Execution

The Cost of Becoming

Ant $miff is finding his voice in the face of trauma. The St. Louis-born rapper has spent the last year searching for his true sound. Sitting beside me in the car on the way to the location for this month’s 21 Artistry cover shoot, he seems to have finally found it. We have a two-hour drive ahead of us. He’s in the driver’s seat. I’m riding shotgun.

Our destination: Missouri State Penitentiary. One of the most violent prisons in United States history, it’s widely considered one of the most haunted places in the world. In 1967, Time magazine named it the “bloodiest 47 acres in America” due to the unparalleled amount of bloodshed that occurred on the grounds. It now sits abandoned in our state capital—“a beautiful skeleton,” $miff calls it.

“You got me right at the time,” he says. “I’m at a curve. I’m turning on the street towards the prize. I’m turning my swag up right now.”

$miff and I go way back, though it’s been a long time. We met at my friend Will’s house in high school. I was 17, and he was 18. I was just starting to take my art more seriously and make a name for myself in the St. Louis underground. $miff already had one. He spoke softly and said a lot with few words. I remember being in awe of his energy. That feeling never went away.

I last saw him in April 2022 at Phat Buddha Productions, a recording studio in downtown St. Louis. I was there to document a day in the life of No Curfew, an artistic collective $miff led that has since dissolved. The group was coming off a killer summer, the highlight of which was headlining 21 Artistry’s “Art Fest,” a show I organized in collaboration with $miff and other young artists in St. Louis.

I feel like the abandoned building. I’m a beautiful skeleton. I’m empty, but I’m displaying beauty.

“Somebody just said something to me about that concert yesterday,” $miff says. “We were talking about the music scene here now, and for starters, they won’t let rap shows go on anymore. I was involved at a show a few months after our show, and a riot happened. There hasn’t really been any rap shows that have gotten more than a hundred people there since then. At the peak of our show, there was at least 800 people there. The show that you threw was not only monumental, but at this point it’s historic.”

I was on vacation in late July 2021 when I decided to make the biggest show of the summer happen in less than two weeks, right before everyone went back to school. Sitting on the beach, I called Don Earley, the owner of Earth Surf Skatepark. He told me we could use one of his skate ramps as our stage. Beneath it would be our mosh pit. Our restroom would be in the abandoned Sears next door, which you had to walk through curtained bohemian tapestries to access. It reeked of weed and sweat, with a hint of fire extinguisher foam from when someone set one off for fun.

I started calling every artist I knew. $miff was the first to secure No Curfew as the headliner. Within days, we had a lineup: five acts and ten vendors selling everything from local artwork to handmade jewelry to screen-printed clothing. Every artist involved was high school-aged.

On the night of August 7, 2021, all our lives changed. What started as a typical indie show with around 50 in attendance as the opening act was taking the stage quickly spiraled into a sea of screaming kids by the time No Curfew was performing, the number of which could be anybody’s guess, but was nearing 1,000. It was an underground show that became mainstream. “If I line up and show you the last ten hip hop, any shows that isn’t mainstream in St. Louis, there hasn’t been 15% of the people that was at the show you put together,” $miff says. “Aside from that, that show was so huge for me. People I grew up with came and didn’t tell me. My mom… Half of our family was there. That show, man… Everybody was there. That show broke barriers.”

One person who was there had his life changed just as much as ours. “This guy walked up to me recently and said, ‘I came to your show. Craziest show I’ve ever been to, man. I take pictures now because of that show. After I saw y’all documenting everything and how cool y’all looked, I went out and bought me a camera the next weekend and I’ve been taking pictures since.’ He saw you taking pictures of the show you put together, and it inspired him. Don’t ever doubt yourself, Philip, because you started a career.”

I look up from my voice recorder, and there it is: Missouri State Penitentiary. Our private tour is scheduled for 2:00 p.m., and it’s 2:05. We park and walk up the ramp, where our guide is waiting with release forms.

