We start this story at its end. Before we begin it’s important the reader know just what kind of man we’re dealing with. After an enlightening interview during SXSW 2018 with James Han, known more commonly by the moniker Uzuhan, he shared a story about an artist who wrote and performed a song for his sister, who’s deaf. During the performance, the instruments became harder and harder to hear. At the song’s end the artist asked, “Have you ever wondered what it was like to be deaf in this world?”
That performance sparked a fire in Uzu that has propelled him ever since. “I just think that if I’m able to put out the music and give my perspective of our people and our generation and generations before, I could create more empathy.” He reveals a long-held dream of his. A show in which, just like the artist he saw, he creates a feeling of discomfort for his audience so they can experience what it means to be misunderstood, or singled out as an other. This is the type of man Uzuhan is: a man of vision, incredible introspection, and drive, all traits that reveal themselves as our conversation unfolds.
Uzu is a kind soul, a gentle and empathetic artist who has an openness about him that invites you to take a peek into his life. Take your shoes off and have a seat on his sofa as he regales you with his dreams and aspirations. We sit down and begin our conversation much as one would expect.
“My name is James Han, stage name is Uzuhan, and I’m a hip-hop artist from Atlanta. I got my start in 2010 with a rap group called AMP, and started to branch out with my solo stuff in 2014. I make music to help humanity thrive.”
Simple enough, yes? But if there’s one thing about Uzu’s path to musical enlightenment, it’s anything but simple. Like many artists, his origins are unsenational. He was born and raised in Maryland. His was a musical household, or rather a household that loved music–a testament to the absolute adoration for the medium Uzu’s father had. “My dad …. I realized he was a music lover–I don’t see too many Korean dads genuinely loving music like my dad did. He would play disco, Earth, Wind & Fire, a lot of jazz. I remember, there’s a song called ‘Funky Town’ by Lipps [Inc.]. Literally, every time he turned it on I knew it was time to wake up and clean the house. My parents also listened to a lot of Korean ballads–and a lot of trot. I grew up understanding what Korean bbong could sound like with the American aesthetic deeply ingrained in me. I also listened to a lot of K-pop and hip-hop music.”
Early on it’s obvious this man had a thirst for music, a deep desire to learn and grow from and with it. From his middle school days, he preoccupied his time learning and crafting a style to call his own, something that would allow him to express himself, unleash that thunderstorm in his soul. “In middle school, I started writing my own raps, because I was this angsty teen trying to express myself.” But even in his search to find peace in himself, there was something about that intimacy with writing that he felt he needed to keep secret. “I just kept it to myself,” he says. “Nobody in my high school to this day knows I do music. I only made two songs: one for my history class and one with my friends. I only shared them with my friends. I didn’t share with anybody else.”
A fire that strong isn’t easy to contain. In college he finally allowed his talent some air to breathe, though the grand reveal wasn’t at all intended as a means to give himself any clout. “In college, I put up a video on Facebook with my friends. It was like a joke video similar to the Asian boys who danced to Backstreet Boys back in the day. So I rapped over Lil Wayne’s ‘A Milli’ beat and spit a 16 or something, and then Sam Ock–he’s a producer, and singer-songwriter–he discovered me on Facebook.”
Even in jest, it’s hard to conceal very obvious talent. With his own strong ear for music, Ock took to Uzu’s style and passion and got in contact with him. From there, Uzu finally got his chance to put his name in the ring as a future contender in hip-hop. “He is the first A & R to look at me. He’s like, ‘Man I like this guy. You don’t see any Asians doing rap like this.’ So he wanted to start making music with me. We made a track called ‘Running’ which featured Manifest–he’s friends with Lyricks. Then me and Sam made this song called ‘Never Change.’ That was 2010-ish, and that video got up to like 1.5 million views on the ‘old’ YouTube. I don’t know what that translates to the ‘new’ YouTube, but that was a big deal then. So that’s what got us opportunities to go to all these college campuses, churches, everywhere Korean. We could go anywhere with that.”
