Audrey Nuna Makes a Pilgrimage Back to Herself

July 26, 2024

When I arrive at Fanelli’s, Audrey Nuna is already waiting for me at an outdoor booth. The 25-year-old musician seems at home among the cacophony of SoHo, listening to every word of my questions with an incisive focus. She reminisces fondly about her first years in New York, where she started at NYU’s Clive Davis Institute and subsequently dropped out to focus on music before heading to the West Coast for a stint in LA. "I don't know why, but I think I'm more scared now than I was then," Nuna says of her younger self. She describes the last few years as a “pilgrimage” back to the fearlessness of a version of her that has eroded with the cynicism of age and experience, a journey that has been costly but worthwhile. Nuna is currently working on her sophomore album, a followup to 2021’s a liquid breakfast, and plans to release more music throughout this summer.

Photography Liv Solomon
Styling Cassie Jekanoski
Interview Brook Aster
Talent Audrey Nuna
Hair Andrita
Makeup Cassandra Lee
Creative Producers Brook Aster, Liv Solomon
Production Assistant Sahara Dawn K.

Nuna is refreshingly thoughtful and introspective, and more than happy to indulge my philosophical trains of thought; the arrival of our order of mozzarella sticks is enough to trigger an existential train of thought about culinary arts as the most primal form of human creativity. We discussed returning to the root of her love for music, staying true to herself, and riding the wave of the new digital revolution. Read our conversation below.

AUDREY wears JACKET and SKIRT by DION LEE, SHORTS by 7 DAYS ACTIVE, SHOES by ALEXANDER WANG, JEWELRY by CHRIS HABANA

Brook Aster— What was your early childhood like in New Jersey?

Audrey Nuna— It was very peaceful. Definitely a bit confusing, in terms of just not having a community around, but still I think all of it just played into finding myself on the creative side and filling a lot of my time with making things at a young age, and that was great.

What was the early conversation with your parents like, telling them that you wanted to pursue music?

I don't think it was ever even a conversation. I expressed interest in music and singing from a really young age, so it was kind of just known, like, she loves that. They pushed me in the route that they knew, which was a very academic form of music; joining choirs, doing musicals, that sort of thing. They were really supportive from the beginning, and they saw this thing in me that they probably in a way recognized in themselves, but they didn't get the chance to express it that much. They had to learn how to survive in a completely new country, and that takes up a lot of your time, a lot of your energy. They're both creative and they saw that in me, and they really wanted to give me the opportunity to build it more than they got the chance to.

Even if you grew up in this country, having the self-possession to pursue art is already hard. I always wonder what my mom would have been if she was born a generation later, and was born here.

You just gave me chills, because I just met with my friend who's also first generation, she's Filipino. We were just talking about this, about how much our moms have given to us and how much they had to give up in order to allow us to do what we want to do. And I started crying at lunch. I was like, why is this hitting me so hard?

Out of all the people that I've never met, there’s no one who I care about more than the version of my mom before she had me. Like, If you showed up somehow in today’s moment, I would do anything for you.

It's actually wild because I had a show yesterday at Ludlow House, and my mom was there, so I brought her with me to the office [issue 21 release] party after. My mom loves music. My love for music, I think, or at least rhythmic music, 100% comes from my mom's side, and my love for melody comes from my dad. We had this moment when Memphy was playing, where I got to see a version of her that I felt like we were the same age for a second. We were dancing to this trance-like music together and it was just so genuine. I just felt really grateful to be able to share that with her.

Would you expect them to be into the kind of music that you make if you weren’t their kid?

[Laughs] To be honest, probably not. Maybe those certain songs my mom loves the R&B side and the dancier side of things, and then my dad loves just like the more classic melodic side of things. I think there's pockets of my sonic world that they would appreciate. But it all comes from them honestly.

AUDREY wears DRESS by ACNE STUDIOS, BOOTS by SACAI, JEWELRY by MARTINE ALI

I had so much potential energy. There was a moment where it shifted to kinetic energy.

On set, we talked about how you took a year off from NYU to focus on your music after freshman year, which turned into dropping out and releasing your first album. What was that first year like?

I was just rolling with the punches. My first year was awesome. I had such a good time moving into the city, moving into a place with so much more energy than I grew up with. For basically the first 18 years of my life, I was in this crucible of pressure, and a lot of creative suppression, and doing things out of boredom, like I wanted to do them but I wasn’t fully expressing myself. I think that when I hit NYU, I had so much potential energy. There was a moment where it shifted to kinetic energy.

What was the specific catalyst for you to take the next step and leave school to focus on music?

It was something I thought about for a long time, for the whole year basically. I was juggling school work and music, and going to the studio every night till 4am and then trying to make it to my 3pm music history class or whatever. It just came to a point of curiosity: what if I just put all my energy towards one or the other?

And also, affording school was really a big factor of why I wanted to stop, because at that point, I had been able to get some academic scholarships and financial aid, but then starting my next year, I would have had to go into student debt and affect my future in order to continue school.

All the signs pointed me to take the leap and just try. So I did. I didn't really have that much of a plan. I moved to a town right outside of New York, called Fort Lee. It's like the K-town of Jersey. I stayed there for a year, wrote my ass off, recorded my ass off, just worked on my craft for a year. And then, I don't know, things kind of just fell into place somehow from there.

