Like any successful rapper, though, Fivio is using hip-hop not just to chronicle his surroundings but also to change them. He has moved, with his three children, to an undisclosed location on the far side of the Hudson River, and his rhymes have grown a bit less bloodthirsty and a lot more ruminative. Earlier this month, he released his first proper album, “B.I.B.L.E.,” for which Ye served as the executive producer, and which aims to convert listeners who do not spend their free time trying to decode the intricacies of New York gang alliances. Pop Smoke was a gnomic figure with a rich, booming voice; Fivio is less enigmatic but more entertaining, a charismatic and sometimes witty host who wants to keep everyone happy. “This shit sound like growth,” he exclaims, near the beginning of the album, which strikes an effective balance between thoughtfulness and recklessness. “Don’t mistake me for a different nigga,” he raps. “If I tell ’em to work, they’ll clip a nigga/If I take me a Perc, I’ll forget the nigga.”
Twice in the past two years, Fivio’s rise has been interrupted by allegations of criminal behavior. In 2020, he was arrested for assault, after an altercation with a woman he was dating, who was pregnant with his third child. She later announced that she didn’t want Fivio to be prosecuted, and he claimed that the encounter was merely a loud argument. He still faces charges for an incident last year in New Jersey, when he was approached by police and fled. He was caught and, after a scuffle, arrested; police found a loaded gun with a defaced serial number. But he says that he has learned the importance of staying out of trouble: for someone like him, that means hiring professional security guards and steering clear of Brooklyn. “I don’t miss nothing from my old life,” he told me. But he can’t afford to stop rapping about it—not yet.
“I was raised the right way,” Fivio says. He grew up, as Maxie Ryles III, in a neighborhood known as the Nine: a slanted rectangle of blocks (including Ninety-first through Ninety-sixth Streets) affixed to the northeast corner of East Flatbush, dotted with Caribbean storefronts and neat little apartment buildings that are worth significantly more now than they were when Fivio was a boy. His father was a military veteran who remained married to his mother, a special-education aide, until her death, from a stroke, in 2016, which Fivio describes as the defining tragedy of his life. Despite his stable upbringing, he was intrigued by high-school classmates who disappeared for long stretches and then reappeared with better clothes than he could afford. And so he disappeared, too. (He eventually earned his diploma through a summer program.) “I was outside,” he says. “Making some money here and there.” As he remembers it, gang membership literally came with the territory. “It was no question of affiliation,” he says. “You’re from here? This is what it is.”
When Fivio says that he avoids Brooklyn, he means the Brooklyn where he grew up; he had no problem travelling, with his security detail, to an Episcopal church in Park Slope, six consequential stops on the 3 train from his old neighborhood. His record label, Columbia, had rented the church to shoot a promotional video for “B.I.B.L.E.” (Fivio’s family was Pentecostal, but he says that his album is Biblical only insofar as it offers stories—ostensibly true ones—that listeners can learn from.) At a long table in the sacristy, he posed with a chalice of cranberry juice, and then, after changing into Gucci track pants and a matching shirt, he found a place in the dusty church kitchen, where he was supplied with a legal pad and a pencil. Fivio adopted a thoughtful expression and, for the benefit of the cameras, did something he almost never does: he wrote down some of his lyrics. “I ain’t even realize I was in Brooklyn,” he said later.
When the shoot was over, Fivio’s ride—an S.U.V. with L.E.D. lights in the ceiling, which fans may recognize from his Instagram videos—was waiting outside, and he moved quickly to get in. Not quickly enough, though, to escape the attention of a woman in the next car, with multicolored fingernails and an embarrassed smile. “I love you, Fivio,” she told him.
As she recorded on her phone, Fivio leaned in through the window and asked her favorite song.
“Right now, it gotta be ‘Self Made,’” she said, naming a track that has more than ten million views on YouTube but has never been released to streaming services, let alone radio stations.
