The Gospel According to Chance the Rapper

He’s more spirit-lifting than Jay Z, more congenial than Drake, and more “of the people” than Kanye. And with no label backing him, he’s leading hip-hop to a new place, a new era, a whole new sound. But can Chance the Rapper become the very best we’ve got?
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Cardigan, $695, Burberry. T-shirt, $18, American Apparel. Pants, $50, Topman. Chance 3 cap, New Era.

The room is packed, as recording studios tend to be at one in the morning. The weather in downtown Chicago is on brand: blistering cold. Inside are engineers and beat tweakers and Shake Shack runners and weed deliverers and weed rollers and childhood friends now playing the integral part of weed passers. And there’s Chance the Rapper, the 23-year-old man-child—new favorite of Barack Obama and Lin-Manuel Miranda, “nephew” to Beyoncé, locker-room go-to for LeBron, heir apparent to Kanye West. The scene in the studio is Hip-hop 101: A small room with a rapper and people watching the rapper. Beats blasting from rectangles. SportsCenter looping on the television. The Lakers lost again. Standard business.

To the music industry, Chance the Rapper is anything but standard business. He’s like nothing it’s seen since you-know-who. But he’s different from Kanye, too. His raps are complex and savvy—more like Eminem’s, but born-again—and packed with winks and finger-gun shit talking. His voice, when he sings (and he sings often), straddles a line between Rugrats and B. B. King. There’s pain and hope, naïveté and wisdom. He’s an independent artist. No label. No distribution deal. Nada. He’s given away every album/mixtape/whatever-we’re-calling-songs-lumped-together for free nowadays. His rise wasn’t overnight—he just started young. First there was 10 Day, the mixtape he recorded while serving a ten-day suspension from Jones College Prep High School. And then Acid Rap, the album that turned the heads of every label exec in North America. Then maybe his most overlooked—and possibly best—project, Surf, with Donnie Trumpet, a friend who (surprise) plays the trumpet. It’s soulful and layered and a completely new concept. Last year, when Kanye tapped Chance for the opening track of The Life of Pablo, Chance stole the show. With the world suddenly watching, he dropped his third mixtape, Coloring Book, and now he hangs out in the White House. How to explain it? There’s something rare and powerful at play. Every verse, every video, every show seems like you’re watching him on a quest. A sword in one hand that’s almost too large for him to carry. A crown he has yet to grow into, blocking part of his vision. World tour, Billboard charts, Grammys… Chance conquers. And all with a smile on his face.

Tonight it’s just his friends and me watching. He ashes a cigarette and steps to the mic with his chest inflated and hat low. “IT’S CHRI-MAAAAAAAAAA, IT’S CHRI-MA…” He’s making a Christmas album. (Or maybe not, because as his engineer points out, it’d have to be done in the next four days or so to make it out before Christmas.) Chance ignores that note from his engineer. Why? Because it’s Chri-maaaaaaaaaa, it’s Chri-ma. He dances and “bops” uncontrollably while he sings the hook to the room.

As I watch him create melodies on the spot, it’s most apparent that Chance is a child of instinct. If it feels right, cue it up. And if it feels wrong—no matter who’s done it before—good riddance. Signing to a label and someone else owning your music? Felt wrong. Making music that’s uplifting and hopeful and “clean-cut” feels right. Songs with choruses feel wrong—sometimes. And wearing a cap feels right—all of the time. It’s child-like creation in an industry of hyper-produced mega-songs. Even his name is knee-jerkish: Chance the Rapper. It seems to be the first thing to come into someone’s head when he decides that he’s going to rhyme words for a living. So that’s where we begin, alone in a room above the crew and engineers and weed relay.


GQ: Your name, Chance the Rapper, is funny. A generational joke, in a way. But you’re nominated for seven Grammys. People are saying you’re going to be one of the greatest to ever do it.

CHANCE THE RAPPER: [laughs] I can super appreciate all that pressure. I’ll take that.

Your name seems more temporary than your talent, though. It’s too silly, in a way. Do you ever think about changing it or just going by Chance?

Yeah. I think it’s everything that you’re saying, but going in the opposite direction. My dad used to always say, “You need to change your name to Chance the Artist. This song, this is different.” I remember one day I was with Justin—my best friend, who has always been really good at school, really smart, really good at speaking to people. I remember my dad would introduce us to folks and they would ask, “What’re you going to be when you grow up?” Justin’s fucking 7 years old talking about, “I’m going to be a biomedical engineer.” You know, he’s just that guy. And I remember they asked me, and I said a rapper. And my dad laughed it off, like, “No, he doesn’t…” You know?

