Skittlez: The Rapper Alter Ego from My Musical Past

As I began scribbling out half-baked memories from my history in the local music scene, I realized many of these avenues had abruptly hit dead ends. There was the soulful, improvised garage recording of “The Ballad of Bubby,” a songbird jazz groove dedicated to my late Lynx Point-mix feline. There was The Tea Party Army, the British emo-rock band that only exists inside the photocopied and Sharpie’d flyers we passed outside the University of Utah (I’m still finding those weathered flyers today). All spouts of ingenious opportunities led to slothish continuations. However, there has been one music background that’s still as everlasting as a Gobstopper, a devilish poltergeist of such teenage angst that it still makes me cringe. Tucked in the back of my closet ready to be awakened once more, decked out in ruby crimson and charcoal, is my rapper persona Skittlez.

Let’s wind the clock back to ninth grade, when my transition from Albion Knight to Brighton Bengal was a metamorphosis most foul. Bottled up tightly with rage like any product-of-divorce offspring, I wanted to tell the world I had something to say … whatever it was exactly, I’m not too sure. In the heat of a late night anger trip, I scrawled out “Midvale City,” a slam poetry type of song reflecting on some of the unusual and luckless hard knocks that have happened in my neighborhood — like getting my Sting-Ray bike stolen or how the sky would smell like rancid meat from an out-of-business Family Dollar one block over. I showed my small group of friends my handwritten ramblings, when one of them convinced me to rap it over his half-hearted attempt at beatboxing. To our surprise, it was pretty good. The beast was born.

So who was Skittlez, exactly? The crockpot character himself crawled out from repeated Tech N9ne Collabos albums and my gritty obsession with cult-classic films depicting exploitative violence like The Warriors and Gangs of New York. He was the middle finger to all authority, the snarky remark when you should’ve bitten your tongue and concocted from a teenager’s hyper-imagination, the leader of a fictional militia known as The Zoo (that’s a story for another day… and copyrighted, if there are any movie studios reading this). The finishing touch was a custom red-and-black ballcap I got embroidered, after my friend got one of his own. From there, Skittlez leaped from my cursive lyrics, making us one and the same.

The true evolution came during school talent shows, going from a trackless freestyle called “Tall & Haggard” to making a Spanglish comedy rap using the instrumentals from Eminem’s “My Name Is” called “Me Llamo.” It was all shits and giggles, until every time I was out in public, some random jock or Sandy socialite would call me out using the Skittlez moniker. “Yo Skittlez, give us a freestyle,” I would hear from across the Ream’s parking lot. Pretty soon, teachers would call out “Skittlez” when checking attendance. The creator had become the creation — a performing monkey of a creation.

As the persona followed me through college, I had my hasty sessions in sound-proof basements and makeshift home studios. Each track, which has been buried under hundreds of music streaming algorithms, didn’t quite hit like they used to, which wasn’t entirely a bad thing. Skittlez wasn’t just a rapper; he was a split personality catalyst aiming his guns at the rest of the world, trying to prove he could take the heat. Now that I’m older, I embrace the unpredictable as I’ve learned to channel it into a more creative outlet. And yes, I can take the heat!

As for the white boy rapper, he resides in that dusty ballcap that’s two sizes too small, waiting for the spotlight once more. Who knows? You might see him again at SLUG’s 37th Anniversary Party alongside some of Utah’s most talented musicians. Only time will tell…

Read more by SLUG Associate Editor Alton Barnhart:
The Fashionable, Fabulous Phantasm That Is the Bodacious Bosco
There’s Something in the Woods: Utah’s New and Improved Cryptid