Collin Gibson – Interview – Thanks for Asking!

Collin Gibson – Interview – Thanks for Asking! – by Liam Sweey.

RRX: Music genres are difficult for some artists. Some strictly adhere; others not so much. What is your perspective on the genre you play, or the genres you hover around?

CG: I’m a fan of music, not just hip hop. I can appreciate almost any genre—even if it’s not my personal go-to—just off the skill it takes to create it, the discipline to perform it, and the courage to put it in front of the world.

Yeah, I grew up on hip hop—but I was singing long before I ever recorded a verse. I was in musicals, in the church choir, singing Usher songs in middle school to impress girls. I came up in the MTV era, so we were exposed to everything.

At one point, I was even in a Weezer cover band doing mashups between rock and hip hop. I say all that to say—all of it shows up in my music. I’m influenced by rock, soul, jazz, and whatever else makes me feel something.

For a long time, I think that held me back a bit. Industry people didn’t always know what to do with me—they wanted me to pick a lane and stay in it. But that’s not me. I’m not just one sound, one vibe, one genre. I’m all of those influences, all of those feelings, and to pick one would be to be inauthentic.

Now, I think people are finally starting to get it. They hear the music, they see the vision, and it clicks. And I’m at a place where I fully believe in who I am and what I create—and once you get to that point, it’s hard for anyone else to deny it.

RRX: We all get a little support from those around us. And we also can be impressed by our fellow performers. Who do you admire in your community, and why?

CG: First off, my wife Keri Elle. We actually met as up-and-coming artists hitting the same open mics and competitions. Her raw talent and genuine love for the craft have always inspired me.

Over the years, I’ve crossed paths with so many artists who left a mark on me. Micol “Super Nova” Rankin stands out for his eclectic, unorthodox approach to hip hop—he really challenges the mold. Jonathan “Journey Brave” Banks brings a wild energy to the stage that’s impossible to ignore. Amor Lauren is a powerhouse—her on-stage presence and how seriously she takes her prep work is something I truly respect. Calen “Lyrical Preacher” Johnson? That man’s fearless. His confidence in himself and what he brings to the table is next-level.

And I’ve got to shout out folks like Redcoat Da Poet, The Mighty Network, Prince William, The Tripod Experience, Precedent, and 211—just some of the dopest, most genuine individuals I’ve had the privilege to perform with. Honestly, I could go on and on. I’m grateful to be part of a community with this much talent and heart.

RRX: We have to play somewhere, and sometimes those places have more going for them than a stage and a power outlet. What is a memorable place you played, and bonus points if it’s not a well-known place.

CG: Everybody who was anybody in Atlanta hip hop knew that the place to sharpen your sword was Apache Café, right there on 3rd and Spring. They had something going almost every night—poetry, R&B, live sets—but for me, it was all about Tru Skool Tuesday.

I walked in one night with my boy Ced, and the energy was undeniable. Big Tah and Fort Knox were just starting to build that wave, and we knew instantly: yeah, this is where we’ll be every Tuesday. That’s where I cut my teeth. That’s where I learned what songs really worked—and which ones didn’t.

I’ll never forget the night I debuted my song “Cuffin.” It was this playful, bold record where I basically told every dude in the crowd, “If that’s not your girl, you won’t mind if I get a little taste.” The reaction told me everything—I had something special.

That venue and that event opened so many doors for me. I went from rocking that stage to opening for some of my favorite artists—B.O.B., T-Pain, Raekwon—and even getting label meetings from the buzz it created. For years, that was my home on Tuesday nights. I’d bring all my friends from work just to be part of that atmosphere. Apache wasn’t just a venue. It was a proving ground.

RRX: Stereotypes are a bitch. I mean, aside from the really bad ones, you have cultural stereotypes about everything, including music.  Would do you think is the stereotype for the music you play, and how far are you away from it?

CG: Oooh, that’s a good one.

Hip hop as a genre has carried a long list of negative stereotypes—uneducated, violent, hyper-sexual, misogynistic, destructive. And truthfully, a lot of that has been amplified by the mainstream. So when people hear I make hip hop, there’s often an assumption that I fit into one of those boxes.

In reality, I’m probably the exact opposite of what they expect. I’m a father, a husband, I’ve got a career, I show up for my responsibilities, and I try to be a positive force in my community. Those are things that mainstream hip hop doesn’t always highlight—but they exist. We exist.