And I remember that shit used to bother the fuck out of me, because I thought Kanye West was the smartest man in the world. The best poet in the world. The freshest-dressed in the world. That’s what a rapper was to me, and I wanted everybody to feel that way about the word “rapper.” And “rapper,” to me, is pretty much synonymous with the word “black.” It’s a stigma where it’s like, “Damn, I heard Chance the Rapper. I didn’t think he was going to sound like that.” I hate that when you introduce yourself, and you’re a rapper, sometimes you gotta say, “I’m a musician.” Or, “I’m an artist.” “I’m a recording artist.” “I’m a vocalist.”

You should be proud to say: I’m a rapper.

I’m a rapper! You should be able to say that shit and, like, make someone scared in a good way. Like, “Oh shit, you might know the president!” It should feel that way.

Why the cap?

I used to always rock a cap when I was in high school and get them taken away. It was an excessive amount. Like, so often that at the end of each school year, there would be a box of all the confiscated caps. After they gave back a few caps to other kids, they would just give me the box because the rest were all my hats. So I think, in one part, it’s a rebellion. There are a few things that I have because I’m a man-child. Like I don’t eat vegetables at all. Never. I hate eating vegetables. The only vegetables I eat are lettuce on a burger.

And now the “3” hat is everywhere.

Yeah, so I was like, “You know what? Let’s switch it.” I wanted to switch from the White Sox hat. I wanted to put something else on the hat. And so I decided to do “3.” I just thought that that made the most sense because it was the third project. Also, I was having a lot of trouble figuring out what the title of the project was going to be and what typography to put the title in. The original title for the project was, uh, The Magnificent Coloring Book. But that’s just so many words and it looks so shitty, no matter how I put it on the hat.

Yeah, like “Make America Great Again.”

Exactly. Exactly. That’s so many syllables, so many words. So I was, like, we won’t put a title on it. Just put the “3” on the hat. So it will be the third. Since then, I’ve rationalized it to myself that it stands for the third mixtape, the Holy Trinity, and the three-pronged family of myself, my daughter, and my girl.

Do you want more kids?

Not right now. It’s a lot to try and be a good dad right now. With all the distractions and all the things that I’m limited in doing by living in Chicago and being a person of notoriety. I don’t wanna tack on anything. I want to get my relationship with Kensli down pat and also just get older. I’m 23. I had her when I was 22. If I am gonna have more kids, it’ll be a blessing and I’ll accept it as a responsibility and a privilege, but I’m definitely not trying to have more kids right now.

What’s the toughest thing about being Chance the Rapper in a relationship?

Just my time. My time and also my knack for, like, you know, just… Fuck the second thing that I was going to say—let’s just keep it at that.… [laughs]

Wise! What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for a woman?

Oooh, that’s a good question. I’ve done some grandiose things.… Oh! I got it. I had a girlfriend in high school and I published a poem on Facebook about her, and I remember everybody flaming my ass for it forever. I hope that shit is gone, actually. I gotta check.

Rule number one of the Internet: It’s never gone. Know that, young man.

That’s what’s so crazy about Facebook. There’s so many crazy Facebook videos and posts that I made. I gotta delete that shit.

Give me a highlight from the poem. Or a lowlight. Either one.

[laughs] I think the lowlight of it was that her name was in the poem, you know? It’s like, even if it was meant to be secretive, and I don’t think it was, using someone’s name in a song or poem is super wack. And I published it, and I think the poem was about some inanimate object that she owned, but overall about her. I don’t know.…

She’s probably sitting somewhere right now saying, “Yo, you know, Chance the Rapper used to write poetry about me.”

Bro! She is definitely on top, because I used to write poems about her and they all worked out. She was cool, though.

Rugby shirt, $165, Hilfiger Edition. Chinos, $690, Gucci. Sneakers, $100, Nike.

What’s the downside of being a celebrity? The limitations that come with notoriety?

That’s the main thing. I don’t consider being a musician the same thing as being a celebrity. Celebrity is strictly the fact that if I go somewhere, to a…frozen-yogurt shop—

Do you like frozen yogurt?

I love frozen yogurt.

Cool. Had to confirm. Journalism!

