Growing Up, Again: Kai-Isaiah Jamal Interviewed

The acclaimed South London poet, model and now musician, shares their transformative foray into music and how the expression of art keeps them connected to their younger self.

We all remember the insecure excitement of being a teenager. The days of pensively staring into a mirror as we scrutinise our steadily changing appearance, realising that our sense of self and personhood were shapeshifting. Our clothes, amidst teenhood, are an extension of our identity – a social gesture of grandness, as we attempt to exhibit the best version of who we are. It’s an early morning in Budapest and Kai-Isaiah Jamal is mulling over what designers they wore as a free-spirited “tomboy” teen. The answer, of course, is stylish: classic Avirex, street-ready picks of Lot29, Echo and McKenzie trackies, and of course the slick Air Max 95s. 

Growing up in Croydon, Jamal was immersed in the rich, evolving culture of South London. In 2009, following the mainstreaming of UK grime artists like Skepta, Chipmunk and Tinchy Stryder, young people, like Jamal, found themselves confronted by a world of unbridled creativity. That freedom came through in donning fashion forward sportswear, graphic logos and loose fitting denim. For Jamal, music and style are intrinsically linked. It’s through swapping out outfits and artists that they began the early process of self-excavation. “So many of my musical influences carved a space in the fashion world. You look at Mary J Blige, Missy Elliott, Da Brat or Busta Rhymes. Busta Rhymes was a style icon as much as he’s a music icon. Dennis Rodman too,” they share from their hotel room. “I remember being nine and wanting to dress like Bow Wow. Young Bow Wow was giving stud aesthetic! There were a few black hyper-masculine people who played with the flamboyancy of fashion and that’s how you really dictate an era.”

Now, in their late twenties, Jamal has become a trailblazer in fashion in their own right. They were the first trans model to be nominated for Model of the Year at the 2023 British Fashion Awards, the first Black trans model to walk for Louis Vuitton’s menswear show in 2021, and was lauded as a “voice of a generation” by the late Virgil Abloh. Their modelling, their art, and their ethos is loud, even if they aren’t. In the throes of conversation, their demeanour is grounded; fresh-faced, attentive, lounging off the edge of their bed in a white singlet. In the weeks following a busy, jet-setting fashion month where Jamal walked for Off-White and Willy Chavarria in New York, Burberry in London and Alexander McQueen in Paris, they haven’t had time to pause. They’ve stepped straight into a global Timberland campaign that named them “the icon of a generation,” and now, they’re taking on the mantle of musician. 

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There’s a circularity to Jamal’s career, one that feeds off a skittish type of creativity. Talking about music, Jamal cites artists they’ve been chucking on and dissecting – early Dizzee Rascal to the rise of guitar virtuoso Mk.gee. They relay their own intuitive ways of laying down tracks. While it’s a new direction, Jamal is beginning something few contemporaries can successfully pull off: a sincere reintroduction, with style. So, what’s the big deal? Well, there’s not much difference between poetry and music, really. And that’s what Jamal thought too. Egged on by friends and colleagues, the poet took the advice head-on and established a new musical alias: Kissin’ Teef. You can find clues to this artistic persona through an Instagram page which provides cryptic glimpses into Jamal’s career pivot. Reminiscent of a 2008 indie Tumblr blog, there are photos of Amy Winehouse and Toni Morrison quotes (‘Love is or it ain’t’) – a digital scrapbook steeped in Black culture, creativity, and queer in-betweenness. 

As a poet, Jamal ruminates on the existence of being, using their rhythmic cadence and thoughtful language to probe topics of gender and identity. Their salient words feel like watching raw queerness and transness being unsheathed; their resilient tone couches Black queer people in comfort, and a sense of being seen. “I speak a lot in my poetry about my exploration of gender and queerness but it’s never a complete story. I started thinking about this period of ferocious fearlessness between ages 14 and 16, which I think you only get when you’re that age,” they explain. “It’s about exploring myself without the language that I needed; how clothing, my environment and social situation led to me understanding my non-binary identity. Before I had the word non-binary or trans, I had the word tomboy. Sometimes I feel pigeonholed when talking about my transness and my queerness; I wanted to share the story that happened before I knew what that was.”

Using this distinct time period as a creative touchpoint, Jamal found they were able to capture the emotions of that age through forward-thinking music, drawing inspiration from homegrown rap and hip-hop. “There were certain things in that era that I grew up with. There was that male working-class attitude, which often involved misogyny or involved derogatory sexual advances,” they say. “So, I was like ‘what would happen if I had a grime tune that wasn’t that?’ or ‘what would happen if I was sensitive about how I wrote songs with the wisdom I now have?’ It was bringing that to the table.”

