There wasn’t a lot that I could flex about when I was in high school. I was a homeless youth, something of a burnout, and hopelessly lost. But there was one sliver of solace in the chaos of my life: the Maple Ridge-born rapper Snak the Ripper. Snak was a founding member of the hip-hop group, the Stompdown Killaz, a group that was born largely out of the suburbs of Langley City — my hometown — and we all loved him. You would be hard pressed to walk around our city without seeing his tag splayed on the sides of trains and buildings.
Then, I grew up. I graduated, and largely forgot about Snak the Ripper until a few days ago when I was scrolling through Instagram and saw a video of some guy in a black beanie pasting a concert poster onto the side of a building. The artist name, tagged at the top of the poster, was instantly recognizable: it was “Snak.” Being in a Mood I suddenly became nostalgic for the raspy, biting, nasally voice of this now throwback-worthy artist. I decided to dig through his discography to find the 17 year-old album my peers and I listened to on repeat during our high school days: Sex Machine (2009). The track “Live Fast Die Young” is so familiar to me it could be part of my personhood. The backing track is dreamy, compared to the aggressive vocals and pessimistic lyrics, it dances on the edge of being at both the end and the beginning of life. “Live Fast Die Young” isn’t an original saying (one could say it’s even a bit cringe), but Snak embraces this concept in a unique way that’s emotional and desperate. For him, it’s personal — an entry point into a life that feels unworthy, and therefore free from societal pressures, nothing to strive toward, and no one to impress. It’s there, at the edge of imposed expectations, that there is absolute personal freedom.
When you’re a teenager — especially one who’s been pushed to the margins of society — things feel more alive to you, more personal, and more meaningful. Listening through this album, I’m reminded how music can work like magic within us, awakening parts that we thought were no longer there. I’m sure there is some science to explain this, but I don’t care. I just know that it’s a part of life that I value so deeply.
As we get older, we find ways to manage the pain and intense feelings that drove us in adolescence. Snak is an embodiment of this. He used music as a healthier outlet and as a way out of the homeless, drug-filled life he was living into commercial success. But those experiences never truly leave us, and I think it’s still important to (sometimes) feel that rage and passion.
“With this pen I gain grip / gangrene finger tip, cigarette stained, chest pain, dope sick / I’m confused, self abused, no rules or amused on, how the world turns, money burns.”
“Dead and Gone” still hits just as hard . They comforted me at a time when I needed it most, channelled my inner emotions, and were a way for me to feel less alone in my own pain.
One of the album’s catchiest tracks, “The Rap Biz,” paints a picture of someone oscillating between multiple states of life — poverty, music, drugs, and a shitty nine-to-five. Snak recognizes his limitations and human-ness; when you’re going through tough shit, sometimes you live and act like a dirtbag. “Lazy” embraces that messiness, and I love this track so much because despite the quick lines Snak spits throughout the track, the beat remains mellow. Plus, it contains some of teenage Darien’s favourite lyrics. This song is great simply because it’s funny, clever, and honest as hell.
I’ll end this on my favourite track — and the most suitable for coverage of the Langley City native. “Locally Famous” sits at the top in my books for its sharp shooting lyricism, funky track, and pugnacious tone. It’s a humorous and honest embrace of the rapper himself, featuring lyrics like “I’m white, weird and lonely, ain’t genuine / But if you don’t like my rhymes bitch, you could ride my pony.”
And as an honourable mention, I have to include the not-so-pc line “Don’t take cops much to shoot, scabby faced prostitutes / In the same neighbourhood as rich people in suits” because if anything, I will give props to my high school self for still listening to class-conscious music. I like to think that, maybe, Snak played a role in activating my sociological brain and propelling me to explore these socio-economic disparities further in university.
So thanks, Snak, for carrying me through onto greater things.
Darien Johnsen is a UFV alumni who obtained her Bachelor of Arts degree with double extended minors in Global Development Studies and Sociology in 2020. She started writing for The Cascade in 2018, taking on the role of features editor shortly after. She’s passionate about justice, sustainable development, and education.