I fuck with it tough! That’s one of my things. I’m glad that you could tell when I said “frozen-yogurt spot” that I was actually talking about something that happened to me in my life—this happens in a lot of places. If I go to a frozen-yogurt spot, and I get my yogurt, and I put on my toppings, and I go to the front, and the cashier freaks out, she’s like, “Oh my God, oh my God, you’re Chance the Rapper. You’re Chance the Rapper.” And then the other lady there, she says, “I don’t know who you are.” It’s the difference in those two reactions. Like, this one girl might fan out, and this other girl might not care at all. But then in a few seconds, this girl’s going to start making it very apparent that she doesn’t know who I am, making jokes about it and asking me who I am, what do I do. And then, in the end, she’s going to ask for a picture, too. And remind me after she took the picture that she doesn’t know who I am. It’s like today was different in her life because she saw a celebrity. And that sucks. And the pressure of being right and presentable as a celebrity kind of sucks.

I find that interesting with you. Because you idolize Kanye. Nobody’s less—

Likable.

Right. And less presentable. Does that make it easier for you to do or say the wrong thing?

I don’t think I ever wanted to be like Kanye in personality, though. I think I definitely want to, have always wanted to, have his boldness or assurance in myself. But I’ve definitely seen Kanye do things where I was like, “I’d never do that.” I’ve always been able to defend Kanye. When everybody’s like, “Kanye’s a nut, Kanye’s a nut,” I’m one of those guys saying, “No, he’s saying some real shit.” Like when he went onstage with Taylor, I was like…well…Beyoncé kind of deserved that. [laughs] I’m rationalizing everything that he does, but I can’t say that in the same position I would do the same things. Being around Kanye, Kanye says crazier shit in private than he does in public, which is hard to believe because he says the craziest things in public. He does have a filter. He’s not a liar or somebody that is going to sugarcoat things when he does speak. But Kanye’s said some crazy shit to me where I respond, “No, I don’t feel you at all.” I always wanted to be more of a person that people enjoy. Somebody that will make you laugh. I’m talking about just my personality, not necessarily how my music sounds. Because I believe I’m a disrupter like Kanye in a lot of ways.

Jacket, $240, Ksubi. T-shirt, $225, T by Alexander Wang at MrPorter.com. Jeans, $198, Joe’s. Chance 3 cap, New Era.

Yeah. Seven Grammy noms with no label is pretty disruptive.

You know what I’m saying?! I get that from Ye. But I get my personality and my character and my understanding of how I respond to people and how I work with people and how I present my opinions—I get that from my dad.

What do you think happens when you die? Describe the process…

Okay. I don’t believe that there will be a moment of me crossing over. I think. I guess there probably is some type of legal process that you have to go through, where you have to go say wassup to Peter, or whoever’s at the gate, and he says “Come on in” and everything.

It’s like a nightclub. “How many girls do you have with you?”

Exactly. Saint Peter’s like, “Yo, you did really good, we got a table for you in the back, Jesus is trying to see you.” All that process probably does go down. But what I think about is the opportunity to be God-like. I believe that we’re all created in God’s image and that we have free will and have a lot of opportunities allotted to us that could otherwise not be. Um, but I think my understanding of it is when you die, it’s the closest that you can be to God. And it is the, you know, the realization of self and self-worth and purpose and your opportunity to be everlasting.

How important are the Grammys—to music, and to Chance the Rapper?

I think the Grammys are super important to music. As a musician, I think it’s the same thing as an actor receiving an Oscar. Do I think that the Grammys are always fully representative of a person’s talent? No. Just like Leonardo DiCaprio didn’t get an Oscar until this past year. And he’s been doing his fucking thing. But I think everybody wants validation, everybody wants to feel like they did right. And I think the nominations are my victory. You know?

I can’t imagine you in a rap beef. Do you think that’ll ever happen? You going diss for diss with some rapper?

I don’t see it ever happening. You know, I take my fucking raps so seriously that I don’t write raps without having a purpose for them anymore. I can’t write raps without having a beat and having an understanding of what I’m going to do with that song. I have to know what I’m going to do with that track when I’m done. I can’t see myself ever having somebody say something about me on a song and me being like, “All right, now I’m about to say something about them on a song.”

Have you ever purchased a chain?

Like a rapper chain? Never. Nothing ever from an expensive jeweler. Nah. Hell nah. That’s not me.

When was the last time you were broke?

I go broke a lot.

Oh.