Was it scary during that first period of time?

It's so funny, because people always ask me that, and my genuine answer is no.

I don't know why, but I think I'm more scared now than I was then. I think as you get older, your whole goal is to be your younger self. There was this fearlessness and it came from not being so scarred. Then you get hurt, and then you start to lose that fearlessness and you're always trying to replicate it. I realize that that's what getting older is: how close can you stay to that 19 year old self, who genuinely just wasn't scared?

Totally. It’s easy to think that what you're accumulating is wisdom, but sometimes what you're actually accumulating is sensitivity, or pain.

Maybe even a little bit of bitterness, at least speaking from my experience. How could you not get a little jaded out here? It's pretty wild out in the world.

I really idolize my younger self, I think for good reason. I think we all should. Even with the creative process of making this project, I considered it as a pilgrimage to try to do what I did in that gap year. Not necessarily in the same place, or with the same people or the same conditions, but the energy of it; I was like, what the fuck was I on? and just constantly trying to get to that place.

I really idolize my younger self, I think for good reason. I think we all should.

AUDREY wears JACKET and HOODIE by BALENCIAGA, SHORTS by 7 DAYS ACTIVE, BOOTS by R13

I was watching the videos for “Cellulite” and “Joke’s On Me,” and there's so much floating, flying, and images of you being untethered. How does that factor into where you've been emotionally and artistically? Do you feel like you’re being set free?

I appreciate that question. The huge theme of the project is this idea that you cannot separate the good and bad. The more you go into this journey of living as a human being, the good and the bad become so intertwined. I really wanted to express that ambiguity.

I don't want to lie and say that I'm fully there, but I think I'm the closest that I've been in a while to returning to that place of kinetic energy. This whole project was basically just a diary and a journal of the struggle to get there. It’s a very ironic, counterintuitive thing; how do I return to a state that seemed so easy at some point? It was a mind fuck. I think that kind of came across through a lot of the visuals because I myself was a little confused about where I was going. Where am I headed? So there was a lot of unfocused kinetic energy.

As you can tell, I'm a sucker for a simile, I'm a sucker for a metaphor, and especially in a visual. I'm curious about the crash at the end of the video. Do you feel like you've had a crash in the last couple of years, or a moment where you realize you've reached the end of the road and need to rethink things?

I definitely think so. For the first project, there was this feeling of newness and unfamiliarity in a very romantic way. I think the second project had a lot of harsh realizations, a lot of the darker side of adolescence and the things that you are rudely awakened to as you enter your mid-20’s. A lot of things came to an end. A lot of working relationships, a lot of friendships. My trust in human connection was definitely challenged.

Moving to LA was very much the end of the romantic era and it was like the start of something different. It felt like I was navigating through a darker side of town or something. Right now specifically, I feel a lot of new beginnings in the air, but this project was me processing a lot of pain. I would say hopefully the next one is starting the cycle over again. I think that both parts are important.

What is your relationship to LA like?

I would say my beef with LA in the first place was that I moved to a place where the results are so important. People tend to do things there.with just one motive, and I get it, because you're in a center of commerce. People tend to do things to get results.

I came up making music at my friend's house for fun with his wife cooking us tacos, and it somehow turned into my career. And then all of a sudden, I'm in this place where the career is everything. For a moment, I think that I forgot that for me, it's not just a job. It really is a passion and almost a hobby in a way. Trying to find balance in a place like LA was a really big challenge for me. I found that keeping it about the creativity was the one size fits all solution.

For example, the shoot that we did a few days ago [for office]. That was just a fun time. That was me making some things with really cool people for a day, and calling it press. I wanted to try something new, to explore a different side of this visual art form, so I did that. I have no idea what these photos are going to look like. And that's so exciting for me. That's what makes it.

I think in LA I tried to chase certain things for a bit and then it was not leading me anywhere. For a moment, I was like, why do I even do this shit? As soon as I found the fun in it again, and then started setting the boundary of, if it’s not fun I won’t do it, everything just started to click way more.

It's so different when you work with a group of people that are on that frequency. It makes a huge difference. I think that that exists a lot more in New York than in LA. I will say it's rare. You can find pockets of it in LA, but it's almost like a way of life in New York. It’s embedded into the culture.

AUDREY wears DRESS by ISSEY MIYAKE, EARRINGS by MARTINE ALI

Would you move back to NYC?

I would definitely move back. For the rest of the year, I'm going to be coming back and forth a lot, throughout the summer. I'm putting out a project this year.

I always used to say, “I never want to see a single palm tree in a music video!” which I still stand by. There's just something about the energy of New York, and my early days of shooting basically illegal music videos, without permits, that has informed so much of how I see creativity.

Another thing that really helps me — this is crazy, I didn't ever think I would say this — is the dwindling of resources in the music industry. All the budgets are getting smaller, everything is getting just more tough, everything's so saturated. There was a point of frustration, but then I started making shit with my friends who were just down because they love to make things even though it wasn't going to pay their normal rate. Everything just started to shift, the energy was just different. Regardless of the financial resources I may have going into the future, I just want to preserve that, whatever that is. You can't mimic it. You just have to feel it and that's what's so difficult about it somehow.

