No Limit Rapper Young Bleed Dies at 51

"Young Bleed, the Louisiana rapper who became one of No Limit Records' success stories, has died. His eldest son, Ty'Gee Ramon Clifton, shared the news in an Instagram Reel, stating that the musician died on Saturday, November 1. Young Bleed had been hospitalized for a brain aneurysm following an appearance at a Verzuz event featuring members of No Limit and Cash Money Records. Young Bleed was 51 years old."

"He sold his own tapes as a teenager and, in the mid-1990s, joined Concentration Camp, the local hip-hop group founded by fellow Louisiana rapper C-Loc. It was Young Bleed's verse on C-Loc's "A Fool" that got the attention of No Limit founder and label head Master P, who remixed "A Fool" for the soundtrack to his 1997 film I'm Bout It, changing the title to "How Ya Do Dat," and signed Young Bleed to No Limit."

"Young Bleed's major label debut, My Balls and My Word, arrived the following year. The album sold half a million copies and topped Billboard's Hip-Hop/R&B chart. For its follow-up, 1999's My Own, Young Bleed jumped to No Limit's distributor, Priority Records. He was let go from his contract, however, shortly thereafter. The rapper temporarily rebranded to Young Bleed Carleone's and, in 2002, dropped Vintage as the first release on his own label, Da'tention Home Records."

Glenn Reed Clifton Jr., known as Young Bleed, was born in Baton Rouge and began rapping at nine. He sold tapes as a teenager and joined Concentration Camp in the mid-1990s. His verse on C-Loc's "A Fool" attracted Master P, who remixed it as "How Ya Do Dat" for the 1997 I'm Bout It soundtrack and signed him to No Limit. His major label debut, My Balls and My Word, sold half a million copies and topped Billboard's Hip-Hop/R&B chart. He later released My Own, rebranded briefly, founded Da'tention Home Records and Trap Door Entertainment, continued releasing albums and mentoring younger artists. He died November 1 at 51 after a brain aneurysm following a Verzuz appearance; his eldest son announced the death on Instagram.

Read at Pitchfork