Anniversaries: Savage Mode II by 21 Savage & Metro Boomin
Savage Mode II doesn’t replace the original, but it expands the world it created, turning a lean horror flick into a full-length feature, as a marker of Atlanta trap’s reach into cinematic territory.
The release of Savage Mode II felt like a cinematic event in hip-hop, arriving amid high drama in its creators’ lives and promising nothing less than a life-and-death soundtrack. For Atlanta’s 21 Savage, it was the first major statement after narrowly escaping deportation—an ICE detention earlier that year threatened to send him back to the UK, the country of his birth. It spurred an outpouring of support from fans and peers. For superstar producer Metro Boomin, the sequel marked a comeback from a nearly two-year hiatus—a return to form after he’d all but vanished following a run as the defining rap producer of the 2010s.
The stakes were sky-high: their 2016 original Savage Mode was already canonized as an Atlanta trap classic that made 21 a star and cemented Metro’s signature sound. Now Savage Mode II sought to top that legacy, arriving with the pomp of a blockbuster. It boasted a gaudy, retro cover designed by Pen & Pixel—the legendary Houston graphic shop behind countless ‘90s Southern rap covers—featuring 21 and Metro looming over a mansion like hip-hop slashers stalking their prey. The duo even enlisted the ultimate cinematic voice, actor Morgan Freeman, to narrate the trailer and interludes in a gravely serious tone, laying out the “Savage Mode” ethos as if it were gospel. In a hip-hop moment dominated by real-life turmoil and high stakes, Savage Mode II didn’t just drop—it descended like a thunderstorm, determined to be a moment at a time when the only moments that seemed to matter were life-and-death.
From the outset, 21 Savage and Metro Boomin made it clear this sequel would be bigger, darker, and more elaborate than the lean original. The Pen & Pixel-designed artwork wasn’t just nostalgic flash—it was laden with personal symbolism. 21’s creative director, John Canon, revealed how he hid Easter eggs in the ostentatious blinged-out imagery: six bullet holes etched into a dagger to represent the six times 21 was shot, engravings alluding to lost friends and past struggles. The cover’s over-the-top style was a bold homage to ’90s Southern rap aesthetics (No Limit tank diamonds and Cash Money glitz) that 21 grew up admiring. It announced Savage Mode II as both a celebration of Southern hip-hop heritage and a personal saga. In the album trailer, Metro and 21 appear in eerie, horror-movie vignettes while Morgan Freeman’s authoritative voice defines “Savage Mode” as being fierce and unstoppable—“not to be fucked with,” he intones, as if warning the world of the monsters about to be unleashed.
The heavy fog and flickering lights of the teaser felt like the opening of a Southern-fried slasher film, and Freeman’s narration gave the project a gravitas rarely seen in trap music. He relished playing against type, embracing the chance to lend his “voice of God” to something edgier than his usual roles. And jump he did—recording seven ominous monologues (remotely, on his iPhone) that weave through the album. Written by Dungeon Family veteran Big Rube, those interludes channel the spirit of classic OutKast and Goodie Mob skits, dispensing street wisdom in Freeman’s sage-like drawl. On the interlude “Snitches & Rats,” Freeman patiently explains the difference between the two (“at least a snitch is human, but a rat is a fuckin’ rat, period,” he declares) with deadly seriousness, creating an instant hip-hop moment that was equal parts chilling and cheekily self-aware. Incredibly, the 83-year-old actor hadn’t even listened to the music when he delivered these lines—he simply recognized the wisdom in the script’s core message: don’t suffer fools, and pursue your goals with ruthless focus. It’s advice 21 Savage himself lives by, and Freeman noted that if the rapper’s young fans heed it, “it’s a good thing to do.” Thus, before a beat even drops, Savage Mode II positions itself as more than an album—it’s a mythos, with 21 Savage cast as the untamed antihero and Metro Boomin as the architect of a world where survival is paramount.
