Tony Shhnow sometimes overlooks his own music. As my conversation with the Atlanta firebrand wraps up, I confess that it took me a minute to catch onto “100 or Nun,” his collaboration with fellow local rapper Kenny Mason. “Shit, I almost slept on that, too,” he says, a good-humored incredulousness shining through the video call. A disciple of the internet era of the rap mixtape and the artists — like Gucci Mane and Lil Wayne — who perfected it, Shhnow has released music at a prodigious clip since 2019. Quality control is a crucial component of his process, and one of the reasons why he’s still an essential voice of the rap underground. The songs that don’t immediately hit can simmer in the subconscious, waiting for their chance to become standbys on your playlist. Sometimes, as in the case of “100 or Nun,” it works that way for Tony, too.

Born and raised in Cobb County, Georgia, Shhnow and his music have spread across the world thanks to his role as a statesman of the new generation of plugg, a subgenre of rap as closely bound to Atlanta as Shhnow himself. The best plugg songs create an atmosphere of bossed-up serenity with lounge-ready melodies and fat, blown-out 808s, giving you the sensation of an out-of-body experience during a raucous party. Shhnow slid into this sound like a pair of tailored house shoes and proved himself a master of it with a presence equal parts trap boss and Coach Taylor. Shhnow’s star grew, and his creative range — bolstered by a list of go-to producers including CashCache! and Popstar Benny — developed in tandem. His 2021 project Kill Streak and its sequel dipped into psychedelic boom-bap, and 2022’s Plugg Motivation was coated in a Teflon-thick layer of classic Atlanta trap. Reflexxions, released the same year, combined all these styles and more for a final mix that made ignoring Tony Shhnow an ill-advised prospect.

If Kill Streak was a photo negative, all steely blue flexes and gravel-gray threats, Shhnow’s new album, Love Streak, is its reversal: a full-color emotional rollercoaster. Based on a now-concluded real-life relationship, the record finds Shhnow rapping with more self-knowledge on his own interior motivations than most artists would even dare consider. Previous projects have merely hinted at the depth of sensitivity Shhnow dives into here with an author’s attention to character detail. Over the course of 16 songs with features from MAVI, D.R.A.M., and others, Shhnow embodies a lothario in a rare moment of clarity, experiencing the highs and lows of his lifestyle and refusing to look away.

Two weeks before Love Streak’s release, I spoke with Tony Shhnow about the relationship that inspired the album, his role as a plugg maestro, and his resolutely underground approach to his career.

This Q&A is taken from the latest episode of The FADER Interview podcast. To hear this week’s show in full, and to access the podcast’s archive, click here.

The FADER: Today is the 16th anniversary of Lil Wayne’s tape Da Drought 3. It’s a pretty important day for you because you’re a student of Wayne. Tell me about how his approach to music informed yours.

Tony Shhnow: I relate with his story because he used to write his music in a notebook, and I used to write my music on my phone and show people. And I wasn’t necessarily the guy, just like Lil Wayne wasn’t the guy [when he was] first coming into the scene. They looked at Juvenile and BG as the guys; they didn’t really look at Wayne.

I wrote all my music initially, and then… I don’t know what unlocked in him, but I had the same feeling: “Fuck it, it’s me. I’m Lil Wayne.” Coming into it, I thought I was gonna be a good support role, but maybe I’m supposed to be the main role.

Was there a specific project of yours where you felt like you made that switch from a supporting role to “I’m him?”

Da World Is Ours 2, going into Dis Should Hold You Over. I saw a lot of ups, a lot of downs. I was still in the trap, so I wasn’t able to just go out and do a lot of things. I wasn’t able to just go to L.A. [or New York] at the drop of a dime. I had my own life to deal with, and I realized I didn’t wanna be left behind, nor did I wanna be the homie that was just being tagged along, so I had to establish myself. I had to cultivate a path for myself.

When you were coming up, there was DatPiff, Spinrilla, all of these mixtape sites that aren’t active anymore. What are your thoughts on the music industry’s transition from those sorts of sites to music discovery through streaming platforms, TikTok, leaks?

To me, the game never really changed. The players or the tools may have changed, [but] I still look at Apple Music, Spotify, and Tidal like DatPiff, My Mixtapez, LiveMixtapes. Some artists take it too serious. I don’t know if they’re not doubling down on they stuff or second guessing theyself, but I just take the same formula and just apply it to a streaming platform, to TikTok, to Instagram. It’s hustling — the more product you have, the more people wanna buy.

One of the things that makes you stand out is consistency. Do you think you have an above-average work ethic when it comes to rap?

