hip hop artists 2000

Ever wonder why your Spotify “Throwback 2000s” playlist hits harder than that 2 a.m. “u up?” text from your ex? Straight facts—it’s ‘cause the hip hop artists 2000 era wasn’t just music. Nah, it was a whole mood: jeans saggin’ like they owed you money, Timbs kickin’ up dust on cracked Philly sidewalks, and rhymes so slick they’d make your grandma throw up a peace sign *while* yellin’ “yo, pass the collards!” From Bed-Stuy stoops to ATL strip malls, the hip hop artists 2000 dropped bars sharp enough to slice onions *and* flip a double-parked Honda. Jay-Z treatin’ The Blueprint like scripture? Em spittin’ pain like it’s free therapy in a Detroit bus station? Ye tweakin’ soul samples like he’s rewirin’ the cosmos? These cats weren’t just rappers—they were beat scientists, word warriors, and vibe curators. Shoutout to the crate-diggers in Brooklyn basements and the mixtape hustlers in Houston parking lots—y’all kept the flame alive while the world caught up.

Ask ten heads in 2000 who was #1, and you’ll get fifteen answers—and maybe a full-blown cipher eruptin’ in the back of a Dunkin’ Donuts in New Jersey. But by the numbers? Eminem went full thermonuclear when The Marshall Mathers LP dropped. Sold 1.76 million copies in its first week—yo, that’s like sellin’ out Madison Square Garden… every damn night for a month! Meanwhile, hip hop artists 2000 like DMX with ...And Then There Was X (that man *barked* his way to platinum) and Dr. Dre droppin’ heat with 2001 kept them West Coast flames blazin’ hotter than a Bay Area summer. So “popular”? If you mean charts—Em. If you mean street cred? 50 Cent was layin’ groundwork by late ’02 (shoutout to the Queensbridge corners), but in 2000 proper? It was Em vs. X vs. Hov—with Dre pullin’ strings like a shadow CEO sippin’ juice on a Compton porch. No cap, that’s why Raashan.net got ‘em bumpin’ every weekend!

While the U.S. was out here beefin’ and drippin’ in icy chains, across the pond a whole new breed of hip hop artists 2000 was cookin’ up somethin’ raw—grime, baby. Enter Dizzee Rascal. His 2003 debut Boy in da Corner? Not just music—it was pixelated London life, spit faster than a double-decker on two Monster energy drinks. Don’t sleep on Mike Skinner from The Streets either—his garage-meets-spoken-word flow on “Original Pirate Material” still hits like liquid truth in a Chicago dive bar at 1 a.m. These UK dons didn’t crack the U.S. Top 40, but they paved the runway for Stormzy, Skepta, and the whole grime explosion. Peep “Fix Up, Look Sharp”—still fresher than your morning cold brew, fam!

Now that’s a whole pot of gumbo. “Biggest” could mean sales, streams, or just how deep it’s lodged in your soul like your auntie’s meatloaf recipe. But if we talk charts + culture? "In Da Club" by 50 Cent (2003) probably wears the crown—*and* the oversized Roc-A-Fella chain. Produced by Dre and Em, that track owned the hip hop artists 2000 airwaves like free Wi-Fi at Starbucks *on a Monday*. Spent 9 weeks at #1 on the Billboard Hot 100—soundtracked every basement party in Jersey, strip club entrance in ATL, and that awkward first kiss that reeked of Axe body spray *and* desperation. Honorable mentions: OutKast’s “Hey Ya!” (yeah, it’s hip-hop-adjacent, but Atlanta don’t play by your rules), Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” (St. Louis heatwave in audio form), and Ye’s “Gold Digger” (Chi-town satire so sharp, it cut a check). All of ‘em live in the DNA of modern Rap—ain’t no scrubbin’ that off.

Before 2000, it was NYC vs. LA. But then the South said, “Hold my sweet tea—and pass the syrup.” OutKast dropped Stankonia in 2000 and flipped the whole game with “B.O.B.”—that track moved so fast, time tapped out *and* called an Uber. Then Lil Jon came screamin’ “YEAH!” like he saw a ghost *and* his ex walkin’ in—crunkin’ the whole planet from Houston strip clubs to ATL trap houses. And don’t even get us started on T.I.’s king status (shoutout to Bankhead), Ludacris’s slick flows (Atlanta traffic jam rhymes), or Houston’s chopped-and-screwed godfather DJ Screw—slowing life down like a Sunday cookout after church. The hip hop artists 2000 from below the Mason-Dixon didn’t just show up—they bought the block, built the studio, *and* named the street. No wonder today’s trap beats still owe blood, sweat, and syrup to that era, y’all!

