Tom G: Rite of Passage
We rarely sing of our hometown heroes. Industry success is oftentimes the summit of achievement for artists who’ve left their backyard— carrying their hometown-given acclaim to the places we believe they should plant their feet for their talents to be validated.
Tom G has unfailingly worn Tampa on his back. In his backpack full of raps. Whenever you’d hear his piercing, rasping vocals, you’d likely hear his area code along with his neighborhood, Palm River, rendered across a track or wherever he was.
Carrying a heavier-build, and affable appearance, you wouldn’t expect to hear him rap the way he does. I saw him for the first time at Love Jones a while back. A soft, R&B night here in Tampa. He was hidden but still noticeable under the luminous club lighting, from afar.
I was with a college buddy. He was with Edgerrin James, Hall of Fame running back. That showed me how high up his talents allowed him to climb. Strangely, it felt like finally seeing that uncle you always heard about but never met in person.
I spoke briefly and kept my words short, to be honest. “Aye Man, since my days in middle school, you was that guy.” He smiled receptively and embraced my words warmly before I extended my hand for a dap. He seemed grateful. But I was just fortunate to “meet” him. Like I could cross that moment off my celebrity bucket list.
Tom actually raised a lot of us. He may not know this; but he was, symbolically, that guy you’d get joy from seeing lounging outside of a shabby liquor store. The guy you’d greet regularly in your run-ins with, “Unc! What’s hannin'!!”
Tom G’s music was like home for a lot of black boys growing up in Tampa.
His music got us through school. It got us on our feet at family functions and gave us all a common ground to stand on when we were younger. It was in my headphones during city-bus rides from Sulpher Springs down Nebraska to get off and walk to Hillsborough Highschool; he was a headliner for my playlist when walking from Ellicott, across from Middleton High, to football practice during the sweltering summer heat.
10 wings and fries sounded as trendy then as lemon pepper wings are now. During my early college years, the DJ at a function would jump from city to city while on the mic, in his usual set routine, pulling for crowd engagement. When they’d get to Tampa there was only one artist I’d expect to hear in childlike anticipation. I was proud to say Tampa is my hometown.
When he took the stage in 2019 at the BET Hip-hop Awards with Lil Duval, I was no more content than I already am to see Florida’s REPRESENTATIVES in such a notable light. But seeing Tom up there felt like I was watching a close relative reach the pinnacle of endless efforts to gain notoriety. Only he still has so many other stages left to touch now. And even if he doesn’t, the city will always be the stage that invites him back.
I remember Tom G like I remember race-car hats and jackets. Like Polo-Boots at the state fair and black vests or homemade v-necks cut down the middle of the collar. Like black Air Force Ones and white socks.
His music is a staple in Tampa and a rite of passage in a lot of our upbringings.
Knowing Tom was a right of passage in our childhoods. I’d never been to Palm River as a child, but I knew it was a place, a sacred ground almost. Datpiff’s mixtapes days are far behind us. But Tom’s Skroll music and Kush N Kupz tapes are forever a part of the city’s soundtrack.
“The Challenge Gawd” is as much of a trope in his artistry as “Contract Killer” is for Gunna. Him rapping in the passenger seat of a car over mainstream beats was always a moment to watch.
Freestyles over some of our favorite instrumentals and Krank music helped give Tampa a hip-hop scene. Our own scene that you had to be here to be a part of. Tom rapped over classics with ownership. He was receiving all the royalties for 1998’s “Black Ice (Skyhigh)” as far as I was concerned— until a young me discovered the Dungeon Family.
When the prodigal son returned home his father welcomed him with open arms and a feast. Tom never left, in a good sense of the phrase. But he’s plunged the city’s flag into the soil and hills my feet may never touch. But he’s always welcome back, here in the Home of the Bucs.
We love Brady. But in Tampa we acknowledge one Tom, and that’s G.
