From Summer Issue 62
Glass Man talks to British rapper Pa Salieu on facing adversity, reflecting on his personal evolution and how music is his therapy
There is a tension in Pa Salieu’s voice – part prayer, part war cry – that couldn’t come from anywhere but real life. A life that, in its 27 years, has demanded resilience, reinvention and, now, respect. Born in Slough and raised in The Gambia for his first eight years, he returned to Coventry’s Hillfields estate, where his story shifted from spiritual grounding to street survival.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
Before his breakout single Frontline lit up the airwaves in 2020, launching him from hometown boy into a global sensation with coveted nods from BBC Radio 1’s Annie Mac, the late Virgil Abloh and OVO Sound co-founder Oliver El-Khatib, Salieu’s story was riddled with dark chapters: the loss of close friends, a near-fatal shooting and a fight in self-defence that would later catch up with him.
Prior to his career taking shape, he witnessed the fatal stabbing of his close friend Fidel Glasgow outside a nightclub in Coventry in 2018. A group, including Salieu, chased after the suspect, admitting to hitting him with a tree branch, believing the man was armed. The aftermath was complicated, morally, legally and personally. It did, however, become the trigger to make use of his musical gift and rewrite his narrative.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
Months after his exuberant rise, he released Send Them to Coventry, a debut mixtape that didn’t just introduce him, but declared him to the world. It cemented itself on numerous Best Album lists of the year and peaked at No.14 on the UK’s R&B album chart. Then came Afrikan Rebel, an equally impressive EP that wove West African rhythms with raw confessions, confirming what many already suspected – this wasn’t just hype.
By now, Salieu had valiantly managed to shake off his layered past and step into the role of voicing a generation caught between borders, both physical and cultural. But at the end of 2022, despite the efforts of his legal team, he was sentenced to 33 months in prison for the violence of four years prior. In April 2024, after serving 21 months, he was released. But even behind bars, Salieu wasn’t silenced. He wrote and he didn’t stop.
With his purpose only heightened, Pa Salieu remains the poster boy for survival. He’s seen too much too young but is using every hindrance to highlight the struggle and permeate the noise. If you listen closer, you can feel the revolution in motion.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
How did music come into your life?
I feel like music was always within me. In Gambia, every odd week in the streets you’d see these tall masquerades made out of wood. We also had the Kankurang masquerades – I always bring one to the stage with me. I always wanted to dress up like those with drums, “sabar” is what we call them where I’m from. It was always within me.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
You’ve mentioned before that you started recording seriously after the death of a friend. How did that moment crystallise your creative purpose?
We started music together, me and AP [Fidel “AP” Glasgow]. The first time I went to the studio was with my cousin Nano –he also got killed, sadly. So, it’s always been around me. It came like therapy. It’s more than just writing, it’s about what’s going on, and our frustrations. It’s a chance to hear everyone speak. It’s just what motivates me. It’s a tool to tell our stories. That’s also what it defines back home as well.
How were those first two years trying to make it? Did you ever feel like the odds were against you because you grew up in Coventry?
The music has always been my love, so I just followed it. I can hear the beats, I can hear the melodies and I follow it with my own voice. This is pure passion and I’ve always been focused on the art. Coming from a small city still means being a part of the world. I did the next expected step and chose to get out and go to London. It is our world. Our oyster. The place is only small if we make it so. I never felt like I had to fight with regard to expressing my music. I’ve always been able to put out the exact song I want and release it when I want. It’s never been forced.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
In 2019, you suffered an injury that led to you getting 19 pieces of shrapnel in your head from a shotgun. How does something like that affect your outlook on life?
It most definitely changed. It’s what motivated me to take this even more seriously. So many people are dying. So many people I cared about died and I had a chance to be reborn.
Frontline was a major breakout – did you predict its success?
At that point, I had imposter syndrome. Jevon, RIP, made it with me in a studio in Coventry – he believed in it, but to me, I was just making music. But I wasn’t really too sure.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
Did the song’s success give you confidence?
No, confidence is something I have had to learn much later. I just couldn’t really believe certain things that were happening. I am an introvert and I’ve always felt like it’s about the music, and that is how I communicate. It felt mad it being my actual profession, but it’s also my therapy. It sometimes feels very overwhelming.
Do you still find it overwhelming today?
