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There’s a video I often revisit, posted over a decade ago by the now-obscure blog Houston Hip-Hop Fix. It features Rich Homie Quan in a blue Argentina soccer jersey and several flashy necklaces. Quan and the interviewer are intermittently bathed in the flashing red light of a police car. With just one microphone between them, they frequently talk over each other, exchanging polite interruptions and shrugging off their mistakes. Quan runs through the usual promotional spiel: the debut album is on the way, no more free mixtapes, music is in his blood, and he never writes anything down.
About 90 seconds in, Quan begins discussing his collaboration with Young Thug, initially offering standard praise about their studio chemistry. But after a jarring cut in the video, Quan announces that he and Thug will soon release an EP. When the interviewer asks for a release date, Quan responds, "Before the year’s out." Asked about the title, Quan hesitates, strokes his goatee, and, for the first time, looks directly into the camera. He emphasizes with a tap on the interviewer’s arm, “I can tell you this: The EP me and Thug are going to drop? The hardest duo since Outkast.” The interviewer’s eyes widen in surprise, and he begins to push back. Quan interrupts, “I’m not being funny. I’m not putting too much on it. Hardest duo since Outkast.”
Quan, who passed away on Thursday just a month shy of his 34th birthday, was known for this blend of bold claims wrapped in charm and humility. A natural hitmaker, his commercial success was undermined by record label troubles, legal disputes, and the industry's shifting landscape throughout the 2010s. Like Dre, Big Boi, and other Southern innovators, Quan crafted songs that skillfully mixed experimental sounds with personal reflection, each new flow or harmony revealing more about his inner world. He leaves behind four sons.
Born Dequantes Devontay Lamar in 1990 and raised in Atlanta, Quan excelled as a high school center fielder and literature student. However, his brief foray into burglary landed him a 15-month prison sentence after dropping out of Fort Valley State University. Reflecting on this time, Quan told XXL, “It really sat me down and opened my eyes.”
The first thing that stands out about his music is the titles. In 2012, Quan dropped his debut mixtape, I Go In on Every Song, a title that almost lived up to its promise. Early the following year, he made his national breakthrough with "Type of Way," a track that showcased a blend of toughness and vulnerability, as if he’d been steeped in charisma from a young age. Although the single was released on iTunes by Def Jam, hinting at a potential signing with the label, Quan remained entangled in legal disputes with his former label, Think It’s a Game Entertainment, for several years.
"Type of Way" emerged as Future was pulling rap radio into his realm, and some early listeners saw it as a twist on that Plutonic style. However, Quan's verses stay closer to traditional rap, using his melodic prowess to enhance rather than define the song. It serves as a lengthy taunt—sometimes menacing, sometimes playful. His claims of spotting undercover cops with a single glance contrast with lines like “I got a hideaway, and I go there sometimes / To give my mind a break,” and his memories of being served subpoenas are delivered in a gentle singsong. Despite these contradictions, Quan skillfully unifies them, driving the song forward with unstoppable momentum.
He continued to churn out notable tracks and mixtapes: Still Goin In, the Gucci Mane collaboration Trust God Fuck 12, and I Promise I Will Never Stop Going In. "Walk Thru," a collaboration with Compton rapper Problem (now Jason Martin), is a polished track about inflated club appearance fees that still feels like it was born from a nightmare. The hook he provided YG in 2013 played a crucial role in getting YG's music from regional obscurity to national radio. By 2015, Quan hit triple platinum with "Flex (Ooh, Ooh, Ooh)," refining his style to its purest form. The song is both wobbly and exuberant, turning routine boasts about wealth into something akin to spiritual revelations.
Meanwhile, Quan's early collaborator, Young Thug, was on his own trajectory to stardom. Both Thug and Quan faced conservative backlash for their unconventional styles. Long before "mumble rap" became a widespread pejorative, they were criticized by some for being seen as uninteresting writers or inadequate vocalists. These criticisms often stemmed more from ideological resistance than genuine assessments of their music. Even for their fans, Quan’s claim that he and Thug were surpassing the likes of Clipse, Black Star, Webbie, Boosie, or Dead Prez seemed far-fetched.
When they finally released their joint project in September 2014, it was both grander and more elusive than anyone had anticipated—seismic yet almost invisible. The tour, Tha Tour, Pt. 1, which was supposed to promote the album, never fully materialized. Some of the Cash Money albums hinted at in DJ drops were tangled in legal battles for years, if they were released at all. The project’s cover, a dreadful sub–Microsoft Paint creation, carried the Rich Gang label—a name already associated with Baby’s other post–Cash Money ventures. “Lifestyle,” the huge summer hit Thug and Quan had achieved under the same name, wasn’t even included. Tha Tour is not available on streaming platforms and did not produce any new hits. Yet, it was exactly as Quan had promised: a perfect snapshot of two innovators frenetically exploring new creative avenues, the hardest duo since Outkast.
One could argue convincingly that Tha Tour is the best rap record of the 2010s. It features Thug at or near his peak as one of the decade’s brightest talents, but it’s equally valid to say that Quan shines just as brightly, if not more. Take Quan’s verse on the radiant “Flava,” where he exuberantly raps about his son inheriting his features and makes the mundane act of letting a girlfriend count his money feel more intimate than any romantic moment. Or consider “Freestyle,” where the title belies the depth of emotion and thought Quan pours into the track, rapping, “My baby mama just put me on child support.”
“Forget a warrant, I’m not going to court I don’t care what those white folks say, I just want to see my little boy Go to school, become a man, and sign up for college, boy Don’t be a fool, be a man—what do you think that knowledge is for?”
On Thursday, shortly after Quan’s death was announced, Quavo, one of the surviving members of Migos, shared an Instagram story. Over a black background, he wrote, “Good Convo With My Bro,” tagging Offset, with whom he had been publicly feuding since shortly before their group mate Takeoff was killed in November 2022. A decade ago, it seemed like this Atlanta rap collective was poised to dominate the industry forever. Today, the tragic losses of artists like Quan, Takeoff, Trouble, Lil Keed, and Bankroll Fresh, along with Young Thug’s ongoing RICO trial, cast a somber shadow over one of music’s most vibrant hubs.
After the success of "Flex," Quan's career lost the support it deserved from record labels. Whether due to issues with Think It’s a Game Entertainment, shifting tastes, or a lack of marketing vision, he never received the backing he needed to sustain his momentum. Additionally, he never collaborated with Thug again. Quan spoke reflectively and self-critically about their fallout in interviews, though some details may now be under legal scrutiny in Georgia. His finest solo work, 2017’s Back to the Basics, which showcased his technical prowess and thoughtful approach, was overshadowed by the surprise release of Kendrick Lamar’s DAMN on the same day.
The 2019 film Uncut Gems reflects its directors’ signature style. Josh and Benny Safdie are known for their commitment to realism, even in their most outrageous scenes, using nonprofessional actors, overlapping dialogue, and evolving blocking to immerse viewers fully in each character’s world. Set during the 2012 NBA playoffs, the film meticulously handles period details. One notable deviation occurs midway through, when LaKeith Stanfield’s character plays "Type of Way" at a deafening volume from his SUV. Although the song wasn’t released until the following year, the filmmakers chose to disrupt their historical accuracy for the song’s intense impact. This moment captures the essence of Quan’s career: slightly out of sync with time, caught between eras, yet fundamentally undeniable.