Rollie Pemberton | The Well-Versed Bedroom Rapper

Rap—the genre of rhythm and poetry—resides in a community of freeform artistic expression. It is a genre that directly questions the status quo and in return, applauds idiosyncrasy. Rap originally made its roots in the underground music scene. Percussion breaks accompanied by spoken rhymes relayed impassioned messages would often bring unspoken ideas to the forefront of social dialogue.    

This fusion of lyrical genius and musical nonconformity is precisely what rapper and author Rollie Pemberton has spent years dissecting and kneading into his personal work.  

More commonly known by his stage name Cadence Weapon, Rollie Pemberton, is a true ‘Bar-barian’ in every sense of the word. Whether it was sampling his craft on online rap verse boards—similar to many of the rap greats—or utilizing his journalism background to assess fellow creatives, Rollie’s success is undoubtedly established by discipline and thirst for knowledge.

Fast forward to present day, Rollie has become the jack-of-all-trades. He is an award-winning musician, poet laureate, producer, DJ, and writer. Picking up the writer’s pen, Rollie’s new book release—titled Bedroom Rapper—is the amalgamation of personal narrative intertwined with well-founded discernment of the rap genre, and its role in the modern mainstream. 

Well-versed both lyrically and analytically, Rollie won Canada’s Polaris Music Prize for his album Parallel World—a project he constructed in tandem with his book. Bedroom Rapper illustrates Rollie’s prowess and extensive knowledge of the rap scene, while simultaneously discussing rap’s ‘chameleonic’ nature in the music industry. This is the perfect book for dedicated rap-heads and even those seeking to diversify their understanding of rap.    

Who influenced your music taste growing up? 

A big influence was my dad, he was a DJ. Through my parents, I grew up in a library of music—whether it was funk, soul, R&B, rap, even Jimmy Hendrix and rock music. Having that kind of mileage of different sounds really showed me that there aren't that many barriers between genres. That really influenced me to make the kind of music that I make now.

The book is titled “Bedroom Rapper”. In the text, you mention how an article once labeled you as a ‘bedroom rapper’ despite all of the professional production on your music. What did that label mean to you then versus now? 

I think at the time it was very novel to people. Garageband didn't exist yet or the idea of easily making music at home on your computer was very rare. The way it was presented was that I was an amateur or something, like a DIY kind of homemade artist. At the time, I kind of bristled with that. But I realize now that it's become my rallying cry or something. I was one of the first people to really do that kind of thing. I started out in my mom's attic making beats with all these stolen programs that were very obscure at the time, and then within 10 years it became very common. 

When you release music, you go by the name “Cadence Weapon”, but then you’re also “Rollie”. How do you split titling your work between the two? 

It's hard to separate it because some people know me primarily for music and they just call me Cadence. Some people know me for writing and poetry—I’m Rollie to them. It is a bit of a Spider-Man, Peter Parker situation. I think I'm always Rollie though. It's interesting that you asked me about this because this is a theme that I'm really grappling with right now in the new music I'm making.

You were nominated for the Polaris Music Prize in 2006, and then again in 2021—where you won. How did the nomination in 2006 differ for you than the one in 2021? 

The first time I was nominated, it was the first year the award existed. It was a new idea. I was nominated [in 2006] and I looked at all of the other artists who were nominated—it was all indie rock. That was the indie rock era. Me and K’naan were the only artists who were nominated that weren't all white. At the time, I was excited about it, but I felt like I was completely out of place. 

Fast forward to 2021—I look around and even throughout the entire album run, doing all the press, I'm noticing the journalists I'm talking to are people of color now. The other artists who are nominated for Polaris are way more diverse, not culturally, but musically. There's not just one or two rappers, it's like four or five. And then to win for the particular album that I made, Parallel World, which talks about institutional racism and structural racism and is my most uncompromising album about those things, and to have it win was very empowering. 

You tweeted that you wrote Bedroom Rapper at the same time as your album, Parallel World. How did you split your time between creating both?

It was pretty crazy. Basically every day I would wake up early in the morning, get a big glass of water, and just start working on the book. I would work as long as I could. That was like my daily thing. I tried to make it a 9-to-5. And then, usually, I'd go for a run. I find when I run, I get a lot of lyrical ideas. I feel like the forward movement really helps me a lot. By night, I would go to the studio and work on the album. I was working day and night for months at a time, pretty intense. I'm really happy that both things got finished and actually came out. 

There was a line in Bedroom Rapper that really stood out and made me think a lot. You said, “Black music has historically held a chameleonic character”— Do you think the quest for art survival has influenced the way black music enters the industry?

I feel like it has. That is just the essence of black music to me. It’s this idea—as soon as you can categorize it, or you try to give it a name, or you try to pin it in this cage, it sneaks out and becomes something else. I feel like it's this constant, because we're ducking and dodging the Jack Harlow's of the world. Once we give out the formula for it by just doing what we do naturally, it becomes monetized by other cultures. So I think it's a survival impulse. 

It's something I've kind of grappled with where it's like, there's this sense of presentation that is expected of black artists making rap music. And this is something that I have consciously pushed against and just not really been interested in. My whole thing is I just want to create my own lane. I don't want to be compared to someone's expectation of what rap is supposed to be. Being a black artist, there's a lot of mental gymnastics.

When you were writing the book, was there a central intent behind it? Is there something that you want readers to grab from it? 

Well, there's a few things. I want there to be something for every reader to take away from the book. I want it to be something that could be useful, whether it's a guidebook for hip hop or underground rap or Canadian music. But ultimately, the reason why I wrote the book was I realized that it was a story that had never really been told. My perspective is one that is very common in the literary world. Just the fact that a young black man from Edmonton, who's a rapper—something that used to be considered really a niche concern—can become this big book that people care about. 

At the end of the preface your friend, Gabriel, said something like, “next step politics, right?” Is that a joke? Is he capping? 

He's capping a little bit, but it's something people ask me about all the time actually. I don't know. I think maybe at some point in my life. I feel active as an artist right now and it's going really well, so I kind of want to just keep that rocking, but I'm really passionate about politics. One of my big kicks is getting people excited about voting. I think maybe further down the road I could do some stuff myself. 

What is your advice to budding rappers, or even your younger self? 

Keep refining. One of the things that also really helped with that was just like listening to as much music as I could. I listened to all the rap that came out before. And I've listened to everything since. I feel like it's that journey of discovery that really leads you to find out who you want to be as an artist.