Yeah, I do.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
You left prison with eight books full of songs and you’ve just mentioned that music is a therapy. During your time inside, did your creative process change?
It was different, yeah. It proved it was a therapy. I would wake up in the middle of the night thinking of lyrics, and I ain’t got an iPhone to record it so I would get up and write it in my books so I would remember it in the morning. Even if I had a melody, I would write “dun, dun, dun, dun” – it was mad [laughs]. I found a lot of ways to adapt my art. I started designing in solitary confinement, I wrote scripts and timelines about my life. My pen became my best friend. It was always my notes that understood me. Even before music, I always had my notes.
Why did Belly feel like the right track to put out to announce your return?
Before I went to jail, I had written over 300 songs. I was in a position, though, that I felt trapped when I was out. It felt worse than jail. I didn’t know what was going to happen next. Again, music has always been my hope. When I wrote Belly in September, I got sent to jail in December 2022. It was a song about hope. It felt right.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
Epiphany and Crash were then simultaneously brought out. You took on the role of director for these music videos for the first time – what made you want to take on that role?
It goes back to jail, I was writing scripts. And, I’ve always had input when it comes to visuals and I was, like, why don’t I put myself as co-director now? The vision is the vision. You have to put your all in everything.
Your music is just as colourful as your visuals as you blend so many genres together like grime, afrobeat, dancehall and more – how do you approach fusing such different genres?
No genre should hold my music. When I go to the booth, I just travel to another realm. I’m heard. I can hear myself and I can hear what I’m trying to say. We pour our full into it, with lyrics, memories of the past triggering so much, all our sacrifices. I deserve to express everything in the way I want.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
Lyrically you often touch on systemic issues – struggle and survival. Do you feel a responsibility as an artist to speak on these topics?
I think if we are given a tool we have to use it. We’re not here for long and I know it’s grim always thinking like this. I do think it’s deeper than music. The way we see music where I’m from is folk, and that’s about helping the next generation. It’s about preserving, preserving what’s right. Preserving the right story. It’s actually about good versus evil.
Do you feel it’s more difficult to be an artist now when you look at the world and its suffering?
Yeah, I have been in that rabbit hole since I was locked up. This world, man – I’m so glad I have music. I’m glad I can write. I’m glad I can document it.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
How do you feel like you have evolved as an artist since you were in that booth recording Frontline?
Definitely, the way that I write and see things has changed. I don’t know if that’s a defence mechanism because it’s now hard to remember certain things and feelings. What I have learnt is that nothing can take my love and my smile. Nothing can make me bitter; that helps. When I came out of jail, there was no champagne popping or following what they expected. I’ve grown so much, so much.
I have to ask – is there new music or an album on the horizon?
[Laughs] There is a project on the way.
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
Fashion has embraced you and you’ve embraced fashion. How have you used it to shape your identity? Does it reflect your mood?
Nah, just straight vibes. I love mixing and matching. If it’s raining, I want to feel sunny. Right now, I’m trying to be chic, I’m at that age. The chic age. But I want my clothes to always tell a story.
[Pa proceeds to show me some of his favourite pieces in his wardrobe, showcasing one-of-one pieces from up-and-coming brands like Los Angeles’ SP5DER and Manchester-based Clints; and telling me how he loves Stone Island and Skepta’s MAINS for his studio attire.]
Photograph: Hayley Louisa Brown
How do you envision your evolution over the next few years as an artist and as a person?
There are so many things I haven’t done because of obstacles that have been in the way. I have hope though. I’ll be done with probation in September and I will be free for the first time. Before that situation, I still couldn’t fly. I was born here but I needed an indefinite visa. There was a bill made by Margaret Thatcher that every child of an immigrant would take the same status. I was the first-born so after coming back from Gambia I never flew.
When everything started to happen, when the good started to happen to me, there was always something that tested it. I have always craved that freedom just to pick up a passport and go. In September I want to go to a far country, and not even go to a city but to a village with normal human interaction – that’s what I crave. My music is deep and to study the world is everyone’s right. That will help me.
Afrikan Alien out now
by Imogen Clark
Photographer: Hayley Louisa Brown
Stylist: Guy Miller
Grooming: Nat Bury
Photography assistant: Rory Cole
Styling assistant: James Middleton
Talent: Pa Salieu
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