I’m curious about how you navigate the emphasis that can be placed on your racial identity in the conversation about your music. Is that something you think about, or that bothers you?

I think a lot of times I’ve found myself struggling to answer the question, because it's a very double edged sword. Sometimes people ask certain questions, like, how can we see your Asian American heritage in your music? And I’m like, I don't know. I just make music, and I'm Korean, and I grew up eating kimchi and I grew up hearing classic Korean vocalists, and all those things fed into who I am and in some way or another probably make their way into my work.

I understand the desire to empower, but I think for me it's all about agency. Who's curating it? Is it an Asian American person? Is it coming from a real place, not a quota? That’s what I pay attention to when it comes to how I view certain articles or certain initiatives. I appreciate the platform at the same time.

My biggest commitment is to being honest, to being myself. I genuinely think that my culture and everything about my heritage and how I came up will make their way to the surface. It doesn't have to be forced, it can be completely organic the same way that it's organic for any other artist. I understand that, because it's new, we're going to live through that time frame where the headline is always going to read “Korean American” or “Asian American.” But that’s just a transitory period. I think it's unavoidable in a way. I would love to just do my best work, you know, and be my true self.

That makes a lot of sense. How does that factor into the way you navigate your position as an non-Black artist who is making music that can be categorized as hip hop and R&B?

One thing that is for sure important to me is knowing and understanding the influence, and being a student of the craft and of the game. I have to be very aware where the music comes from, and that there is credit and respect due always.

Obviously, it really is just about being my truest itself, doing what I love but also giving credit and respect. Being a part of the community, not just like taking from it. Being myself, making sure I’m never putting on a costume.

Curiosity is important, wondering about your influences and digging into them. We need as a culture to head in that direction. I feel like the blending of culture is actually really essential to our human race not only surviving but also becoming better.

I think that gets at a bigger issue of globalization, and the way that cultural borders don’t really exist anymore because of the internet.

Obviously, it's a romantic thought, because so much of the world is still really, really, really fucked up. But I do think that we are moving towards a freer world. People have more access to information, and that's where it always starts. This is the confusing stage, but I think it is ultimately a good thing.

I don't want to be a dinosaur and I don't want to be resistant. And not only that, but I have no fucking say in this. This is evolution. We're just riding the wave of evolution. It's pretty cool that we are both alive in this time experiencing this. I think it’s going to be crazier than when the internet started, with the AI shit. Our world just went from black and white to technicolor all over again, and I don't think we're ready.

Things are going to look a lot different in a few years. It’s crazy to have had our brains develop amidst all of this.

I mean, talk about us — I don't even know about this generation below us. What the fuck are they about to be? They're about to be some bionic humans. My producer's kids, they're eight and ten years old. They know how to make beats, they know how to animate things, they know how to do every skill possible because they just look it up on YouTube. So much of our shit is going to become obsolete. It's crazy to think about. It's insane.

AUDREY wears FULL LOOK by SACAI, SHOES by DION LEE, EARRINGS by ALEXIS BITTAR, RINGS by CHRIS HABANA, GLASSES by GENTLE MONSTER

I don't want to be a dinosaur and I don't want to be resistant. And not only that, but I have no fucking say in this. This is evolution. We're just riding the wave of evolution.

Music

Varg2™ Sheds His Skin

August 22, 2024

Though I made sure to send out the right Zoom link before our interview, Jonas Rönnberg is nowhere to be found. Rönnberg is a bit of an iconoclast, a self-proclaimed “bastard child” of Europe’s enduring techno scene. Most know him as Varg2™, the Swedish electronic musician, Drain Gang confidant, and graffiti vandal with ink inscribed across his forehead, jawline, and wherever else his skin is exposed. His catalog of albums and EPs is vast and cavernous. Standout track “Illusions 1996” from his latest project Nordic Flora Series Pt. 6: Outlaw Music is imbued with frosty synth crystals, coming across like extraterrestrial telepathy from an unknown spacecraft.

Interview Olivier Lafontant
Creative Direction by Ioannis Papadakis, Rita de Rivera, Aina Marco
Photography by Ioannis Papadakis
Styling by Juju, Varg2tm, Aina Marco
Set Design by Rita de Rivera
Movement Direction by Zahra Van Nguyen
Fashion assistants Abryl Cassanova, Lexington Rocchio, Ana Luna Lajeunesse
Photo Assistant Sofía López

jacket MOWALOLA, t-shirt TALENT’S OWN, pants TALENT’S OWN, jewelry TALENT’S OWN, shoes BALENCIAGA

It’s been five minutes since our scheduled meeting was meant to start — five painstakingly valuable minutes — so I refresh my email for any updates. “Jonas says the link doesn’t work,” says his publicist in my inbox, so I make a new meeting and respond with another invite. Three more minutes pass. Another gut-wrenching response: “He says it still doesn’t work. Can you set up a Google Meet?” Fuck, I think to myself, We’re already off to a great start. I didn’t know how right I was.

