The great New York rapper AKAI SOLO's 2025 album No Control, No Glory has legs going into 2026 and beyond. For the uninitiated I recommend reading Holly's masterful p4k review, listening to the album, and then diving into this interview by Tyler Burston. Tyler, aka Merkeba, is a writer and musician that Laron and I have been making jams with (full project otw), and who also interviewed 1Alkebulan last year for Finals, who asks really great questions and in this case had a very process- and philosophically-oriented conversation with AKAI, who is the kind of rapper who stops to jot down a rhyme seconds before he goes indoor skydiving. I am honored to publish this work. Thank you Tyler and thank you AKAI!

The following has been edited for content and clarity and I did the transcription, so the n-words are not written out because I don't do that.

-Andrew

With this new project, what has been your creative mindset? And what makes it distinct from your other projects?

It's kind of been something that I've been experimenting with Spirit Roaming, this idea of non-effort. So it's an Eastern philosophy, like Taoism, the act of non-doing. And how I apply that to writing is I keep myself in a receptive space for stimulus whenever it'll come. And it could be eight bars, it could be 32, it could be one, it could be a word. And I'll write it down. And I'll go with that current of ideas until it stops. And as soon as I have to like, think hard, or try to finish that, I stop. So I played it out like that. And I guess how that differentiates itself from my other things is, projects further back in my discography I hit with much more intentional labor. I gotta sit down and I got to write three tracks today. I gotta finish this track today. I've kind of taken myself back from that rigidity of a process. And it’s cool, it keeps it loose. It keeps it very visceral, very present in the moment in which it happens, like when it occurs. I've written things, full tracks, in one go. I've written things in bursts, and it'll take me a couple days. And then there's been things I'll sit on for weeks. I try to make sure that I have one sort of contingency for every type of scenario that my workflow may come across. And this one in particular, I'm working on not-forcing. I feel like with anything, forcing gets very close to getting corny and contrived, and I try to keep that out of the way. It's like, you don't gotta like beat ni&&as over the head with your perspective. And there's ways to convey a lot of information succinctly. So like, I be trying to fuck with that.

I find it really interesting how you talk about this being a project of non-effort, because it sounds like a lot of effort. Not in a bad way, but it does sound like somebody who's rapping a lot. But I do know what you mean in terms of that viscerality, where it doesn't feel like you're necessarily trying, but there’s this free-flow of information, with that level of density or intensity because that's just who you are and that's what the track like drew from you. I really find that idea of non-effort fascinating in that it could end up being so productive, and how it relates to a whole bunch of philosophies around music and even free jazz and stuff like that.

No, 100%. I'm also fascinated by it for that. You kind of take the opposite route on a thing, and still end up in the realm of productivity. And cool because you would think that not-trying would lead to a dip in quality or output, but it's kind of just like it shifts your energy distribution on the pie chart of your productivity, and it refines and streamlines that energy so when it's time for you to do it, you have it in excess, because you didn't burn a bunch of energy trying.

What do you think was the beginning of your love of words and storytelling and language and things like that? Because it's clearly I think a defining characteristic of your writing style.

Thanks. It kind of started in I want to say elementary school. One of the first things that I was good at was spelling bees and shit. So, I've always had a relatively positive relationship with words. Then I would traverse through the education system, English was always my favorite subject. I never minded writing an essay or anything like that. I didn't mind reading, I didn't mind words, like, flying across my retinas. I traversed through it further and then you add more facets of the thing, and it's like once we get to creative writing, I fucked with that. Once I started doing poetry and shit like that, Langston Hughes “life is a barren field,” I was eating all that up. I was definitely a delinquent in the sense of all of my schooling, because I love knowledge but I hate academia as a structure. So there's definitely things that were around me that I shirked and like neglected, but like that ingrained, intuitive affinity for it was always there. As opposed to math. I hated math in school. But I always loved a good book, or a good documentary or anything that could be translated into the literary form. So it kind of started there. Then in my junior year of high school, that's when I started to try to incorporate it into rap. That's when me and my homies were at the table, making beats and shit, cutting each other's asses. And I still have an English class, like either before or after that, so now the things are concurrent, and being juxtaposed to each other. And then, at that point I had the framework, and I just kept going.

