The refocusing on the American arts meant that a reckoning was coming. Alas, XXXTentacion was made for this moment. He had done everything wrong: he was Black, he was young, he was too honest on the Internet, he’d bragged about beating up a gay kid, and he’d been accused of beating the shit out of his pregnant ex-girlfriend. And worse than anything: he was successful. Kids really loved his music. And him. And they gave neither a fuck nor a tuppence about morality manufactured by Righteous Whites living in Brooklyn and Chicago.
