He twice mentioned the fact - well established by now - that he was working at Papa John’s when he had his first significant break. Tiller was constitutionally modest, and dressed simply: wearing a slightly longish T-shirt, light jacket, distressed jeans and dad hat. “Don’t,” his debut single, began gaining traction last fall, and last week, he played two sold-out nights at Radio City Music Hall. That he was filling a vacuum was in part clear by the speed of his rise. Tiller the most promising young voice in the genre. ![]() ![]() ![]() That confidence and intuitive skill made “Trapsoul” (TrapSoul/RCA) the most consequential R&B album of last year, and Mr. Tiller unites speeds, tones and moods with ease. These variations in approach never feel forced Mr. Tiller is happy just to boast: “Damn, look at all the levels that I skipped/Feeling like there’s a medal I should get.” But he also has a sly wit about his change in fortune: “Some will call it luck, and some will call me up.” And sometimes he’s reflective about the parched circumstances he grew up around: “It’s very rare for young black men to come up out of here.” Tiller hails from - and it crackles with all the varied emotion of making something from nothing. It’s the tale of his ascent - 502 is the area code for Louisville, Ky., where Mr. ![]() “502 Come Up,” the best song on Bryson Tiller’s debut album, “Trapsoul,” begins at a woozy creep, inhales deeply, then bursts into a sunbeam-powered run.
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