Where does rap get incorporated into that love of writing? I feel like the idea of academia didn't hit, but a love of words hit, I think it's such a beautiful part of a lot of people's story of how they find their passion and anything. Education can be such a…as a teacher, I literally experienced the way that education can really shut off creativity, because it orients it towards work. And I think what you said about the no-effort thing is fascinating, because I saw that, literally in the trying, a lot of people never get to even the point where they can absorb the information because they're so obsessed with trying. We're supposed to learn, but it feels like labor. What is your definition of labor in your daily life?

I mean labor for me is, in layman's terms, literally just work of any kind, anything that you have to exert energy into to get an outcome, desired or not, whether it be spiritual, mechanical or whatever. You got to put in to get an output. For me that's labor, on a basic primordial level. For me, whether I'm navigating a nine-to-five or whether I'm navigating my own vocation, they’re just like both different types of work. Work doesn't necessarily have to have a negative connotation all the time. I call my art my work. Work is vital to the sustainability of the person carrying it out. Whether it be on like a literal one-to-one level, or it's kind of like an internal fulfillment type of thing. With my raps, I want to get it to a point where it covers the sustainability point, but there's a very clear fulfillment level that I get from doing it.

I feel like that should be the ideal balance of any type of labor, where you actually get a fulfillment aspect, which is sort of like not emphasized in capitalism at all. What is your definition of success?

Fulfillment is paramount. Ultimately you want to do things that, it's going to sound cliche, but you can be proud of. I achieved success in the context of my vocation when I continue to put out work at a level that I feel corresponds with the level of quality I want to maintain. I gotta be the nicest. I have to surpass each project. I check in with those things more than how much bread I made every month. These are the things that I check with that are critical. Like if we didn't have bread, if there was no concept of currency, would you be able to do this? And if so, what would you do it for?

What do you see as fair compensation for your labor?

That's a tricky question because if you try to scale artistic contributions fiscally, it deserves the consummate sum of the resources and the amount of money that goes into bringing the thing into fruition, at the very least. Whether you want to value that based on studio time, mixing, acquiring of materials needed to create said music…whether it be live instrumentation or otherwise, compensating the people involved…. So you use a stencil like that, and you want to treat this like it's a museum exhibit or anything else of value that people want to throw all types of funding behind, it can become a very interesting conversation that ni&&as might not want to have. Outside of that, on a really pure level, it really do be feeling like some you know, pay what you can. Money isn't the engine (for my labor). So the compensation for me is, if you engaged in it with a full mind, and you gave it a full and open mind, and you can like you give it a shot, that's the best transaction. Because that's the most rewarding one.

And how do you feel about these definitions of success and fair compensation, in the reception of your album and your personal goalposts?

It’s cool. I feel like people like it. And that's always a blessing. I'm always grateful for that. I'm still an impoverished Black man in America. So you know, as far as the fiscal thing, that's always that's a work in progress. People are gravitating towards the music. I'm seeing a lot of positive things about the music. So for that to be the first and primary transaction that I care about, it seems to be good so far.

I know you just got off tour overseas. What would you say was your most transformative experience while you were touring?

I would definitely say just the traveling aspect. I had a homie who was DJing for me, King Jumbo, and he was holding it down. But for the most part, I navigated this whole thing by myself. So it was just like, that was a huge masterclass in self sufficiency. And just like, watching my own back. And that was cool. It was kind of just like a reminder. And like a return to form for me as far as like the ethos of how AKAI SOLO started. The last name is SOLO, because I started this by myself. It was cool to get thrusted into solitude. It was very tranquil. It gave me a very swift kick in the ass towards getting acquainted with a level of tranquility that I've been trying to get acquainted with for a while. So it was really cool in that regard. You know, you venture through like a new territory with fresh eyes, ignorant eyes, and you're just taking in culture in all of its forms, whether it be the architecture, the food, the people and things like that. And that stuff is always cool. It's always nice to get a snapshot of a perspective of how other people function outside of your familiarities. The Europe tour just now was probably the most recent transformative significant experience I've gone through.

