Le rappeur canadien Drake a publié une chanson utilisant une fausse voix de Tupac. Il a fait de même avec Snoop Dogg. Sous la menace de représailles judiciaires, il a fini par retirer son titre, qui attaquait son rival Kendrick Lamar.

French singer dedicates top prizes at Les Flammes ‘to all the blacks’ after backlash over rumoured Paris show

The French pop star Aya Nakamura has won three big prizes at France’s Les Flammes awards for rap, R&B and pop, and she thanked fans for their support after a racist row over rumours she would sing at the Paris Olympics opening ceremony.

“I’m very honoured because being a black artist and coming from the banlieue is very difficult,” Nakamura told the ceremony, which she opened with a medley of her songs. She dedicated her awards – female artist of the year, pop album of the year, and international star of the year – “to all the blacks”.

As Drake, Kendrick Lamar and more continue their high-profile beef, we run down the most inspired – and vicious – attacks in rap’s history

• ‘A lot of rich guys arguing’: inside the rap beef of the decade

Whether you view the beef that has consumed hip-hop’s upper echelons as a spicy addition to the genre or a dispiriting Trumpian exercise by grandstanding millionaires, it’s hard not to love the fire and venom of Lamar’s verse here , bashing J Cole and Drake.

Drake used AI to simulate the voice of the late rapper and have him chide Kendrick Lamar, which the estate calls a ‘flagrant violation’

The estate of the late Tupac Shakur has sent a cease and desist letter to Drake, following the release of a Drake track that uses an AI version of Shakur’s voice to lambast Kendrick Lamar.

As seen by Billboard , the letter instructs Drake to remove the track, Taylor Made Freestyle, within 24 hours, or face legal action.

Empire Polo Club, Indio, California

Festival headliner delivered an A-game set, ignoring some of her mainstream hits yet bringing enough energy to power what some have called a middling year

Doja Cat took the Coachella mainstage as the last official act to perform on Sunday’s bill, becoming the first female rapper to headline the festival. (She’s also only the second Black woman to do so, after Beyoncé in 2018) Her closer rounded out a Sunday showcase of powerhouse female performers such as Renée Rapp and Kesha duetting the recession banger TiK ToK – changing the opening line to “wake up in the morning saying fuck P Diddy” – and Victoria Monet grinding through a slick and ultra-sexy set, at one point receiving artfully-simulated oral sex from a background dancer.

It would be diplomatic to say that Doja maintains a distant relationship with her fans, who call themselves kittenz, though their fave does not sanction this moniker. Doja’s told those who engage in parasocial relationships with the idea of her to “get off your phone and get a job” and “rethink everything” about their lives. Such boundary-setting has cost her some Instagram followers – around 300,000, to be exact, after going off on them in a social media tirade – but she could care less. “I feel free,” she wrote in an Instagram story after the snafu last year.

The rapper would sing Bob Marley going to school and gets the party started with Black Eyed Peas, but which pop classic is he ashamed to admit liking?

The first song I remember hearing
I don’t know if it’s the first song I remember hearing, but the first song I remember singing was No Woman, No Cry by Bob Marley . I grew up in Senegal and I would sing it on my way to and from school.

The song I stream the most
I’m pretty versatile these days but I would probably say Costa Titch by Big Flexa featuring C’buda M, Alfa Kat, Banaba Des, Sdida & Man T.

The rapper and presenter, 28, on coming from a massive family, avoiding Tinder and why winning a Bafta made him want to cry

Living in temporary housing as a kid gave me character and hunger. We moved all over London: Victoria, Battersea, Swiss Cottage and Kilburn. Growing up that way made me hate the government, but I also appreciated the system for giving us a home. It’s a weird feeling.

I come from a massive family. My dad is one of five, and Mum has 13 siblings; my grandad was busy. I’m from Sierra Leone, where we have lots of kids, and most of our relatives still live there. It means I only have a small family here in England. I’d like to create a little one of my own one day.

The headlines around the top hip-hop artists focuses on spats and feuds, and obscures the fact that so many are capitalists of genius

Did you hear the news? Rapper J Cole fell out with rapper Kendrick Lemar. Then he apologised . It made headlines all over the world and, for the uninitiated to the world of hip-hop beefs to fully understand it all, the BBC published an explainer .

You may have missed or ignored this, on the basis that you were paying attention to the real issues of that day, but I’m sorry, for this was legitimate news that day. For rappers – whether the hugely successful conscious kind, such as J Cole and Kendrick – or the wildly successful big hitters of the gangsta rap class – long ago graduated from being just rappers, just musicians. Those at the top of the game are creative giants, the poster children for modern commercial capitalism.

Fuelled by music fandom and social media, young British people’s slang is evolving to include words with pidgin, patois and Arabic roots – even where strong regional English dialects exist

There’s a video format spreading on TikTok. Recorded in towns across suburban England, teenage interviewers stop their peers on the street, fielding questions that range from fashion choices to humorous hypotheticals and local neighbourhood dramas, in the process building a large social media following and showcasing their patch of land to the world. “950 [pounds] for that, you know my ting,” a teenage white boy says about his Canada Goose jacket in a video recorded in Bury St Edmunds. “We’re checking his drip, ya dun know, you heard my man,” someone says in another video.

Both the hosts and many of the interviewees speak with this distinct drawl – Multicultural London English (MLE), a dialect born in London’s African-Caribbean communities in the 1970s and 80s. (Some now argue that “Black British English” is a more fitting term.) It’s rooted in Jamaican patois with influences from cockney, and more recently Arabic, the US and West African Pidgin English.