To see Young Dolph was to see the fabric of Memphis, that Southern drawl oozing over generations of musical history. He was an entrepreneur who started and ran his own label, Paper Route Empire. In a vulturous industry where artists often struggle for their freedom, Dolph was a vocal proponent of independence. Even when he talk up the notion of signing with a major, he was thinking about the impact it might have on the next generation, telling The Breakfast Club that his independent background could provide a roadmap. “They can look at me and be like, ‘Damn. We ain’t gotta be in a rush to sign a deal,’” he said. “‘We might get hot first, and we can just go crazy. Have our structure right, have our whole business and everything right and really get our money and be prepared for when it come. It’s different now. The whole game is different now. You gotta know how to take advantage of it."
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As a philanthropist, Dolph went above and beyond. Earlier in the week, on behalf of Paper Route EMPIRE, he launched a holiday campaign to give away food and clothes and food to disadvantaged families in the Memphis area. His family, led by his wife Mia Jaye, ran a community non-profit organization called the Ida Mae Family Foundation. They donate clothing to victims of domestic violence and run thanksgiving programs as well. He looked out for the people around him. “I don’t have no deadbeat dads around me,” he said in an interview. “How do you look hanging with me, when I got kids that I am taking care of and you in the backseat not taking care of your kids?” It’s not easy buying into legends anymore, with every hero’s faults pored over and put on display. But Dolph had it both ways. He was as human as it got, and he was a real Memphis legend.
He’d been raised by a strict grandmother, only seeing his parents, in the throes of crack addiction, once in a while. He described what he saw as a kid as a “living hell,” but he forced his way out of poverty and insisted he wanted to do the same for his parents after his grandmother passed away. A few months after dodging those bullets in Charlotte, he was shot three times after an altercation in Los Angeles and was left in critical condition. But he bounced back again. He stayed vital.
He was funny, too. On “Attic,” from the 2016 mixtape Bosses & Shooters, he says he has a “whole lotta shottas’’ with him, then he corrects himself with a meta ad-lib: “Nigga You Ain’t Jamaican!” His 2017 track “Play Wit Yo Bitch” still ranks as one of the funniest diss tracks ever made, with him calling Yo Gotti ‘’Ho Gotti,” labeling him a “big head muddafucka” with such spite that the song should come with a Surgeon General’s warning. He was also hilarious on social media, non-stop funny, without ever turning himself into a bit. There was the perfect “Wut da hell is shit I’m hearin’ bout Korea” tweet, a random and amusing moment. (Dolph wasn’t making light of the situation; I think he was genuinely concerned about the news. Like, what the hell was he hearing about Korea?) Just last month, he tweeted that he never knew what anxiety meant until his Doctor told him that he had it, but still made it a punchline: “He said I need some me time to myself. TF,” Dolph was living life like the rest of us, trying to crack jokes, filtering the news, dealing with anxiety. He just happened to be one of the best rappers alive. His charisma was often awe-inspiringly effortless, both on wax and in everyday life.
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Young Dolph was Memphis rap’s defiant heart - The FADER
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