of KeefвЂ™s demeanor as chilly, dead-eyed, or numb that accompanied the albumвЂ™s release missed the point entirely looking back, what stands out is KeefвЂ™s preternatural confidence, his ability to tuck his voice into any beat with fluent ease. Finally Rich still managed to sell over a hundred thousand copies, but that wasnвЂ™t enough to keep the label from dropping Keef in 2014. File-sharing further sapped potential sales. The reviews ranged from uncomprehending to tepid. Interscope did come knocking, signing Keef to a three-album deal worth $6 million, but when his first album, Finally Rich (which turns five in two weeks) came out, the label either wouldnвЂ™t promote the album or didnвЂ™t know how. Instead, the closest Keef came to the mainstream was as a minor component in the Kanye West machine: вЂњI DonвЂ™t LikeвЂќ got the Kanye remix treatment and Keef made a brief guest appearance on Yeezus. It was the вЂњXO Tour Llif3вЂќ and вЂњBodak YellowвЂќ of its day. If the music world and record industry were in 2012 what they are now, вЂњI DonвЂ™t LikeвЂќ would have been a contender for Billboard No. In other words, the golden road from online rap sensation to pop supersaturation walked by countless artists in the past two years simply didnвЂ™t exist. Streaming services were in their infancy. Radio wouldnвЂ™t touch new street rap with a 40-foot pole. Scads of YouTube views amounted to minimal revenue, and didnвЂ™t count toward the record charts online popularity in general amounted to nothing in BillboardвЂ™s eyes. His name became shorthand for the violence of ChicagoвЂ™s poor black neighborhoods, and though infamy is a form of fame, it didnвЂ™t pay too well back in 2012. The enthusiasm and opprobrium combined to make Keef into an urban legend. To be sure, the вЂњI DonвЂ™t LikeвЂќ video went viral, rapidly racking up tens of millions of views it gained Keef the attention of literally anyone who cared about rap, down to and including conservatives terrified of the weed smoke, black bodies, gun-flaunting, and joy it displayed. ItвЂ™s here, perhaps, that the curse comes in. He was a star unveiling a new genre right before your eyes. At 16, Keef (born Keith Cozart) and his music gleamed with a charisma that was fully fledged. Five years later, the anthem and its kinetic, bare-bones video still carry the thrill of the new. вЂњI DonвЂ™t LikeвЂќ didnвЂ™t put Chicago drill music on the map so much as it burned the map and signed its name in the ashes. Few understand this better than Chief Keef, the human catalyst who changed rap in 2012 with a single video. ThereвЂ™s a curse involved in a being an innovator present audiences are often unprepared to greet the future.

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