Have you heard of the “Rapbrary?”
For those who haven’t, it’s the brainchild of Roy Kinsey, who developed the one-of-a-kind library to preserve rap and hip-hop as culturally significant literary art forms, foster creativity, preserve marginalized voices and fight censorship, among other things. Kinsey hopes that the Rapbrary will lay the groundwork for an expansive project that lasts generations.
Recently, Kinsey talked with Windy City Times about his life, his new children’s book and representation.
Note: This conversation was edited for clarity and length.
Windy City Times: Unlike me, you’re a lifelong Chicagoan. So what was it like growing up in this city?
Roy Kinsey: I’ve been thinking more often because I just became the branch manager here in Austin, at the Richard. M. Daley branch. But I think growing up, I don’t know—there was a lot happening. That’s a good question coming out of the door, but I think I’ve always felt old.
WCT: You have an old soul.
RK: Yes—I have an old soul.
I had parents [who] worried about me. I wanted to be grown when I was young, but I was also very cared for. So I do remember being nurtured. A lot of Black communities are very matriarchal; women are carrying the community on their backs and they’re always giving back.
There’s a lot of women [who] are volunteering their time, like with nonprofit communities. So I did come from that as well. A lot of aunties and a lot of mother figures that were caring for you.
WCT: From what I have gathered, the Rapbrary seems like it was just a natural progression for you, given your background. [Note: Kinsey has released several hip-hop works, both solo and as part of collaborations.]
RK: Yeah, it was. It was very natural. It’s really nice, I think, to know what your purpose is and to be able to walk and move in that direction. It’s also nice to see how you are affirmed when you do walk in that path, as opposed to doing something else.
There was a time when I was first beginning to rap that you want what you see, which is to be signed to a major label and [go on] really big tours. That’s the life you think you want.
And ultimately, I think you kind of mature and get to a point where you want to be able to live off of your art, right? But people talk about how your rejection is your protection, and there has been so much coming out recently about all of the harm that’s happened within the music industry.
But I am able to really understand the power of not only storytelling, but of the culture of hip-hop. I’m still able to revere it and to look at it as this culture. I still love hip-hop from the ‘90s—Tupac, Biggie, Lil’ Kim, Foxy [Brown], Queen Latifah, DMX, Jay-Z and all those people. They made me proud to be Black and made me want to be a part of the culture. It’s the essence that I’m trying to kind of keep alive with something like Rapbrary.
All of them were natural storytellers. And it was that practice that liberated me. Rap/hip-hop was the only realm that made me feel despite my circumstances of being a young, dark-skinned, gay kid on the West Side. I knew that if I could rap well, that I was going to be all right—that I had some street credibility.
It made me believe in myself. It gave me confidence. And then ultimately, it made me understand that queers in hip-hop are the natural evolution of hip-hop. It wasn’t asking if we could be a part of it—it was understanding that we had been a part of it the entire time, you know?
WCT: There are so many people in rap, though, who push against the queer presence and the queer contingent to this day. From your perspective and from what you’ve witnessed, do you agree?
RK: How do I say this? You know, I believe that there is a lot of homophobia that exists within hip-hop because there’s a lot of homophobia that still exists within the world. And so if these things exist within hip-hop and hip-hop is its own world, I want us to be in a lot of pockets and corners of hip-hop. There are liberatory spaces. But the thing that exists within hip-hop exists in other genres of music as well, right?
A lot of country music is still very homophobic. Gospel music is very homophobic. The church is still very homophobic. The government is homophobic. The world is homophobic.
We’re within the walls and in the doors of hip-hop, we’re talking about hip-hop, I you know, I want us to grow up and have different ideas and expand them. But what I want for hip-hop is what I want for the world: I want all of us to grow up. I want us, as a species, to grow up out of homophobia, out of hate, out of lacking empathy, out of not having compassion.
WCT: You mentioned some of the rappers from back in the day and I was also all about Public Enemy. But how would you compare the rap of that era to today’s rap?
