In October of last year, the rapper Young Thug walked free from the Fulton County Jail in Atlanta, concluding one of the strangest and most fraught spectacles in modern music. Since breaking out in the early 2010s, Young Thug has defined the sound of Atlanta rap—which means he’s defined the sound of rap music in general. His roving, restless voice; his out-of-this-world sensibility and out-of-this-world style; his playfulness—all of this has led him to the very top of his genre and his industry. He’s sold a lot of records and influenced a lot of other artists.
Then, in May of 2022, he was arrested as part of a complex RICO case. Georgia prosecutors alleged that Young Thug, in addition to being the head of a record label, YSL, was also one of the leaders of a criminal street gang of the same name. What followed was the longest criminal trial in Georgia history. By the time it was done, Young Thug had spent almost two and a half years in jail before accepting a non-negotiated plea deal in which he pled guilty to six charges (including participating in criminal street gang activity and possession of drugs and firearms) and no contest to two others. The terms of his probation were onerous and strict: The rapper would not be allowed to return to Atlanta, except for certain specific reasons, for the first 10 years of his probation; he was also forbidden from promoting gang activity or knowingly being around gang members.
Since getting out, Young Thug has mostly laid low, to the point of sometimes wearing a mask in public. He has not said much about the last few years of his life, or about anything at all, really. Until now. Earlier this month, I met the rapper in a strange, taxidermy-filled house on the Eastside of Los Angeles for a GQ Video Cover Story. The plan was to talk about where he’d been and where he was going. He’d spent time in the studio in Miami and Los Angeles, making a new album called UY Scuti, named after one of the biggest-known stars in the universe. What I heard of it was subtly different from the music he’d been making before. His voice was clearer. His feelings—exhilaration, love, hurt, anger—were right on the surface.
And then, just moments before we were supposed to start talking, news broke that Georgia prosecutors were seeking to revoke Young Thug’s probation over a social media post that he’d made. At the time, details were scarce. But the renewed threat to his liberty felt urgent and real. For whatever reason, he decided to do the interview anyway. (“I feel really great,” he told me, not entirely convincingly. “Happy. Enjoying life.”) That night, we talked for several hours. The next day, a judge denied the prosecutors’ motion to send Young Thug back to jail, and that evening, Young Thug was courtside at a Lakers game.
Our conversation was a snapshot of an uncertain and very chaotic moment in time in a life that has been uncertain and chaotic for many years now. For much of our interview, Young Thug wore a mask: chain mail, basically, hiding his face. “Only scientists can see UY Scuti,” he said when I asked why he’d covered his face. “I don’t feel like people should see me. I mean a scientist could maybe reconstruct it, do something with the mask and get a clear picture. But I just feel like—hidden scars, and just hiding things.”
Okay, but there’s got to be a vibe or a spiritual feeling or something that is channeling you into this place.
I just feel big. I feel like I’m one of the biggest stars. I did a lot: founding this culture and the new rap game that’s happening right now. I just feel like I’m out of this world.
Was there a moment when that realization arrived?
Yeah, I was actually in court. I was on trial. And I just started looking around the courtroom like, Damn, there’s a lot of people in here. It’s cameras. It’s the longest trial in Georgia history. And even just the things that the judge said when it was over for me. The judge was just like, “Yo, you got to realize who you are.” My lawyer, Brian Steel, he always told me every day, like, “Bro, you got to know. You got to know.” And then me just sitting in the cell every night alone, it was just kind of like, “I’m big.” I always was popular. I was always the big bro, even in my neighborhoods and things, so I’ve never looked at it. I didn’t grasp how it is now because I always was like that.
Is that a crazy feeling to be like, I’m this big and I’m also in a cell?
I think I’m too big for jail. But I think I’m not too big for God...