For sure. My mother established that in me and as well as my plugs, the dudes I used to work in the street with. It’s so much music, so much artists, so much rap. That’s how I felt when I was selling weed: It’s so much weed out here. You don’t have to buy mine. What’s gonna stand me apart? I got the best one. I have it available for you all the time. I’m at your beck and call. You can trust me to have a good song in my cut. You can trust my releases will be well. I built up a trust with my fans. They know I’m gonna deliver.

It strikes me how comfortable you sound in different sub-genres of rap. You’re usually labeled a plugg artist, which is true, but there are so many different other styles of rap you’ve released full-length albums in. With a lot of rappers who try different things, that experimental workflow can be invigorating, and then it’s like, “Oh, some of this sounds good. Some of it doesn’t really work.” But with you, it all sounds natural.

It almost is. I’m a fan of hip-hop for sure, of music in general. So my playlists don’t be just straight-up trap rappers like Dolph or Gucci, even though those are some of my favorite artists. I also enjoy Adele, Sade, 112, Miley Cyrus. I don’t even constrict myself to my playlists or what I see other people listening to. I’ll just get in the car and put on the radio and let it just play.

I’m also a fan of when rappers step outside of rap. I’m a fan of when Quavo will hop on a country song, [or] Young Thug on that East Atlanta song.

I don’t think I’ve heard you open up as much on an album as you do on Love Streak. It sounds like you’re being a lot more honest with yourself — not so much wearing your heart on your sleeve so much as, “I’m perfect at rap, but I have these other flaws that I’m gonna explore through that.” It’s a real step forward, I think. The production on this record is based around a lot of classic R&B samples. Did that inspire you to go deeper into yourself and explore the idea of toxicity from a different angle?

I was very vulnerable on this project — the most vulnerable I’ve ever been. I got this thing about my process: I have to live my music. I’m naturally a hustler, and I came from the trap, so I talk about my stories. I felt like I needed to put myself in a relationship to tackle this topic, so I got into a relationship and experienced it for real. I really tried to be in a relationship. I didn’t do it for a look or just to have a girlfriend. I tried to accept everything, love and hate, and then I went into the project.

Although I was tryna be in love, I have wants and needs, and I also have temptation. I started noticing things about myself and the world, so I felt like I needed to talk about how I felt because I knew other people could relate to it. It’s not all shits and giggles. It’s not always, “Oh my God, I love you so much.” Sometimes “I fuckin’ hate you!” Sometimes “Get the fuck out my face! I don’t wanna talk to you. You’re pissing me off.” Other times I might want a cuddle. I might want a kiss on the cheek. But that’s life. I’m human. I’m a man.

That’s how I learned more about myself and about dating women. I’ll admit: I got into the relationship off lust. I was really attracted to the lady. I never really had deep conversations. I never experienced having a girlfriend for real. I’m so caught up in rap that I don’t stop and look around and smell roses. This was one of my first times doing that, and it was a learning experience. I still have love for the girl. I had to learn. I had to grow. I learned how to let ladies be my friend. We don’t have to have a sexual relationship or a passionate thing going on. We can just be platonic and be friends.

It seems like you’re more suspicious than most artists about the music industry. Tell me about your approach to the industry, and whether or not you’re considering embracing it more traditionally.

I’ve been thinking about it. I saw a documentary Rap Caviar did on Tyler, the Creator, and he was talking about how, “For so long, I’ve been an outcast.” For so long, I’ve been the guy in Atlanta that’s not the most gangsta, the most swaggy, the most flashy, so I don’t get treated with the same respect as those guys that are flashy, that are wearing all these chains, havin’ all these guns, disrespecting people. I’m the guy that represents the working man, the guy that wants to provide for his family and love and live life. That guy normally gets belittled — not only in music, but in life in general.

It’s like going to dinner, and you’ve been working so long to get at this table, and then when you get to the table, they’re like, “Fuck you. I don’t want you to sit at my table.” And you’re like, “Well, fuck you! I don’t wanna sit at your table. I’ll make my own table.” So I’m over here making my own table. But I look over, and I’m like, “Hey, y’all table still kinda cool. I do wanna come kick it with y’all every now and then — maybe not every weekend, but maybe once a month.”

What about the other table appeals to you?

The history of it. Getting a Grammy [is like] getting a diploma. You don’t need that diploma, but I’m getting a diploma for my mama. It’s for those other people to be like, “Okay, you are doing your thing.” I’m probably one of the most lit dudes in America right now, and didn’t nobody call me until I posted that Rolling Loud [lineup]. You do certain things as affirmations for the people that love you.

Atlanta is one of the most important hip-hop cities in history, and you grew up listening to the second wave of artists who helped redefine that legacy — Gucci Mane, OJ da Juiceman. How has studying that legacy affected your career, and how you approach your music?

