Across four decades of UK rap and hip-hop, London has been identified as ground zero for the expansive scene which has seen explosive social and cultural impact. As subgenres become concrete with seasoned British rappers forging a niche in the mainstream, all eyes are on the red-hot city for the next big visionary. 

However, there are some names making great waves far beyond the capital. Look roughly two-hundred miles north and you’ll find one of them: Chiedu Oraka. Hailing from North Hull, the self-declared ‘Black Yorkshireman’ embraces his roots unapologetically. This has earned him great reception of his mixtape ‘Misfit’, notable support slots with artists such as Skepta and CASISDEAD and a run of London headline shows.

Recognising that change truly takes a village, Oraka stands proudly as a champion for Hull, using his music to recount his own experiences while creating a space for more vulnerable discourse within UK rap. Sitting down with CLASH, Chiedu reflects with pride on his northern upbringing, his journey into rap and his hopes for a community-minded future. 

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What was your experience of growing up in Yorkshire?

You know what, I think there was definitely a time where I was definitely suffering from an identity crisis. It was probably from being young up until when I even left uni. 2011 is probably when I started to be really comfortable in my skin, whereas before I was living in a bit of an illusion. I was lost before. I wasn’t proud of being different to the environment that I was raised in. So, let me paint this picture. 

I live on one of the roughest council estates in Hull, in the 90s, when there’s no black family really, except for mine. There are a couple of mixed race kids, but they definitely identify more with their white side. So they’re more accepted. Even though I was born in Hull, I still felt like an outsider because of my name, my last name, my Nigerian heritage. Because obviously, outside, it’s a white council estate. But indoors, it’s Nigerian.

I came to terms with that imbalance. But when I’m stepping outside, I just want to fit in. All of my peers are white guys and girls. And that’s in every setting. In the school setting I was the only black kid in my primary school, I was probably one of eight in secondary school. I’ve always been the only one, so I’ve always wanted to fit in and not really celebrate my differences. I sort of forgot about my differences and wanted to push my heritage aside, not knowing that’s what makes me. It was a lot of trials and tribulations. A lot of bumps and scrapes, fighting, racism. 

But for me, that’s my journey and I’m proud of my journey. I had to do a lot of growing up, I had to develop a very thick skin growing up on the estate that I grew up on. It wasn’t just kids that were being racist or discriminatory, but even adults, older people. It was mad. But again, I always say that it was new to them as well. It was new to these people on my estate, where some of them had never really seen black people before. So when this kid is moving on now with his black family, it’s strange to them. And I suppose you only fear what you don’t understand. 

It’s full circle now, because I’m like the king of the estate now. I’m so loved by all age groups through music and just being around, they became familiar with me in the end, and I taught them a lot of stuff. So my upbringing wasn’t bad. There were some dark times, but I do make sure to tell people that I’m not a victim either. There were some torrid times, times where I felt alone and small, but there were also some brilliant times. I wouldn’t change my upbringing in the slightest. The only thing I would’ve changed is me being proud of being different, but when you’re young, you don’t want to make any noise. I just didn’t have the confidence, and even though it was chaotic, I love the fact that I’ve got a thick skin. The past is what’s made me.

What first piqued your interest in rap music? How did you start bridging into grime?

That’s a good question, I’ll just give you a little short story. So, I was always introduced to music from a young age. My mum used to throw house parties, my sister and my big cousin were always going to HMV and Virgin Megastores getting all of the new CDs. R&B and Hip-Hop were constantly getting played in my house. My mum would play a lot of reggae, a lot of afrobeats, and music was just a constant. I suppose when I started getting my own flavour of music, it was American rap at first. I was heavily brought up on people like Tupac, Jay-Z, Busta Rhymes, Nas, you know, all of the familiar names. I then started to delve more into hip-hop with people like Eminem and Dr. Dre. 