Before I can even open a new tab in an attempt to salvage something — anything — from this potential meeting, an unknown caller barges into the vacant Zoom chat. The username “iPhone (5)” pops up onscreen, camera off, ushered in by the obnoxious clamor of bustling 808 drums compressed and distorted to hell. Once the camera is turned on, the music is paused; and there lies Varg2™ in the flesh. He gleefully chiefs the joint perched between his lips from under the hood of his black sweatshirt, clutching a pink Bratz Doll mug full of coffee. This is his morning routine. Even on first impression, I feel as though this sort of introduction makes perfect sense for him. His presence radiates a strangely familiar sense of camaraderie, effortlessly exuding the warmth of an old friend. Without hesitation, Varg2™ escorts me through the crux of his headspace, detailing his creative process, his affinity for trap music, and the path he’s taken towards self-actualization.

Olivier Lafontant— How are you?

Varg2™— I’m good, man. I’m good as fuck, I just woke up like an hour ago.

Where you at right now?

I’m in Sweden, it’s like 9 in the evening. I wake up in the nighttime. For me this is morning.

You’re waking and baking at 9 p.m., that’s kinda crazy.

I’ve been smoking since I opened my eyes, I need to smoke as soon as I wake up. Otherwise I don't feel right. But yeah, my days are kinda fucked up, I went to bed at 3 p.m. today.

suit TALENT’S OWN, t-shirt TALENT’S OWN, shoes BALENCIAGA

What have the past couple days looked like for you?

I’m not gonna lie bro, I’ve been out. It’s been good, me and my Swedish crew been out painting, making music, getting it done.

You still doing graffiti?

Every day.

What does that do for you? How do you process your life and your emotions through that?

To be honest, I think it’s the only thing that’s ever been consistent for me. It’s been my one true friend, it’s just always been there for me. It’s a lot of work that I don’t even put into my music. If I have struggles with my music or with some other shit I need to do, I’m just gonna be like “Oh fuck this shit,” and then paint. It’s just effortless love, unconditional love. It’s fucked up my life many times but it’s still the one that’s been there for me.

jacket RAF SIMONS from YANGBANG ARCHIVE, top ARTIST’S OWN

jacket MOWALOLA, t-shirt TALENT’S OWN, pants MOWALOLA

Something that’s stuck out to me about you is how you make very electronic, cinematic music, but you’re very influenced by artists like Shawny Bin Laden, Ballout, OLA Runt, a lot of American street rappers. How do you process those influences and make it so that you’re still putting out music that’s true to you?

I think why [someone] listens to Ballout, or trap in general, or black metal — it’s music by people who speak their own truth. My music is true to what I see. It’s not about translating [what I like to listen to], ‘cause I make ambient soundscapes and shit like that. I’m just translating my emotions. It’s the same with trap. You can have shit like Lazer Dim 700 that’s super low [sound] quality, the production of it doesn’t really matter; it comes down to how well you can tell your own story, type shit. I saw 21 Savage just bought a new G Wagon for his mom’s birthday, and in the photo she had a white Richard Mille on. I’m sure as fuck 21 Savage also bought that Richard Mille. That shit fire. I sat and I looked at that picture, and his mom looked so happy, bro. And it’s like "Yeah, materialistic love, she got a G Wagon, whatever, whatever,” but I’m sure that 21 Savage was an annoying piece of shit when he was a teenager — I bet he snuck out, I bet he had girls’ parents calling his house, [he was] selling drugs, shit like that.

That smile is not about the fact that she got a G Wagon, [it’s about] the fact that her shitty ass son who kept talking about robbing people into a microphone can actually afford to buy her one from doing that. That journey is fuckin’ genuine and honest and beautiful. And you can talk about the “value of the lyrics” and shit, but that’s the thing, this is just the truth. These are the real poets, man. An artist goes to a place where normal people don’t dare to go and they report back.

tracksuit GREG ROSS from LNCC

Now that you're six albums into the Nordic Flora series, what do you feel like you've learned, and what makes this album different from the rest of them? Not just sonically, but also in terms of the emotions and the process you have at this point in your career?

Not gonna lie, I stopped making music for a pretty long time. I kind of found my way back making this album. It wasn’t meant to be a Nordic Flora record from the beginning, it just became that. The main difference is I made half of [the Nordic Flora series] on an iPad inside of a car in motion, [and] at airports. One tape, I forgot to turn the iPad microphone off and you can hear German men in the Lufthansa Lounge in Munich fuckin’ complaining about the bratwurst being out and shit. It’s a very honest record series. I put out my first record in 2013 and since then my music career has been an open diary. This record was made in Sunset Sound Studios with Yves Rothman, my good friend, in Los Angeles, an iconic studio. The fact that within the same record series and without signing major, just by my own two hands, I’ve gone from making wonky tape experiments in the north of Sweden to playing the celesta the Beach Boys played — for me that’s legendary. Now there’s definitely not gonna be no more Nordic Flora, I feel like I’m a new person now. I already have three new albums coming out, I don’t give a fuck. I got so much music.

You’re really on your Gucci Mane shit now!

Me and Christ Dillinger dropping a massive project.

