a
a
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Unapologetically
H
er
g
A
s an artist, Tink is refreshingly
resistant to categorization. She comes
off like Foxy Brown’s kid sister when
she raps, and her soul-baring ballads
convey a vulnerability that brings Frank
Ocean to mind. By the time she graduated high school, she had released five
mixtapes. Coming a couple months apart
in 2012, her tender debut, Winter’s Diary,
and its tougher follow-up, Alter Ego,
showcased the contrast between her
yearning singing voice and elastic flow,
and the ease with which she flexes both.
The self-released tapes stoked the internet’s
nostalgia for long-gone ‘90s acts like
Aaliyah, TLC, Monica, and Brandy,
while positioning Tink as a potential
successor to Nicki Minaj. Collaborators spanning the spectrum flocked
to work with her, including crossover
R&B star Jeremih, avant-garde production collective Future Brown, and
hi-fi rock duo Sleigh Bells. Her biggest
collaboration yet will be with Timbaland, who
recruited her as a protégé in 2014 and will
release her debut album this year on
his Epic imprint, Mosley Music Group.
“Positioning Tink as a
potential successor to
Nicki Minaj”
Still, for all of Tink’s experimentation
with different sounds and producers,
she has so far managed to preserve
the thing that makes her Tink: the
ruthless precision with which she
dissects her personal life in her
music. Tink is a teenage girl growing
up in America, and she mines material
from her experiences to create relatable
composites. Her peers know what it’s
like to find incriminating text messages on their lover’s phone, about
crushes that feel like rolling on molly,
the despair of wanting to feel love, or
the loss of friends who are gone too
soon. Tink has created a trustworthy
soundtrack for a generation raised on
self-documentation, their lives captured in hastily written tweets, emo
Facebook posts, and late-night snaps.
For her audience, part of the pleasure
is watching her come into her own.
Because Tink spends a lot of time in
her videos mean-mugging and looking
untouchably cool, I was unprepared for
how low-key she is in repose. When I
visit her at the modest, two-story home
where she grew up and still lives with
her parents, she answers the door in
soft, ripped blue jeans, a Crooks &
Castles “Killafornia” sweatshirt, and
black socks printed with electric
purple weed leaves. Even though it’s
after noon, she looks like she just roll
ed out of bed. Inside, there’s the warm
scent of greens that have been on the
stove all day. Tink later explains that her
mom is making her favorite foods as a
welcome home treat after several long
weeks on the road. She daintily holds
a can of Minute Maid pink lemonade
with a straw in it and leads me to the
basement, where we talk as a Family
Matters marathon plays quietly on an
oversizedtelevisionscreen inthebackground.
101 Magazine • Fall Edition • Page 9