How I discovered grime was, we used to go to London all the time to see my Auntie Edith in Stoke Newington. I remember discovering a grime crew called More Fire Crew, and they had a song called ‘Oi’. That was in heavy rotation on the music channels, and that was my introduction. That  was the first grime song I’d ever heard. We never really had satellite TV as a kid growing up, and once my mom got it, I was introduced to Channel U. Then the rest was history. I was just obsessed with it. Obsessed to where all of my friends were like “what is this, why are you listening to this?” We were so used to American hip-hop which was so shiny and polished, whereas grime and UK rap was very underground. The videos weren’t that good, it was proper DIY. But I loved it. I felt like I could identify with it. So from the age of fourteen I just loved it, the style, the fact that they were rapping in an English accent. It made me wish I was from London, or there so I could see this culture firsthand. 

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It sounds like seeing that representation in rap music was a really important moment for you, having the opportunity to see others in a position that you can parallel to yourself. When did you first start dabbling in the music yourself?

I first started by putting pen to paper maybe five or six times. There used to be a lot of house parties at the time. We used to just put on instrumentals, a lot of American hip-hop and rap based instrumentals. I just started messing around with lyrics, just freestyling and not taking it seriously. Then I had a friend who you could say was a rapper. He’d been to a studio, he recorded a few songs professionally, so I just gravitated to him. And he was like, “you know what, you’re actually quite good. Why don’t you actually write actual rhymes?” So I did. I recorded my first song in London in ‘06, I knew a friend, who had a friend, who had a studio. I thought I’d made it because I had one song. It was more locally known and getting passed around. Those times were infrared, where you had to put your phone next to someone else’s and you could pass music around. That song was just making its rounds within Hull and my friendship group. That was my first little bit of “fame”, a few hundred people knew about me. 

That’s really affirming, to know that your first song is quite literally being passed around. You’ve spoken fondly about fostering a loving community in Hull. Back then, did the desire to be from London for the music feel conflicting?

I suppose it wasn’t necessarily about being from London, but being around black people. I just wanted to be around people that looked like me. There was something comforting in seeing black people in music videos from the same country as me, all having fun being in a community. I just wanted that and I loved it. 

Do you feel that going through your musical journey into grime allowed you to develop confidence in your identity, despite not having those same communities?

Yeah, I think so. And also doing some soul-searching, actually being proud. Being a rapper in Hull was crazy. Everyone wanted to be in indie bands or sing with acoustic guitar, so me rapping was very alien. No one was really doing it. There were a few older guys, but they were rapping in American accents and I never really related to them. But my friends and I formed a little collective called Lockdown and we started creating music. We started creating a sort of Hull sound. Rapping in a Hull accent about things that happen in Hull. People found that weird because they were so used to listening to American rap or London rap. Even my people in Hull I had to win over, because they thought it was mad that there was a kid rapping in their accent. They weren’t used to it, so I had to get them on my side.

That’s something I always did. Even though I was influenced by London rap music, I always wanted people to know that I’m from Hull and I’m proud. That came early, because I wanted my home people to relate to it. In the end, they couldn’t ignore me. At first I couldn’t get gigs because like I said, indie music was really popular. I had to force my way through the door just from having an online presence and being relentless. Then people started to take me seriously in my home city. I wanted to give them something that they could identify with through music. I think that’s why they liked me in the end, because one, I’m resilient. And two, they’re thinking, “we’re not used to hearing Hull rap, but at least we can identify with what he’s saying and at least he’s not trying to be something that he’s not.”

Where I come from is a very honest place. Believe it or not, there are people in Hull that rap about guns and other mad things that they see other rappers talk about. But they’re not comfortable in their own skin to rap their own truths, and I’m lucky that I’ve always been able to do that. I think where I was struggling is being culturally comfortable in my own skin. That came later on, after I went to university and did a bit of soul-searching. It probably happened in 2011 when I released my first mixtape. I was out selling my CDs to people, I was doing shows, and that gave me the confidence. 

And I realised that I am a bit of a misfit, but I’m proud of being a misfit. I always felt like I was too black for the white kids, but too white for the black kids. If I was ever around black people, I’d always get reminded “you’re just that Yorkshire boy”, or “you’re just that country boy” as though I’m from the farms, even though Hull is not really like that. But when I was with my white counterparts, people would remind me that I’m black. So there was this crisis that I was going through, and then something just snapped. I just went yeah, I’m proud. I’m Yorkshire black and proud. I’m the black Yorkshireman. I’m a misfit and I’m proud to be that, I’m proud to celebrate my differences. Now I walk around with this cloak on me where you either accept me for being me, or you can do one. I’m black with a Yorkshire accent. So what?

