La Reezy: The New Orleans Rapper Crafting Hip-Hop with Heart
The Making of an Artist
It’s barely minutes into the conversation when La Reezy leans in with a grin and says he’s got something “exclusive” for NME. Asked what first pulled him toward music, he doesn’t start with a verse or a turning point, but a memory: captured in a photo of himself at four years old, beaming in an oversized black jacket and a red SpongeBob tee. “I was dancing around the house like Michael Jackson at that age, and my grandma used to make outfits for me to dress up and dance in,” the New Orleans upstart recounts over a grainy Zoom call. “It’s been written.”
Three years on from the TikTok traction he gained with ‘Birth’, a diaristic gut-punch that zeroed in on the instability of his upbringing, the artist born Khayree Salahuddin has gone all-in on ensuring his dreams aren’t “make believe”. What started as internet buzz around the intro to his self-produced EP ‘Reeborn’ has grown into something harder to ignore. After a whirlwind 2025—featuring four projects, a collaboration with PJ Morton, and high-profile support slots for Little Simz, Earl Sweatshirt, and Clipse—his rise feels undeniable.
A Message-First Philosophy
With that momentum, it’s easy to see why La Reezy shrugs off reductive labels. Artist, activist, entertainer: he brushes past all of it with the same ease he flips between flows. “My message is always the lead, then it’s whatever my ears are intrigued by,” he says. It sounds offhand, but it’s the engine behind everything he does. One minute he’s in a reflective, conscious pocket that harks back to Talib Kweli, and the next, he’s veering into something more off-kilter and animated, his tone stretching and snapping in a way that nods to Danny Brown. Then, just as quickly, he’s back riding bright, kinetic New Orleans bounce like it’s second nature.
That push-and-pull is baked into his DNA. On ‘Hungry Flows’, a chipmunk soul-laden cut he confesses he made when he was “flat-out broke, eating nothing but fast food”, he’s unapologetic about his ambition. It might read as bravado but plays more like a manifesto, echoing the righteous intensity of Black Star. Yet on tracks like ‘Have Mercy’, he remembers a childhood friend grappling with teenage fatherhood, revealing a level of emotional maturity well beyond his 21 years.
The Leader of the UTH
He calls himself the “leader of the UTH” and is quick to stress the weight of that role. “I think my words and my concepts come first,” he says. “If that’s activism, then yeah, but it’s really just speaking life into people.” That philosophy has already taken him into spaces far bigger than the usual rap circuit, including performing at the 61st commemoration of Malcolm X in February. Even now, he sounds slightly dazed recounting it. “You learn about that in school, then you’re there, you’re a part of it. It makes you realise this history is still now.”
“Even though it’s one of the hardest things to do, I wanna sound like myself”
That perspective shapes how he sees the wider rap landscape, especially who gets visibility. When a certain streaming giant recently implied that hip-hop is in need of new leaders, Reezy didn’t let it slide. “It just felt discouraging,” he laments. “We’re out here spending our last dime, sacrificing relationships, trying to be great. If you got that big of a platform, use it to shine a light on the people that’s already working instead of saying something for clicks.”
New Orleans as a Time Capsule
Crucially, that track runs straight through New Orleans. When he describes it, his eyes light up, painting his hometown as less a place and more a colourful, unpredictable feeling. “You’ll see a teal house with a red door, then a brown building with purple stairs, and each house has a classic car outside,” he says, highlighting how that visual patchwork mirrors the city’s sound. “We got second lines where a brass band just starts playing and you run outside and dance.” To underline how ever-present the NOLA bounce is, he taps a rhythm on the desk, rapping the line “it’s 7am” as if over a classic Mannie Fresh beat. “I’m like a New Orleans time capsule to the world.”
At the same time, he’s careful not to become a pastiche of what came before. From the city’s knack for turning rhythm into identity, to the legends he nods to on ‘I Look Good’, its lineage is undisputed. But Reezy is more focused on carving out his own voice than mimicking Lil Wayne, Juvenile, Master P, Soulja Slim and other Louisiana legends. “Even though it’s one of the hardest things to do, I wanna sound like myself.”
“What if the struggle is part of it? What if that’s why the art hits?”
Five years from now, he sees arena tours and Grammys. Ten years? It’ll be less about accolades and more about growth. “I just want to get better at delivering a message,” he says, laying out his simple but ambitious goal: to make “human music” feel aspirational again. “More people live like me than like these rappers talking about material things, and I think I’m able to shed light on people who just have normal experiences and aren’t living a fantasy.” For now, La Reezy sits in a sweet spot: not quite mainstream, no longer underground, but moving with purpose and momentum. And he’s only just getting started.