“I forgot my ring,” $miff says. “It’s in my cheetah backpack in the car.”

I sprint back to the car in my Birkenstocks.

With the ring retrieved and the forms signed, we are ready to begin. Our tour guide, Mike, shows us every inch of the facility that isn’t condemned, including three different housing units, numerous dungeons, and a gas chamber where 40 inmates were put to death—one of the only gas chambers in the world that is accessible to the public. That’s where our cover is shot. Bringing gas into the gas chamber? That was $miff’s idea. Genius.

Unprompted, Mike offers to take us up to a roof that isn’t open to the public. Not even other employees of the penitentiary had access, he says. Walking carefully across a soiled, wet tarp, navigating pieces of the rotting roof in his white Air Force 1s, $miff poses for me.I look around. In the distance, are condemned housing units. In the farther distance is the Mississippi River that had been decaying those housing units since this facility shut its doors in 2004, a year after we were both born.

“My father passed away in prison, hence why I didn’t wanna go inside the cells,” $miff says as we merge onto U.S. 50 back to St. Louis. “I loved that you picked this location because, not even on some creepy shit, I felt like he was watching us take the pictures. It was awesome. It felt like a séance.”

“I feel like the abandoned building. That entire jail… the architecture of it. It’s still standing. It’s abandoned, but it’s cinematic. It’s empty. It’s a beautiful skeleton. I feel like a beautiful skeleton. I’m empty, but I’m displaying beauty. I’m displaying life. I’m displaying what I’ve been through. Going to that prison and taking pictures at what seems to be run-down, but on the outside, it looks amazing… It really made sense to me. If we would’ve went to an abandoned school, it would’ve been the same thing, but my dad wasn’t a teacher.”

When you making a song, you painting a picture. He told me, ‘You got it. Just put some emphasis on it.’ A flower is not a flower without petals.

In June 2022, $miff dropped his debut mixtape, “deAr $.” The cover art was painted by Franco The Creator, an internationally published artist whom he met while walking the streets of Chicago. The title reads “Dear, Money.” “It means ‘Dear, $mitty,’” he says. “It’s a double entendre. It was also a letter to my father. He never got to hear my music. It was to show my admiration for money and to show my loss. The whole project I was talking about getting rich and what I would do when I’m rich. I was also trying to convey that money can’t fill voids of losing people. That’s the definition of the project. I lost my dad, so I’m gonna get as much money as possible.”

Following the release of “deAr $,” $miff has been continually perfecting his sound, working in both Atlanta and Los Angeles for several months each. There, he worked with some of the best the industry has to offer. “I went to Atlanta and Los Angeles this year to help with that sound and to be around professionals,” he says. “If you ask me, Atlanta and Los Angeles are where you go for music. Those two places are musical libraries. One of my goals growing up was to go to Atlanta and Los Angeles, and I did that this year. Seven-year-old me would give me the biggest hug.”

While in Atlanta, $miff began honing his delivery and tonality. “When I moved to Atlanta, my bro Jordy… he moved out there from St. Louis. He’s a huge mentor for me. I was working with a producer and engineer named chrisclay. Shoutout CRASHJORDY and chrisclay. They helped me elevate my sound. When I was living in St. Louis, I was talking like now. Jordy assisted me with making it art. When you making a song, you painting a picture. He told me ‘You got it. Just put some emphasis on it. A flower is not a flower without petals.’”

A few months later, $miff left Atlanta for Los Angeles, taking what he learned with him. There, he also had family from back home waiting for him. “When I was in L.A., I was with my cousin, thecrazypart,” he says. “If I had ten songs, he probably produced seven. I was with him and sometimes my brother, Mousha, and other producers.”

Being around some of the industry’s finest inspired $miff more than ever. “I was trying to elevate my sound to industry standards. I was in the studio with people that had a million followers, people getting 10 million streams a day, so I couldn’t come in there making no bullshit. We was out there just elevating. Every time I wake up, I’m trying to find a new flow, a new way to say something, a new way to get on the beat. It’s been the same thing except in a new city with new people and bigger opportunities, so I was going 100 times harder.”