So many black people have been weirded out when I’ve opened my mouth because of my accent, and I used to be embarrassed of that. But what I’ve realised is, it’s actually my superpower. In this industry where the majority is inner-city London people, I used to always say “if I was from London, I’d be so much bigger!” But actually, I love the fact that I’m not from London. I’ve just done a headline show in London. The room was packed, but I’m just a rapper from Hull. Why are people in London coming to see a rapper from Hull? They’re coming to see me because I’m good, and they can identify with my journey. They bought into my journey, they know the music is good and I’m about building my own community. 

Before, I was obsessed with being accepted by the industry according to industry standards. But now I don’t care. Like I said before, accept me on my own terms or don’t accept me at all, because I know I’ve got the talent. For now, all I care about is community building. 

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You can definitely hear that community-building has been crucial to your journey. Starting a collective, having a few people to share your voice. We hear stories brought through American rap and London grime, it sounds like you’ve also found a way to tell Hull’s stories using the music. 

Yeah. In the UK there seems to be one narrative, one default black experience. It’s normally the inner-city London, negative, rude boy on the road sort of experience. But I’m not a roadman, and I’m black. Not every black boy is a roadman. Even though they love to paint this picture in the news and in the media that most black men are killers or dangerous individuals, I don’t come from those surroundings. My experience of being black in this country is very different to the commercialised experience. I’m a black boy that grew up around a lot of white people, my friendship group is predominantly white, growing up going to house parties and being up to no good. Who’s telling those stories? No one, but I am going to. 

I want to make a point that there are so many different black experiences, so let’s stop focusing on one. What about the black people that grew up in white areas, who’s representing them? I’m trying to be that voice. And not even just that experience. With the term misfit, I want to identify with people from all walks of life who really think they’re a misfit. I can’t identify with everybody, but I want to inspire. Maybe for example, someone who wants to learn guitar but feels too scared to learn because all of their friends are into something else. They’re the people that I represent and want to inspire. I want them to think, “if Chiedu can tell his truth, why can’t I?”

Even doing a song about counseling and mental health, we know that mental health is probably one of the biggest killers among black males. Because we’re taught that you need to be tough and let your emotions out. For me, a real man is someone who lets his feelings out, but can also control his emotions at the same time. Not someone who has a stiff upper lip and doesn’t talk to anyone. I’m trying to promote that message, I want men to speak out and not feel weak. I think that’s definitely a misfit thing to do, because not many people are talking about that. People get ridiculed for stuff like that. I want people to realise that it’s okay to be emotional in your music. And if I can influence at least one person to go to counseling, then I’ve made it.

So on that topic, your mixtape ‘Misfit’ was released just this year. What process went into releasing that work and how do you feel about the response?

For the process, I wanted a specific type of sound. I worked with my longtime collaborator Deezkid. He understood the vision, he understood the assignment. He knew the type of production that I wanted. I just wanted to promote a message. I wanted to write a sort of bible for people who might feel uncomfortable in their situation and being their true selves. I want them to listen to this mixtape and think “I can be myself, and if you don’t accept me, you’re the one that’s in the wrong.” That’s what I wanted to do with all the music. I wanted to be vulnerable in it, show off my lyrical ability, some good vibes, and I wanted to have a project that was cohesive. I feel like the projects that I’ve done in the past haven’t been that cohesive, but this one was. It’s something that you can play from track one to track twelve, and all of the tracks marry together. 

And I feel like it’s a project where there’s something on there for everyone. The response has been sensational. This year, musically, has been the best year of my life hands down. Everything has just been amazing. From supporting Manga Saint Hilare, to supporting CASISDEAD, to then going to South By Southwest (SXSW) supporting Skepta out in Austin, Texas which was amazing, did four shows out there. Then I brought out the mixtape, I a billboard in my home city with everyone going there to take pictures and do videos. Then doing Glastonbury, my songs having radio play, getting new audiences and being nominated for a Northern Music Award as Best Newcomer. All the London headline shows. It’s been absolutely crazy, off the scale, the feedback has been brilliant. I just feel like it’s been received so well. 