Something that you said that caught my attention was the fact that you feel like your music is such an open diary, but as a producer you're not putting your voice onto the songs. How do you feel like you're still getting a distinct message out through your sound or the features you choose?

When the feature's on there, they’re telling their story. If I make a track with you, I clearly felt something with you. I work with my friends, I work with people I look up to and admire, you know? I never do a feature for clout or payment, I don’t give a fuck about that shit. The features I have on my tracks [make] music I listen to, [they're] people I respect, and people [whose] universe I feel correlates with how I feel. For me it’s logical, maybe it’s not logical for the listener, but that’s not up to me. And also what you said about music without words — sometimes words are not necessary, bro. Like, for example, for some reason I always think about big boats sailing away, you know? And it doesn't even need to be about like a goodbye or something. It can be just a fucking cargo ship, but you see the lights at the horizon going away. That's a feeling I keep feeling. And I don't know what that feeling is, but I definitely know what it sounds like.

An artist goes to a place where normal people don’t dare to go and they report back.

bomber PROTOTYPES, hoodie CUSTOM from NOTHATNEGATIVE, scarf CUSTOM from NOTHATNEGATIVE, hat ARTIST’S OWN

Last year you had the “Fucked For Life” art exhibition with Bladee in Manhattan, and you also recently opened your own gallery in Stockholm. Considering how this is a different medium for you to express yourself, do you see it as a bridge to connect to your music? Or do you have two separate worlds where your art is in one place and your music is another place?

A lot of people try to separate what they do, but bro I’m not trying to do any of that. I’m not that complex. I live in one place, I live in one world and it’s my world. I made my own spot and this is where I exist. What I paint is what I see. I just do what I feel, and for me it doesn’t matter if it’s painting, or graffiti, or cooking, or writing, or walking and looking, or making music. For me it’s all in the same universe. And yeah it can be hard. I lost a lot of friends, I lost a lot of partners. It’s tough to be with someone who lives in their own world. I don’t really compute with society. My therapist of a few years said the most lame ass shit — she told me that every day when I wake up, I should choose the path of happiness. And I was like, "Choose to walk the path of happiness, that sounds like something a fucking Christian person would do," you know? And I'm like, "I'm not Christian and I'm not walking the fucking road to happiness, you dumbfuck." But that doesn't mean that [it has to be] this “good boy Christian road." The road to happiness can just be waking up, you know? And as long as you don't hurt other people through taking that road, just take it.

You mentioned as part of your process, you take time out to write. What is it that you write and how do you feel like you process yourself in your writing?

For like a lot of my older records, there's a lot of poetry and texts and stuff. I wouldn't say that I write poetry, but I write down my thoughts. I write a lot. I can see at least 15 different stolen moleskin pads laying on the ground here filled with notes. I just write down what I feel and like I said, I don't see a difference with that and painting or music because also when I sit making music, I go through and read my texts and I'm like, “Oh, I remember feeling that shit or thinking that shit.”

jacket MOWALOLA, t-shirt TALENT’S OWN, pants MOWALOLA

At this point in your life, what is it that brings you clarity? Are you searching for clarity?

I’m 33 now. I don’t know, I’m not searching for any clarity. I’ve seen a lot of my friends die from drugs or suicide or mental health fucking them up and shit like that. I’m not gonna lie, my mental health’s been pretty damn fried for most of my life. I've been struggling with hella anxiety and depression, low self-esteem and antisocial behaviors and shit like that. But lowkey the day I turned 30 I was like, “You know what? I'm so blessed.” My parents — who I fuckin’ love — they threw a birthday party for me.

I stopped going to school at a very young age, and one of the things that made me stop going to school was 'cause I was so fucking bullied in school. I come from a small town, they would bully everybody. It was the 90s, there were no openly gay people, we barely had immigration. Even me being a white, kind of straight guy, I had problems in school because in a tiny village in the north of Sweden, you don’t have to do much to stick out, you know? One day they gave out [superlatives] to all the kids who were gonna start high school. Everything was like “Jock of the Year,” “Sexy Bitch of the Year,” and then they were like “Fat Loser of the Year” and they gave it to me. I was the only sixth grader that got something.

jacket MOWALOLA, t-shirt TALENT’S OWN, pants TALENT’S OWN, jewelry TALENT’S OWN, shoes BALENCIAGA

That’s fucked up.

That shit was so humiliating, and my principal forced me to go up and get that prize while the whole school was laughing at me. I remember because the room that this happened in was one of my favorite rooms. We had this very beautiful socialist wall painting in this room, and [since then] that painting and that room has always been stuck with me like a fucking nightmare. The room that was something I really liked turned into something that just made me feel like I wanted to disappear, you know? And on my 30th birthday, my parents threw me a party in that fucking room bro. And it was crazy.

I kept thinking that all my friends from my childhood are dead, because most of them are, but I was sitting there with a few of the survivors and my parents. That day kind of changed my life. And I'm not gonna lie, bro, for the last three years I just been happy and on my shit. People are stressing about turning 30 because they still feel like they haven't reached anything, and I lowkey felt that too. I was like “Damn, I haven't done shit.” And then I was like, “You know what, bro? I’ve lived my own damn life by my own damn rules, my whole fucking life, bro.” And I'm gonna keep doing that.

