Music Map: Tracing the Growth of South India’s Hip-Hop Movement 

South India’s rap scene today is a canvas colored by tradition, experimentation, and relentless ambition. Once dismissed as a regional footnote in India’s broader hip-hop story, it now pulses with energy, as artists, labels, and fans collaborate to form a story that refuses to be an afterthought. 

In 2023, nearly 30 per cent of the top 50 tracks on Spotify India were hip-hop, underlining how the genre has become foundational to what young Indians are now listening to. Yet, while North Indian rap (especially Mumbai’s “gully rap” wave) has often dominated headlines, the South is silently generating styles, voices, and rhythms that feel distinctly its own. 

Ranbir Kapoor, the Senior A&R and Label Coordinator at Mass Appeal, remembers how different things were just a few years ago. The South was full of talent — but largely invisible to national players. “I don’t understand the language, so I actually had to make the trip down South to understand and immerse myself in the ecosystem so I could get behind it. That’s how I got Dabzee, Vedan & Baby Jean to partner up with Mass Appeal to make them the first South Indian artists to partner with a global label like ours.” This wasn’t just a business bet; it was a signal: the South had creators who could speak globally without losing local grounding. 

Kapoor sees this as a catalyst. Artists began to believe they could dream bigger. Yet, challenges persisted. “Many artists still don’t work towards a set schedule or a timeline in terms of dropping their music or projects, so the momentum drops. It keeps the fans waiting and also affects their streaming ecosystem and other such technicalities.” Still, what has kept his interest alive is how each artist stakes out their own lane. “Every artist is so unique in terms of what they write, how they execute their writing, production quality, and even the visual aspect… They all very much are in their own lane, and don’t bother about going into anyone else’s.” 

On the ground, this distinctiveness is the beating heart of the scene. Reflecting on how South India has found its own voice in the last few years, rapper Killa K says, “Unlike the early days, when most people only looked at Bombay or Delhi for hip hop, I feel like South India has started carving out a distinct identity, drawing from our languages, cultures, and our day-to-day realities.” He points out how artists are fusing styles — such as Ghanaian rhythms, Karnataka folk, and local storytelling — and in doing so, creating something that feels authentic and not derivative. However, he concedes that infrastructure still lags, noting that venues, promoters, and financial backing are not yet comparable to what one sees in other parts of the country. Still, he believes the hunger and creativity will bring the change. 

New voices are arriving faster than ever. “Rap here in South India is growing exponentially. So many new acts. So many kids are picking up and claiming it. It feels really fresh,” says 6x Platinum producer Akash Shravan, who worked on Hanumankind’s 2025 album Monsoon Season mixtape and Sai Abhyankkar’s “Vizhi Veekura.” He observes that more artists, more technicians, and even some labels are beginning to see this as a viable business model: “A Lot more artists and technicians are getting paid now. There’s a business model that works. Even though we were exposed to it a little late, it’s there now.” He also cautions that language remains a real constraint. “Only the regional language works here,” he points out.“The rest are all put on the back burner. But that’s something we’ll get better at with time.” 

This balancing act — between local roots and global reach — defines South India’s rap moment. Clifr captures that well: “The South Indian rap scene is always evolving because the culture is too rich and diverse. Over the past few years, the scene has been bringing out new and fresh talent. Artists like Arivu, Asal Kolar, Paal Dabba, Navz 47, and Dabzee are a significant part of the rap scene. Even producers like Offro and Sushinshyam bring many artists into the light through the projects they do.” He says that the sound itself is never static, adding, “It would be exciting to see South Indian rap artists featured on major festival lineups.” 

Nowhere is this spirit of experimentation clearer than in Bangalore. Long seen as a crucible for alternative culture, the city has given rise to names like Brodha V, Reble, Hanumankind, Pasha Bhai, Circle Tone, and Wolf Cryman. “Apart from myself and Brodha V in the past, Bangalore has produced some of the biggest hip-hop acts in recent times,” says Bengaluru-based rapper Smokey the Ghost. Smokey co-founded Wanandaf in 2018—a grassroots community built to foster growth in hip-hop—during a live music ban, when rappers literally took to the streets to keep the culture alive. “Wanandaf started as an artistic expression for reclaiming music, where we started rapping in the street because we did not have venues or platforms to perform in the city.” Today, the collective counts nearly 200 rappers, has helped distribute over 2,000 songs, and even runs education programs where rap is taught to kids as both a language tool and a form of mental wellness. “We have started to see Wanandaf as a rap accelerator of sorts. Imagine putting start-up structures into the rap industry — we want to be that.” 