It sounds like it’s been a really exciting whirlwind. 

It’s been a whirlwind but I’m so blessed. I thank God every day for what he’s blessed me with this year. I feel like this year has affirmed to me that my dreams are coming true. I’ve been grafting for this. I remember people asking me if I was nervous about doing Glastonbury, I said no, I wasn’t nervous. The reason being that I’ve been preparing for this moment my whole life. I wasn’t nervous, I deserve to be on the stage. That’s not me being cocky or arrogant, but we’re talking about fifteen years of graft, and I just want more. 

One thing that I really struggle to do is give myself a pat on the back. I need to learn how to enjoy the moment. I struggle to, because I’m always thinking about what’s next and getting to the next target. The thought of me being complacent scares me. But then I like to do humbling things. I’ve just come back from delivering a lyric workshop on my estate, I love to do things like that. I’ve just been with six young men for three hours delivering that workshop, where I performed three songs in front of them, and then they were performing in front of me. It was beautiful. 

These are kids who have got nothing. I’m so passionate about kids who are on council estates, kids who have nothing. I’m so passionate because I feel like these kids could be the next Chiedu Oraka, the next Stormzy, whatever. I feel like they deserve a fair crack at the whip. If I can go back and deliver stuff to them and give them a chance, then I’m winning. I have to and it’s my responsibility. In my area I’m a very known person because of my music, and it would be unfair if I didn’t give back. 

Another thing that I’m a part of is I’m an ambassador for a hospice. This is probably the best thing that has happened to me this year. Glastonbury, SXSW, all of that stuff doesn’t come close to me being asked to be an ambassador for the hospice. Because I go in and speak to groups of kids who have lost their parents, and these are the bravest kids that I’ve ever met in my life. I’m privileged that they even open up to me and speak about their experiences. 

This is what I was put on the earth to do. It doesn’t matter, all the rap stuff and the ego stuff. If I can give back and help these vulnerable people, that means more to me than anything. 

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Of course, embracing those humbling moments is so important and it sounds like you’re doing amazing work. I know you don’t want to think too far ahead, but what do you feel is next for you?

I really want to do more collaborations. Work with new producers, new artists. I think next year I want to release two EPs, and by 2026 I would love to do the ‘Black Yorkshireman’ album. I feel like, by the grace of God, fingers crossed, touch wood, by then the status will be higher. I’ll be doing more stuff. I feel like the people will be ready for the album then.

You’ve shared a glimpse of what collaboration might look like with the orchestral renditions of ‘Counselling’ and ‘Rhythm Of My Pain’. Did this inspire you to want to branch out more? What was it like?

It was amazing. If I had enough money, I would’ve done the full album. For someone like me and where I come from, it’s so deprived. Nothing much happens there. So for a kid off of that estate to do two tracks with an orchestra, it means a lot. I never thought of that in my wildest dreams. That sort of music isn’t accessible for people like me, it’s more for the upper class. For me to be able to do two tracks, be in that room, hear that energy from the strings, the flutes, the cellos, what a moment and what an experience. It was a bit out of my comfort zone, but I’m so glad that I did it. And I feel like I executed it very well. Definitely one of the highlights of my career.

I want to do some mad stuff. I don’t want to be just your everyday rapper. I want to dabble in other genres. You might hear me on punk or indie, rock or whatever, or even dance or house music. I want to be as versatile as possible because I think the sky’s my limit. Dream high, because dreams are big. I don’t see myself as an everyday artist, if I can afford to do it, I’ll do it. 

What would you say to a young person who might hear one of your songs, see a video of your performance and think, “that’s who I want to be?”

My advice would be that this game is not for the faint-hearted. You’re seeing Chiedu Oraka on stage at Glastonbury, supporting Skepta at SXSW, but that didn’t happen overnight. Try to build a thick skin. Step out of your comfort zone and do things that scare you. Build some resilience. Make sure you’re determined. And if you really want something, go grab it, and it will happen if you put the work in.

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‘Misfit’ (Deluxe) is out now.

Words: Kayla Sandiford
Photo Credit: Luke Hallett

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