That’s amazing, bro, honestly. I feel like a big part of social interaction in general is just being a reflection of the energy that you get around you, both the negative and positive. You talk about how the bullying affected your sense of self, but it’s the love of your parents that helps you see the light in everything else.

Yeah, but also these bullies, bro, what the fuck do they do today, bro? They do nothing. They do jack shit. They work at the local gas station in my hometown. Fuck y’all! I'll make your yearly salary in a day, in an hour. I'll flip that in an hour. Bitch ass punk.

Music

MAVI's Life of Service

In the time it took the 24-year-old Charlotte rapper to record this album, the third of his career, he struggled with finding the right name for it. On the day of its last recording session, MAVI enjoyed a card game with a girl he often played with. She asked him to sign the card on the top of the deck, so he did. “MAVI is in New York working on his untitled album,” she then wrote on the card. “I'm going to keep these for your shadowbox,” she added after. Ding ding ding.

As MAVI now sits across from me outside of MUD, an earthy cafe in the East Village, his voice cuts through sounds of clinking glass and neighboring dialogues, illuminating a watershed moment for the most methodical piece he’s ever worked on. “When she said that, it was like, ‘That's exactly what I've been making,’” he muses. “I've been putting all of these different failures and triumphs and experiences into this fuckin’ 3D frame for people to play with.”

MAVI is patient and measured with his words despite Manhattan’s incessant racket, never really raising his voice until the conversation opens up to shared laughs and colloquialisms. Even then he remains even-keeled. When he's not contextualizing his music, he paints pictures of his future away from it: One day he’ll jumpstart his nonprofit and give out free laptops to kids in Charlotte. One day he’ll teach biology where he once attended high school. One day he’ll be revered for much more than the words he’s spoken into a mic (even though he plans to keep rapping 'til he's dead). Among other things, MAVI opens up to office about his appetite for literature, the friendships he's built through music, and the process behind shadowbox.

Olivier Lafontant— How do you feel like this new album is a continuation of you processing the interpersonal struggles you’ve gone through?

MAVI— I think for this one, I was making the songs because of a lot of chaos happening in my life at one time. And I was making the songs to document what was happening so I could try to map out the lesson or the message of all these events in my life. And so that became the backbone of the album, the path that was drawn through [me] being pulled in so many different directions.

Something that’s a common theme in your work, especially this time around, is how meticulous and artful your rollouts are. I've seen the art pieces that you’ve been posting on your Instagram, for example. How do you feel like the visual components serve as companions to the music?

I wanted to craft a language — like an aesthetic language. So things being carefully arranged, things being voyeuristic throughout the album, me speaking from a removed perspective about myself; these are all things that I wanted to visually express through shots in the music videos or things like the tracklist or the tour poster. And then also because I'm talking about things that are cyclical — addiction, love and loss, transformation — I wanted to display it in a systematic way. And then also being really tactile: The album cover is a platinum/palladium print and it was mastered on tape. Adding a degree of physicality to everything, [like] having an incense that comes with the vinyl [has been important]. These songs are all things that happened to me those days that I made them, and then over time they’ve become like a photo album.

What do you hope to accomplish with this record?

I want people to make this record their own, feel humanized through it, and humanize me through it. And I want people to stand in front of the painting, even if they don't read the placard, even if they don't buy the painting. Just stand in front of it and feel moved. Because I think moving people is the one thing nobody in music marketing or music strategy really thinks about. It's like, how do we take this music, whatever the music is, and then get people to move as a result of it?

Could you describe a transformative experience that's happened since the release of your last album that's helped inform this one?

Oh, man. I’ve had a lot of transformative events the last week. I've bought a house since the last album. I broke up with the subject of the last album, got with somebody else, and broke up with them. One transformative event has probably been going to Paris, going to their modern art museum, and really understanding [that] I was overthinking art. Me thinking I was not informed enough to understand art prevented my access to being moved and building relationships with artists and art, on the visual side. So I removed that barrier, and that's when I really started to take in design and digital art as something I can understand, play with, and leverage.

Was working on this album the first time you had that much of an influence on the artistic side of things?

Definitely. A hundred percent.

Something that really sticks out to me is when an artist like you is so poignant about the vulnerable experiences a normal person may be ashamed to display on a pulpit. How do you accept that? Does that weigh on you while you’re performing?

When I first started rapping I didn’t want my mom to know I was rapping. And not because rapping is something she would not want me to do, but because of how I was rapping about my own life. And that there were things that I felt empowered by sharing with millions of strangers that I was afraid to share with my mom in that same naked way. So I definitely have run-ins with my own vulnerability in ways that are not just a super warm hug all the time. But I think it's worth it for me because it helps me understand myself. I can rap something that I can't intellectualize and then draw meaning from the rap song. So it's therapeutic, cathartic, whatever. You know?

I definitely feel like because you take that role in your music, the listeners take in what you give out and it helps them contextualize what they go through. Do you feel an obligation to do that, or is it just a natural outcome?