Jamal isn’t fazed by their multiplicities, and their music has offered new opportunities to fully embrace them. Whether a poet, fashion front runner or an artist newcomer, they’ve learned to live in tandem with constant flux. “I’m very used to this idea of existing in multiple spaces, whether it’s race or gender – and that format has followed me everywhere,” they reflect. As they’re talking about their intersecting identities, their eyes brighten recalling a personal epiphany with late fashion designer Virgil Abloh. “I remember having a conversation with Virgil before he passed. I was saying it’s insane that he’s making Louis Vuitton durags. I grew up going to Elephant and Castle market and seeing snides of this concept and, now, I’m with the person who’s brought that into the epitome of high luxury, which is that LVMH space!” they reminisce. “We really laughed about that. I hold on to that memory because it’s a reminder that he, too, was the outsider. We were both these giant kids, in this very lavish building, desperately trying to pull parts of our history, our lineage and our cultural signposts into this space.” 

On their upcoming project, Jamal playfully evokes ideas of what their younger self would be enamoured by. Whether it’s rapping about love and connection, navigating the hood or hearing the sonic world of Kissin’ Teef unfurl, there’s an imperturbable magic to Jamal’s new project. Their music flips delicate poetry into intricate verses wrapped in slang with beats that pay back to grime, funky and UK garage. “I now have tools that allow me to speak in a way that people find articulate but there are certain things I didn’t want to shy away from,” they share. “I wanted to write it in slang. I wanted to use certain words. This is not an education – it doesn’t matter if anyone younger doesn’t understand – this is a peephole into how I lived and there’s no wrong or right about it.” 

Jamal isn’t too bothered if anyone doesn’t listen to their music – (“God forbid that doesn’t happen!”) – but they’re stepping into music to seek solace and reconcile with who they were before. “I’ve spent the last five to eight years running away from my personal history. I’ve had this obsession with transformation and transition,” they say. “When I was a little younger, I thought transition meant completely discarding whatever was before to really claim what is now. I didn’t know what the word trans meant.” Within their music, Jamal collides with the songs of their youth. Jamal’s go-to producer, Proton, also has ties to South London, living only minutes from their mum’s house. It’s these tangible link-ups that have allowed the musician to reconnect with their community. “The musical world, especially grime, UK rap and hip-hop, is a very cis male-dominated space, so being seen by someone like Proton who understood why this is important to me, has allowed me to go back into myself,” they say. “That’s what this project is. I really want people to understand that behind this put-together adult is a very vulnerable kid. I want to show people who my inner child is, and have people fall in love with them just as much as they do when I articulate things in a way that feels profound or mature.” 

As adults, many of us spend time dwelling on the past. Our thoughts linger on the realities born out of coming-of-age experiences: cringe confessions of love, making new friends or experiencing your first heartbreak. As we age, we encounter our younger selves again and again. No matter how hurriedly you rush through the day, you’ll catch a glimpse of a smaller you through an old turn of phrase or a throwback song buried deep in a playlist. For Jamal, they wanted to give a home to their younger self but also prove there’s space for stories of non-binary queer trans Black stories. “I want [listeners] to feel the honesty that comes behind the music. I also want to transcend this idea of what trans people can be like. There isn’t just one format for us, there isn’t just one type of music,” they explain. “A lot of trans people make club music and a lot of trans people make beautiful, classic music. It’s being able to say we do exist here and we are more than what the ideas [of us] are.” 

Kai-Isaiah Jamal stands out as a new era poet and rapper proving there isn’t, really, anything new about transness or queerness. LGBTQIA+ musicians and voices have long been a part of the fabric of innovation in music, even if we haven’t had a chance to see them. “We live in a time where we have the Sam Smiths and Chappell Roans which is amazing and poignant, but it’s also lensed in whiteness. There has to be something other than that as well. I really want people to understand that this is a version of our life too – a version of our life that people don’t talk about or acknowledge,” Jamal continues. 

In the mainstream UK rap sphere, you might think of names like Stormzy or Central Cee, but Kissin’ Teef proves there’s something more to come from the genre. They step into the arena armed with a treasure trove of soon-to-be-released gems, just as primed as the next cis male artist. 

“This is a love letter to my childhood. I’m saying not only did you survive but you’ve made this body of work about it,” Jamal concludes. “It has brought so much joy into my life at a time that when I think back on it, though there was fun and chaos, there was also a lot of suffering. So, to be able to bring this into music that will live forever is something quite special.”

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As seen in CLASH Issue 129. Order your copy here.

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