Zino Vinci, the Newham rapper telling ‘campfire stories’ from London

This story is taken from the spring 2024 issue of Dazed. Order a copy here.

In the post-Christmas, pre-New Year haze of 2023, London is quiet. As my Uber driver zooms through the city, a wave of unmitigated dullness is palpable. Streets are empty, traffic is lacking and the collective hangover of the holiday season has taken a toll on all of us.

In person, Zino Vinci puts a halt to the drab. Clad in a Corteiz jacket and hoodie combo and bottoms from his own clothing brand Bawne London, his presence is emphatic as we meet in a cafe in suburban north London. He orders sparkling water with a lime wedge, squeezing it carefully as it trickles into the glass. Tapping his rings on the table in front of us, a steady, percussive sound develops as he contemplates. He begins listing his obsessions: World of Warcraft; Dungeons & Dragons; and his Mount Rushmore of comic book characters, Spiderman, Batman, Wolverine and the Joker. “And Black Panther, for the culture!” he amends. His fascinations, he proudly admits, are traceable in the genre-fluid music he makes. “You’ve got to be yourself,” he explains, now the ice is broken between us. “I was raised in east London, but I don’t have to mirror what people’s perceptions are of it. I chose my own path.”

Vinci was born Jefferson Okoro in Germany to Nigerian parents, and was four years old when his family moved to England. He is quick to highlight the inflections in his speaking voice: a German twang remains, but is barely noticeable when he raps. “When I came to the UK, everyone thought I had an American accent,” he recalls, slowly pulling a beanie over his shoulder-length dreadlocks. “I hated coming here. In Germany, I was used to watching anime like One Piece and Dragon Ball Z. No one was really watching that stuff here. I got into comic books and started drawing, but people called me weird. I became conscious of being perceived a certain way. I was mostly in my house; I had to hide such a big part of myself.”

Despite this, Vinci remained quietly committed to his compulsions. He remembers being in school when “this guy told me about a video where a guy is eating a bug; it was ‘Yonkers’ by Tyler, the Creator”. Vinci embraced the meaningfulness of the moment: “He wasn’t talking about chains and money, which I thought all rappers were supposed to do. I studied rappers like Childish Gambino, Kendrick Lamar, J Cole, Ghetts, Kano, Knucks. I used to write down their lyrics and my own versions. I really resonated with those guys.”

“Every song of mine is a story about my life, campfire stories from London” – Zino Vinci

At the age of 14, Vinci began writing. During the pandemic, he ramped up, releasing tracks like “Zoom” and “Wake Up” in 2020 and an EP, Baby Blue, in 2021. Fans tapped in in droves, and waited eagerly for his second EP, last autumn’s Filthy & Disgusting. With his ‘campfire story’ mentality in full bloom, the project is warm and vibrant, leaning into the wistful and livelier elements of his character.

There is radical sincerity throughout; “Western Union”’s story of a young comic-book superfan’s close encounter with a robbery is symptomatic of the grow-up-fast mentality of neighbourhoods like Vinci’s. Meanwhile, his voice is sugary over a mellow guitar riff on “First Time”, as he recalls his earliest love.

His songs sound like letters to himself, diarising turning points like these. “I wanted to show people my ability and versatility and get my music heard,” he says. “I see every release as adding to my story. The love the tape has gotten has been crazy – and from people you wouldn’t even expect, like Maverick Sabre and Katy B! How did they even find me? If the people I respect like my music, then I must be doing something right.”

Despite his lyrical vulnerability dragging him well wide of drill’s ice-cold realism, Vinci feels comfortable underground. He arrived over lockdown with a new wave of UK wordsmiths – artists like Ashbeck, Joe James, BXKS, Rushy, ayrtn or anyone else you might hear on burgeoning stations like Victory Lap. But while Vinci embraces the label, he eventually wants to break onto even bigger stages. “I’m just a rapper who’s doing what feels right,” he says. “I’m not in the mainstream per se, but that’s coming in due time.” With his glass of sparkling water now empty, Vinci’s game-on posture has gradually morphed into a comfortable slouch, signalling a quiet confidence in what lies ahead.

He promises “a bunch” of new music soon, supplementing his quest for steady progression and, ultimately, legacy. “I just want to keep capitalising on what we have already,” he surmises, as we get up to leave north London. “I don’t want to get too big too fast and then fall back on nothing. I want to be to others what Tyler, the Creator was to me – to change the whole stratosphere of music for someone and leave the planet knowing that I’m remembered for what I was able to do. I don’t want to be gatekept by anyone; I want to be on your Mount Rushmore of rappers when it’s all over.”