I don't think I feel an obligation to it because that would make me eventually grow to resent doing it and resent the listener [as well]. And I don't think it's something that's necessarily natural to do either, because it's more traditional in rap music to write about stuff that makes you feel cool. But what I think it is is a kindness on my part, like a loving act. That's how I think about it. I need my listeners. Even if it's one of them or two of them, I need them. And because I need them, I will allow them to use me and my story to better love themselves. I think I can go to heaven off that.

Speaking from personal experience, Let the Sun Talk was an album that I played a lot during quarantine. I feel like having that level of companionship, even if it’s through somebody you don’t know, is a crutch.

Right! We’re friends! And that's the thing about Let the Sun Talk that makes it special, even beyond anything in the music, is the context. So just being there for people when it’s relevant is also a part of the mandate for me to [do this], you know? To be there at the right time in the right way.

On shadowbox, you only have one feature on the record. How intentional is it for you to give yourself as much space as you do when it comes to tracklisting and putting out your own work?

I’ve never had a rap feature in my entire career. I kinda don’t know how to make songs with — well, I know how to make songs for people. You can give me the space and I can give you something really great.

Like “EL TORO COMBO MEAL.”

Even “EL TORO,” [Earl Sweatshirt and I] made that separately. Like Ovrkast sent us both the beat and we both sent in a verse on the same night. And [Earl] was like, “Yeah, we're doing this.” I don't really know how to rap with other people that well. One thing I want to really do, I wanna do a “friends tape” 'cause I have so many rap friends, and we have so many songs. Because even when we think about [James] Baldwin or just art in general, the community that art established is almost cooler than the art itself. Like there's this photo, I think it's like Basquiat, Grace Jones, [Keith Haring], and like Fela [Kuti] or some shit. That shit is hard. Just that everybody's art is in communication with each other's art is one of the most rewarding parts of learning art history. So I’m definitely trying to get better at that. I think there’s one person who’s ever outrapped me on a song, and that’s MESSIAH! He’s my final boss. But other than that I don’t think it’s happened.

Not even Earl?

What you think?

I do love your verse on “EL TORO” so I mean…

Okay, thank you. But also I don’t think he would ever try to kill me [on a track] though. Me and him it’s like… You know how Darth Vader at the end of Star Wars with Luke, he kind of let himself die, forreal? [Laughs] On some torch-passing shit? The nigga be on some torch-passing shit. But I really do want him to try to beat me. With him specifically, the song where he tries to beat me up and I try to beat him up back, that would be the Earl Sweatshirt/MAVI song to come out on my shit.

What does the context have to be for y'all to get to that point?

I don’t know bro! I don’t think our relationship lends itself to that. And that's part of the thing too, like, think about it like this: Do you know me and MIKE have rapped together one time? It was the first day we ever met each other, we was at Sage [Elsesser]’s house. Me and MIKE never even came close to making a song after that. But it’s ‘cause I really love these niggas. I go out to eat with them, we do other things. We ain’t even establish our relationship in the studio.

Isn't it strange that the common thread is the music though? Do y'all ever talk about that?

[Earl] kinda impressed upon us the importance of us being leaders. We building individual castles in this kingdom. Sometimes we be having a lot of shit going on. Like me and MIKE just did our first show ever in London. That shit was cracking. I’m kinda saving [the collaborations] for myself now. It’ll be historical. It’s like if DOOM had a Madlib beat on Operation Doomsday, maybe Madvillainy wouldn’t have hit so hard.

You’ve mentioned before how it’s really important for you as a rapper to keep reading books. What are your favorite things to pick apart from the literature that you read and apply to the music that you write?

I really like descriptiveness and detail. I was reading Sun Ra’s biography a while ago and it had a whole paragraph about this jazz nigga named Fletcher Henderson, whose music I don’t particularly like, but reading about him in the way they wrote it had me so intrigued. I want to know exactly what these songs that niggas is referencing sound like. That enriches my reading experience. It's like Harry Potter: they had the fuckin’ butterbeer shit. I had to have that shit.

On God, I wanted that shit so bad!

I had it! It’s fire! [Laughs] That feels so good! I love things that bring me into the world of the book.

There's a level of satisfaction that I get from reading a description of something that I didn't have words for prior to reading that.

Right! That’s all I wanna do as a songwriter.

Lastly, you speak a lot about the importance of your proximity to blackness, both physically and in terms of your family lineage. Can you go into detail about your attachment to your ancestry and how that informs how you carry yourself?

One thing about this album is it's rather churchy. “the sky is quiet,” “drunk prayer,” “open waters” . . . This idea of wanting to be cleansed in the water and the blood to be made new. I use the religiosity [from within] the tradition in my family to tell that story. I ain't pay my fuckin’ [Ancestry.com] subscription, but I've been making [family] trees, and I got up to like 1855, pre-slavery. My family, they're from South Carolina which is a huge slave port, but also damn near the closest thing we got to where black people sit still forever. When I was at the show in London, there was these pretty ass Ethiopian girls. And they came up to me and one of them was like, “Aw, your show was so good! Where are you from?” I'm like, “Yeah, I'm from Charlotte, but my family from South Carolina.” And she was like, “No, where are you really from? Like where in Africa?” I'm like, “I don't know.” You know what she told me?

