Beginning with the eerily prophetic opening bars of LONG.LIVE.A$AP’s title track—“I thought I’d probably die in prison/Expensive taste in women”—A$AP Rocky struck a unique tone on his major-label debut album. Obviously, hip-hop and the Black community at large had no shortage of justice martyrs and Dapper Dans prior to his auspicious arrival. Yet the artist born Rakim Mayers stood out most for defying trends as much as he set them, refusing to conform to anyone’s perceived norms. Guided by young luminary A$AP Yams and backed by the A$AP Mob, the Harlem-based MC didn’t sound like what people expected from NYC rap music at the time. Many of his early critics grappled with the overt Houston and, more generally, Southern hip-hop influences on his work, like “Purple Swag (Remix)” with Bun B and Paul Wall as well as the preceding LIVE.LOVE.A$AP mixtape. The deep, syrupy vocal effect employed for the choruses of “Goldie” and “PMW (All I Really Need)” recalls the legendary DJ Screw’s codeine-laced wizardry, while Clams Casino’s dissonant and narcotic production honors that legacy on “LVL” and the Santigold-featuring “Hell.” Yet any attempt by journalists or listeners to neatly regionalize Rocky’s musical vision for LONG.LIVE.A$AP would be futile given the choices and the execution that define the album. Untethered and inspired, “F**kin’ Problems” defiantly mashed together Atlanta’s 2 Chainz, Toronto’s Drake, and Compton’s Kendrick Lamar into something that sounded as if it had come from nowhere or, perhaps, anywhere. On the magnificent posse exemplar “1 Train,” he wields verses by Action Bronson, Big K.R.I.T., Danny Brown, and Joey Bada$$, among others, into a blog-rap weapon of mass appeal/destruction. Uncannily attuned to the zeitgeist, he even tapped emo dude-turned-arena DJ Skrillex for the ubiquitous trap-EDM hybrid “Wild for the Night,” which set the high-water mark for all other such rapper collabs in that part of the electronic music scene. Then there’s, of course, Rocky’s public image. Curating between streetwear cred and couture savvy, he simultaneously had the block and the runway in a proverbial chokehold. Marked by a dry-clean-only laundry list of luxe references, the Friendzone-produced “Fashion Killa” laid out a wardrobe manifesto almost as audacious as Karl Marx pamphlets or Martin Luther’s theses. Amid the song’s poetic playfulness lies a genuine heart, with its romantic reference to Rihanna and a desire for progeny “flyer than their parents” proving wildly prescient. A decade later, the power and potency of LONG.LIVE.A$AP has its tendrils all but fully embedded in the culture. As hip-hop’s tastes become increasingly more expensive and even rarefied, Rocky’s resonant impact appears inarguably clear.