Krept and Konan: ‘The media mistaking rappers for footballers is always going to happen'

Independent

07-02-2025

In a lot of ways, Krept and Konan would have had an easier go of it had they hit it big a decade later than they did. As it happened, the duo, whose real names are Casyo Johnson and Karl Wilson, emerged from south London's road rap scene in the early 2010s – a time when British rap was not in nearly as healthy a place as it is these days. 'The world wasn't embracing UK rap like right now,' says Konan.
The duo's biography, then, is full of firsts and broken records: their first major mixtape, Young Kingz, became the highest charting UK release by an unsigned act when it dropped in 2013; their first album, 2015's hard-edged The Long Way Home, was the highest charting British rap album ever; two years later, the dual release of 7 Days and 7 Nights, an authoritative, thrilling push into the mainstream, saw Krept and Konan become the first act to have two mixtapes simultaneously enter the Top 10. Their last record, 2020's acclaimed Revenge is Sweet, had them headlining London's O2 – the first British rap act to do so.
Every step of the way, they've fought for recognition and respect from an industry playing catch-up. So yes, Krept concedes, it would have been easier were they coming up as young rappers now. 'But then if we didn't do it, who would have made it easier for us?' he shrugs. 'That's the question. We're proud of the role we played in getting everything to where it is now – and the role we still play.'
After 15 years in the business, the pair are seasoned pros by now – all easy confidence and breezy charisma as we sit down around an office table in Shoreditch. Notably, though, not a label's office, because – after nine years tied to Virgin – they are newly independent, and happy about it. 'It wasn't a deal we should have stayed in as long as we did,' says Krept. 'It had turned into a bad deal.' Today, he's wearing grime 's de facto uniform – a matching tracksuit; Konan, a Stone Island puffer coat he keeps on for the whole of our time together.
Given their long legacy – it's a wonder they're still both only 35 – it's tempting to look backwards, to rack up those broken records, sit back and marvel at their influence on the industry (it was they who inspired Stormzy, for example, to quit his steady job at an oil refinery to focus instead on music). But Krept and Konan are no throwback act.
Today, they release Young Kingz II, a follow-up album to the original mixtape and a sequel 12 years in the making that shows a rap act as vigorous as ever. On the Ghetts feature track 'Rage' and drill-influenced 'Last Night in Kingston', bars land hard and fast, as puns, images and metaphors stack on top of one another in a dizzying pile-up. Classic road rap is a core component of the tracklist, but on 'Smooth Lovin' and 'Low Vibrations', the duo take a step towards a more international sound, with infectious dancehall bops that pay homage to their roots in Jamaica, where Krept and Konan wrote most of the album.
'It was something we've both always wanted to do,' says Konan of their trip. 'Go back to the roots of where we came from, absorb the energy and take it all in.' In Jamaica, he was able to visit his dad's grave. His father, Delroy Wilson, was a legendary reggae singer known for his soulful voice. He died in 1995, when Konan was six. 'You mention Konan's dad in any room in Jamaica or play his music, man…' says Krept, trailing off. It's the sort of legacy they both aspire to; they're on their way, I suggest. Play their summer anthem 'Freak of the Week' at any party and the response speaks for itself.
On the album is 'Delroy's Son', a candid, cathartic address to Konan's late dad; preceding it is 'Nala's Song', a love letter from Krept to his young daughter. Young Kingz II has several moments like this, when the beach vibe and hard-edged machismo are broken by a sudden revelation or show of vulnerability. It's nothing new for the duo, who laid their emotions bare as early as 2013 with 'My Story', about the fatal shooting of Konan's stepfather and the wounding of his mother. Tracks since have discussed the suicide of their friend and business partner Nyasha 'Nash' Chagonda, and the death of Krept's cousin and fellow rapper, Cadet.
'Music is like therapy, innit,' says Konan. 'Growing up, we didn't really have people that we could talk to about our things or situations, so when we can express our emotions through our art, it always comes out in such a beautiful way. I think that's a big part of why we have built up such a loyal fanbase over the years – because we're vulnerable and open in our music.'
Music is like therapy, yes, but Konan turned to the real thing in Channel 4's Untold: Konan – Trapped in Trauma. The 2023 documentary saw the rapper undergo therapy for PTSD from the murder of his stepfather. He had been hesitant at first, but the pandemic convinced him. 'I was there on my own going through the Covid period, and I just felt I didn't feel as happy as I should with everything that I had accomplished, and I needed to get to the root of it,' he says.
Krept was encouraging of his friend's process ('I was there witnessing certain things that he had to go through, and I know how difficult it was because I saw the effects more than anybody else,' Krept says).