After six months away from home, $miff returned to St. Louis last summer. Since then, he has focused on curating his visual identity as an artist, working with St. Louis-based directors. “I was linking up every day with creatives to work on my craft,” $miff says. “We were crafting videos, photoshoots, merch, and more. I was extending my arm and ideas, hoping that my city sees the rebellion to the negativity.”

The next phase is already beginning. “I’m working on a project starting today,” $miff says. “After this, I’m going to the studio with my friend Tre, and I’m working on a project in Derrty Studios. If you know what that is, you know. If you don’t, you don’t.”

I do know.

“That’s Nelly’s studio,” I say. My eyes widen.

“I’m really trying to take the next step,” $miff says. “I don’t want any barriers. I’m trying to bust through the gates with this next project.”

We’re finally nearing St. Louis City. The Gateway Arch in the distance is a welcoming sight after a day away from home. It’s a reminder that this is just the start of the journey, not the destination. “Growing up in St. Louis wasn’t the easiest,” $miff says. “There were a lot of negatives, but the negatives turned to positives. The trauma—anything you go through living in St. Louis… in the long run, it’ll help you. I’ve been through some things that I wouldn’t want nobody to go through, but looking back on them now, it helped me in a way. It formed me.”

As we get closer to home, $miff insists on picking up his friend, Max Meland, creative director of his fashion house, Prowess. We’ve worked together in the past. I’m happy to see him again. This is a testament to who $miff is at his core. Family first.

“I look at all my friends as family,” he says. “I look at you as family, man. I can’t let you down, Philip. Since you’ve seen me, you believe in me. I gotta be bigger than fucking dinosaurs. My friends and family keep a chip on my shoulder. They believe in me, and I can’t let them be wrong. I didn’t drop a full project this year. A lot of people didn’t like it. My friends was thinking I was lackadaisical. But I’m trying to perfect my sound to where when you hear my music, you feel me. You feel what I’m saying. Because this year has been traumatic for me. I lost my aunt. I lost my best friend.”

My friends and family keep a chip on my shoulder. They believe in me, and I can’t let them be wrong.

At this moment, I think back to the last time we were in the car together over a year ago, with No Curfew on the way to the studio. Windows down, we were flying down the fast lane. I was in the backseat. $miff was driving just like today. A framed picture of his father was in the passenger seat pocket, always with him, watching his son’s execution of every dream he’s ever had. In this execution, there will be loss, and he will become better because of it. Execution is the cost.

“My goal at first was when my dad get out… We go’n be rich. We go’n do this. We go’n do that. When he passed, it fucked me up. Now I’m striving for greatness. It put a bigger chip on my shoulder. I’m elevating at a crazy rate because I don’t have realistic standards. Not to say heaven is a happy or sad place, but if he not smiling, I want him to look at me and smile. If he already smiling, I want him to look at me and break his mouth trying to smile bigger.” •

Editorial

Photography: Philip Hiblovic

Creative Direction: Philip Hiblovic & Ant $miff

Styling: Philip Hiblovic & Ant $miff

Production

Editor-in-Chief: Philip Hiblovic

Executive Producer: Philip Hiblovic

Story: Philip Hiblovic

Interview: Philip Hiblovic

Layout: Philip Hiblovic

Publisher: Philip Hiblovic

Fashion

1 │ Missouri State Penitentiary
Supreme shirt; True Religion jeans; Louis Vuitton sunglasses; Nike sneakers

2 │ Earth Surf Skatepark
Highridge x Jeber shirt

3 │ Phat Buddha Productions
Diesel shirt; Levi's jeans; Stolen Arts belt; ICECREAM coin pouch

4 │ Gateway Arch National Park
Lincolnthegrownup hoodie; Number (N)ine jeans