“Boom!” Fivio said, firing an imaginary gun at the phone. “Good choice.”
Once Fivio had left, the woman began to cry. “Oh, shit,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand and still recording. “Where the fuck he just came from?”
Fivio Foreign has many Brooklyn hip-hop forebears, none more important than the Notorious B.I.G. and Jay-Z, who enacted their own succession drama a quarter of a century ago. They were both from Bedford-Stuyvesant, friends and friendly rivals. After the 1997 murder of B.I.G., who was one of the most beloved rappers in New York’s history, Jay-Z replaced him as the biggest name in town, rapping, “I’m the focal point, like Biggie in his prime/On the low, though—shhh!—the city is mine.”
By the time Fivio got serious about rapping, in the twenty-tens, Atlanta was establishing itself as the new hip-hop capital, and New York rappers sometimes struggled to keep pace with Southern styles. New York’s hip-hop renaissance began, indirectly, in Chicago, where a generation of teen-age performers created a startlingly unfiltered subgenre that came to be known as drill music. Chief Keef was only sixteen when he released, in 2012, a transfixing video for a track called “I Don’t Like.” Keef and his friends crowded into an unfurnished apartment, waving guns in time to an ominous, chiming beat fit for a funeral procession. Chief Keef reeled off threats and complaints, sounding like a teen-ager with nothing to lose: “Playing both sides, shit that I don’t like/Wartime, spark broad day, all night.” The track was claustrophobic, but pleasurably so, and it became a sensation: Kanye West organized a remix, and major labels signed Keef and several other Chicago rappers. Something about the music captured the attention, too, of young people around the world. In the South London neighborhood of Brixton Hill, a crew of rappers called 67 began making low-budget drill videos of their own, livening up the Chicago template with skippy rhythms and sliding bass lines.
The pioneers of Brooklyn drill tended not to be scholars of British musical history: by all accounts, they typed “drill beats” into YouTube and rapped over whatever they found. A producer known as AXL was a teen-ager in London when he noticed that Brooklynites were using the work he posted, and sometimes drawing digital crowds. “It was a shock,” AXL told me. “I’m all the way in London, and they’re hopping on my beats!” Some of the rappers had no idea that AXL was British until they called to invite him to the studio.
One drill convert was a boyish, verbose Flatbush rapper named 22Gz, who turned one of AXL’s compositions into an incendiary track called “Suburban.” The title described not 22Gz’s surroundings but, rather, his preferred getaway vehicle: “Pull up in all-black Suburbans/If he ain’t dead, we reversin’/Blixky gang, know we gon’ murk him.” Fivio, too, began using beats by AXL and other British drill producers. He had been rapping for a few years, releasing rather generic home-town hip-hop, to little notice, but the new beats made him sound somehow both more serious and more playful. AXL, working from across the Atlantic, has since produced some of Fivio’s best-known records.
Brooklyn drill, like hip-hop itself, was often mistaken for a passing fad, and some of the rough-and-tumble Brooklyn rappers who proliferated in the twenty-tens sought to assure listeners that they weren’t merely drill rappers. Pop Smoke took the opposite approach: encouraged by Steven Victor, the executive who signed him, he released two mixtapes filled with beats by 808 Melo, another U.K. drill producer, intending to make himself the face of the movement before branching out. Pop Smoke did not live long enough to see this plan to completion, but Fivio has adopted a similar strategy, becoming the obvious choice for musicians seeking an infusion of drill energy. He appears on recent releases by Drake and MaryJ. Blige, and on a current single by Nicki Minaj, who did more than anyone else to boost New York hip-hop during the fallow years. After Ye heard some Fivio tracks that he liked, he texted Fivio to see if he could call, and then started rapping over the phone, asking Fivio his opinion. Fivio wasn’t sure what to think, but Ye followed up by sending a jet to bring him to Mercedes-Benz Stadium, in Atlanta, where he was finishing his 2021 album, “Donda.” (The resulting collaboration, “Off the Grid,” was one of the album’s highlights.) Fivio is convinced, not unreasonably, that the fearsome sound of drill is more versatile than people think it is: his new album includes a lighthearted drill love song based on a snippet of “Say My Name,” by Destiny’s Child. Instead of leaving drill behind on his journey toward mainstream success, Fivio is trying to take it with him.
