Fort Wayne underground hip-hop artist Sankofa chose his name because of its powerful meaning. In the Ghanaian language Akan, “sankofa” is a concept that emphasizes the importance of learning from past experiences to improve future outcomes.
It’s a message that’s also present in Sankofa’s music. He was born in Australia, where as a teenager he achieved what he considers his greatest award: Geelong Citywide Lego Champion in 1986. His family moved to California when he was still a youth, and the influence of hip-hop artists in the area helped to shape both his sound and his affinity for the culture. Those early travels set what would become a pattern in his life: When he was older, he lived in China for a spell, and was active in the hip-hop community there. He dabbled in open mics and put on a few freestyle performances. He also spent three weeks in Sweden working on music, the results of which—a tape called Jonah’s Saucony EP—were released in 1998. Two years later, with the producer Kashal-Tee, he released Emasculation, which topped the Swedish vinyl charts for several months.
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Over the years, he’s amassed a sprawling catalog of over 60 titles, all characterized by his energetic, entertaining, and empowering lyricism. The legendary Nina Simone once said, “An artist’s duty is to reflect the times,” an idea that Sankofa has taken to heart. He used his voice at a vital time during the pandemic in numerous social media freestyles on social media in the aftermath of the murder of George Floyd, using his platform to empower and foster positive change.
He’s also a loving father, and a devoted teacher of Pre-K at public STEAM magnet early childhood school, where children are provided with art teachers for both Pre-K as well as kindergarten. He loves nurturing children’s development, and his day job also impacts his music: His album Shoes Too Slow was inspired by one of his students joking about his choice of footwear.
His recent collaborative release Iced Down Envelopes, produced by Burnt Bakarak, is marked by soulful boom-bap. The track “Study Your Wins,” with a feature from Showrocka, is particularly relatable. In it, the duo speaks on focusing on the good despite the hardships that come with life. “Can’t Break My Chill” is a mellower joint speaking on the importance of maintaining peace of mind. Sankofa’s delivery and melodic hook pulls listeners in, and he stands out by not trying to fit in. He’s an advocate for indie artists, and his appreciation for the culture is notable and evident.
We caught up with Sankofa to discuss the evolution of his work over the decades.
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Tell us about your upbringing, and how music played a part in your life.
I was born in Australia to parents from the United States. Mom and Dad got married in college, and there weren’t teaching jobs available in the Long Beach/San Diego area [after they graduated]. My dad got a one-year offer to teach down in Victoria [Australia], so he and my mom moved down there. A year later, I was born—a dual citizen whose accent was as informed by my parents as the world around me. Most of my blended accent has faded, but every now and then, someone will tilt their head and ask me where I’m from. I got good at not talking that much because unless I opened my mouth, I was happily invisible.
Music was an ever-present part of my life. My mom was constantly playing and dancing to records and tapes—Motown, Eurhythmics, ABBA, Bee Gees, Beatles, Rolling Stones, INXS, Dragon, the West Side Story soundtrack… We had Casey Kasem’s American Top 40 piping into our radios on a weekly basis, but I’m pretty sure there was also an Australian Top 40.
What was the difference in the music in Australia versus music in the States?
Well, one huge difference in music between Australia and the United States is that I moved to the States in ‘88, just when YO! MTV Raps was kicking off. So I was able to get a steady dose of rap as soon as I got home from school. My brother and I were only allowed to watch 30 minutes of TV a day, so the deal I made with my mom was that I’d turn down the brightness on our old TV and listen to the music while I was doing my homework.
What was the first song or album that piqued your interest in hip-hop?
The first song I heard was “Stutter Rap,” a gimmick record from a group called Morris Minor and the Majors. I’d never heard anything like it—the rhythm, the raps, and, most of all, the scratching. Because it was a goofball video, [the sound of the] scratches [was accompanied by footage of] the record being dragged on a gutter. This being before the internet, my friends and I had absolutely no idea how they were making that cool sound. I remember walking to K-Mart with my mom and buying the 7-inch with my saved-up allowance, listening to it forever.