I go broke a lot because I have this understanding that whatever I put out there, if I really am doing what’s right, it’s going to be rewarding, you know? If I’m working on it—if I’m diligently working on it—something will come back. And that’s how every project has been since I was in high school, since I was Instrumentality [Chance’s musical alter ego in high school] and I was giving out CDs for free. Everything has come back tenfold. I remember sitting on the back of the bus on the first day of the Social Experiment tour, with my face in my hands. I emptied out my bank account, and before I did that tour, that was the number one thing I said I’d never do. I’ll never empty out my savings. But I put all that money up, and within two weeks, when everyone was getting paid, I was like, Okay, cool, we’re good again.

Was that the only time you emptied your account?

The same shit happened with Surf. And the same shit happened with Coloring Book. I was fucking around in this studio—like this studio is stupid expensive.

Jacket, $4,000, Louis Vuitton. Hoodie, $50, Chance the Rapper. Chinos, $690, Gucci. Boots, $270, Red Wing Heritage. Chance 3 cap, New Era.

T-shirt, $510, Gucci. Jeans, $350, Simon Miller. Sneakers, $140, Jordan Brand. Chicago Cubs cap, New Era.

ABOUT THESE CLOTHES: Two common threads run through all these photos. One is Chance’s signature ball cap, which sold out online in just a day. The other? Stripes. Look closely and you’ll notice he’s got rugby stripes, nautical stripes, even tuxedo stripes running down the leg of his khakis. Stripes are on everything now (not just your tees) because they’re the no-brainer way to add a little more color, a little more texture, and a little more pattern to your daily uniform. The best part: They’re always easy to pull off, regardless of whether they’re thick as a board or skinny as a straw.

What’s the most expensive thing you’ve purchased that wasn’t a car or a home?

For a second, when I first moved back to Chicago from L.A., I had old habits to break. I would buy very, very expensive Ralph Lauren stuff. I got into Polo really heavy. Like, Oh shit, now this is all I do. I have three- to four-thousand-dollar merino wool sweaters or cashmere sweaters and shit. What I do a lot, that I had to cut out, was I used to take my friends places and spend a lot of money at fun places on some weird kid shit. I recently took, like, 35 of my friends and all of the Golden State Warriors to Sky Zone. Just because they were in town and I like Sky Zone.

What is Sky Zone?

It’s one of those indoor trampoline places.

What do your parents think of all of this? All of the attention?

My dad’s had a million jobs. Whether it was, like, working for sanitation or working on somebody’s campaign, whatever he was doing, people would always want to talk to him. About something that they needed, or somebody that they were mad at and they wanted my dad to fix it. My mom hated it. She’d be like, “Be with your fucking family! We’re at the movies.”

How does your mom feel about you now?

I think my mom is very, very, very proud.

But how does she feel about the celebrity aspect of your life?

I think I’m the most apprehensive and private of all of us. I remember when I was first getting into my career, my mom was very, very hands-on and protective. She’s super smart. I’m a young parent in a relationship, so there’s always relationship advice or parenting advice that I get from my parents. I do miss the times when I was, you know, still living on 79th and could come home, but I don’t feel as sheltered by anybody anymore. My dad has always just been a people person. I still look to my dad for advice.

My dad’s the man. And I can’t say that enough. He has always stuck up for people. And he’s also always been a good dude. That’s who I want to be. I’m okay if the story seems boring to people because I’m a good guy. I’m cool with that. I’d be cool with people remembering me as a good, boring dude. As long as people say good. You know? I want to be the good guy. And sometimes the good guy sounds like a lame thing. But the good guy, in what I’ve seen happen so far, the good usually wins. That’s why I’m not afraid of a Trump presidency or—

How are you not afraid of a Trump presidency? Help us feel better.

You gotta just understand, like, shit has been fucked-up, right? Like, “Make America Great Again,” that’s not a real thing because shit ain’t really switched up for them. It’s not really going that bad for you. If you feel like you’re the under-represented, under-appreciated side of Middle America that is white—quote me—you need to, uh, toughen up, nigga! Somebody gotta punch you in the chest, because shit is sweet for you. You know what I’m saying? I would say to everybody, you know, the world is coming together. Like there’s—every day people are becoming more and more, I’m not using this word in terms of emotion, but sensitive to real issues and—

And aware.

Yeah. And aware. That’s really what I mean. People are raising their kids to be more and more knowledgeable and understanding. I would say the main reason not to be afraid is that I’m making music for your kids now. I’m coming so clean-cut with the message of hope and understanding, and the Word, that it’s like: What could you be fearful of?

Mark Anthony Green is GQ’s style editor.

This story originally appeared in the February 2017 issue with the title “The Gospel According to Chance.”