Travis Scott bursts into his dressing room on a scooter, trailing assorted entourage and radiating the rich aroma of good weed. He makes for a catering table lined with Fruit Gyre-Ups, Beloved Buns, Lucky Charms and – for adept mensurate – ii bottles of Don Julio 1942 tequila. He's at the Oracle Arena in Oakland, nearly to face a sold-out crowd. "Let'due south get this bitch turnt!" he yells at no one in item, letting the scooter autumn to the carpet. Scott's managing director, David Stromberg, brings Scott's attention to a dry-erase board, tucked behind a curtain, where a basketball play has been diagrammed in marking. Oracle is abode to the Gilded State Warriors, and Stromberg says that the Cleveland Cavaliers used this space as their locker room during the finals in June. The diagram, titled "BRON ISO," contains LeBron James–centric directives such as "KYRIE Pass Information technology" and "JR Go THE FUCK OUT THE Mode." "This is, like, the last thing Tyronn Lue wrote," Stromberg says, referring to the Cavs' coach. Scott, taking information technology in, laughs difficult. " 'Get the fuck out the manner!' " he cries.
He's winding down a 20-show bout opening for Kendrick Lamar. Originally from Houston, Scott rolled into the Bay Expanse early on this morning, post-obit a show in Vancouver. He spent all of today holed up on his coach, he tells me, working on new tracks that might current of air up on his next album: "Just chillin', recording. Formulating a story, the picture I'one thousand trying to paint. It's fun making music on the route – I got a whole studio charabanc." He plops down on a couch, gets lost in his telephone. "The energy's been a footling foreign bear witness-to-bear witness on this tour," Stromberg says. "I hateful, Travis brings the energy, only there's been seating at every show. He wants to get his fans onstage and become them to stage-dive – but there's chairs." He theorizes that "it'due south a numbers affair – I think you can sell more tickets when you lot do seats than when you lot exercise general admission." Scott says, "I can't speak to that," just confirms that he prefers the unmanaged vibe of a large, chair-costless pit, where crowds tin more readily cut loose: "Pffft," he says. "I'thou never doing a bout with seats once again." "Travis' fans are a little younger," Stromberg continues. "Kendrick'south are a little older, and they're here for" – he throws up air quotes – " 'real hip-hop.' "
Stromberg is drawing a distinction between Lamar'due south dense, classicist virtuosity and what Scott does best, which is different: deliver simple, fallacious phrases virtually partying and drugs in an Auto-Tuned singsong over hard-edged, low-lit beats. It's a fashion you lot hear everywhere in hip-hop these days, from Migos to Future. It's as well a style that Scott – whose debut mixtape, Owl Pharaoh, came out in 2013, the same twelvemonth he worked behind the scenes with Kanye W on Yeezus – helped pioneer.
Scott has been on a roll ever since. He's dating Kylie Jenner. (And, it turns out, having a kid with her, according to reports published after our interview.) He has co-written or co-produced songs not only with Due west but also Rihanna (whom he's also rumored to have dated) and Madonna. His albums Rodeo and Birds in the Trap Sing Mc-Knight mix pop impulses – honeyed, hypnotic hooks – with irregular structures and droning flows that verge on advanced. Both are platinum, and they've both produced platinum singles, like the narcotic "Antidote" and the Lamar-assisted "Goosebumps."
Scott has too become known for a alive show and then raucous that – if you believe law enforcement, anyhow – it's literally criminal. He was arrested this by May, afterwards a testify in Rogers, Arkansas, on charges of inciting a riot for encouraging fans to rush the stage. Police say that several people were injured, among them a security guard and a cop. (Scott, who pleaded not guilty, faced similar charges in 2015 post-obit a concert in Chicago.) Shortly before the Arkansas show, Scott encouraged a fan at a New York concert to leap downwards from a second-floor balcony, before ordering audience members to class a human cyberspace to catch him. A different fan fell from the tertiary-story balcony and reportedly wound up with a broken leg, but charges weren't filed.
When I ask Scott if the Arkansas incident has inverse his behavior onstage, he answers without a moment's thought. "It hasn't," he says. "People gotta understand, sometimes shit gets out of control. I'thou not trying to crusade no harm – I just perform." He thinks for a 2d, then muses about a potential solution: getting even more popular than he already is. "I think I just gotta get into bigger spaces, have more infinite to get it in. Try to prevent some of that shit. I just wanna bring the stage to, similar, the masses. I experience I have a bear witness for the masses. It'southward probably at a point now where your uncle might know Travis, yous know?"
On one hand, Scott has taken such troubles equally a publicity opportunity. Subsequently the Arkansas arrest, he sold fans a limited-edition T-shirt printed with his mug shot and the slogan "Free the rage." (Scott likes the word "rage," whether he's describing a cathartic onstage outlet or calling his devotees "ragers.") But there's an chemical element of the negative attention that he doesn't like, besides. "I wanna be recognized for some of the skilful shit I do," he says. Such as, he goes on, the enormous animatronic eagle that he had deputed for his alive shows, which looks a scrap similar a Henson creation, and which he rides above the stage, wings beating. "Man, I got a flying bird out here!" he says. "Name someone that'south 25 doing that shit."
There's something childlike about Scott. The Rodeo album art and the music video for his single "90210" featured a poseable Travis Scott activity effigy. (In an un-childlike detail, it engages in some graphic action-figure boning before the video's through.) You can buy the action figure yourself, although the original run sold out, which means shelling out hundreds of dollars for one on eBay.
