“An Asian rapper? It feels like an impossible reality”: Jianbo on doing it for the family

This story appears in Huck 82: The Music Issue. Order your copy now.

South London rapper Jianbo knew he was doing alright when he got recognised in the Croydon car park of legendary Asian supermarket Wing Yip. A woman in a people carrier rolled down her window, blasting his single ​‘Mongkok Madness’ off the 2022 EP, Yellow Peril. ​“She was like, ​‘Waah, ming sing [Cantonese for ​‘pop star’]!” he laughs. ​“Then she just drove off.”

You could easily slot Jianbo into the rising global movement of third culture East and Southeast Asian rappers (see: Indonesian enfant terrible Rich Brian or Japanese-Australian producer-singer Joji) but really, he’s the kind of sonic magpie that only London could produce. Born in Deptford to Chinese and Vietnamese refugees, he layers lyrical grime bars on top of post-punk bass lines, propulsive UKG beats and finishes it off the experimental flair of South London’s jazz scene, courtesy of collaborators like INDIA BLUE and Charlie Wayne of Black Country, New Road. 

Add in his eye for dramatic Wong Kar Wai meets Kill Bill visuals – featuring car chases, talking decapitated heads and neon-lit housing estates – and you have the makings of a bona fide star. We met him outside the appropriately Bruce Lee-inspired coffee shop in Spitalfields, to talk about his Deptford roots, how grief informed his new record Everything For the Family and how he’ll always be proud to rep his culture.

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Congrats on the release! How long has it been in the making?

About two years. I started when my best friend Dom passed away. I was just making music for the sake of it because it was like therapy. Before I knew it, I’d made a 12-track mixtape. 

I’m sorry to hear about Dom – how far back did you guys go? 

My mum’s still got a photo of him on the fridge from when we were 12. He was my best friend from day one. His mum gave me his guitar pedal with saved loops on it – I made one of the songs, ​‘Exhale’, out of his recordings from beyond the grave.

How did you channel that loss into the mixtape?

A lot of it’s about loyalty and brotherhood. We grew up together in poverty – we shared a bed so many times in our lives together, running out of electricity all the time… Grief’s a crazy thing, you know? I’ve never had anyone die that was that close to me. 

What would Dom think of the record? 

[laughs] He didn’t give a shit about my rap career. He had that unconditional love for me. When I was in Hong Kong with him two years ago, people were showing me mad love. He was like: ​“What the fuck, bro? It’s so weird, everyone licking your arse.” 

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And you were born and bred in South London, where you met Dom?

I’m very much a Chinese takeaway baby. My mum still works at one. Even when I was 14, 15 – all my friends were out on the weekend doing whatever, I was at the takeaway till 10:30pm. My first four music videos I did, I put Chinese takeaways in them. I’m proud of it. 

Were you always this proud of it? 

Definitely not. I was embarrassed as a kid. You want to fit in. You don’t want to go to the party smelling like chicken balls and fucking sesame prawn toast.

So when did that start changing for you? 

You know what’s funny? This whole [music thing] was a reaction to COVID. It was a racist time! I lived in Deptford for so many years. I had never been racially abused there because it was so Asian. Then COVID happened… People crossed the road when they saw you, remember that shit? I spent my whole life trying to blend in with the mandem, trying to be some London guy. Then when it came down to it… suddenly all I was to people was a Chinese COVID guy. The truth is you can’t run from it [your identity] if you try, so maybe you should just stand on it in full force.

What was growing up south like? I think people have a really one-dimensional view of the place.

South London was a crazy place 15 years ago. My friend died at 15 after school – he got stabbed in the neck. Mad shit happened all the time. But also I loved it. I had so much fun in my teenage years as well – it wasn’t all bad. I wasn’t well behaved, no! My mum kicked me out of the house when I was 16, 17. I was just getting into trouble all the time.

• Read next: In a city of rapid gentrification, one south London estate stands firm

Where did your love of music come from?

My cousin gave me a Hi-Fi system when I was 13. That’s when I really got into grime and dubstep, and UK shit – I loved Dizzee Rascal on the radio sets, my cousin used to give me all the Sidewinder rips and recordings from raves that I was far too young to go to. But I always idolised it – I always wanted to be one of those guys. 