When the music hits, Metro Boomin’s production feels like the soundtrack to a high-stakes horror saga. His once-effortless, brooding trap style has evolved into something even more cinematic and ambitious here. Suppose early Metro hits were minimalist in their menace. In that case, Savage Mode II finds him pouring over every detail—you can tell that every piano chord, 808, and sample chop was endlessly stressed over in pursuit of a defining stamp. Take “Glock in My Lap,” a standout often called the most cinematic beat Metro’s ever crafted. Co-produced with Southside and Honorable C.N.O.T.E., the track opens with three consecutive producer tags, each echoing like a footstep on a creaky floor—by the time the 808s and menacing chords drop, the tension reaches a horror-movie high. Metro layers gothic organs and ice-cold snares, evoking the feeling of being stalked by something lurking in the shadows. All 21 Savage has to do is follow Metro’s lead, and he does so with a villainous calm, unloading threats in his deadpan baritone as if he were a slasher-film killer humming to himself. The synergy between them on this track is a masterclass in trap minimalism turned maximalist—Metro pushes his sound to dramatic extremes same time, 21 remains the eye of the storm, eerily composed amid the chaos.
Throughout the project, Metro laces in similar homages and surprises: “Steppin on Niggas” is built around a sample of Rodney O & Joe Cooley’s 1989 cut “Everlasting Bass,” a throwback breakbeat that gives the track a retro snap. “Many Men” directly riffs on 50 Cent’s classic of the same name, with 21 Savage interpolating 50’s melodies and themes to draw a parallel between his own survival and Fiddy’s notorious bulletproof legend. And on “RIP Luv,” Metro and co-producer Zaytoven slip in a soulful ‘70s soul sample (“Mixed Up Moods & Attitudes” by the Fantastic Four)—a snippet previously used by Nas in the ‘90s—repurposing it under 21’s elegy for lost love. These flourishes of sampling and genre-blending give Savage Mode II a subtle historiography; it’s as if Metro Boomin is stitching the lineage of hip-hop into the fabric of the album. By grounding the album in these references—from old-school West Coast bass music to mid-2000s gangsta rap to Dungeon Family sermonizing—Metro and 21 situate Savage Mode II as part of a continuum, respecting the past even as they forge the future of trap. If Metro’s early career was defined by effortlessly churning out moody bangers, here he proves he can also be a deliberate craftsman, layering meanings and motifs into the beats. As the producer himself later admitted, working with 21 can push him to be a perfectionist: “I’ll play this man 35 or 40 beats before he wants to get in the booth… it can be draining… but in return, I’m like, ‘OK, you’ve gotta overly bring it on this one.’” That obsessive attention to detail is evident on Savage Mode II, where nearly every track feels meticulously constructed to amplify 21 Savage’s persona and the album’s ominous atmosphere.
As Metro Boomin supplies the movie’s score, 21 Savage is the lead actor on this blood-splattered stage—and Savage Mode II captures him at the height of his dark charisma. Over the years, 21 has perfected a persona that is equal parts terrifying and magnetic: the soft-spoken killer, the villain you oddly find yourself rooting for. Here, on tracks like “Runnin”, “Glock in My Lap”, and “Slidin,” 21’s eerily calm voice guides us through grisly scenes with deadpan wit. He raps about murder and mayhem with the casual air of someone reciting a grocery list, and that chilling composure is exactly what makes him so compelling. On “Slidin,” for instance, he sounds almost gleeful about the violence, bragging, “I just made an opp do the Running Man” as if the blood on his hands is just a game-winning trophy. The menace is palpable, but so is the swagger—21 delivers these lines with a sly, underplayed confidence, like O-Dog from Menace II Society reincarnated as an Atlanta trap lord. He even references that very film in the visuals for “No Heart” years back, cementing how much he identifies with hip-hop’s favorite villain archetypes.
