Trauma can be inherited, generationally caused by relatives who are involved in their pain through destructive actions or self-destructive coping methods given to them.
Lukah has been in music for two-thirds of his life, but when the 30-year-old rapper / producer finally found his words, he paid homage to the effects of trauma. In January When the black hand touches you And towards the end of September Why look up, in the mirror of God, He offers Griselda-adjacent street rap as a Trojan horse for psychology and sociology. Periodically terrifying and lively loops give a glimpse of Lukah’s sharp wordplay, bragging, hostling narrative, and pistol-grip survival. Within that framework, he highlighted the need for self-empowerment and resolving the personal and inherited wounds of the black community.
“And never ask for help because black men have not been taught self-reflection / going through a life cycle with trauma that we can hope to accept / fly after my shoes and you’ll see why our ancestors cried,” he said. Has done Why look upIts “colored ounces,” in a slow, forceful and articulate flow, condenses the hardships of the century into the weight of each word.
“I want people to start dealing with their trauma. We need to be ready for the next generation, ”Luke said on the phone, driving through his local Memphis after a haircut in the afternoon. In his view, generational trauma is pronounced in communities affected by systemic racism, where a higher focus on externally harmful forces hinders introspection and internal healing. She raps to break the cycle.
“We don’t look at ourselves because we’re not taught it … and when we’re taught these things, we’re afraid to dive into it because we don’t know what’s on the other side of it … it’s just a fear, and I Recognized not only in my community, but also in myself, “Luke explained in the conversation.” When people hear a song like ‘Color One’, I want it to tear through their defenses. “
Born Timothy Love, Lukah built his defense and musical abilities in the Pine Hill section of South Memphis, where well-kept multi-bedroom homes were sometimes inhabited by “the most ruthless people you know”. Gangs and drugs existed outside, but Lukah spent most of his childhood absorbing spirits, gospels and neo-spirits from his mother and grandmother, who were both professional singers. Although she had a strained relationship with her father, she remembers that her father worked as a DJ and discovered Scarface while sorting through CD collections. With so much family influence, Luke thinks it would be an “insult” for him to choose a non-musical profession.
Luke’s grandfather, however, emphasized the importance of therapy and self-reflection. He founded a new tribal entity (AAFANTE) for African Americans, “a safe haven for blacks to look after themselves.” When Luca attended an AAFANTE retreat at the age of 12, they both began unpacking mounting father-related issues and rapped on stage.
Luke’s only focus in high school was rap. He briefly made the rounds as the Royal Tea in the rap scene of the Battle of South Memphis, but he adopted the name Lukah Luciano after high school. Tribute to Italian mobsters Real (Lucky Luciano) and Fantasy (Luca Brassi), the name has a triple significance. Seeing Lukah being embedded in the gang life of friends and relatives, he was attracted to the Cool G rap and the Mafioso rap of Raikwan, and he started rushing.
For several years in his mid-20s, Lukah worked with rap, hustling and a full-time job. She trained in basketball and attended a Memphis grade school and tutored in math, believing that her presence could help children lacking a male role model. Wages were negligible, so he rushed the money. Within hours he had to record, Luke was too depressed to set foot in the booth. He has seen students attempt suicide, and he has taken their respective trams home. Each school year became more taxing than last.
There is another timeline where Luke doesn’t live to see 30 years. Among us, he and his wife were almost shot dead by an unknown assailant while sitting in their car. The bullets pierced the glass, but they saw the basketballs in the back seat of Lukah. The act that killed him saved his life.
An almost fatal experience he would like to describe in “The Way to Damascus” at the end (Why look?) Was inspired by a year-long activity in Los Angeles, where a friend assured Luca that he would have a better chance of building a career as Luca (no Luciano). After many false promises and two canceled albums, Luca returned to Memphis.
Filled with frustration, he reached out to the Memphis blog favorite city of Aviv, with whom he worked on Aviv’s Breakout Mixtape. Digital low (2011). With the direction and production of Aviv, he has recorded 2018 Chicken wire. Although less than his most recent work, the album helped him find his voice.
“What I’m doing now has solidified the project,” he explained. “I’m starting to know why I was put on this earth and how I wanted to do it.”
COVID-19 forced Luke to push back When the black hand touches you For a year, but the delay was ruthless. He assembled his management team, found a music video director, and joined the engineer (Holo Soul) who managed this year’s album. Why look up … The press and playlist rotation has been mounted since then, but the Lukah record is much more concerned with reaching those in need.
“There is always a way. This is the most important message a listener can get from my music. You can get help, you can move away from a situation, or you can start your day differently. There are ways you can manage your shit. I want to help people with my music, no matter how obscene it is. But it’s going to be obscene because that’s the world. “