MIKE (real name Michael Jordan Bonema) remembers living in London back in 2017. “I only had my college ID and a big bag of clothes!” the 27-year-old remembers. “All the money I made off my album [2017’s MAY GOD BLESS YOUR HUSTLE] was coming through PayPal, because I had no bank accounts.”
Laughing slowly from the bottom of his chest like a chilled-out cartoon bear, he adds: “There was this one Chinese joint in the hood that actually accepted PayPal! Whenever I walked down there and paid for my food with the PayPal app, they’d all laugh at me. I was getting some crazy looks [from the staff]. I guess the thing that really saved me was believing in myself.”
That self-belief sure went a long way. One of the buzziest names in contemporary underground rap, MIKE has progressed from a couch-surfing indie rapper to nurturing a committed international fan base that looks at him more like a TikTok-era shaman than your typical emcee. Consistently lending his reassuringly nasal vocals to help the lost navigate through everyday anxieties (“I’m probably drunk / scared to open your message for days” was one typically relatable half-grumbled bar from “Airdrop”), MIKE’s free-spirited raps feel a lot like mediumistic art.
This means where someone – who claims to be able to communicate with ghosts – lets the spirits take over their pen hand and do free-associative doodles. MIKE fluidly shifts between conflicting visions – including the healing power of a mother’s smile; trying not to bleed in a shark tank; being surrounded by people leeching off his soul; and psychedelic mushrooms losing their powers over time and eventually turning from euphoria into complete angst (new song “Angsty”). This all creates a seance-like sonic atmosphere.
My rapping is mainly based on feeling. The things that interest me most are the ideas that exist together despite being polar opposites
His old soul couplets dissolve into gloop almost as quickly as they arrive, resulting in music where multiple voices are fighting to break through, many of which ultimately get lost to distorted synth puddles and pitched-up hisses. MIKE also beguilingly hums out call and response harmonies to wounded 1970s soul samples – like on “Hunger” (which has nearly 50 million streams on Spotify) and also the career-best song, “nuthin i can do is wrng” – to give the feeling of a live conversation between the living and the dead. “It’s all about those contrasts! My rapping is mainly based on just feeling,” MIKE says of this signature style.
“I put down whatever lyric I feel… and then try to make sense of it all later. The things that interest me most are the ideas that exist together despite being polar opposites. Some people say my music is [like lucid dreaming], but that’s incorrect: I smoke too much weed, so I never really remember my dreams.” When he was a kid, MIKE read A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare at school. One line in particular stood out: “The course of true love never did run smooth.” It’s a big reason why his own music is such a carefully-weighted blend of both life’s giddy highs and the bumpy lows.
“One beer turning into five… looking up to see my mom’s face drifting through the sky,” MIKE once rapped on the elegant, The Alchemist-produced “Odd Ways”. The lyric is a form of transmutation in the way it elevated death (of his beloved mother, Anuoluwapo Sandra Akinboboye) from something natural into the magical realm. Delivered in a world-weary rapping voice, where verbs emanate slowly out of nostrils blocked up from a week-old cold, there’s a feeling you’re listening to someone fresh out of hibernation.
“There’s an unvarnished tactility to MIKE’s voice,” wrote Nadine Smith in a Bandcamp review of this year’s brilliantly loose Showbiz album, “drawing you close enough to the microphone to feel every crack and contour of his breath.” This approach is particularly prevalent on the flute-heavy Showbiz‘ highlight, “Artist of the Century”, where MIKE’s pro-pan-African raps (“Trying to free the colony like Tubman”) feel more like stoned chit-chatting than conventional rapping. It’s like a close friend whispering secrets into your ear in the smoker’s corner at a house party.
“I was supposed to go to speech therapy as a child,” MIKE reveals of his trademark tenor. “I went to one class and never went back. Half of my adolescence was spent in the UK and the other half in America, both on the East Coast and also in Philly where everyone talks like they’re from down south. My accent and speaking voice got all slurred and confused [as a result].” I tell MIKE the world is thankful that his speech therapist got binned off. “My accent is all over the place, bro!” he laughs.
Talking to me on Zoom during a rare break from touring, MIKE can barely believe that sold-out shows, running his own music festival (Young World), and releasing singles with friend and high profile collaborator Earl Sweatshirt are now everyday occurrences. I don’t sense an out-of-control ego, and the way he palms away my questions about success to instead talk about his mother’s jollof rice recipe suggests someone grounded amid the ascendant fame. “Sometimes it’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience,” he admits.
It feels like a particularly special moment to speak to MIKE about his art. He’s about to release the sequel to Pinball, an album produced entirely by the avant-garde street rap beatmaker, Tony Seltzer. With DJ-Screw-esque shifts to its woozy lo-fi beats, which soar one second and sink like quicksand the next, Seltzer’s production inspires MIKE to hit new heights as an emcee. These new songs, MIKE explains, are the result of the pair “locking ourselves in a windowless dungeon” to create something “special.”