Drill, in the hip-hop sense, is not just a genre name but also a verb. “Since a young’un, I been drillin’,” Pop Smoke announced, in “Welcome to the Party,” the 2019 track that made him a star, and you could almost picture him wielding his weapon like a power tool. A close association with violence has always been part of drill music’s appeal: like the so-called gangsta rappers of the nineteen-nineties, these performers offer listeners the thrill of immersion in a violent world, without promising to make things better—and frequently promising to make things worse.
It’s easy to forget how controversial gangsta rap once was. Snoop Dogg is now widely regarded as a lovable uncle, and many of the people who enjoyed his whimsical Olympic-highlights show with Kevin Hart were probably unaware that in 1993, shortly before the release of his début album, he was arrested for the murder of a man reputed to be a member of a rival gang. (He was later acquitted.) Snoop’s rhymes, full of sex and violence, inspired broad condemnation; C.DeLores Tucker, a civil-rights advocate, became a news fixture for leading protests against him and other objectionable rappers. But his threats were generally of the vague, “don’t make me have to grab my strap” variety, and in those early years he alluded only obliquely to his affiliation with a local Crip gang.
Maxie Lee Ryles III (born March 29, 1990), known by his stage name Fivio Foreign, is an American rapper and songwriter. He rose to fame in 2019 with his single "Big Drip", which spawned a remix with rappers Lil Baby and Quavo. He is signed to fellow New York rapper Mase's RichFish Records and Columbia Records.
From the looks of it, Fivio Foreign, 32, is dating entrepreneur Jasmine Giselle. Jasmine, who isn't very active on Instagram, posted a cosied up picture with Fivio back in September 2021.
The artist formerly known as Kanye West has reportedly updated a track on his latest album, DONDA 2. Sources claim that the newest version of the DONDA sequel includes an additional verse from Fivio Foreign on “We Did It Kid,” making him the track's four guest feature following Quavo, Offset and Baby Keem.
Up until recently, Brooklyn drill was associated with another name: Pop Smoke. The 20-year-old big-hitter – behind tracks including “Dior” and “Christopher Walking” – was poised for an international breakthrough when he was killed in February 2020. Although Fivio was around a decade older, the pair were good friends.
(a backronym for Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth) is the debut studio album by American rapper Fivio Foreign.
Who is Fivio Foreign's baby mamma? The American rapper is currently dating his long time girlfriend Jasmine Gisselle, who is also the mother of his child.
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6ix9ine continues to come at Fivio Foreign after clowning on him for the first-week sales projection for his debut album, B.I.B.L.E. This time, he's taken heavy exception with Fivi calling himself the new King of New York.
During a recent interview with Montreality, Fivio Foreign spoke about his friendship with Pop Smoke and how he was one of the most caring, genuine people he's probably ever met. “Pop [Smoke] was like a real demon,” Fivio said of his late friend. “But he was like a loving demon, right, 'cause he a Cancer.
Fivio Foreign: 'Pop Smoke was my brother – I have to keep his name alive'
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Fivio identifies as a Christian (“I'm not living like a perfect Christian, but I'm very religious and I pray a lot,” he says) but he clarifies that the title is representative of a larger concept. “Naming the album B.I.B.L.E.
Sound worldwide and bring it heavy with five eo foreign sounds like fabio connor i like it.
Fivio Foreign has explained the role that Kanye West played in executive producing his debut album B.I.B.L.E., which was released last week. The Brooklyn rapper discussed his new album with Angie Martinez during an interview for her Power 105.1 radio show. “He's definitely [the executive producer],” he told Martinez.