Execution: Following Your Dreams in the Face of Adversity
Ant $miff is finding his voice in the face of trauma. The St. Louis-born rapper and fashion designer has spent the last year on a quest to find his true sound. Sitting beside me in the car on the way to the location for this month’s 21 Artistry shoot, it feels like he has finally done just that. We have a two-hour drive ahead of us. He’s in the driver’s seat, and I’m just happy to be along for the ride. Our destination: Missouri State Penitentiary. During its time, this prison was the most violent in the history of the United States, and since then, it has been widely considered by paranormal experts as one of the most haunted places in the world. In 1967, TIME magazine infamously named it the “bloodiest 47 acres in America” due to the unparalleled amount of bloodshed that occurred on the grounds. It now lies abandoned in our state’s capital, “a beautiful skeleton” $miff calls it. “You got me right at the time,” he says. “I’m at a curve. I’m turning on the street towards the prize. I’m turning my swag up right now.”
$miff and I go way back, though it’s been a long time. We first met at my friend Will’s house when we were both still in high school. I was 17, and he was 18. At the time, I was just starting to take my art more seriously and make a name for myself in the underground scene in St. Louis. I was a massive fan of $miff and everything he was doing. He spoke softly and said a lot with not many words. I remember being in awe of his energy. That feeling never went away.
The last time I saw him was in April 2022 at Phat Buddha Productions, a recording studio in downtown St. Louis. I was there to document a day in the life of No Curfew, an artistic collective $miff was at the helm of that has since dissolved. The group was coming off of a killer summer, the highlight of which was headlining 21 Artistry’s “Art Fest,” a show that I organized in collaboration with $miff and other young artists in St. Louis. “Somebody just said something to me about that concert yesterday,” $miff shares. “We were talking about the music scene here now, and for starters, they won’t let rap shows go on anymore. I was involved at a show a few months after our show, and a riot happened. There hasn’t really been any rap shows that have gotten more than a hundred people there since then. At the peak of our show, there was at least 800 people there. So the show that you threw was not only monumental, but at this point it’s historic.”
To set the scene for you, I was on vacation in late July 2021 when I decided to make the biggest show of the summer happen in less than two weeks before everyone went back to school. Sitting on the beach, I called Don Earley, the owner of Earth Surf Skatepark. He said we could use one of his skate ramps as our stage. Beneath it would be our mosh pit. Our restroom would be in the abandoned Sears next store that you had to walk under bohemian tapestry to access. I then called all the artist friends I had. The first was $miff to secure No Curfew as the headliner. In the span of a few days, we already had our lineup, including four other acts and ten vendors selling everything from local artwork to handmade jewelry to underground clothing brands.
On the night of August 7, 2021, all of our lives changed. What started as a typical indie show with around 60 in attendance as the opening act was taking the stage quickly spiraled into a sea of screaming kids by the time No Curfew was performing, the number of which could be anybody’s guess, but was nearing one thousand. It was an underground show that became mainstream, and none of us were ready for it. “If I line up and show you the last ten hip hop, any shows that isn’t mainstream in St. Louis, there hasn’t been 15% of the people that was at the show you put together,” $miff says, making a left turn. “Aside from that, that show was so huge for me. People I grew up with came and didn’t tell me. My mom, half of our family was there. That show, man, everybody was there. That show broke barriers.”
One person who was there it seems had his life changed as much as ours did. “This guy walked up to me recently and said ‘I came to your show. Craziest show I’ve ever been to, man. I take pictures now because of that show. After I saw y’all documenting everything and how cool y’all looked, went out and bought me a camera the next weekend and I’ve been taking pictures since.’ He saw you taking pictures of the show you put together, and it inspired him. Don’t ever doubt yourself, Philip, because you started a career.”
I looked up from the voice recorder app on my phone and there it was: Missouri State Penitentiary. Our private three-hour photography tour was scheduled for 2:00 pm, and it was 2:05. We parked and walked up the ramp where our tour guide was waiting for us to fill out the release forms. “I forgot my ring,” $miff says. “It’s in my cheetah backpack in the car.” I immediately started sprinting back to the car in my Birkenstocks.