Yet what’s remarkable is how he’s made that archetype uniquely his own: whereas many rappers shout or flex to convey danger, 21 Savage’s power comes from restraint. On Savage Mode II, he often sounds like he’s barely raising his voice above a murmur, which only makes his threats hit harder. It’s the shark-like quiet before the bite. And every so often, he’ll drop a one-liner that shows a grim sense of humor beneath the horror. “Brand new Draco ready to crash like when the stocks go down,” he quips on one track, mixing Wall Street and warfare in one breath. In “Runnin,” fresh off winning a Grammy for the reflective hit “A Lot,” 21 pointedly brings that trophy back to his hood in East Atlanta. “I brought a Hollywood bitch to Club Crucial/I was at the Met Gala with my shooter,” he raps, in one couplet juxtaposing glamour with gunplay. Lines like these underline how 21 straddles worlds: one foot in the upper echelon of rap stardom, the other in the perilous streets that forged him. On Savage Mode II, he leans fully into the latter, reveling in the role of Zone 6’s anti-hero with a relish that is magnetic in its villainy.
Yet even a hardened soul like 21 Savage isn’t immune to the burdens of trauma and love lost, and the album allows a few glimpses behind his icy exterior. In fact, one of the most intriguing aspects of Savage Mode II is hearing 21 attempt vulnerability—however guarded—and expand his emotional range. Nowhere is this more evident than on the closing track “Said N Done.” Over a smooth flip of Stephanie Mills’ R&B song “Touch Me Now,” 21 drops his guard slightly to ponder loyalty and mortality. “When it’s all said and done, who you gon’ ride for/Who you gon’ die for?” he asks, repeating the questions as if searching his soul for the answers. There’s a weariness in his tone that suggests these aren’t hypothetical questions; they’re born of real losses. 21 uses this record to pay tribute to those he’s lost—deceased loved ones whose names and memories weigh on him. The track’s melodic undercurrent and nostalgic sample create a surprisingly wistful mood, as 21 contemplates which relationships truly mattered once the dust settles. It’s a rare moment of introspection from a rapper who usually meets pain with numbness or nihilism. The effort is earnest, even if 21 hasn’t fully honed his in-his-feelings songwriting yet.
There’s truth that 21 is no crooner—when he croaks lines like “Time heals all wounds, but you out here livin’ like it’s bulletproof” (not a real lyric, but a paraphrase of his sentiment), it’s more the sentiment than the poetry that resonates. Still, the song serves its purpose: it humanizes the album’s grim reaper, reminding listeners that behind the scarred savage is a young man who’s seen too many friends die and who quietly grapples with trust issues and survivor’s guilt. Similarly, “RIP Luv” finds 21 Savage eulogizing his ability to love, as if tenderness itself has died in him. “Rest in peace to love, I gave up a long time ago,” he intones, over a melancholic beat laced with that old soul sample. It’s a breakup song by way of a street eulogy, showing that heartbreak and betrayal cut as deep for 21 as any bullet. Such moments of vulnerability are brief and sometimes brusque—21 Savage will acknowledge pain, but you won’t catch him crying on the track. Even so, their inclusion on Savage Mode II broadens the album’s palette and gives weight to the project’s concept of legacy. The savage life takes its toll.
The album’s high-profile guest appearances further color the journey, with varying degrees of chemistry. Over a flirtatious, midtempo beat (one of Metro’s lightest productions here, all sumptuous keys and gently tapping percussion), 21 Savage plays the role of a self-proclaimed Casanova on “Mr. Right Now,” boasting about spoiling women and whispering sweet nothings. It’s a striking departure from his usual homicidal bravado—21 even drops a cheeky throwback reference to TLC’s “Creep” while rapping “slip and slide like a waterfall” in a playful cadence. The attempt at a for-the-ladies track shows 21’s growth since the first Savage Mode, proving he can ride a mainstream-friendly groove. But truth be told, Ice Spice Man dominates the song with his effortlessly melodic hook and a headline-grabbing confession (the revelation that he once dated singer SZA in 2008 became a mini media frenzy). Some felt that 21 was a bit player on his own song, and that “Mr. Right Now” was a calculated bid for airplay that slightly diluted the project’s gritty aura. The chemistry between the two is serviceable—they previously collaborated on 2016’s “Sneakin’,” and would go on to do an entire album (Her Loss, 2022)—but here it’s Spice Man’s comfort zone more than Savage’s. If nothing else, the duet gave Savage Mode II a crossover moment and balanced the project’s darkness with a splash of R&B-tinged swagger.