His ambition proved to be wider than many would’ve imagined, and he let the hunger in his belly lead him to Atlanta, a veritable Mecca of musical prosperity and innovation. “That’s where I felt like I could grow,” he states earnestly. And that growth manifested in a greater urge to reach out to his cultural roots. “We got some sort of influence, a bigger platform, and in 2013 we started going to Korea more often. This is probably where my worlds started clashing and I started to grow. [Started] understanding who I am, perhaps my purpose for doing music, and [what] being Korean-American is like.”
Many artists take time to look back on their lives and realize the moment when who they are comes into contact with where they come from, and how those ideals of self often fight each other. Uzu is no exception. Just as with music, he invested himself in learning and exploring, reaching deep within to reconcile the “American” of his upbringing with the “Korean” of his ancestry.
“Prior to going [to Korea] in 2013, I always considered myself like ‘American-Korean.’ It might sound kind of funny, but it was because I valued being American more than Korean. Obviously I look Korean, but I didn’t associate myself with that culture. So when I went, I was the rudest American imaginable. I was so arrogant, so ethnocentric, looking down at everyone. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but be moved by everything I saw. It was the first time I was not the minority. It was the first time I saw my people. I experienced some sort of awakening. Ever since 2013, I’ve been going to Korea every year to do shows, a lot to accompany Sam Ock–I’m like his right-hand man–but also for my solo Uzuhan stuff that has started to pop off.”
At this point it’s very clear that music is more than just a means to an end. It’s true, Uzuhan loves music, lives and breathes it. However, what’s more fascinating is just how deeply entrenched he’s become in it. Uzu is the quintessential student of music. His recent collaborations with producers like Shirosky, an artist whose music hearkens to the likes of Digable Planets and ATCQ, showcases Uzu’s love for music that pulls from his vast array of influences. Chief among these are musicians who have a layer of complexity about their sound. He’s mentioned a love of Stevie Wonder as inspiration for much of his own music–and this writer is elated at the revelation (Stevie Wonder is my favorite artist of all time, so this, of course, sparks a lengthy conversation about the man’s genius).
“I think the musical ideals of Stevie are so important to me because he made complex things digestible and understandable to the general public. I enjoy being able to make non-rap listeners enjoy hip-hop. A good portion of my fans don’t really listen to hip-hop. They say that my music is conscious, melodic, and easy to sing along to. I really enjoy that. I like people being able to follow along to my songs. I heard a quote of how pop music changes the world, and I thought that was such a deep statement. The sounds of pop are always changing, but the ideals of pop music, I really am in love with that. That’s why I like DPR LIVE. I enjoy artists like him. When I first discovered his stuff, I got introduced to him by IISE, a clothing company. They were like, ‘Yeah, this dude. He’s the next big deal.’ He uses the pop aesthetic; his verses often lead into a pre-chorus that drives to two part AB chorus. I think the key is having a solid melody–that’s where I think the gold is, and not about just being hard.
“Being in Atlanta, I do really love trap music. But if I could I would just write songs. I like DPR Live, I like Aminé. I like those artists that do the sing-rap. I like Drake. I was really influenced by a guy named Pigeon John. He’s from an LA based hip-hop group called L.A. Symphony. He was the first guy I listened to who made singable, melodic hip-hop songs. It was crazy to me. He had this song called ‘Money Back Guarantee’, it really influenced me–it was like fun and all the things I wanted in a song.”
Uzu’s affinity for artists with wide musical scope is certainly present in his origins with hip-hop. It’s always intriguing to find out where one’s love of the genre stemmed from, especially if their influences aren’t necessarily in that same category.
“I listened to Nas, The Roots, ATCQ.” He takes a moment, drawing back on memories of music that shaped him. “I mean, I really enjoy G-Unit,” he says with a laugh–full like his smile when we first shook hands. “That’s what kind of got me interested in hip-hop. If you go down that rabbit hole of like ATCQ, you’ll eventually arrive at a lot of similar artists, and then newer artists like Chance the Rapper, J.Cole, Aminé.”
“Kendrick,” Andrew points out, motioning toward Uzu’s hoodie, which has the legendary rapper’s visage emblazoned on the front.
“Oh yeah, and Kendrick!” Uzu proclaims. His energy is infectious, and we all share a laugh, which erupts once more when he gives a hearty shoutout to the company responsible for the hoodie. “The hoodie is made by WINDFALL Clothing.” He leans toward the recorder, intent on emphasizing the company’s name. After all, he admits, it is his first proper sponsor. Gotta rep the name whenever you can (and he does so again right before we part ways).
