There's a heavy hip-hop influence in my music, some trap

Melanie Martinez, an artist who weaves worlds of sound and vision, once revealed the secret of her craft: “There’s a heavy hip-hop influence in my music, some trap influence, but it’s always lyrical.” In this confession, she declares a truth about the birth of artistry—that creation is not bound by walls of genre, but rather fed by rivers that flow together. From hip-hop she draws rhythm and fire, from trap she borrows intensity and pulse, but she roots it all in the eternal power of the lyrical, the poetic voice that carries meaning beyond the beat.

When she speaks of hip-hop influence, she acknowledges one of the greatest cultural forces of the modern age: a form born in struggle, in the streets, in the voices of those demanding to be heard. Hip-hop is rhythm forged from resistance, rhyme sharpened by truth. To draw from it is to honor its legacy, to channel its courage into her own expression. Thus her music carries that weight, that edge, that fire which hip-hop has given to the world.

In naming trap influence, she invokes another branch of this lineage, one that pulses with raw energy and fierce intensity. Trap is the sound of urgency, of struggle, of survival turned into sound. Its heavy beats and driving cadence move the body and ignite the spirit. Martinez does not imitate blindly—she adapts, she transforms, she lets the influence shape her canvas without overwhelming her voice. For influence is not slavery; it is fuel for creation.

Yet she insists that her work is always lyrical. This is her anchor, her declaration that above rhythm and style, she seeks to speak, to tell, to convey meaning. The lyrical is the voice of poetry, the part of music that does not merely move the feet but touches the soul. It is the thread that binds her to the long lineage of singers and poets whose words have carried stories, longings, and truths across centuries. To be lyrical is to honor art not only as sound but as message.

History gives us many such examples of fusion. Consider Bob Dylan, who drew from folk, blues, and rock, yet bound it all in poetry. His voice was not polished, his melodies not complex, yet his lyrical strength made his songs into anthems of a generation. Or think of Lauryn Hill, who fused hip-hop with soul, reggae, and gospel, but whose lyrics spoke with depth and conviction. In them, as in Martinez’s art, we see that fusion of influence is nothing without the grounding of the lyrical.

The deeper meaning of Melanie’s words is that true artistry is both rooted and evolving. It does not exist in purity of genre, for genres are vessels, not prisons. The artist who is unafraid to draw from many influences, yet remains faithful to meaning, creates works that endure. Rhythm and beat may attract, but it is the lyric—the story, the word, the truth—that gives music its soul.

The lesson for us, then, is clear: in our own creations, our own lives, we too may draw influence from many places. Do not fear mixing, blending, and shaping from what surrounds you. But also, do not lose your lyrical core—the truth of who you are, the meaning you must convey, the message you alone can give. For without meaning, influence is noise. With meaning, influence becomes music that endures.

So let us hold close Melanie Martinez’s words: “It’s always lyrical.” Whatever influences you absorb, whatever rhythms of life move you, let your voice remain true, let it speak with depth, let it tell the story only you can tell. For in the end, it is not the style but the soul that defines art, and it is not the noise but the lyric that lingers in the hearts of those who listen.