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How did living in California help shape your sound?
[When I was a bit older] I moved to San Luis Obispo to live with JON?DOE and Spontaneous. JON?DOE had a long-running radio show called The Nappy Dugout on KCPR, and we’d go to the studio each Saturday, spinning records. That’s where I got to put in real-life practice all the freestyling I’d done locked in my basement bathroom. The first song I recorded was with my man Kashal-Tee, who I visited in Sweden to figure out how to turn all these thoughts and words I’d been writing—and typing on internet message boards like The Guillotine, Tha Landz, Honeycomb Hideout, Sethros—into something I could put on a beat.
Who are your musical influences?
My influences are my inspirations. I love those moments when I am recording and I realize that I am [subconsciously] channeling the spirit—or even the delivery—of the music I have admired. Most recently, there was song I recorded where, somehow, I ended up channeling Bambu. Another time, I went with a verse that was very Ma$e-esque. There was part of one song where it felt like De La [Soul]. As far as those who have inspired me, DOC was my original rap idol, his debut and Run DMC’s Tougher Than Leather killed many sets of double A batteries in my Walkman.
Your music also touches on social issues, like police brutality.
My mom raised me to not be silent about what I believe in. Sometimes, those ideas stick around so long that the only recourse, powerless as it may seem to me, is to capture that outrage, those feelings, in the form of a song. I don’t expect to change the world with my music. I am just me. But in making and releasing that music, maybe someone who hears it will realize they are not the only person who feels so strongly about something. I feel that if an artist is true to themselves, it’s their duty to abide by and honor that truths.
You referred to yourself as ‘Mr. Mom’ in a previous interview. Tell us a little about parenthood.
Parenthood is the most challenging and rewarding part of my life. Being the father of a teenager who is on the spectrum, working through various issues, I must remind myself that just because one thing worked this time doesn’t mean I can revert to it next time. Parenthood is the ultimate reminder of powerlessness, because you’re in such a precarious and vulnerable situation that there will be times when you’re at your wit’s end, thinking you’ve done everything, but it’s still not enough. Underpinning it all is the understanding that no matter how hard it may get, there is a foundation of love—love that may be difficult to see during challenging times, but love that is the True North that I need keep in mind. Parenthood is a never-ending album, with continual remixes.
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How do you balance music, being a father, and your career as a teacher?
I have an album produced by Chef Mike at the Pressing Plant right now called Masters of the In Between, because that’s what we are: Dudes who find time between the rest of life to make this incredibly dope stuff. I realize everyone works at their own pace, and I keep busy enough that anyone I’m working with understands that I never want them to feel pressure about making music with me, or meeting a deadline, because we do this for fun. Teaching Pre-K and listening to and learning from four- and five-year-olds as they discover the world and express their understandings of it reminds me to stay flexible in my worldview. Those kids give me optimism for the future. I’ve always gotten along with kids. Unlike adults, they never were scared of me and, because they are so early in their lives, I have patience for them.
What inspires you?
I love getting the chance to work with so many dope people. What inspires me is the passion I had for rap as a fan, which became the fuel for me learning to rap—which led to me visiting Kashal-Tee in Sweden and, months later, JON?DOE in San Luis Obispo. My music is that of someone perpetually staying a student—maintaining humility, and being aware that I will never stop learning, whether it’s from Golden Era masters to [modern day] cats like Defcee. They make me realize that I may be dope, but this climb is a perpetual journey—and that’s what I’m here for.
What are some hurdles you had to overcome in music?
My primary hurdle was getting to the core of what drives me as an artist. Back in the California days, I was waiting to be discovered—get some production and distribution deal, then tour Europe, Japan and all that. The longer I stuck around, the more I realized that beyond a love of language, what drives me is having fun making dope stuff with my friends. Rap is not my job—I already have a job, I don’t need another job. I have a passion, and that’s what I pursue in music. It’s a perpetually honed craft, with outcomes not even I can predict. In that way, it’s much like life: There are plans, and then there is what actually happens.