Uzu’s start as a faith-based rapper with group AMP has done much to shape him into who he is. It’s also given him great perspective on that precarious line many who start as Christian artists toe between faith and success: “I think it’s still a part of what I do,” he says. “Back then, when I started with AMP, the music we were doing is explicit about our faith. It was a lot of music to encourage Christians and church people. But for me, I always wanted to make music that was lifestyle focused.
“My faith informs my viewpoints and perspective on things. I believe there’s a way to be true to yourself and make music that resonates with a broader audience. I don’t feel like the route in which a lot of rappers take right now is the only way. People are stuck on doing it in a certain way, and I don’t agree with that.”
It’s this earnestness that’s quite intriguing. As open as he is about his passions and influences, he’s also incredibly honest about the struggle he’s had to surmount to come into his own as an artist. This push-pull fight within culminated in a rediscovery of self. The drive to push further, to reach outside of who he is and find something more meaningful to grasp onto has propelled his artistry and his ability to express himself. From the so-called angsty teen who would hide away his thoughts, to a man who’s managed to not only let his words flow freely, but has also engaged an entire fanbase whose reach has gone further than he could’ve imagined.
“It’s been a fun journey,” he says, a lightness in his voice, “trying to see who my music resonates with … it’s fun. It’s cool that it’s [HiphopKR], because, I’ll say this, before most of my listeners were Korean girls. But as I’ve been exploring more of just how I …. I feel like I’ve become more honest to myself. I recently got married, and I’ve been forced to vocalize and speak out my feelings. So because of that, it has made me articulate my thoughts better.”
I’ve noticed my recent shift with all the new music that’s coming out, there’s been more Asian guys listening to my stuff and more black women. It’s this growing fanbase.” He takes a moment to consider that shifting dynamic. It’s hard to deny that even as far as just Korean hip-hop is concerned, the worldwide appreciation of the craft is a quandary. But again, that natural urge to explore and learn, to dig through the origins of something, makes Uzu contemplative. “I don’t know why it’s that way. But I think …. I did two shows back in 2016, and they were these K-pop shows–those were like the best shows I’ve ever done.”
Then comes the hard truth of it all. Even with friends who are close to him, his being Korean-American still sparks a bit of wariness from those who see a rapper with an Asian face. “When I do hip-hop shows in Atlanta, or anywhere else …. I know my friends respect me and they understand what I do is legitimate. But there’s still a level of novelty that I have, whether it’s an advantage or disadvantage. I just know when I performed at that K-pop show, the people received my art legitimately and seriously, as if I had something to say to their culture. I really appreciated that.”
A common theme, particularly among Korean-American rappers, is this idea of masculinity, what it means and how it fits into their lives as both artists and human beings. With the harder push for Korean pop bands and artists to make their way Stateside, many people new to the experience are now being forced to reevaluate their preconceived notions of the performance of masculinity. It’s never more apparent than dealing with the dynamic in hip-hop. Uzu finds that K-pop becoming a more viable export of South Korea has opened the doors for him and artists of his ilk, those who’ve had to navigate the waters of hypermasculinity. It’s allowed him to dig deeper and study the parts of himself he’s at one point or another attempted to keep buried.
“I think K-pop has really helped artists like myself to help others understand who we are. Because they see the boy bands, they see the shy types, they see the cute types. They see a lot of nuance there, and I think that’s been a big advantage for me. I don’t need to be hard. I can have a certain level of bravado, but I also like going to the Kakao Store and use those emojis. I like doing that stuff, know what I mean? It doesn’t make me less of a man, but in hip-hop, in that world, there’s hypermasculinity, and that’s a problem.”
However, one can’t ignore the fact that there’s still a heavy stigma surrounding the role of the “idol rapper.” The question of whether or not these are “real” rappers, if they deserve the respect of those who’ve built their entire careers, to varying levels of success, around the culture. But if one looks close enough, they’ll notice a familiar pattern of prejudice. Some 40-odd years after hip-hip’s integration into “mainstream” consciousness, we still battle within the community with the idea of the “real rapper,” and oftentimes that definition doesn’t extend toward Asian-Americans.