He notes that Wanandaf cyphers have showcased verses in English, Hindi, Kannada, French, and Dhakni — proof of how multilingual and fearless the city’s rappers are. Yet he admits the mainstream pull is weaker than in Mumbai: “Bangalore rappers surely have lesser mainstream fanaticism than Bombay rappers… I think Bangalore provides an artistic alternative, but less than before. I suspect this is due to the genre gentrification championed by Bollywood music and techno.” 

Bangalore’s challenges mirror those across the South: a lack of venues and a need for more supportive audiences. “We not only need venues, but we need venues with a piggy bank that can shield themselves in the burn period,” Smokey argues. “Listening audiences who want to support local artists, not just because they are famous but because they relate to that music… the Kannada rap community is so awesome, but not enough people are paying attention to them. Let’s not even talk about Dhakni.” 

The foundations of this movement rest on earlier efforts. In the Malayalam context, acts like Street Academics — one of the oldest independent hip-hop outfits in Kerala — have long combined multiple languages and philosophical themes into their work, pushing back against the idea that vernacular rap is narrow or shallow. The surge in Malayalam rap is especially striking: local labels, underground circuits, and streaming listeners have pushed it to grow by leaps and bounds in recent years. 

At the same time, new stars are blurring regional borders. Vedan, a Malayalam rapper, is now working with Mass Appeal and works across independent and film spheres. His lyrical explorations of caste, class, identity, and resistance give him both local weight and wider relevance. Meanwhile, Sooraj Cherukat — widely known as Hanumankind — who was born in Kerala, is quickly becoming a touchstone for this hybrid future.  

In the Tamil rap world, the legacy of pioneers still matters. RANJ points to Yogi B, the Malaysian-born rapper whose Tamil verses and Ilaiyaraaja sampling helped open the road for the language of rap in Tamil communities. “I feel like hybrid identities are such a big part of like all of us now… I’m a bilingual artist. I make music in English, and I also make music in Tamil because both of these are languages that I think and feel in. I find it exciting that there’s so much space being made, and it doesn’t have to be just one thing. Everyone can be multiple versions of themselves.” 

To understand where the South stands now, it’s helpful to see the arc of Indian hip-hop itself. From the early blends of pop-rap in the 1990s to the rise of “gully rap” in Mumbai in the 2010s—which used streets, real stories, and local dialects as its backbone—the movement gradually decentralized. The rise of streaming platforms, social media, and independent distribution has allowed artists to bypass traditional gatekeepers. Now, Gen Z is fueling the genre’s dominance: more than 70 percent of hip-hop listeners in India are from that generation. 

But growth brings pressure, with consistency, marketing, infrastructure, funding, and language crossroads all posing hurdles. Artists must frequently navigate local expectations while not being confined by them. The idea that only regional-language rap “works” in South India remains a constraint many mention — it limits crossover and pan-Indian visibility. 

Still, what is most compelling is that South India is not trying to replicate what’s happening elsewhere. The artists here aren’t chasing a formula — they are building difference. They’re asking: can rap speak in Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, Malayalam— but also in English — in a way that feels honest and curated? The answer is taking shape through their work. 

This is a culture in motion, pulling from folk stories, local dialects, trap and boom-bap, global references, and traditional percussion. The infrastructure may still be catching up, and the business of rap in the South is only beginning to solidify, but the creative drive is already undeniable. 

What stands out is that South India is not trying to mimic what’s happening elsewhere. The rappers here are not chasing anything; they’re building their own thing. Each voice comes from a hyperlocal place, whether it’s a neighborhood in Chennai, a small town in Kerala, or a studio in Bangalore. Together, they’re mapping out a larger identity for the region. 

For a long time, South Indian hip-hop was considered too local, too niche, too difficult to translate. Today, it’s exactly those qualities — the language, the specificity, the individuality — that make it powerful. The scene is still young and uneven, but South India is slowly finding its voice —and is ready to carry it far beyond its own borders.