What?

She said, “You should really try to figure that out.” [Laughs]

Music

True To Self: On Tour with King Promise

August 16, 2024

King Promise was destined for a life in music. With a father who served as his earliest musical influence and a family home filled with everything from reggae to boybands, the Ghanaian artist was immersed in a wide array of sounds from a young age.

Now one of Africa’s most celebrated artists, King Promise’s sound reflects his eclectic roots, and his own music is a testament to his broad musical palate. But KP’s journey to stardom was anything but conventional. Like many children of African parents, he was focused on completing his education. Music was a passion, not a plan. It wasn’t until a spontaneous moment in a friend’s studio session that his raw talent was fully ignited. That spark led him to explore his sound more seriously, penning his own songs and working with producers.

By Dylan Andrews
Photography by Spencer Stovell

But it was during his university years that everything truly fell into place. Releasing his music on SoundCloud in 2017, King Promise quickly built a following, and soon his buzz went from local whispers to nationwide chatter. King Promise sees Afrobeats as a movement that’s already crossing borders and breaking barriers. Now, with his music continuing to ascend, King Promise has his sights set on global domination — not just for himself but for the entire genre. His recent album, “True To Self” is a reflection of this vision and bringing people together through music.

As KP prepares to take off on his worldwide tour, office caught up with him during his New York dates.

So, how has your time in New York been?

Good, good. I like the city. I do come back often.

I heard one of the shows got rained out.

Yeah, man. The first one, Summer Stage Headlines. But hopefully we can come back and make it happen.

But all the rest went well?

Yeah, everything else was good. We’re off to LA tomorrow.

Can you tell me about your upbringing in Ghana and how you got started in music?

Yeah, I was born and bred in a Accra, Ghana. I grew up in a very average family, the only guy. I blew up in my last year of university. I have a BSc in Business Administration, my Major was Marketing. I had the hobby, which was making music. I had the passion for it as well, but eventually the passion kept growing. I kept pushing. I didn't know what I was going to do after school, I’d probably look for a job or whatever. And yeah, after I blew up I was like, ‘you know what?’ This is exactly what I want to do with my life. And the rest has been history.

Was it something that was in your family? Were you around music when you grew up?

Yeah, my dad played a lot of music at home. So my dad had a boutique when I was growing up and usually when I closed from school I’d go watch over it. And he had the speakers, huge speakers that played loud music to the streets and he had his CDs and whatnot and I got to handle that a lot as well. So basically his taste and music influenced mine before I became a mind of my own and started choosing what I really liked.

What sort of boutique was it?

Clothes, fashion. Both men’s and women's.

That's cool. Did that affect your style now?

A hundred percent. From when I was a child, my parents dressed us up. My mom and my dad met when they were buying clothes in an open street market in Ghana. And when we were kids to a very older age, they literally dressed us up all the time. It was like a thing where looking good was part of how we grew up.

Does performing in the US have a different vibe to when you're performing in Africa or other parts of the world? Do you see a difference?

Every city, or every country, continent or whatsoever have their own type of audience, fans. It's just different. Performing in Europe is different from performing in America, definitely. Performing in Africa is different. But they all have something distinct about it where it's love. It's just shown differently.

It feels like Afrobeats is growing all around the world. Why do you think that growth is happening?

A hundred percent. The music is good. When you hear African music, you just want to get up and dance. You just want to move. It’s feel-good music. Do you know what I mean? It's not really about violence or guns, none of that stuff. Its usually just about having a good time and speaking about life and what's going on with our community. So it's always feel-good, happy music. And obviously it makes you want to move your body and it's just a matter of time until Afrobeats becomes the biggest genre in the world. And I could attest to the fact that it will be, because as you can see, it's taken over.

Do you think there's a reason that it's now getting a spotlight in mainstream or Western culture?

The music itself is really good, it just needed a platform, people to hear it. It's not a new genre. It's been around for a while, but it took people before us to pave the way for us to get here. And we even have to do much more for the next generation that will come after us. And for me it's beautiful, as an ambassador of my people to the world through my music to do what I do and I’m just super proud of the fact that it's ours. Do you know what I mean? The world loves it and it is a beautiful journey.

How would you describe your own personal sound?

Melodic. True. And jiggy.

It's just a matter of time until Afrobeats becomes the biggest genre in the world.

How's the response been to “True To Self”?

Amazing, man. It's been a month since it dropped and some change and it's just good to see that people really love it and fuck with it. Obviously there's a few hits, couple hits, maybe a lot of hits on there. So it's just a great feeling that people appreciate the sound because I really made it from a special place where it's music that depicts a part of my life or my journey, my career and how I truly feel. Because it's not just words, it's more special than that.

What do you feel is next for you? What's the next chapter?

We always keep pushing. The plan is always to do better than we always do. Always next level stuff. Obviously I've started a tour, so I'm about to do Asia, about to do Europe, the UK, Africa, and also going to announce the American tour dates as well. So there's so many things coming up. We’re working on our deluxe right now as well. So it's just a lot of stuff and I really can't wait to share. But also I'm very excited to be in front of the fans and perform to my people and we do it together. That's also a very special moment that inspires me a lot.