Hank Stacks: The Depth of Grit

By BradQuan Copeland.

It was about a year ago now that I had the opportunity to see Troy, New York’s own Hank Stacks perform live at a community rap event. It was the summer, it was late, the street was flooded with bar hoppers, artists, photographers, and spectators. People were making their way in and out of the venue, lighting their blunts, drinking, and admiring the varying canvases of street art on display. Guys gawked at beautiful women dripped in painted attire, strutting with open toes and defiance. But despite everything happening, the energy around me was dense with anticipation for the headliner, Hank Stacks, to take the stage. 

There were quite a few artists before him who performed the kind of head-nodding bops that’d play well in the background of a ball-busting smoke session with your people. But once Hank hit the stage, the vibe changed! He’s an artist with a presence. He proudly flaunts the bravado of a calloused and scrappy emcee who demands to be listened to, not just heard. He’s a visceral storyteller who isn’t consumed by the hollow romanticism of success, but by the ability to advance from successfully laying up the ball to the coke-wired exhilaration of dunking upon his defender; all in an effort to make more than enough to support the ones he loves. He’s a humble beast, fearlessly treading through the jungle’s brush to earn his bones on the hunt for legacy. 

Impressed by his performance then, I’ve recently tapped back into his work and decided to journey through his early full-length projects to get a better idea of the man himself. Starting with “Darkest Days” (2015), this 11-track project showcases a young Hank branded with the raw edge of nappy-braids-era Meek Mill fused with the spray-tagged dumpster grunge of Bleach-era Nirvana. From the Intro (“Pain”), you feel sunken into the desolate, frigid atmosphere as you step through an underpass of the inner city. Pushing against the temperament of gusty wind, you’re heated by the burning consolation of a shot from Jack, stomping in loose Tims, sweats, a bulky North Face, and covered from your crown to your neck in a shiesty. No gloves, your hands buried in your pockets as you march past sullied snowbanks enveloped by the rolling hush of nearby cars cutting through wind. With each step, you’re faced with the smoke of your breath. What’s felt is the skittering eeriness of desperation fueled by the unadulterated fuel of sheer pride. It’s an energy that reminds me of the sullen and bleak hunger of Van Gogh’s “The Potato Eaters.” It’s a project that represents the relentless pursuit of wanting better, united with the humble acceptance of eating at the table with earth-stained hands, yet not complaining because there’s food on the table. 

“The Potato Eaters” by Vincent Van Gogh

His sophomore project, “Substance” (2017), feels like the natural shift from winter’s seasonal gray to spring’s euphoric revival. Still rooted in the gutter of grime, but more lively. More room for the idea of hope to breathe. The song “Dollar Signs” is a standout, placing one into the leisure of shooting the shit on the stoop with your homeboys decked in a fresh pair of white low-top Air Forces, passing joints, and lightly sipping. His delivery is more assured, like Simba roaring from his chest for the first time. Hank Stacks knows how to craft full bodies of work that combine the vision of paintings and the feeling of poetry. 

The man is an impressive artist who continues to raise the bar. His latest track, “500 Miles,” presents the paradoxical effect of serene anxiety, encompassed by tame blares of brass and the tender warmth of meditating hums. He makes the repetitive monotony of the ache interwoven within the daily grind feel as promising as the innate tranquility of the sun’s faithful rise. Hank Stacks flexes a voice that speaks directly to the blue-collar angst and resilience of late millennials and early Gen Zers. He is well worth a listen if real rap is your taste. Stream him on Spotify, SoundCloud, and YouTube — and witness grit personified.