Sampha

Sampha invited us into his childhood home

There’s an innocence in Sampha Sisa that lives in the dust on the steps of his house and stares back at him from the old hip-hop posters on his brother’s walls.

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The piano Sampha’s father brought home twenty years ago –where a young Sampha played the black keys to impress his mum cooking in the next room– dominates the first floor of his modest Morden home. His brother’s old room –where Sampha first stole spins of Todd Edwards wax and logged hours learning production software- is up a steep flight of narrow stairs that ascend like a child’s tree house or fort.

It’s a boy’s room, belonging as much to the young man that lives there now as the boy who snuck up those steps to turn procrastination into passion, and himself into Kid Nova, an alias pulled from a comic book he fancied.

There’s an innocence in Sampha Sisa that lives in the dust on the steps of his house and stares back at him from the old hip-hop posters on his brother’s walls. I hope it sticks to him. That enough of the smell from the spices burning, and his mum’s cooking stays in his clothes and in his hair when he’s riding the train, writing lyrics, stealing glances at strangers for inspiration.

Go get Sampha’s Dual EP from our dear friends at Young Turks.