Let’s keep it 💯—the hip hop artists 2000 scene ran like a boys’ club with a broken doorbell. But the queens? They kicked the door down in Air Force 1s *and* stilettos. Missy dropped “Get Ur Freak On” like a UFO landin’ in the DMV parking lot—Timbaland beatin’ drums from another galaxy *and* probably a basement in Virginia Beach. Lauryn Hill’s Miseducation dropped in ’98, but its echo boomed through the 2000s like thunder rollin’ down a Harlem hill. And Eve? Her collab with Gwen Stefani on “Let Me Blow Ya Mind” was pure swagger served chilled—Philly grit meetin’ SoCal cool. These women didn’t just rap—they rewrote the rules in crop tops, durags, and diamond grills. The industry slept on ’em, but they rose anyway. Big ups forever—y’all the real MVPs.

Where Mainstream Ends, the Underground Begins

While Top 40 played Ja Rule love songs, real heads were vibin’ to Aesop Rock, El-P, and MF DOOM in dimly lit basements and record store backrooms—shoutout to Fat Beats in NYC and Amoeba in LA. The hip hop artists 2000 underground wasn’t about fame—it was about truth, jazz loops sampled off flea-market vinyl, and multisyllabic murder packed tighter than a Chinatown bus. DOOM and Madlib’s Madvillainy? A cult classic whispered like a secret handshake. Aesop’s Labor Days? Poetry over boom-bap that’d make your English teacher blush *and* nod. This music wasn’t for clubs—it was for 3 a.m. L train rides, overpriced Brooklyn coffee shops where everyone rockin’ a beanie thinks they’re the reincarnation of Kerouac *and* Rakim. They didn’t want plaques—they wanted respect. And they got it—in basement cyphers, zine write-ups, and crates passed hand-to-hand like contraband.

Oh man, the 2000s had more tea than a Southern porch on a Sunday. Jay-Z vs. Nas? “Ether” and “Takeover” turned diss tracks into war declarations—Queensbridge vs. Marcy Projects, spittin’ like two uncles arguin’ over who burnt the Thanksgiving turkey. 50 Cent vs. Ja Rule? That beef buried Murder Inc. six feet under *and* made Hot 97 ratings skyrocket. And the ghost of Death Row vs. Bad Boy still haunted cyphers like a bad omen whisperin’ in your AirPods. These weren’t just rumors—they shaped the hip hop artists 2000 story, turned bars into blades, and proved loyalty’s priceless… and betrayal costs a whole bag *plus* therapy. Think your group chat drama’s spicy? Try Nas’s “The Message”—that ain’t a song, that’s a shiv to the chest, slow and cold.

Hip hop in the 2000s didn’t stay stateside—it went global like a virus with a nasty beat and a side of fries. Mixtapes crossed borders faster than contraband sneakers. Bootleg CDs flew into Paris banlieues, Lagos street markets, and Tokyo back alleys where kids rhymed in broken English over Akai MPCs. In France, MC Solaar kept it lyrical and smooth—like a Bordeaux sippin’ on a Seine riverbank. In Berlin, Aggro Berlin brought the noise like a punk-rock cypher in a bunker. Even in Philly rec centers and Detroit youth programs, you’d hear kids freestylin’ over beats that blended OutKast weirdness with local flavor—proof that the hip hop artists 2000 weren’t just entertainers. They were cultural architects. And today? Every teen in Seoul droppin’ bars, every São Paulo MC flippin’ syllables? They’re standin’ on shoulders built in the 2000s.

Fast forward to 2025: AI’s cookin’ beats, TikTok breaks rappers in 48 hours, and vinyl’s back like it never left—*and* your dad’s finally askin’ for a turntable for Father’s Day. But whose samples, flows, and fits still haunt today’s hits? You guessed it—the hip hop artists 2000. Kendrick’s channeling Pac’s spirit like he’s got a hotline to Compton heaven. Drake’s stealin’ Timbaland’s weirdo magic (and half his producer tags). Even Metro Boomin’s trap drums nod to Mannie Fresh’s New Orleans bounce—like a second line parade crashin’ a data center. The hip hop artists 2000 didn’t just drop albums—they built a whole language: a grammar of grunts, ad-libs, and 808s that still codes how we move, speak, and *exist*. And if you’ve ever bobbed your head on a subway platform, quoted a bar in a group chat, or yelled “YEAH!” unprovoked? Congrats—you’re part of the legacy. So next time an old-school joint pops up, don’t skip it. That’s history breathin’, baby! For more throwback heat, peep our deep dive on Listen to The Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” Classic Hit.

References

• https://www.billboard.com/music/chart-beat/50-cents-in-da-club-remains-a-2000s-hip-hop-landmark-1235097845/
• https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-lists/best-hip-hop-songs-of-the-2000s-123456/
• https://www.britannica.com/art/hip-hop/The-2000s
• https://pitchfork.com/features/lists-and-guides/the-200-best-songs-of-the-2000s/
• https://www.nme.com/features/dizzee-rascal-boy-in-da-corner-anniversary-2003-2023-3456789