It let me know it was possible to be from a trap or a low-income area and still prevail, not having to use industry tactics. Seeing some of these things close up and personal, it hit a little harder than watching it on TV. Watching Kanye West and Jay-Z and Lil Wayne is cool, but actually being in the club with Trouble or Gucci Mane or Jeezy or Young Scooter, seeing them in studios… It hit a little harder. It really lets you know it’s possible.

What were some of the tapes that solidified that it was possible for you to do the rap thing?

Rich Kids, Everybody Eat Bread; Astronaut Status by Future; the entire Gucci Mane discography; Lil Keed’s project [Long Live] Mexico; FatManKey’s entire career; OJ da Juiceman’s entire career. I study careers more than I study projects.

Plugg is just starting to get back on the charts. The younger generation is taking it in completely new directions. How has it felt watching plugg grow into the sound it is now while still making it, engaging with it, being a part of that community?

I feel like the Migos when they changed the flow of rap. Remember when people were rapping a certain way, and then Migos came in and everybody started rapping a whole different way? That’s how I feel, but with the plugg sound. I know I’m not the forefather, the grandfather of this style. I’m like the dad right now: “Yes, this is cool. No, that’s not cool. All right, you can do that. No, you can’t do that.” People are looking at me to cosign or diss something. People are looking at my opinion to say what’s plugg and what’s not. It feels good.

What would your reaction be if a big pop artist came to you and wanted a verse, wanted to put you on that major label trajectory?

I be thinking about it all the time. I don’t know what I would do. I’d probably be annoying as fuck to the person. I know Brent [Faiyaz] and Tia[Corine], my friends that are actually lit as fuck. I know they be annoyed at me, like, “All right, Tony, just chill out.” I be having to flex that I know the person. I be like, “Fuck that. I know Miley Cyrus. I’ma Facetime her right now. Watch.” I’m the type of dude to call you just to flex to the hoes: “Yeah, I know, bruh. He right here, you see him? That’s my homie.” But I be more flexin’ the relationship than the work relationship. I don’t reach out to Tia or Brent or Tyler to make records like that, more to see how they doing. Before having my moment, I was studying people’s careers and life. I saw a lot of people emotionally ruined. It’s like they were no longer the same person once the fame and money hit — like they were drained, almost. I don’t like seeing that in people that I really like. If I know you, I want to make sure that don’t happen. As long as you know Tony Snow, bro, you not finna be out here this moody and gloomy.

It sounds like when it comes to collaboration, you want it to happen more organically. If it happens, it happens.

If it doesn’t, fuck it. I’m not dependent on features at all. I don’t do features because of what status it’ll bring me or what fan base or streams. I do the feature with someone because 16-year-old Tony would be looking like, “Yo, you better fuckin’ get a song with Rick Ross! You better fuckin’ do a song with Adele!” It’s more about pleasing my younger self or pleasing the fans, because I know they wanna see me out with certain people. But I never do it because I think I’m gonna gain anything from it. I try to not do a feature with somebody. I really try hard to just be there for them.

Could you tell me more about that — how you choose who you work with and the relationships that get formed out of those collaborations?

I tend to pick the homie. If I end up ever picking somebody where you see his name and instantly know him, it’s probably because we became homies or I have a nostalgic feeling about that artist, like Rick Ross and Drake. It’s not like I’m friends with those guys, and I’m not necessarily sure how meeting them would go, but I know I have an inner nostalgia thing that would call me to [work with them]. But normally it’s because I have a real connection with bro. We probably go out and get drinks. We probably play Switch together, pick up women together. I want it to be genuine every time. I’m not a fan of internet life. I don’t like social media. I wanna get rid of all the fake shit. And if this is the one thing I got control of, my music, I’m gonna make sure everything in this is as real as possible.

On the flipside, you can hear how video game music has influenced your work and your ear for beats, especially when you work with Popstar Benny. Has playing games like 2K and experiencing that music in a competitive environment influenced how you make music?

For sure. Music is part of the setting. It sets your mood, your mindset. Hearing certain sounds can enhance your senses. When I make music, I try and play into those things. A lot of my shit is chillin’ music, so I try and think real hard about what would make you feel the most player, the most bossed up. What kind of beat would make you feel like, “Yo, where the champagne at, bruh? I need a pound of weed, three beautiful girls, and a bubble bath right now!”

“Real Rare” has that feeling. That’s Tony Shhnow as Scarface, as the boss. But for the most part, it’s the other side of being the big dog, the kind of person that you were on Plug Motivation.

Because the big dog and the plug got a heart too. You might not know that because you might not be so cool with him. You only buy stuff from him. You never ask him how he’s feelin’. This how I’m feelin’!

I gave this music to my plug and a couple other street cats around the city and let them hear the project, and they really resonated with it because nobody ever asks the plug how he feels, how his relationship is going, what he’s got goin’ on in his life. They just want to buy they product and get the fuck on. This project is a story about the plug’s other side.