RK: I think that we’ve come back around to the essence. Now, the difference is that there’s so much music being made and consumed right now that it’s not hard to make the argument like “Oh, this music isn’t really saying anything.” I love that we have come back around to someone like Kendrick Lamar, who is not only an incredible storyteller and an incredible writer but—as somebody who is unapologetically Black in their music and their perspective—who cares about issues affecting Black people in America and speaks to that regularly. You don’t see that very often.
[But sometimes] you get someone like Lil Wayne, who asked a female interviewer, “What is Black Lives Matter?” Years ago, Michael Jordan was, like, “Republicans buy shoes too, right?” Or OJ Simpson, who said, “I’m not Black, I’m OJ.” There are people who think that because you’re rich, they are above the culture. I just hated that. I just have always, I’ve always really despised that.
Now, Black artists are talking about the Black experience in their music. I’m glad that we’re back to that point because it was a time where I felt like artists were almost incentivized to leave Black culture behind in rap.
WCT: Now regarding the Rapbrary, is that something people can access online or is it an in-person thing?
RK: So right now, there’s one location that is in Bronzeville. It’s a special library that is dedicated to having people understand rap as a literary art form. So they’re looking at the artists as authors and looking at their albums as books. It’s a book sanctuary. To make sure that we are keeping these books that are being challenged, we want to keep them safe and accessible.
The Austin Town Hall Park is another location that has some of the Rapbrary collection. And I’m working on an online space where people can check out books; we mail them to them and then they send them back to us.
WCT: And speaking of books, we have to talk about your new work,D’Angelo and the Dandelion. D’Angelo is your middle name, right?
RK: You did your research.
WCT: Tell me a little bit about this book because it sounds really interesting.
RK: Well, I think that goes back to kind of how we were starting the conversation and you were asking me about growing up. I think writing the children’s book was me returning and embracing my inner child.
I wanted to tell a younger me that it was okay that you like flowers, that it’s okay that you like dandelions—and, actually, you were onto something. I know that everybody probably teased you and told you that these weren’t real flowers, that these were weeds. But if you live long enough, you will see that this dandelion has medicinal properties, it’s a part of people’s cuisine and more. It speaks to the wisdom of children as well, right?
I think it’s a personal story, but it’s a universal story as well. What kid didn’t run around picking up dandelions? Every kid has that experience. I think D’Angelo and the Dandelion is a reclamation of that inner wisdom, that childlike wonder, and also permission to children everywhere that it is okay and not only okay, but there’s strength in you being different. There’s strength in your vulnerability.
[Actress] Teyana [Taylor] said it in her speech [after winning a Critics’ Choice Award recently]—that our softness is not a liability. We’re putting the finishing touches on the book and I’m, like, “Oh, that’s going to be on the first page before we even start the story. It’s like, I’m going to put Teyana Taylor’s quote in there.”
WCT: My last question: What does representation mean to you?
RK: Representation is the reason I do everything. It’s the reason why I put my face on all of my art. It’s the reason that I name certain things. It’s the reason that I make sure that I put these stories in the forefront.
So you get [the album] Blackie: A Story byRoy Kinsey. You get [the albums] KINSEY: A Memoir and Dandelions: Gods Don’t Cry. I wasn’t always celebrated, dark-skinned folks weren’t always celebrated and queer folks weren’t always celebrated, so I feel like it’s my responsibility to make us the protagonist of the story. It was important for me, on Blackie: A Story byRoy Kinsey, to talk about the great migration within the culture of hip-hop, because there is no hip-hop without the Great Migration.
[Some people] don’t want us to know that things were worse than this and that our ancestors got through it. Those ancestors left us a blueprint and it’s in the museums, books and universities. Of course, they don’t want us to know that, right? And so, by reading Black stories—fiction or nonfiction—there’s our tradition of oral storytelling. And that is moving its way into rap. Representation is absolutely everything.
If we don’t take ownership over our arts and over our culture, in five or 10 years, it’ll be like we were never here.
To find out more about the Rapbrary, visitthis link.