‘The idea that time’s going to pass regardless is something I kept returning to while writing. You can’t wait for the right moment, because there isn’t one.’ | Brandon Nembhard interviewed

Brandon Nembhard opens up about his journey from poetry to rap, the philosophy driving his music, and why his latest EP explores the biggest question of all: when is the right time?

Brandon Nembhard interview

Brandon Nembhard is not your average up-and-coming rapper. At 26, with a voice as smooth as his delivery, he’s about to release If Not Now, When?, an EP that doesn’t just skim the surface of life in London but dives headfirst into the philosophical, grappling with the choices that shape us.

His latest single, ‘Ceiling’, ponders alternate timelines and decisions not made – heady stuff for someone on the brink of mainstream success. When I sat down with him to chat about it, what struck me wasn’t just his musical talent, but the way his mind works: always circling the ‘what ifs’ that most of us avoid.

Brandon has that kind of relaxed energy you’d expect from someone who’s spent years honing his craft without rushing to the finish line. His words come easily. “I’ve always been fascinated by choices,” he says, leaning back slightly in his chair. “You know, the idea that a few different decisions here or there, and I could be someone else. Or nowhere at all.”

It’s not exactly the kind of statement you expect from a rapper on the verge of blowing up, but Nembhard isn’t exactly chasing the typical narrative. “I wrote ‘Ceiling’ with that whole idea of duality in mind,” he continues. “That within all of us, there’s good and evil. And really, it’s just a matter of which direction you go in, depending on the choices you make.”

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@brandonnembhard

This fascination with the road not taken is something that seems to follow Nembhard wherever he goes. Born in South London to Jamaican parents, and having lived everywhere from New York to Kingston, he’s got a certain world-weariness about him. But it’s not performative; it feels lived in. “I grew up around people who didn’t make it out,” he says, eyes momentarily flickering with something close to melancholy. “And I always think: why not me? Why did I get to end up here, talking to you about this, while they didn’t?”

It’s clear that his background has shaped him, but he refuses to be pigeonholed by it. The South London rapper bit is almost incidental in the way he talks. His music is the product of myriad influences, from his dad’s love of literature (“He made me read constantly growing up”) to his uncle’s early 2000s hip-hop collection. “In Jamaica, I’d hear everything from reggae to country music in the same night,” he says with a laugh. “You go from hearing Bob Marley to some Dolly Parton. It’s wild.”

But for all the talk of influences and musical references, what really makes Nembhard stand out is his ability to weave philosophy into his work without making it feel pretentious. “I’m not trying to sound like some sort of academic,” he insists, “but when you’ve lived in different places, seen different sides of life, you start asking questions. That’s where the duality thing comes from. I know I could’ve made a few different decisions and ended up a very different person. I think we all could.”

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Brandon filming the microfilm ‘If Not Now, When?’

When I press him on specifics – about those pivotal decisions – he doesn’t hesitate. “Last year, I quit my job in corporate,” he says, smiling as though he still can’t believe it. “I told myself, if I don’t do music properly now, I’m never going to do it. So I started working in retail for more flexibility, and just started releasing stuff. It was terrifying, but also – what’s the worst that can happen? You look up, and years have passed anyway.”

It’s this kind of practical philosophy – equal parts carpe diem and cold reality – that informs If Not Now, When? The EP is a fiery declaration of intent. “The idea that time’s going to pass regardless,” Nembhard says, his voice softening for a moment. “It’s something I kept coming back to while writing. You can’t wait for the right moment, because there isn’t one.”

As we continue, it becomes clear that Nembhard is as much a visual artist as he is a musical one. His microfilm for ‘Ceiling’ – a stark, arresting short that explores the concept of procrastination – takes inspiration from TV series like Atlanta, with its off-kilter, surreal vibe. “I wanted it to feel familiar, but also unsettling,” he explains. “And the phone, which a lot of people missed, is our biggest procrastination tool. We waste so much time on it.”

I ask him whether he’s already thinking ahead to what comes after the EP, but he hesitates. “I’m not really a big planner like that,” he says, shrugging slightly. “I let things unfold. This whole music thing still feels like a bit of a social experiment to me. I’m just following the path and seeing where it leads. I don’t want to box myself in.”

This approach to his career is refreshing in an industry that loves to slot artists neatly into categories. Nembhard is restless, constantly evolving, and uninterested in repeating himself. “I can’t stand the idea of making the same song over and over,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I grew up listening to so many different genres, I’d get bored if I stuck to one. You hear a lot of artists now who just try to remake their hits in different ways. That’s not me.”

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@brandonnembhard

He grins when I bring up his love of poetry, which – no surprise – has heavily influenced his lyricism. “I did a lot of spoken word before I started doing music seriously,” he admits. “I even put out a poetry book once. It’s still floating around somewhere.” His transition from poetry to music feels organic: “I write songs the same way I write poems,” he says. “I talk around the thing, not at it. There’s always a layer of interpretation that’s up to the listener.”

And maybe that’s what makes Brandon Nembhard so compelling – he’s not trying to be definitive. His music, his films, even his career trajectory, are all open-ended, full of ‘what ifs’ and potentialities. “I guess that’s what it all comes down to,” he says, as our time winds down. “Life’s a series of choices. And right now, I’m just making mine.”



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