For as long as there’s been hip-hop, there have been Asian rappers. Consider groups like 2 Live Crew, whose founding member Fresh Kid Ice is touted as one of the first Asian-American rappers in the game. Or the Mountain Brothers, pioneers in their own right who became the first prominent all-Asian hip-hop group in the States. From the original members of the Black Eyed Peas to Far East Movement, Drunken Tiger and Yoonmirae, to Dumbfoundead, Asian-Americans have had a heavy presence in hip-hop’s history. As Uzu points out, K-pop has begun to broaden the scope of what’s considered “masculine” with a certain degree of success. But how does that translate to the hip-hop world? Has that level of open acceptance of the “different” found its way into hip-hop’s dogma?
“Man, that’s something I always think about. I know how to play that comparison game. I’ve played it all my life. Recently, I have been trying to stop doing that, because it’s easy for me to feel sometimes that maybe if I was black and made the music I make, I would get more eyeballs on me.” There’s a question behind that notion. “Perhaps I believe in myself too much,” he says with a rueful chuckle. But the fact is his journey to and through hip-hop hasn’t been simple. The complexity of racial identity manifests itself not just within, but through society’s expectations of what it means to be Korean-American and a rapper.
“Maryland was tough. People would clown on me if I was a musician and pursued music. In Atlanta not so much. Maybe because there’s a bigger music market. I feel like there’s a shift towards being more open to Asians, especially with growing media coverage. But I don’t know, I feel like there’s a more positive look.
“There was a solid two months when non-Asian people would come up to me and be like, ‘Yo, did you listen to “It G Ma”? That song goes hard!’ And I’d be like, ‘Yeah, it’s cool. I like it.’ And I remember before that, it was people asking me about PSY, ‘Do you like “Gangnam Style”?’ Yeah whatever, that didn’t represent me.”
Uzu takes all of this in stride. His is a wisdom borne from having to constantly navigate his identity. The novelty of artist like PSY and to some extent Keith Ape isn’t lost on him, but his eye is ever toward the future. He can see the impact of many Korean artists as they steadily move toward more worldwide recognition. “I always consider, ‘What do you think is a successful crossover artist?’ You know? Back in the day, will.i.am tried to do a song with 2NE1. I just remember hearing it, and it was so … whatever. But I have a lot of hope for people like Jay Park because he understands the sound of America. Or someone like pH-1 too. I really like his stuff.”
Uzu is ever studious, constantly searching for inspiration, new avenues in which he can continue to mold himself as an artist. That desire has manifested in quite a few collaborations. Along with jeebanoff, he cites singer/songwriter and producer Ra.D and Ra.D’s friend and collaborator d.ear, a fellow singer/songwriter. “I actually did a song with I.M from Monsta X back when I was J.Han,” he reveals. “I’m also featured on a song called “COLORS” by Korean rapper Damiano. I’m on the second verse.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUeOFspN6J8
He goes on to admit that collaborating is an aspect of his artistry that still leaves him somewhat leery. “Until these past few years, I’ve been so engrossed in just making my own stuff that, like, I just didn’t want anyone to interrupt that process. I wanted to work with my creative team and build my brand up. And I feel like it paid off because I have a real good sense of who I am, and I feel like that allows me to bring something to the table of a collaboration. Maybe it’s also just me being selfish about my sound. I feel like if I’m the most selfish about my music, I’m able to inspire people with my own voice. I didn’t want to ride on someone else’s wave and follow their sound. I wanted to be ‘Uzuhan.’ And I feel like I’ve arrived there. That’s why my collaboration with jeebanoff went very smoothly. I already knew what kind of sound I wanted.”
To some perhaps it would be selfish. But Uzu has a right to take great pride in what he does and protect it with everything he has. After all, he’s doing everything from scratch, molding every aspect of his career with his bare hands. “It’s just me and Sam. We’re kind of the masterminds behind a lot of it. Like the video stuff, I’m project managing it all, I’m working with certain directors to get me certain shots, we’re doing mood boards. We’re like, ‘What have we not seen in this world?’ That’s what we’re thinking. What kind of music video do I want to see, within our means?“
“My budget is hella tight,” he says with a chuckle. “If I told people my budget they would flip! I pull a lot of favors, and a lot of people have been really generous to me. So that’s the only reason I can do this. Part of me wishes I worked a full-time job so I could fund my stuff. But I was too engrossed in my music to do anything like that.”