That said, I’ll admit—I also play into the stereotype sometimes. But I do it on my own terms, through storytelling. That’s my favorite thing about being a writer—I get to express things honestly, even if they’re dark, angry, prideful, or vulnerable. I can explore my full range of emotions and ideas through the music without judgment.

If I’m angry, I can write from that space. If I’m feeling tempted or cocky or even broken, I can pour that into the beat and make something powerful from it. It’s all art—it’s not about being one thing.

I think the real issue isn’t the stereotype itself—it’s the lack of balance. People are multifaceted. And my music reflects that. You’re going to hear the good, the bad, and everything in between. That’s real life.

RRX: Playing out is tricky because you never know what’s going to happen when you get there. Sometimes everything goes wrong. What was your worst show like?

CG: Oh man, this one’s easy.

Back in 2010, a few friends and I—including my now-wife Keri Elle—decided to sell just about everything we owned, pack up a van, and hit the road for a self-funded, self-booked tour. We traveled from the South up the East Coast, performing anywhere that would let us touch a mic. Sometimes we got paid… most times we didn’t.

One night we had a show booked in Murfreesboro, North Carolina, and on the way in, it was about 9 PM—and the town was dead. Like, eerily quiet. No cars, no people, no lights. Just us and the sound of our own doubts.

We pull up to the venue and are greeted by this older guy who looked more like he was waiting on a Johnny Cash tribute band than a group of hip-hop artists. The kicker? There was a sign on the front door that read: “No Rifles Allowed.”
 I remember thinking, So… handguns are cool though?

Anyway, we start setting up, fully expecting to perform for nobody. But the second those doors opened, people came pouring in—like a flood. We were genuinely confused like, Yo, where did they all come from?

Turns out, they weren’t there for us. They’d driven in from a nearby town to see the DJ spinning that night. We started our set, and it didn’t take long to realize the crowd wasn’t feeling it—not because we were bad, but because they came for something completely different.

Lucky for us, me and Ness Lee had a few joints we’d done over popular industry beats at the time. So we pivoted, switched up the set, hit them with something familiar, and managed to win the crowd back just enough to get through the night.

We finished our sets, packed up, and got the hell out of there. One of those nights you don’t forget—not because it was great, but because it taught you how to survive on stage when everything goes sideways.

RRX: Would you rather have one of your songs blow up and make you a one-hit wonder and household name, or would you rather have all your songs be solidly received, but no chart-climbers? (You have to pick one or the other here.)

CG: All of my songs, no question.

I’m not chasing clout, and I’m definitely not trying to be famous for one track. I make music because I love it, and because I’m good at it. If I can get my music to **my tribe—the people who really connect with what I’m saying and want to grow with me—**that’s more than enough.

The idea of blowing up off one song and then being expected to perform that same track for the rest of my life? Man, that sounds depressing as hell.

I’d rather be out there rocking shows for people who know my catalog, singing along with me word-for-word—not because a song went viral, but because the music meant something. Longevity over lightning in a bottle. Every time.

RRX: Is there a song you wrote that really died on the vine? Something you all like but somehow just couldn’t make it work. You swear never to play it live, that sort of thing?

CG: A song? As in one song??? One singular, solitary song??? Man! There are hundreds.

I’m the kind of artist that works in bursts. When the inspiration hits, it hits hard. I’ll get on a roll, and before I know it, I’ve got the bones of a whole project or a concept mapped out.

But the flip side of that is when the burst is gone… it’s gone. I have to wait for that creativity to build back up again. And every time I come out of that quiet period, the first few ideas are usually rough. Like, really rough. Not unlistenable, but definitely not up to the standard I want to put out into the world.

I used to get frustrated—like why isn’t this working? Why is everything coming out trash?! But over time, I realized it’s just part of the process. You gotta clear out the noise to make space for the good stuff.

It’s kind of like turning on a hose in the summer—the water that comes out first is hot and gross, but after a second, that cold, delicious hose water starts flowing. (Although now that I think about it, I don’t even know if kids drink from the hose anymore… I might be showing my age here!)

So yeah, I’ve got plenty of songs that never made it past that first wave. I don’t hate ’em, but I definitely won’t be performing them live anytime soon.

More from Liam Sweeny…