Scott says he was inspired to make the animatronic bird afterwards he paid a visit to Legoland in San Diego. He'south a big theme-park fan, to the extent that he's too been to the Denmark Legoland and titled his adjacent album AstroWorld after a at present-defunct park he used to visit in Texas. "It had a Dungeon Driblet, Greezed Lightnin', Superman," he recalls. "Information technology was a way of life – fantasies, imagination." AstroWorld doesn't have a confirmed release date all the same, but Scott says that whenever the accompanying bout happens, he wants his concerts to double as bona-fide amusement parks, with rides encircling him as he performs. "I don't know why it hasn't been washed already – I think people but don't practise shit. Who makes stages these days that are cool?"
Scott was born Jacques Webster – his stage name was inspired past an uncle – and grew up in Missouri Metropolis, a eye-class Houston suburb. His begetter was an entrepreneur, his mother an Apple employee. When Scott was iii years quondam, his dad bought him his ain drum kit, which he played, as well every bit the piano, earlier quitting the latter, deciding that it couldn't assist him become girls, whereas drum skills, which translated to beatmaking, would. Equally he puts it, "I was trying to fuck bitches, brand beats, go fresh."
In high school, Scott acted in a local theater troupe. "I was a actor, bruh," he recalls. "I was in this play Kiss Me, Kate – you lot heard of that? I did Oliver! I love that type of shit. I dear drama." Scott'south current DJ, Chase B, tells me they have been friends "since nosotros were nine," adding that Scott "was a super-creative kid. When he acted in plays, he would always be the lead – that charisma was already showing through."
Today, Scott directs his own music videos, a predilection he ties to a lifelong love of auteurs like John Hughes, Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez. "My favorite movie was The Breakfast Order," Scott says. "You ever seen Spy Kids? Nigga, that shit is crazy." When it came to music, his early hip-hop influences were flashy New Yorkers like Mase and Cam'ron. They gave way to Child Cudi and Westward, who pushed contemporary hip-hop's emotive and melodic quotients into overdrive and somewhen inspired Scott to bring grit, pain and darkness to his ain music. (He also lists Portishead, Björk, Coldplay and the Sex activity Pistols amidst his favorite acts.)
Describing a category-busting creative ambition today, Scott says he wants to attempt his hand at architecture. He has a dream of studying it at Harvard. Which architects does he adore? "I honestly bank check for no one," he says. "I'm a chief of my own imagination. I go off my ain shit. I'm not into deep study – all that, like, reading? That'due south how shit ends upwards looking like someone else'due south shit." He smiles. "You ever see pictures in your head? I be having that all twenty-four hours. It'southward like a museum. That's why I don't practice too many drugs, because my encephalon would explode. I'm my own drug. If I bleed and someone licked my blood, it's like liquid MDMA – know what I'thousand maxim?"
Yous become a sense of what he's talking nigh when he takes the Oracle phase tonight, mounting his eagle and soaring high in a higher place the crowd, and shrieking, "My name is Travis Scott, and I like to fucking rage!" Stromberg, continuing abreast me in the center of the floor, says that in their platonic version of the show "the bird would be flying directly over the crowd," though the insurance logistics have proved insurmountable. Even so, Scott likes pushing upwardly against the constraints he's been given: "Security, we not stopping the fans from having fun this night!" Scott bellows. "It'due south time to stand on top of these motherfucking chairs!"
Back in his dressing room some 45 minutes later, he tears his sweaty T-shirt off and stalks the flooring, revved up. He walks over to a fridge, cracks a Powerade and chugs information technology. Stromberg pops his head in the doorway to announce a visitor. "Jack Dorsey, the CEO of Twitter, would like to say hi." Dorsey, dressed in a Bieberish ensemble of skinny jeans and extra-long T-shirt, enters. "I didn't think I'd ever meet yous," Scott tells him.
"Thanks for your music – and for using Twitter," says Dorsey.
"What you got going on this evening?" Scott asks.
"This," Dorsey replies.
"Nigga, Kendrick be going brazy," Scott observes.
"... Yeah," Dorsey tentatively agrees.
After Dorsey leaves with some complimentary merch, Scott FaceTimes Jenner. The two accept kept the details of their relationship under wraps, just butterflies seem to be office of it: They both got matching butterfly tattoos; his newest single, which makes numerous seeming allusions to Jenner, is called "Butterfly Effect"; and he recently bought her a reported $60,000 diamond chain, shaped like the insect, for her altogether.
Her face up pops up on his iPhone screen, nestled into a pillow. "I just got offstage," he tells her. "I miss you lot. I dear you."
"How was it?" she asks. "Adept. I'yard tired. I smoked a lot of weed."
Members of Scott's entourage start loudly poking funat Stromberg – apparently there was some sort of pushup challenge earlier, andsome of the guys have jokes about his abilities. The clowning distracts Scott,who puts Jenner on mute so he can more fully partake. "Did yous put me onmute?" she asks. "Nah, I didn't put you lot on mute – it was merely a sounddelay," he says, chuckling. Someone likens Stromberg'southward pushup style,absurdly, to that of Mr. Potato Head, at which bespeak Scott cracks up, falls tothe floor, drops the phone, keeps laughing – and then seemingly forgets aboutthe phone call. A minute later, he stuffs the phone into his pocket. I can see thatJenner is still connected. He directs his coiffure to the tour bus. It's anine-hour bulldoze to Las Vegas, site of tomorrow'south evidence. "Let's roll out!"Scott cries, and they're gone.
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