An unbothered, radically different, equal but opposite response to rap’s podcast bros
In the third episode of the Vic Mensa Show, a sit-down with Rapsody, the rapper turned host reflected on what he called one of the most quintessential moments in Black thought, referring to a 1971 conversation between poet Nikki Giovanni and writer James Baldwin. Though recorded more than 50 years ago, that exchange has resurfaced widely for the way it captures a gender divide that can make Black love and survival feel at odds.
As they revisited that dialogue, Rapsody and Mensa arrived at a pointed question: Where do Black men go to cry? Mensa said he often finds that release alone in the shower. He added that many are taught vulnerability is weakness, then learn it is not, calling openness stronger than any false show of machismo.
Rapsody then stood and gently wiped away Mensa’s tears. She told him she was glad he could cry. The moment registered as one of the most tender and vulnerable exchanges on a podcast, a rare scene in a medium not known for such intimacy.
For roughly a decade, podcasts have felt like rap’s last big arena, and at times an early retirement lane for artists turning stage presence into talk formats. Early shows built on longform interviews and deep cuts eventually gave way to trash talk, street gossip and opinions shaped by a broader fixation on celebrity, power and success.
In a space crowded with chatter, newer hosts are pushing back on rap’s manosphere of podcast bros. Think of them as podcast bruhs, an alternative to the moderately conservative mainstream. If one side includes top earners like Joe Budden and Charlamagne tha God, the other is buoyed by voices such as everyman Deante Kyle, who left a trucking job a year ago to run the Grits & Eggs Podcast full time.
Even as the industry strains, big deals still land. Charlamagne’s Black Effect partnership with iHeart Podcasts counts nearly 50 shows, expanding at a pace reminiscent of a major label in the 1990s.
Podcasting has also become a performance space. When Jadakiss jokingly throws a penalty flag at co-host Fat Joe, audiences are in on it. Figures like Mensa, Kyle and scholar Marc Lamont Hill are performing too, and critics might call it performative.
But their framing is rooted in a Black liberation politics that is sensitive, radical and intersectional. In a feed often dominated by toxic, misogynistic and materialistic content, their presence is a notable counterweight.
The Rapsody conversation was not the Vic Mensa Show’s first vulnerable turn. In an earlier episode, Mensa tearfully told Chance the Rapper it hurt him personally and financially when he was not invited on tour years back. Chance paused to empathize and apologized.
Toxicity draws attention, and companies profit from it despite the harm. These alternative pods provide a critical voice in a field where anything short of praise is often seen as hating.
Deante Kyle delivers community-first commentary with the conviction of a Southern preacher. Black celebrities get no passes. When Jay-Z’s exclusive vinyl deal with Target unraveled this summer, Kyle was unsparing, saying he does not know much about Jay-Z personally but believes he dislikes protests.
He also criticized LeBron James’ recent $15 million Polymarket agreement, arguing on an episode titled Polymarket Pimps that it helps usher in a new generation of gamblers. Mensa’s show grew out of his viral Orange Tree shorts, where he aired anti-capitalist critiques in a tank top beside a cluster of citrus.
His guest list spans a cross-section of Black culture, from rap-adjacent to queer-friendly, including podcaster Van Lathan and singer Durand Bernarr. Mensa has also discussed the difficulty of funding the show while avoiding the wave of gambling sponsorships.
By contrast, Joe Budden regularly promotes his largest sponsor, the prediction market platform Prize Picks, in paid segments. Budden appears to see a shift coming too.
In 2024, he added Marc Lamont Hill to his panel. When the CUNY professor defends prominent women, co-hosts often cringe, a running bit on the show.
Still, Hill challenges the program and its large audience with feminist and abolitionist arguments. While it is hard to quantify the impact, the move suggests Budden recognizes his weekly roundtables, which he views as a cultural microcosm, need more intersectional perspectives.
Rap’s podcast bros and the Black radical tradition
In an era defined by anti-wokeness, it is notable to see a few bruhs who will not sleepwalk. These three are not the entire movement, nor definitive proof of a trend.
But along with leftist streamers and YouTube essayists, they form a vanguard reclaiming space for the Black radical tradition in meaningful corners of the internet. Younger audiences appear ready for the kind of rich dialogue that earlier generations, like Baldwin and Giovanni, modeled.
Opening those conversations more widely is a step toward decolonizing our minds. For another look at an artist navigating culture and industry pressures, read about how Kenny Mason BULLDAWG charts a path true to his vision.
