The Black Karl’s "ENTITLED UPPITY AFRICAN" Is a Bold Statement on Pride, Identity, and Self-Worth

The Black Karl blends Afrobeats, R&B, and alternative soul on ENTITLED UPPITY AFRICAN, a fearless album about identity, empowerment, vulnerability, and reclaiming pride.

There’s something refreshing about an artist who doesn’t water themselves down to make people comfortable. On ENTITLED UPPITY AFRICAN, The Black Karl leans directly into identity, confidence, contradiction, and vulnerability without trying to smooth any of it over for mainstream approval. The result is a project that feels personal, politically aware, emotionally messy, and honestly, very needed right now.

Inspired by online discourse surrounding South African superstar Tyla and the way Black and African artists are often dissected once they enter Western spaces, ENTITLED UPPITY AFRICAN flips language historically used as an insult into something empowering. The title itself feels intentional. Confrontational, even. But underneath that confidence is an album carrying a lot more emotional weight than people might expect at first listen.

The Black Karl continues building the genre-bending world he’s been carving out since Six Elah. Afrobeats rhythms collide with atmospheric R&B, alternative soul, pop melodies, and hip-hop textures in a way that never feels forced or algorithmic. A lot of artists claim they’re “genreless” when really they just lack direction. This project actually understands how to merge influences while still sounding cohesive.

Tracks like “BADASSERY” radiate confidence and liberation. It’s the type of record that feels designed for reclaiming your space loudly after spending too much time shrinking yourself for other people. But the album gets deeper once it allows itself to crack emotionally. “PLAY PRETEND” stands out as one of the project’s most vulnerable moments, framed as a conversation between Kerith and a past version of himself. There’s grief in it. Reflection too. It feels less like performance and more like witnessing someone unpack themselves in real time.

That balance is what makes ENTITLED UPPITY AFRICAN land. The Black Karl isn’t just making empowerment music for the surface-level Instagram caption crowd. He’s exploring what empowerment actually costs emotionally, especially for people navigating identity, expectation, pride, and survival all at once.

The title ENTITLED UPPITY AFRICAN immediately grabs attention. At what point did you realize you wanted to reclaim those words instead of avoiding them?

My family moved to Canada about 10 years ago, and after the honeymoon phase, I started realizing that the way I saw myself wasn’t always the way people perceived me. I went through a lot of experiences — even in relationships — where it felt like people wanted me to “stay in my lane” just because I’m a proud Black man. The real switch happened when I realized that if I had been white, certain behaviors, confidence, or ambition would’ve been received completely differently. Instead of shrinking myself to make people comfortable, I decided to reclaim those words and own them fully. That’s why ENTITLED UPPITY AFRICAN means so much to me, because every layer of that title comes from something real I had to live through.

“PLAY PRETEND” feels deeply personal and emotionally layered. What was the hardest part about writing that conversation between yourself and your past alter ego?

To be honest, the hardest part was having to revisit a period of my life that really broke me mentally and emotionally. I got unjustifiably convicted because of a song I wrote from that alter ego perspective, and I truly believe the color of my skin played a part in how people perceived me. That experience drowned me in a state I wouldn’t wish on anyone, so writing that conversation with Da’Quan Corvonte forced me to face a lot of demons I had buried. But at the same time, it became healing because I finally confronted that version of myself instead of running from it. In a way, that song was me letting Da’Quan go a little and allowing Kerith to take back control — at least for now.

Your music blends Afrobeats, R&B, alternative soul, and pop naturally without sounding calculated. How do you approach genre when creating music?

I’ve never really approached music from a “genre” perspective. I just love sound in general, since I'm in tune with the universe — everything around us has a frequency, and I think I’m very connected to that energy when I create. The first thing I usually focus on is the bass line because it sets the record's emotion and soul for me. From there, I just let inspiration flow naturally instead of trying to fit into one specific lane. I think that’s why the mix of Afrobeats, R&B, alternative soul, and pop feels organic in my music — it’s really just a reflection of my versatility and the way I experience sound.

Everything just aligned for me, even down to my artist name. “Karl” means “free man,” and when you add “The Black” to it, the message becomes complete. It fully represents who I am — a proud Black man embracing his freedom, identity, and truth without apology.

You mentioned wanting women, especially, to feel empowered through this project. How have the women in your life shaped the emotional perspective behind this album?

Throughout this project, I really kept my mom in mind, because she’s the parent I moved to Canada with, and I got to witness her growth firsthand. I saw her evolve from someone very soft and quiet into the incredible, resilient woman she is today, even though life was never easy for her. My sisters shaped me a lot too — they’ve always protected me, grounded me, and nurtured my soul in ways I can’t fully explain. I even made a song called I Wish I Was Like My Sister on my first album because that admiration has always been there. I think the women in my life taught me that being balanced as a man also means embracing sensitivity, empathy, and other traits people unfairly label as “feminine.”

Across this project, there’s confidence, but also vulnerability underneath it. Do you think people misunderstand vulnerability in artists, especially Black male artists?

Definitely. As a Black man, I was raised to believe that showing vulnerability made me weak, but staying closed off made people see me as heartless, too. I think Black male artists are often misunderstood because people expect confidence and toughness without realizing there’s real emotion underneath it. Music has always been the place where I could honestly express my sensitive side, even when it came with judgment. For me, being vulnerable in my art isn't a weakness — it’s one of the strongest things I can do. That mix of confidence and emotion is really at the core of this project.