Lover Girl is nimble and fun, with pillowy vocals and cloudy beats. Pig sings about love in a way that’s real, leaning into both the irrational highs and lows that comes with the territory. On mixtape highlight “Even the Blind Can See,” she’s damn near clicking her heels together as she daydreams about her crush: “I know you gotta be tired, you been runnin’ laps all day through my mental.” The lush “Krazy Head” sounds like a lullaby, as her enthusiasm gets a little silly. Drake and PartyNextDoor should fire up “Change Your Mind,” if they want to hear how begging for your girl back is really done.
Pig has been catching feelings on wax for a minute. “Love me, then hate me/Somehow I end up under you,” she sang on 2022’s Fast Trax 3, the pitched-up, pluggnb-infused breakout mixtape by her older brother, the underground fixture 454. Together, they started making music when they were barely out of elementary school. Pig was the rapper, while 454 was the producer of the family. In the house, their mother spun Teddy Pendergrass and Teena Marie, and could hold a nice tune, though she never made music. And their late father managed a local Orlando rap clique. Pig can remember the sight of crumpled-up paper on the floor of the studio, as her dad and his crew wrote and goofed around.
A few weeks ago, Pig posted a slideshow on Instagram of music videos she made in her early teens, back when she went by the name Lil Echo. Draped in the Aeropostale tees that had high schoolers around the country in a chokehold, she sang-rap like a lost member of the Rich Kidz. In one clip, she goes in over the instrumental for “Banned From TV” and, in another, her brother whips a car around—he looks too young to be driving—as she gets in her So Far Gone mood. The snippets stuck with me because, even though they were filmed nearly 15 years ago, they didn’t feel far off from the swagged-out, sentimental melodic rap music she’s still making today.
In the fall, Pig moved from Orlando to Brooklyn, joining her brother, who relocated north over six years ago. Last week, she and I met up at a typically overpriced coffee shop, on the border of Bed-Stuy and Bushwick, where she was dressed in so much pink that it was like she was pulled from a vintage Cam’ron video. We chatted about Orlando rap history, jerk culture, R&B, and Lover Girl while the Brooklynites surrounding us typed away on their laptops, oblivious to the soft-spoken burgeoning star in their midst.
Pitchfork: What do you miss the most about Orlando?
Pig the Gemini: I love my new home, but I miss sliding down the I-4 jamming music at night. In Orlando, we love our cars; you not gonna catch anybody walkin’ around or waitin’ for the bus; that can be kind of embarrassing. It’s different here.
When I came here, I was thinking that I hope I could still make the same music I been making without them expecting a New York sound from me. But I’ve been surprised, everyone has been fucking with it. And I feel like if anyone goes through my catalog, they’ll eventually find something they fuck with.
Not really in a sense, but I do listen to them heavy. I like NoCap a lot. I like Rod Wave heavy. I fuck with Kevin Gates. A lot of people I be around, Kevin Gates is not their music taste, but he’s just one of those dudes whose music you put on. Sometimes it’s ’cause of the beat; sometimes it’s ’cause of an ad-lib; sometimes it’s ’cause of a concept he comes up with.
What would you say your music pulls from?
Growing up, I was super, super big on Lil Wayne. The Hot Boys, Juvenile. But mostly a lot of R&B and soul stuff.
Was Cash Money music everywhere in Orlando when you were growing up?
No, when I was growing up I’d say it was Boosie, or maybe Gucci Mane. Now, when you ride around you mostly just hear Boston Richey or Bossman Dlow. A lot of Hotboii, too, because he’s actually from Orlando.
[Laughs] No, that’s facts. Those are the real OGs of the Orlando music scene. They’re the ones who really paved the way for what Orlando sounds like today. Basically, they came up together. They used to be homeboys, did dirt together, all kind of stuff. Then, they had a falling out; Armstrong made a diss song; Mook Boy made a diss song; and then people accused Armstrong of being a rat. When that came out the people stopped fucking with Armstrong, and Mook Boy really took off. Recently, Armstrong popped back up on the internet dropping music and still talking shit. They started talking about having a Verzuz, but nobody thought it would actually happen without the club getting shot up, but it was successful.
That’s so dramatic. It sounds like the plot of a ’90s hood movie. Was everyone in Orlando taking sides?
Yeah, yeah, exactly. Mook Boy did another Verzuz with this artist I really fuck with heavy, Woop. Another real beef and that went fine in the club, too; I fuck with that.
Is club culture essential in Orlando?
On a Friday or Saturday, you’ll see everybody downtown at Tier or Beacham. It’s so many clubs and bars, the streets will just be packed. For a long time, the number one club in Orlando was Gilt, on the east side, but they closed it down to put up apartments or some shit. But I don’t really go downtown; there’s so many people and it’s moving so fast that it gives me anxiety. I think there was a shooting there a couple months ago. I don’t really like being in places like that.
I know you were big on the Atlanta scene, right? “LaFamilia” has that Rich Homie Quan sample.
When I first started rapping I was listening to a lot of the futuristic, upbeat shit out of Atlanta. You know, Travis Porter and Rich Kidz.
Were you ever a dancer?
I used to be a jerker. I was in three different jerk crews. We’d just link up at malls and have functions where everyone would get into circles and battle each other.
I didn’t know jerk culture was a thing in Florida. Do you have any memories?
This is when I was livin’ in Altamonte Springs. That whole culture took over. My first rap name, Lil Echo, was a name I got from being in a jerk crew. I remember there was this one huge function we hosted with these people called GetGeekedGear.com; they, like, sold clothes and stuff. It was the most people I ever danced in front of. I was jerkin’ against this guy, and he Dougie’d his way up to me and knocked my hat off. I was so mad, I was like, Oooh, wait until it’s my turn.
Did you and your brother, 454, start making music together?
Basically. We’d do little freestyles over beats on the radio. Then he stopped rapping to focus on producing, and I’d rap over it.
