Kano: “I’m a storyteller at heart”

Throughout this, there was Top Boy, Ronan Bennett’s television drama about life on the estates of east London. Airing intermittently from 2011 until last year, Kano played Sully – a drug dealer as ruthless and violent as he is complex. He had never acted before and initially turned the role down before a lull in his music career led him to reconsider. It was undoubtedly the right decision, even as he tells me that he still doesn’t have a love for acting.

As we speak, Kano remains unfazed and even nonchalant about his success. Top Boy is said to have changed the face of British television for ever, but the show – as well as his other accolades – have never brought him too far from his roots. As he once rapped: “You can take the kid out the ends, but you can’t take the ends out the kid.”

Nessa Humayun: Hi Kane! You’ve had a busy year creatively. Top Boy officially ended, and then in 2023, you starred in Netflix’s sci-fi film The Kitchen, directed by your friend, Daniel Kaluuya, and Kibwe Tavares. What was it like shifting from what you’re known for?

Kano: In terms of the part I played, the process was kind of the same. I feel my character [Izi] is quite grounded. It’s not sci-fi to the extent of it being supernatural. It was just really about zeroing in on this human, his complexities and this conundrum he’s in — the challenge of how to be a father figure and finding his way. He’s been selfish for a long time and hasn’t had a perfect upbringing himself, but he’s now faced with a situation where he has to find it within himself to be something for another person, which is difficult. It was just about trying to be as real and as honest as possible with that character, so it was no different, to be honest. 

NH: You said in a few interviews that you didn’t like acting. With Top Boy done and this film coming out, has your conception of that changed? 

K:  I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like it. But I think ‘like’ is the wrong word. It’s more about whether I can serve a purpose. I’m a storyteller at heart. Whether it’s music or acting, I’m just trying to tell a story. And when it comes to acting, it’s helping someone else’s vision come to life — Daniel [Kaluuya] and Kibwe [Taveres’] in the case of The Kitchen. It’s a service, if you know what I mean. And if another thing comes along that really moves me and I feel like I could help tell a story that is important to tell, I’m sure I would do it again. But no, it’s not like I wake up being like ‘I can’t wait to act again’. It’s more that I can’t wait to make something great that’s going to resonate with people again. 

NH: When it comes to acting, you’re doing really long hours on set. What does your selection process look like considering that? 

K: It has to be something you’re willing to put those hours into. If I feel something’s not right, I’ll be the first one to say I’d love another hour at the end of the day. It’s not about it taking up so much time – and it does take up a lot of your year – but I would get up two hours earlier, or stay two hours later to make something just a tiny bit better. And that could be music or acting, studio or rehearsals. I want it to be as good as possible.  

NH: Your character in Top Boy, Sully, was a character with a lot of depth. He held a lot of heartbreak, anger, despondency, violence and disappointment. How did you put yourself into a headspace where you could convincingly play such a character year after year?  

K: It becomes second nature at a point because I know him so well, and I’ve been crafting him for so long. And obviously it’s led by the script, but I try to fill in the gaps and allow the character to evolve in a real way. It’s not about being deep for being deep’s sake. Sully’s irrational. He has to be ruthless and violent and say a lot, without saying a lot. But it’s finding those moments of softness. And if they’re not there on the page, I’ve found those little areas where I could add a touch, so people will be like, ‘Okay this guy’s not just about violence, there’s definitely something deeper going on’. When I have the opportunity, I try to peel back the layers. It’s nice to see that he resonates with people and that they see him for more than what he is on the surface, which is a ruthless gangster. 

NH: You burst onto the music scene when you joined East London’s N.A.S.T.Y Crew. Musically, it’s only been up since then. When did you realise that acting was something you wanted to pursue as well? 

K: I think those things come from the same place, really. Music is something I’ve done since I was young. I don’t know how it started, I just started rapping and trying to get better at technique and flow and all that kind of stuff. And then, as you write more songs, it’s like, okay, these songs can mean something and it’s more than just technical gymnastics; you can tell stories and dig deep. I don’t know where it came from, but when I love something, I spend time on it. With acting, I’d just gotten to a place where I was at a high level in music. It brought me back to the idea of, ‘Oh shit, I don’t know anything’. It was like being a kid in the studio again; asking producers what reverb and compression is. I was learning again — I became a sponge. It’s who I am, I just want to learn. I hate being shit at things, and I feel like I was shit a lot of the time in the early days. Every day, I would work on acting and get better, but still come home and be like, ‘I could have done that scene better. How can I improve tomorrow?’. To me, acting is still an ongoing thing of improvement. 

NH: The life of a rapper was very different in 2002, prior to the widespread advent of social media. Is that why you were drawn to the pirate radio scene in Canning Town? 

