Until 2018, Trapland Pat’s dream was to be a football star. But a drug charge led the small Indiana college where he played wide receiver to revoke his scholarship, sending him back to his hometown, Deerfield Beach, Florida. Eventually, he picked up rap, and in early 2021 scored a modest breakout with the gleefully chaotic “Big Business.” A part of Pat’s appeal was his wild-ass look. Bonks, a hairstyle popular in South Florida’s massive Haitian community, sprout from his head like tree branches; his eyeballs damn near pop out of the sockets like a real-life Looney Tune. This larger-than-life image was offset by grounded raps largely centered on memories of running around the streets of Broward—memories that were rarely cartoonish, and almost always based in reality.
Of the multitude of musical styles fashionable in the state right now—Jacksonville’s drill-leaning scene, Rod Wave–like heavy-hearted crooning, Michigan-inspired punchline heat checks—Pat’s music is most indebted to the croaky melodies of Kodak Black. His newest mixtape, Trapnificent, is a distillation of his South Florida roots, mixed with a few wrinkles that make him stand out from the many other Kodak descendants existing in the area. The bounce of the beats and the way Pat casually delivers hardened street tales can be traced to late ’90s B.G. and Mannie Fresh records: “Free All My Zombies” is an exciting glimpse at that influence, with his vocals switching between plain-spoken and lightly melodic over sputtering percussion and a funk bassline.
It’s a well that Pat goes back to again and again with good results, whether solo or with like-minded rappers in his orbit. His rapping is sharp on “Put That Shit On,” swinging back and forth between designer-flaunting and wistful recollections, all delivered over a slinky instrumental. “4 & a Baby” is similarly full of color, dropping listeners right into one of his former days on the corner. He bonds with Baton Rouge’s Fredo Bang on the hard-hitting “Astronaut Status,” as they thread together their mutual influences and coast on charisma.
What holds Pat back, though, is that he isn’t a consistent lyricist. His stories of drug dealing and fast money occasionally suffer from poor scene-setting and lyrical banalities. Tracks like “Mad” and “Hellcat,” the weirdly out-of-place collaborative track with Brooklyn drill artist Eli Fross, are so generic that it would be impossible to tell where he hails from if you didn’t already know. On the best Trapland Pat songs, it’s easy to identify that he’s a South Florida rapper even if outside influences are in play. Usually it’s a small touch: the smooth interpolation of Rick Ross’ “Stay Schemin’” on “Motions,” or the way his Florida drawl becomes more pronounced during the woozy lilts at the end of “Losses.”
But, for the most part, what gives the tape its hyper-specific regional feel is fellow Broward County–bred Haitian Pepperjack Zoe, who produces a bulk of the project. His beats incorporate the Cash Money–inspired grooves and piano-driven elements popular in the South, but the most memorable ones have a bright, twitchy feel that recall kompa rhythms. On “Dream,” it’s the fast, danceable tempo; on “Boondocks” it’s the way the synths merge with the skittering drums. Rapping over these beats, Pat sounds at ease unloading Kodak-inflected tricks—the signature singsongy flow, the moody lyrics paired with breezy vibes. It’s extremely regionally and culturally specific, like so much exciting and promising new rap music. It may not be football stardom, but it’s a good pivot.