The man is incredibly ambitious, and he has the skill set to drive his ambitions forward. With a degree in graphic design, it’s no wonder he’s taken the reins, sculpting the means to his own success. At the time of this conversation, he was still in the process of editing the video for the single he recorded with jeebanoff.
“We filmed it in Korea. It was really fun. I got connected to jeebanoff because I knew his manager, and that connection was through HaHa. He took a liking to Sam Ock’s music back in the day, and we all connected. I got a sponsorship by CRITIC — they’re a streetwear clothing company in Korea. They let me use their outfit for the shoot. So I had to shoot it real quick.”
The smile on Uzu’s face is infectious. He’s got such an immense amount of energy when caught in a memory. “It was a guerilla style video. I’m running to rooftops and was like, ‘This is a good rooftop! Let’s shoot here!’ Or, ‘This is a good street! Okay!’ I rented a car and drove like an hour toward the airport. There was this playground area. It doesn’t look like America. It was really colorful, so we shot there. And a cool thing that happened: We were driving and saw a whole bunch of dope looking mechanic shops. We were like, ‘This is so cool. We should ask them if we can film here.’ So the guy let us film for like an hour and the rest is history. We got really great footage there.”
So impassioned with the project, the crew shot the MV with just the rough draft demo of the track itself, which Uzu admits is still in the creation stages. “We have all these materials, I just gotta put them all together.”
Uzu’s ardor for what he does not only informs his artistry, it’s allowed him to create a career solely on his own terms. Even with the obligatory side-eyed wariness from his family, Uzu was determined to make what so many panned as a hobby into his livelihood. This drive, of course, stems from his constant need for knowledge. It’s incredibly fascinating to hear him wax intellectual about the progression of music and, more pertinently, music listeners in South Korea. His predictions of Korean music’s crossover success in the next five or ten years I can guarantee isn’t just lip service. Uzu is a ferociously intelligent man with a heart for music that I can only admire.
Even now, he’s still on a conscious journey to find out what defines the “Korean sound,” a sentiment he tried to express in his single “Mung Beans and Tofu”: “It’s a developing thought, so I’m not saying I have it figured out. But I’m really trying to figure out how to define the ‘Korean sound.’ I know it lies somewhere in trot music, and that’s usually what people think. But I want to take it a step further, I want to know what it sounds like in 2018.
“I think someone like Primary is doing that. He embodies that 2018 Korean sound, the Korean aesthetic. Definitely kills it with melody. The reason why ‘Mung Beans and Tofu’ is one of my favorites is because of the catchy melody and paying homage to my roots. I love being able to look back on my history.”
Again, it’s this need to always seek more knowledge, always dig deeper into himself for questions, then go on a journey to find the answers. “I think it’s the principle of what I’m doing that allows others to relate to me. If possible I want people to look back at their origins to see the cool things that have happened in the past. Whether it’s negative or positive, I think if you’re informed of your past, it can help inform your future. That kind of pursuit is really fun for me.“
https://www.instagram.com/p/BghFmnXBvoT/?taken-by=uzuhanmusic
Conclusion
Ambition. Tenacity. Resourcefulness. An exceptional thirst for knowledge. Uzuhan is a man with eyes as big as the moon and the stomach to match. There’s nothing more rewarding than discovering an artist and understanding just how much he puts into his craft. Uzu creates from the ground up, molding and shaping his destiny, paving his own path to the excellence of his stage name. If there’s one thing that anyone should take away from this discussion, it’s that passion is the catalyst, but what gets you there is a constant desire to work, learn, and push for more. With hunger and humility, Uzuhan has set about bringing his gift to the world.
“I really appreciate the people who are looking at HiphopKR, because they are able to understand what I’m putting out and see my art as a contribute to culture, and not just see me as some Asian rapper that’s dope, Sure, that is it too. But I want you to know that I want to make a statement, and for your audience to be able to accept that … I’m really grateful. There aren’t too many places for me to be viewed like that and to be understood.”
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Interview conducted by Cy & Andrew
Article written by Cy
Article formatted by Andrew