Ghais Guevara: “We live in an anti-intellectual world. Rap, at its core, is intellectual. I want to bridge that gap”

In the 2002 film State Property (starring rapper Beanie Sigel), director Abdul Malik Abbott canonised Philadelphia’s slippery streets. Burrowing through the salvo of XXL tees, Rocawear sweats, and low-angle shots, the rallying quote “get down or lay down” ripples through the cult classic flick. While it may seem arbitrary, it crystallises Philly’s fragmented, unwavering ethos and culture.

At 24, rapper Ghais Guevara is now delivering his own manifesto. NME meets Guevara (born Jaja Gha’is Robinson) at a dimly lit Southbank riverfront bar in the thick of British winter to talk about his debut album ‘Goyard Ibn Said’. Instead of Abbott’s Spielbergian street thriller, the city captured on the record is one born from the window ledge of Robinson’s North Philly home, rooted in Black liberation and anti-capitalist ideals.

As he fondly recounts, Robinson himself was raised on a musical diet of Beanie Sigel – especially his regional 2005 anthem, ‘Feel It In the Air’, whose chorus he treated like gospel. He draws equally from the Pan-African experience, the African American cultural canon, and broader pop culture, all combining mantras of Black pain, joy, and resilience. Robinson’s bars are rooted in the Black Power revolution, yet they remain unapologetically free from conventional expectations.

Tomorrow, Robinson will release ‘Goyard Ibn Said’, a moniker he previously adopted inspired by Omar Ibn Said, “a Muslim slave from what is now Senegal who was brought to America,” he explains. “His autobiography, written in Arabic, chronicles his life as a slave and his forced conversion to Christianity. I see parallels in my own experience entering the industry – navigating a system that feels oppressive, encountering people I’d rather avoid, and enduring a sort of ‘forced conversion’ to fit in.”

“I want to open people’s perspectives and get them to understand rappers, and by extension, Black males, Black people, and ultimately the world”

Whether Robinson speaks, engages in Marxist discourse, or expresses himself through music, there’s always a message: a rally against bourgeoisie-bound convention and conformist thinking. It’s what’s made Robinson a breakout star in the underground experimental hip-hop scene since his 2021 mixtape ‘Blackbolshevik’, going on to earn acclaim from the likes of BBC 6 Music and NPR.

Never shy to critique, yet always ready to crack a smile and revel in hip-hop’s rich history, Robinson is a student of the game. “Growing up in Philly, we grew up modelling ourselves after rappers,” he says. “That’s all we had as role models who ‘made it out’. Rappers and ballers. So to come out of that and learn the misogynistic nature and the predatory nature [of the industry] and all of that, it’s like, damn, is that necessary? Is that what I have to be?”

He pauses before continuing, his tone softening yet resolute. “It’s kind of hard, but at a certain point, you’re just like, I’m going to do it my way: with some integrity. The old guard is dead. I love my city. It taught [me] what I needed to be, and what I don’t.”

So perhaps this is where Robinson is coming from when he reflects on the cost of hip-hop, religion, and morality on moody, piano-driven tracks like ‘Critical Acclaim’. “Every terror has a biblical script, so he could reason with error and sins he commit. It’s written, 6:32, your proverbs read strong, know that I bleed long,” he spits, before delivering the final blow: “Ubiquitous in our hip-hop songs, commemoration of the patriarchal brawn that the man brought on.”

Still, Robinson refuses to box himself in, evident on cuts like ‘Camera Shy’ which counterbalances an elastic soul loop with brand-studded bars like: “You want Telly, then you got it, you want Prada, then you got it.” “It’s not 24/7 that I’m political, you know?” he says of his lyrical diversity. “Yeah, I’ve been grounded in this since I was five, six years old, but I’m more than just that. I hope people take away, ‘Oh, this is an interesting person,’ not just a political figure.”

The balance of political incision and entertainment is something Robinson describes as an ever-increasing challenge: “Hip-hop can be fun and intellectual at the same time,” he asserts. “There was this foul tweet calling Doechii’s music ‘Harriet Tubman raps.’ I don’t see that at all. We live in an anti-intellectual world. Rap, at its core, is intellectual. I want to bridge that gap. There are so many underground dudes who should be charting on Billboard. Jazz heads love my music, you know? I love that I can touch the hearts of the average listener and the intellectual with one track. That’s what hip-hop is: being able to do both.”

‘Goyard Ibn Said’ is a two-part concept record that carefully mined plays and theatre for its narrative structure. “The first act highlights the triumphs of being a rapper, while the second act focuses on the tragedies,” Robinson says. “I want to open people’s perspectives and get them to understand rappers, and by extension, Black males, Black people, and ultimately the world. Because, you know, we shape the world. A lot of our conditions and experiences are simply extensions of white people imposing their will on others.”

On the road to Ghais Guevara’s debut album, some key figures helped shape his path both musically and philosophically. DJ Haram, the Brooklyn-based producer known for her boundary-pushing fusion of experimental hip-hop and club music, was one of those guiding voices. Robinson speaks about her influence with deep respect: “She taught me to trust my own ideas and knowledge. In hip-hop, especially being a female producer, you’ve got to let the talent speak for itself. Because, you know, people won’t respect you just off the street.”

“Legacy is such a selfish thing to focus on… it pushes you to make decisions you’re not truly comfortable with”

Then, there’s E L U C I D, one half of the East Coast indie rap super-duo Armand Hammer, known for his abstract lyricism and idiosyncratic style. For Robinson, connecting with E L U C I D, who has a verse on ‘Bystander Effect’, was like encountering a living legend. “He’s an elder statesman. He’s cool. I love talking to him. It’s not like talking to an older dude – he really levels with you, very polite, gentle, and kind.”

With the early album standout ‘The Old Guard is Dead’, Robinson continues to push boundaries while reflecting on his complex relationship with legacy, history, and the industry’s shifting tides. Filled with chants, trap 808s, and bassy thuds, the track dispenses sticky flows that mirror the depth of his scattershot thoughts. “I think it’s just because I’ve seen so many idols and heroes and seeing their ideas and ideologies get misconstrued by white America or expectation,” he muses.

As the conversation shifts towards his future, Robinson dismisses the notion of legacy, rejecting it both for himself and as a broader concept. “Legacy is such a selfish thing to focus on… it pushes you to make decisions you’re not truly comfortable with,” he reflects.

“Instead of ‘influence’ or a particular accolade, in five years from now, I just hope people can work in music and have it pay their bills,” he continues. “I’ll still be performing like crazy, hopefully with a bunch of albums out. Work on the next one is underway.” For Ghais Guevara, it’s not about the fleeting fame or seeking hollow accreditation: it’s all about making authentic art that mirrors his lived experiences from that North Philly bedroom window.

Ghais Guevara’s ‘Goyard Ibn Said’ is out January 24 via Fat Possum

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