Boardroom talks with the former Roc Nation rapper about his new album, new retail strategy, and his new outlook on mental health.
Vic Mensa has always been an independently minded rapper, quick to speak out on injustices and always transparent regarding his role in the music industry. For the release of his latest EP, Sundiata, the Chicago-born, LA-based rapper decided to up the ante more aggressively, handling every aspect of the release. Sundiata marked his first project since wrapping up his label deal with Roc Nation, and he used the EP as a test case for how he plans to operate in the future.
If you’re looking to queue up the project or add it to a new playlist, you’re out of luck. The album is available exclusively on sundiata.vicmensa.com. Alongside the project comes a community chat platform, exclusive content, and access to an exclusive live listening session. Getting Sundiata off the ground was a labor of love.
For album promotional materials, like social media clips, Mensa had to handle everything from pre-production to the final cut. As he explained to Boardroom via Zoom after returning from Paris Fashion Week, “I’m hiring all the personnel from the director of photography to the gaffers and prop masters. I’m personally going to rent all that equipment, do location scouting, and handle payouts.” Producers, writers, engineers? They all got paid directly from Mensa.
It was an exhausting, grueling process for Vic, but one he’ll take many lessons from as he begins to plot how he wants to release music in the future. “If I understand the structures at a higher level, then as I scale and delegate, I can rebuild the team of my choosing, not just the team that is assigned to me,” he explains. “I have a better understanding of the nuts and bolts of the machine.”
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BOARDROOM: You just got back from Paris Fashion Week. How was it?
VIC MENSA: It was cool. I was just putting the pieces together on that side of things.
How much of your time is on the fashion front?
Not a ton yet. I was going to shows, meeting with designers and staff of different companies. I was just building relationships and connecting with different artists — people that are in my orbit and in my network. When you have music out, when you’re working on and releasing new projects, it’s good to get in the mix and be outside.
What’s been the biggest difference in that approach now that you’ve gone completely independent?
I’m now manning all posts of the ship with a very lean team. Everybody’s wearing all hats at once. I’m at the helm of all content creation, from filming my own things, editing, coloring, and following a really rigorous social media schedule. I’ve directed videos before, but in this current role, I’m in charge of everything. I’m hiring all the personnel from the director of photography to the gaffers and prop masters. I’m personally going to rent all that equipment, do location scouting, and handle payouts.
Now, I handle payment for the personnel involved in creative projects, from producers to musicians and everything else. I deal with fucking web development and troubleshooting tech, newsletters and fan engagement platforms, SMS messaging — all of the things that go into creating and releasing music. I’ve always been integrally involved with all facets of the creative process — writing, production, mixing, and things like that — but I’ve never been so involved in all the aspects of the business.
There’s obviously so much that’s rewarding about that, but has it been worth it for you to take on everything for that independence?
It’s a learning experience, and I think it is worth it because it’s given me a different level of investment in my own music. I have to do everything with just a few people that obviously make it possible. It is really just me and Megan, in a management capacity, doing everything. I have more skin in the game than ever, even though I’ve always had it. Obviously, I’m an artist, I write my music, etc. It’s a complete extension of me, my personality, my personhood, my humanity. But it’s different to literally do everything.
It’s incredibly valuable because I’m learning the comprehensive structure of the thing. I’m in a better position moving forward to have a sustainable business. I’ve definitely been really badly burned by business managers who fucked me over, gave me massive debt through structures I didn’t understand. If I understand the structures at a higher level, then as I scale and delegate, I can rebuild the team of my choosing, not just the team that is assigned to me. I have a better understanding of the nuts and bolts of the machine.
There have been plenty of artists who have released things independently, but you’ve also eschewed the streaming system entirely. Plus, you’ve made an entire network with exclusive content. How did this idea form to make Sundiata an immersive world outside of the music industry?
For this project, I wanted to try something new, and I wanted to do something that I could own in its entirety and present it as a journey to take with my supporters. That’s why I didn’t want it as widely available, I wanted it to be only for me and the people that care the most about my art. In the future, who knows. I’m going to put my music on streaming because I want everybody to be able to hear it. But since this is the first time that I’ve been independent in a long time, I felt like it was an empowering opportunity to circumvent traditional structure that everybody has criticisms of.
I know you’re a new dad. How did fatherhood play into the themes of Sundiata?
It’s completely interconnected with this project, from the lyrical themes to the visual presentation. My son’s name is Mansa Musa, who’s the most well-known West African Emperor and widely regarded as the wealthiest man in history. I’ve been very inspired by that part of the world in the creation of my current music and projects. I chose to call this project Sundiata because he was Mansa Musa’s predecessor. It’s weaving that story together.
When did you first start studying African history?
I’ve had my son’s name for at least 10 years, but I began to study it more intently when we found out he was coming. I had a Mansa book that I was reading in the hospital when he was being born.
Switching gears a little bit, you’ve been very open about your mental health. Was it difficult to be that vulnerable with your audience?
Talking about mental health is a tightrope for me. I’m comfortable with it in music. I’m generally comfortable with it on social media — in front of a camera and shit like that. Sometimes, though, I’m very uncomfortable talking about it in person with people that I have real relationships with. I’ve just been working on facing fear in all facets and all aspects of my life, having faith that I’m in the right direction and that by being comfortable with those things that I can grow stronger to transcend.
I’m a complex person. We all are. Everyone is complex. Considering that I’ve been in some sort of the public eye since I was a little kid, people have seen so many different sides of me. They’re seen really hopeful optimism and my youngest offerings, and then me when I’m really dejected, depressed, and pessimistic. They’ve seen volatile behavior and scandals and vulnerability. I’m sharing more of that. I guess I’m just being authentically myself, and I’m not sure what people make of it.
I don’t know what the fuck people think, you know what I mean? Ultimately, it’s not really up to me. I can’t determine that. You know what I’m saying? I know who I am. There’s strength in vulnerability. I come from a place where that’s taboo, especially for men. But man, I come from an incredibly violent environment. I was thinking about this yesterday. I was writing a rap, and it was something that really made me have to leave — the level of depravity and violence that I was raised around. I just moved out of Chicago. There was a time when I had been to two Lakeshore balloon vigils for my young friends, who died of gun violence one summer apart. One of my guys I grew up with, man, he died in a shootout in his mother’s home with an AR-15 from his blood brother.
That’s awful.
It’s regular shit to me, though, and that’s terrible. I guess I’m saying that I come from such a hectic ass environment and have made my whole self-identity be tough. That’s how I always live my life. Fighting, fighting, fighting, fighting, fighting. That shit never took me nowhere because it’s just a defense mechanism that we do to run away from fear or to circumvent. The appearance of fear is violence in those ways. I’m just trying other ways to cope.
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