That spring, Chief Keef released “I Don’t Like” and drill had its breakthrough moment. A teenage rapper, leading a burgeoning scene categorized as drill music-taken from the slang usage of “drill,” meaning to shoot someone-who was telling firsthand stories of the violent, gang-dominated Chicago culture that reflected a city with an ongoing history of segregation and neglect of the black community.
These two videos were an introduction to the fandom behind Chief Keef. He was nothing more than a local sensation, unknown to just about anyone that didn’t attend a Chicago high school. He was stuck in his grandmother’s Southside Chicago apartment on house arrest for gun charges. At the time, Chief Keef was 16 years old, with a bubbling street single. “Chief Keef is outta prison!” he squeals. This clip featured a younger boy, profanely delirious like he’d just won the lottery. “Shut the fuck up!” Months before, another inescapable Keef-related video had been uploaded to WorldStarHipHop. “Fuckers in school always telling me, always in the barbershop, ‘Chief Keef ain’t ’bout this, Chief Keef ain’t ’bout that,’” he screamed.
In the summer of 2012, as Chief Keef’s momentum was picking up steam, a Chicago teenager tearfully and angrily addressed the critiques of his favorite rapper in a viral video filmed from the passenger seat of a parked car.
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