Young Thug’s appearance on “Rich Nigga Shit,” by contrast, is a meeting of Atlanta titans on more equal footing. Thugger’s elastic, high-pitched delivery is the wild yin to 21’s deadpan yang, and when he slides onto Metro’s unorthodox beat, the energy immediately mutates. Thug brings an unpredictability—warbling melodic runs one second, snarling threats the next—that complements 21’s steady menace. Lyrically, both revel in their wealth and street status, but Thug’s flamboyance adds color to 21’s starker flexes. Notably, Thug’s verse was so charismatic that it overshadowed 21 a bit on that track. Still, hearing them together underscores the diversity within Atlanta’s scene: 21 Savage, the stoic hitman, Young Thug, the eccentric rock star, both flourishing over Metro’s production. Their interplay on “Rich Nigga Shit” is fun, if fleeting, and it leaves one wondering what a more extensive 21–Thug collaboration under Metro’s guidance could yield.
And then there’s Morgan Freeman, the album’s most unexpected presence, threading the songs together with solemn sermons. His voice carries an authority that makes even a street parable sound like scripture. When he explains the code of loyalty or warns against betrayal, it adds weight to the brutality that 21 details in verse. The juxtaposition between Freeman’s moralizing tone and Savage’s cold depictions of violence underscores the idea that the streets have their own philosophy, one that must be respected even if it contradicts mainstream notions of justice. It’s both theatrical and strangely fitting—an anchor that binds the album’s chaos into a larger story.
The first Savage Mode thrived on its urgency: a short, tense burst that introduced a new rap villain and gave Metro a minimal template to perfect. The sequel is longer, more ornate, more self-conscious about making a statement. Where the first felt like a cult classic in real time, the second aims for myth-making. Some tracks stretch out, leaning into samples and grand structures. The meticulous care is audible, and it gives the album a different texture—less scrappy, more baroque. That shift means it doesn’t capture lightning in a bottle the way the debut did, but it succeeds in proving the partnership still has power. Metro’s beats are often maximal, while 21 keeps his delivery pared back, and the contrast itself creates a drama that sustains the record.
The influence on Atlanta’s scene can’t be understated. By the time it dropped, the city was already the center of the rap universe, but Savage Mode II reaffirmed that even established stars could reach back into underground roots and make something resonant. Younger artists picked up on Metro’s gothic flourishes, and the idea of a concept-driven trap album with interludes, samples, and narrative threads became more common. 21 himself carried the momentum into bigger collaborations, finding a balance between menace and accessibility that made him a mainstay across both street anthems and chart hits. Metro, meanwhile, leaned further into the role of auteur, bringing similar cinematic scope to later projects.
The album has become a solid pillar in both artists’ catalogs. Not every experiment lands—some songs feel padded, and the deliberate polish can blunt the raw energy of its predecessor—but its peaks are undeniable. “Runnin” and “Glock in My Lap” remain staples in 21’s live shows, “Rich Nigga Shit” still intrigues as a bold production choice, and “Said N Done” reveals dimensions that broaden his persona. As a sequel, it answers the challenge Freeman poses in his closing words: whether things can be done twice without diminishing returns. The answer here is complicated. Savage Mode II doesn’t replace the original, but it expands the world it created, turning a lean horror flick into a full-length feature.