K: It wasn’t like we could go and make a song on our camera phones and put it on YouTube — that wasn’t the climate. Our only outlet was pirate radio. That’s where you could find like-minded people, practice, bounce off other MCs and link with DJs. And you’d be heard in the local area because, if you’re on a pirate radio in East London, it can only be heard in East London. The guys from West London and North London had their own thing. First, I was on Flava FM in Canning Town, but then we used to travel to Deja Vu in Stratford, Rinse in Bow… It just became a scene that started to grow and evolve. Then we used to do our club nights MCing. Our name would be on the flyer and we’d get paid, like, 50 quid. It felt like a big thing to get paid for our hobby because we were just having fun. We didn’t see it as this thing that would grow to a place where we’d be working with record companies, releasing albums, going on tour and eventually performing to thousands of people. 

NH: It must have been such an exciting time when you were coming up with Tinie Tempah, Dizzie Rascal and Ghetts. How was that experience of fame at a young age? 

K: It happened gradually. First, it was being on pirate radio and my voice becoming famous in the local area — not my face, my voice. I’d go to raves and the people in the room would see my face for the first time. And then I used to do DVDs like RiskyRoadz and Lord of the Mics, so my face circulated a bit more. My first ever video on Channel U was a remix with The Streets, so more people saw me. Next thing I’m on MTV Based, you know? It wasn’t overnight. I got to adjust. Now, if a kid makes a song with their mates and puts it online, the next minute it can become a phenomenon, and they’re performing on a festival stage in front of 50,000 people. It must be crazy. What I love about the way I came up, is I got to make a lot of mistakes behind closed doors. We got to hone our craft without having everything critiqued. Nowadays, everything is getting viewed by so many people. We were just doing it for ourselves. 

NH: Politics made it into your work quite early. You grew up in Newham, one of the ten most dangerous boroughs of the capital, and have been outspoken about how knife crime disproportionately affects young black men. Now, after 12 years of Tory rule, things have declined even more for the UK’s minorities. I don’t know about you, but it can feel like shouting into a void sometimes. Have you experienced feelings of hopelessness in this regard? 

K: It’s interesting you say that because I don’t really see myself as a political rapper. I just talk about what’s close to me. It’s not about who’s in government, it’s what I’ve seen growing up in my community. Making the film about knife crime in London for ‘Trouble’ or [the song] ‘Teardrops’ [from Hoodies all Summer], it’s showing the world through my lens. And yeah, if there’s frustration, disappointment or anger, it’s going to come out. And with things not changing, you’ve just gotta keep talking about it. When it comes to making music, I don’t assume that my messaging is going to change anything on a wider scale, but I like to think that people can relate to what I’m saying. I’m not purposefully trying to be a voice for people that haven’t got one, but I do have a voice, so I’m using it. Music is good for many things: escapism, enjoyment, fun. But at times, it can be a tool for good.” 

NH: You’ve previously said that growing up in Newham has made you the artist and the man that you are today. During the COVID-19 pandemic, you actually launched Newham Talks, a YouTube series and GoFundMe consisting of conversations with the likes of Idris Elba, where you discussed the political, cultural and societal issues affecting the borough. My mum grew up in Newham and she has the same affinity for it despite its issues — what does it mean to you now, as an adult, who has moved away?

K: I have ties there, my family is still around. My mum works at my old school, so I visit to see the kids. I actually went to my old teacher’s 80th birthday party a couple months ago — I think I referenced him in a lyric once actually. Growing up in that community was such a big part of my upbringing. It’s probably because my mum came over from Jamaica, and being part of a black family in a white area like Canning Town meant that all of the black families had to latch onto each other. Our friends became family; we did christenings, gatherings, and Sundays were a big thing at Manor Road. Anyone could knock on the door at any time, that was just the household and community that I grew up in — we were really in it together. I could see how much community means and that’s probably why it’s instilled in me. Being the artist that I am and rapping from a place that’s autobiographical means that my upbringing always finds a way into the music. Newham has been a big part of my life and my career, especially with the pirate radio. I care about Newham, I’ll always talk about it. 

NH: Speaking of music, are there any plans for another album sometime soon?

K: I haven’t got a date for an album, but when I’m away from music, I miss it so much. I feel like I’m at a stage where I need to miss it to be able to make it again, so time away is good. I was in the studio a little bit last year, and I’m writing and recording now as well. I’m energised to make music again, but I don’t want to put pressure on myself. I just want to create.

NH: You also became a father last year, right? That must have been a big transition. 

K: Yeah [laughs] but it’s inspiring as well. It makes you look at life a bit differently. Just as you think you’ve said it all in your lyrics, in a few years, your life will completely change again. You’ll have a new lens, and so much more to explore.