You mentioned a whole aspect of solitude and tranquility you found in the travel. But I want to know, how do you think community plays into your artistry?

I acknowledge the way that I move through the world can be very sectioned off and separate. In most circles that I find myself, I project this sort of lone wolf sort of thing. It's kind of my bag. It's not that I'm not a part of community, but I'm generally like the Batman of the group, the Spider-Man type ni&&a. So it's kind of like I'm around, but like, I might not be at the table. I might be on the roof or like I'm the ni&&a sitting on the window or whatever. I say that all to say that I'm constantly observing and I'm still present. My community is a grounding point, an amplifier of the world around me. It also keeps me tethered to it. Cause I'm really good at going off and blocking a lot of things out, but my community gives me the connections and the confidence to be able to take off like that. Because I have that thread that brings me back to like any type of relevance or zeitgeist. I don't have to constantly stay abreast of certain things, because I relinquish all of that sensory overload to my community. I have faith in the conversations and the things that members of my community stand for. And I know that when I step out and step back in, I'm not stepping into no bullshit. It's like, yeah, I mean, and it's like, we were part of the same community in a way. We move through spaces of accountability. Ni&&as just keep it a stack. I look forward to the lack of fluff, I'm grateful for the people around me. It’s flattering and humbling, to say the least.

I see. What do you think that you gained from the practice of sectioning yourself off and from that habit of solitude that seems to be baked in?

Everyone has their own, like, point of no return, within themselves. My point of no return, whenever I get deep into a work, it requires a lot. So I can't really take conventional things into that with me, although my music is comprised of conventional and mundane experiences. I have that information ready for when I'm going to go express it. But I have no room to link mad ni&&as when I'm about to do that. It's like, I got to do this. I don't have any real room to have what could be perceived as a redundant conversation. I don't really have time to play my P5 for like, nine hours. That exact notion of urgency takes a little bit of a more reserved spot with this sort of creative process. Because like I mentioned earlier, I'm not chasing it. The immediate answer to your question is, that ability to separate allows me to know when I have to reallocate my energy to the external of my social life and like my loved ones. And then when I have to shift back into an internal mode, and tend to the work.

What do you think is the funniest or most awkward situation when bars come to you and you gotta just start writing?

One time I had an epiphany for a bar right before I went indoor skydiving. So I mean, that was cool. Less funny and more cool. It's just like, keep yourself ready. Keep your neural elasticity primed to catch whatever could come. It could be right when the appetizer comes. It could be right when you take the group pic before everybody go home. It could be as soon as you hug your mom. It could be as soon as you dab your mans up, feed your dog.

What do you think you do to cultivate that neural elasticity that might not be obvious or might not be specifically musical?

I'm a chronic overthinker. So whether that's a product of mental illness or whatever, I think about things to an inhumane degree. And that constantly has me in a place where I don't mind sitting with thoughts, heavy or otherwise. The way that I approached rap when I started with it, was like a fighting style. I treat it like a stance or something that you have to modify. So we have this base and it's like, how much can you expand it from this point? How much nuance can we explore? And I treat my rap style and music and expression with the same sort of discipline and lack of boundary. And it works for me. I don't know if I've said this in an interview before, but sometimes the way I’ll break down the words, I'll apply like a numerical formula to it. I'll try to write a line out and I'll try to have five words follow the same patterns. I'll write a bar out with five four letter words or six two letter words and like things like that. I'll try to maintain that numerical formula in tandem with literary devices and techniques. Even within those five four letter words, you're still going to get your alliteration, your similes, your metaphors, your internal rhymes. And it's just like, that is fun to me. I like all of that shit that keeps my brain in this wacky, unconventional place.