Once the ring was retrieved and the forms were signed, we were ready to begin the tour. Our tour guide Mike showed us every inch of the facility that wasn’t condemned, including three different housing units, numerous dungeons, and a gas chamber where 40 inmates were put to death—one of the only gas chambers in the world that is accessible to the public. It was at said gas chamber the picture for our cover was taken. Bringing gas in the gas chamber was $miff’s idea by the way. Genius.
Because Mike liked us, he granted us access to a roof that was not open to the public and had never been shown in any other tour. The view was unreal and the perfect end for our shoot. Walking carefully across a soiled wet tarp, navigating pieces of the rotting roof in his white Air Force 1s, $miff posed for me. I looked around. In the distance were condemned housing units. In the farther distance was the Mississippi River that had been eroding those housing units since this facility shut its doors in 2004, not long after we were both born.
“My father passed away in prison, hence why I didn’t wanna go inside the cells,” $miff shares, merging onto U.S. 50 back to St. Louis. “I loved that you picked this location because, not even on some creepy shit, I felt like he was watching us take the pictures. It was awesome. It felt like a seance honestly. I feel like the abandoned building. That entire jail, the architecture of it, it’s still standing. It’s abandoned, but it’s cinematic. It’s empty. It’s a beautiful skeleton. I feel like a beautiful skeleton. I’m empty, but I’m displaying beauty. I’m displaying life. I’m displaying what I’ve been through. Going to that prison and taking pictures at what seems to be run down, but on the outside, it looks amazing…It really made sense to me. If we would’ve went to an abandoned school, it would’ve been the same thing, but my dad wasn’t a teacher.”
In June 2022, $miff dropped his debut project “deAr $,” a mixtape that chronicles his gains and losses in life. The artwork was hand-painted by Franco The Creator, an internationally published artist he met while walking the streets of Chicago. The title reads “Dear, money.” “It means ‘Dear, $mitty,’” he says. “It’s a double entendre. It was also a letter to my father. He didn’t really get to hear my music. It was to show my admiration for money and to show my loss. The whole project I was talking about getting rich and what I would do when I’m rich. I was also trying to convey that money can’t fill voids of losing people. That’s the definition of the project. I lost my dad, so I’m gonna get as much money as possible.”
Following the release of “deAr $,” $miff has been continually working on perfecting his sound. In search of this sound, $miff moved to both Atlanta and Los Angeles, each for periods of several months. There he worked with some of the best the industry has to offer. “I went to Atlanta and Los Angeles this year to help with that sound and to be around professionals,” he says. “If you ask me, Atlanta and Los Angeles is where you go for music. Those two places are musical libraries. One of my goals growing up was to go to Atlanta and Los Angeles, and I did that this year. Seven-year-old me would give me the biggest hug.”
While in Atlanta, $miff began honing his delivery and tonality and got to work with a mentor from home. “When I moved to Atlanta, my big bro Jordy…he moved out there from St. Louis. He’s a huge mentor for me. I was out there with him working with a producer and engineer named Chris Clay. Shoutout CRASHJORDY and chrisclay. They helped me elevate my sound. When I was living in St. Louis, I was talking like now. It was sounding like this. Jordy assisted me with making it art. When you making a song, you painting a picture. He told me ‘You got it. Just put some emphasis on it. A flower is not a flower without petals.’”
A few months after moving to Atlanta, $miff left and took all the knowledge and experience he gained to Los Angeles. There he also had family from back home waiting for him. “When I was in L.A., I was with my cousin, thecrazypart,” he says. “Shoutout my brother man. If I had ten songs, he probably produced seven. I was only with him and my brother Mousha. CHASETHEMONEY is from St. Louis, too. We were recording a lot of our songs at his studio.”