In your earliest track, ​‘S.H.A.O.L.I.N.’, you do have a much more grime flow than you do now. 
I recorded that tune in 2016. I took a massive break from music, because you know what it’s like trying to be an Asian rapper? It feels like an impossible reality. Even when I was making tunes back then, I didn’t release them because I was like: ​“This ain’t going nowhere.” It was only later down the line that I gained that kind of self-confidence. 

What kind of support were you getting? 

Among my peers, it was always cool. But I got a lot of racism; a lot of people didn’t want to see a Chinese rapper. Here’s the thing though: If you’re actually in South London, everyone grew up with someone who’s Chinese or Vietnamese and is from the estates. But the rest of the world wasn’t ready for that reality, you know what I mean? By the time I started releasing the music, I felt like it was like people were open to this idea. 

What changed?
It’s a generational thing. By the 2020s, we’d had African people and Caribbean people and Indian people making music in the UK. Maybe then it was okay for someone from my background to do it, you know? 

• Read next: Uplifting, intimate portraits of young British Chinese men

What do you think defines that London attitude and vibe? 

We definitely have a way more integrated mentality. If you go to America and you go to the Vietnamese neighbourhood, everyone’s fucking Vietnamese. When I was growing up in Deptford, hella Vietnamese people there, yeah? But also Chinese, Jamaicans, Nigerians – everyone has to live in the same two mile square radius. We truly have the melting pot of ideas. I feel more creative in London for that reason. 

Have you gotten any good advice on your come-up? Any mentors in rap? 

For me, it’s actually [Doctor Strange actor and DJ] Benedict Wong. He just messaged me on Instagram because he liked what I was doing. I was just overwhelmed by it. He came to some of the shows and we’ve been friends ever since. He grew up doing this at a time when it was even harder. He’s seen it all and been through it all. 

You signed to British-Asian record label Eastern Margins for this release and last year you headlined their inaugural Margins United festival. How does it feel to be part of that wider culture of ESEA people doing creative things in the UK?

That show was fucking crazy. I had 50 people onstage. I had like 50 people on stage with me – all my friends and all the fucking Vietnamese baddies. Benedict Wong was on stage, fucking Phil Wang was out there watching it. There’s more to me than just being Asian, obviously, but it’s really cool to have a safe space.

You collaborate with people like Black Country, New Road – not the most obvious pairing for a rapper. How did you get to know them? 

I’ve always found people who are from different worlds really curious to me. They’re these band guys who got trained at Guildhall – I’m not musically trained at all. That’s infinitely fascinating to me. Whereas I think the least interesting thing I can do is make tunes with other rappers.

• Read next: Inside the UK’s first festival dedicated to East and Southeast Asian alternative culture and music

Let’s talk about your epic music videos – I get the feeling you pull it all together on no money at all. 

It’s always been done on a shoestring. There’s a scene [in ​‘Chinatown Trouble’] where I’m driving and they’re shooting through the car window. I rented that fucking suction pad and mounted a 50 grand camera to the car. As soon as we started driving, I was like, ​“This is a bad idea. I’ve got an uninsured camera attached to a sports car and we’re driving through Blackwall Tunnel with six guys on motorbikes and imitation firearms.” We held up traffic that day! These days I do it more legitimately. 

That’s serious technical know-how. Do you have a background in film or TV production? 

In my early 20s, I was sound mixing on adverts and shit. That’s how I made loads of friends to help me out. I always have this chat with labels: ​“Jianbo, you’d be much better spending this money doing some TikTok videos”. Maybe you’re right – but I’m just making the art I wanna make.

Where does that cinematic vision come from? You reference a lot of ​’90s Hong Kong cinema. 

That’s the most obvious reference point. But I was also so aware that a big part of my selling point is that people listen to my tune and they go, ​“Rah bro, I didn’t realise that was you!” There’s an element of shock factor – they’ll like the tune, hear the deep South London voice rapping and they’re going to see the image of me and all my Asian dons with nunchucks out, doing burnouts [spinning a stationary car so the wheels produce smoke].

We have this mad rich, ancient culture. Man used to think we were all nerdy, you know? This is a slice of UK culture but it’s not represented. If I’m gonna do it, goddamn, I’m gonna have to be an ambassador for this shit. Let’s paint the culture in as beautiful and as sick a light as possible. It is British and it is Chinese – but really it’s this new thing. 

Everything for the Family is out now via Eastern Margins.

Zing Tsjeng is a journalist and author of Forgotten Women. Follow her on Instagram.

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