As on stage, Krept and Konan have an easy chemistry. It's rare they overlap in conversation; instead, each listens patiently to the other before chiming in. It's a fine-tuned double act, a partnership of equals that is undeniably the product of decades of close friendship. It's remarkable, really, that they've stayed together so long in an industry fraught with egos and money.
There are a number of factors to their longevity: genuine friendship for one, as well as shared goals and morals. 'I also think just where we come from… it doesn't make sense to get famous and then fall out over something that we never would've had without each other anyway. We're both very logical that way,' says Krept. 'And the plan was always to get big together anyway.'
'The only thing we argue about is who goes first on a song,' adds Konan. And how do they solve that? 'It's just whoever went second in the last one.' They both laugh. 'Literally it's easy. Logical. It doesn't have to go beyond that.'
They met at a bus stop as teenagers growing up in Gipsy Hill, where gang activity was rife. Artists often talk about the strange transition period between obscurity and fame. For Krept and Konan, whose lives before were marked by gang violence, that distance felt even more extreme. 'You have to mentally change your perspective,' says Krept. 'You're in rooms you never thought you were going to be in, and speaking to different types of people. You've got to unlearn certain behaviour you learnt growing up on the road. I'd see someone looking at me for too long, and I'd think it was confrontation, but they just wanted a picture.'
Their past makes them more alert, they say – although, adds Krept, that does tend to be the default mode of any Londoner these days. 'Even not to do with street culture, you can see how dangerous it is in general for people walking around the streets of central London,' he says. 'Sometimes it's not connected to that at all.' Such as when he was stabbed in 2019 at a BBC Radio 1Xtra gig in Birmingham. He isn't keen to speak about the attack today, but wants to stress that it was not gang-related. 'It was people seeing an opportunity,' he says. 'Nothing to do with street culture.'
Neither of them like to dwell too much on what their lives would look like had music not worked out for them. 'Sometimes you don't want to know,' laughs Konan. 'I don't know if it would've been positive, so we're just going to leave that one alone. But we're here now, and we've made the most of this, and we're going to continue to make the most of this.'
Truly they have. Inspired by Jay Z's empire, Krept and Konan have started several businesses including a dessert eatery (the impeccably named Crepes & Cones), an events company, and an award-winning all-natural babycare line. Now, they're opening a 15,000 sq ft 'inclusive' supermarket in Croydon. 'You know how your mum would always go to the World Food aisle in Sainsbury's? It's like that, but it's the whole shop' is how they describe it.
Over the years, they've witnessed how British rap has evolved – and with it, the public's perception of the music and the artists making it. It was only 10 years ago that their Brits performance with Kanye West was the subject of controversy, receiving hundreds of Ofcom complaints ostensibly because it was a group of Black men in black tracksuits on stage rapping and having a good time. 'Everybody's just vibing,' recalls Krept, grinning. 'It was sick. That some people felt intimidated by seeing us enjoying ourselves, that's up to them.'
Things are improving, they both agree. 'Rappers are represented way better now that there are people from the culture that are in the media,' says Konan. 'And people have seen it long enough to understand it, so I think it's in a good place. Man, obviously mistakes are still going to be made, naturally... [like] the media mistaking rappers for footballers. That's always going to happen. That's just how the game is, but it's in a way better position than it was when we first came into it.'
Alongside the business ventures, they founded the Positive Direction Foundation to help kids off the street and into music. They've campaigned, too, against the criminalisation of drill, speaking on the issue at the Houses of Parliament. On the subject of politics, I wonder whether they ever considered turning down the BEM they received in the 2020 Queen's honours; others, including their early collaborator George the Poet, rejected similar awards in protest at the British empire. 'Nah,' says Konan. 'We hadn't even thought about it. It just felt like someone paying recognition to our hard work. It's something we can show our kids. George the Poet is justified in their reasons, but for us we're just trying to get as much flowers as we can while we're here.'
His words remind me of a lyric in 'Delroy's Son': 'You drank yourself to death because all you wanted was your flowers, and I've never said it, but that's why it bothers me when I don't get the credit.' There is a prevailing sense that in some ways, Krept and Konan still aren't paid their dues. I get the sense that it's also why they've diversified as much as they have. 'We gotta leave our mark,' says Konan. 'For me, it's when it's all said and done, and you meet God and he says, 'What did you do here?' I can say, 'This and this and this.'' He and Krept both laugh. As for the people they leave behind on Earth? 'They're gonna say, 'Yeah, Krept and Konan, they tried – they tried everything.''