Being around some of the industry’s finest inspired $miff more than ever. “I was again trying to elevate my sound to industry standards. I was in the studio with people that had a million followers, people getting 10 million streams a day, so I couldn’t come in there making no bullshit. We was out there just elevating, man. Every time I wake up I’m trying to find a new flow, a new way to say something, a new way to get on the beat. It’s been the same thing except in a new city, new people, bigger opportunities, so I was going 100 times harder.”
After months away from home, $miff finally returned to St. Louis last summer. Since then, he has worked tirelessly on curating his visual identity as an artist, working with St. Louis-based directors JimmyTov of Tripped Out Visuals and Steez of Steez Films. “When I got back from Los Angeles, me and Jimmy were linking up like every day, and it really hasn’t stopped,” $miff says. “He thought about doing a project with a lot of the artists he knows, and I was on it. It ended up turning out fire.” The project he’s referring to is “AREA 314,” released last October. For those who don’t know, “314” is the area code for the city of St. Louis. All of the artists on the project were kids from our hometown. This was all we were listening to in the car on the way there and back. “Along with Jimmy, I have a videographer named Steez, who partially manages me right now,” $miff shares. “I want to bring them up with me. I always want family working on my stuff.”
“I’m working on a project actually starting today,” $miff says. This is news to me. “After this, I’m going to the studio with my friend Trey, and I’m doing an entire project in Derrty MO Studios. If you know what that is, you know. If you don’t, you don’t.” I do know. “That’s Nelly’s studio,” I tell him, eyes wide with excitement. Being the St. Louis boy that I am, Nelly’s music has soundtracked my life since the womb. “I’m really trying to take the next step,” $miff says. “I don’t want any barriers. I’m trying to bust through the gates with this next project.”
We’re finally nearing St. Louis City. The Gateway Arch is a welcoming sight after a long day away from home. At the same time, it’s a reminder that this is just the start of the journey, not the destination. “Growing up in St. Louis wasn’t the easiest,” $miff says. “There were a lot of negatives, but the negatives turned to positives. The trauma or anything you go through living in St. Louis…in the long run, it’ll help you. I’ve been through some things that I wouldn’t want nobody to go through, but looking back on them and looking at how I am now, it helped me in a way. It formed me.”
As we get closer to home, $miff insists on picking up his friend Max Meland, owner, designer, and creative director of the clothing brand MSGDD. We’ve worked together in the past, too. I’m happy to see him again. This is a testament to who $miff is as a person. Family first. “I look at all my friends as family,” he says. “I look at you as family, man. I can’t let you down, Philip. Since you’ve seen me, you believe in me. I gotta be bigger than fucking dinosaurs. My friends and family keep a chip on my shoulder. They believe in me, and I can’t let them be wrong. I didn’t drop a full project this year. A lot of people didn’t like it. My friends was thinking I was lackadaisical. But I’m trying to perfect my sound to where when you hear my music, you feel me. You feel what I’m saying. Because this year has been traumatic for me. I lost my aunt. I lost my best friend.”
At this moment, I was overwhelmed by $miff’s remarkable strength. I remembered the last time we were in the car together over a year ago, with No Curfew on the way to the studio. Windows down, we were flying down the fast lane. I was in the backseat. $miff was driving just like today. A framed picture of his father was in the passenger seat pocket, always with him, watching his son’s execution of every dream he’s ever had. In this execution, there will be loss, and he will become better because of it. Parts of him will die, and he will be born again. “My goal at first was when my dad get out…We go’n be rich. We go’n do this. We go’n do that. So when he passed, it fucked me up. Now I’m striving to greatness. It put a bigger chip on my shoulder. Not to say that everything happens for a reason, but I feel like I’m elevating at a crazy rate because I don’t have realistic standards. Not to say heaven is a happy or sad place, but if he not smiling, I want him to look at me and smile. If he already smiling, I want him to look at me and break his mouth trying to smile bigger.” •
Production by 21 Artistry
Shirt by Supreme; jeans by True Religion; sunglasses by Louis Vuitton, shoes by Nike; earrings and ring are artist’s own