“Suddenly the coolest in the city / who they want to be,” MIKE spits confidently amid lapse, surreal trap textures on “Sucka Free”. He’s less the jaded poet and more the grizzly alpha sitting over at the winner’s podium in shelf-fresh sneakers. It’s also apparent that the carefree risk-taking ethos of talented underground peers and 10K labelmates including Niontay, Jadasea, and King Carter has rubbed off positively on MIKE, arguably leading him into embracing a less anxious sound. Suddenly, paying for mini veggie spring rolls with PayPal seems like a long, long time ago.
“Right now my confidence is better than it’s ever been,” MIKE beams while rolling a blunt. “That’s because this rap shit has allowed me to be a financial provider [for my family] and meet great artists, who’ve also become close friends. It’s a crazy feeling. Rap really is a beautiful genre, man.”
To celebrate the release of Pinball II, we spoke in depth with MIKE on everything from Shakespeare to looking up to the sky for answers.
I’ve been thinking about your song ‘Odd Ways’ with Wiki a lot, where you have this line about seeing your mum’s face drifting through the sky. I lost my dad when I was young and I always remember my grandma used to say to me: ‘If you look up at the stars, that’s your dad shining down on you!’ What is it about the sky that helps those who are grieving, do you think?
MIKE: I feel like looking to the sky is one of those important moments where you can gaze up at something greater than yourself and feel a sense of hope. The sky’s the biggest thing we can see and, I guess, there’s a comfort [in its vastness]. When my mom died it was like she suddenly became a part of the sky and turned into something that was bigger than all of us. When I think about her loss, I can always look up at the sky for reassurance.
I actually wrote my first-ever rap bars in England. I used to go home and watch Channel U all day long! That’s actually what inspired me to start rapping. They had N-Dubz, Skepta; all of them
Your music has a palpable spiritual side. Has there ever been anything that made you think ghosts could be real? And what’s the biggest thing loss has taught you about living better?
MIKE: When I was younger my dad took me to Nigeria and it was fun as hell! But when my mom took me to Nigeria, it was scary as fuck. Where my mom was originally from, they are big on the spiritual shit and – because I was super young – it was hard to make sense of it all. I remember my mom drove down the highway at night and suddenly this tribe was chasing us, clutching these gigantic leaves. They’d brush our car with the leaves and it was real scary.
I’ve dealt with a lot of family loss, especially with my mom passing. In Nigerian culture, the woman is supposed to be the caretaker of the family. I saw early on how my mom’s life was dedicated to taking care of other people. It taught me that while it’s good to be someone who cares for others, you gotta make sure you’re prioritising yourself too! If you’re purely living for others then that can be damaging. Every now and then I will see something in the mirror, so yes, I definitely believe in spirits and spiritual stuff. But I think the most important thing about death is the ways it teaches us lessons on how to live right.
Historically, there’s such strong links between New York City and London, whether that’s through Slick Rick or Pop Smoke. So, when I hear you rapping about Tesco bags in a New Jersey accent, it feels like you’re keeping that connection alive. What are your biggest memories of your time over in the UK?
MIKE: I was in England from five to ten years old. I had a super low attention span, so I’d be in the back of the class writing lyrics down. I actually wrote my first-ever rap bars in England. One of them made use of the chicken butt joke; it was corny as fuck! I literally used to go home and watch Channel U all day long. That’s actually what inspired me to start rapping. They had N-Dubz, Skepta… all of them. UK rappers could go record a music video with their friends for £50 and the next day it was on Channel U. I liked how they just threw shit on there! The UK always stays with me; I got a lot of friends and family over there, and the UK is where I met some of the funniest n****s I ever met in my whole life! I love the dark British sense of humour.
When you rapped about being in a shark tank, looking for a place to bleed, it felt like a great description of the cut-throat mechanics of the music business. Can you tell me what inspired that particular lyric?
MIKE: It was referencing the battle to be vulnerable. If I bleed then it’s going to be easier for the sharks to sense and detect me, right? It’s like: it’s cool for rappers to be vulnerable, sure, but there’s also a big cost that comes along with that.
I’m curious to explore what exactly that cost is? I know at one of your recent live shows there were white kids playing chess in a bid to create a viral video moment, something they did while you were performing a song about your late mother. Does creating a dynamic where you’re more like a friend to the listener mean that some fans might cross boundaries?
MIKE: I feel like there’s this thing where hip-hop is supposed to be anti-establishment, right? That’s obviously not where we’re at no more with the industry… but there are artists [like myself] still trying to protect that heritage to some extent. Nowadays, and I feel like such an old head for even saying this shit, it’s like there’s a disconnect with those roots! It feels like this era is mainly about people switching between different vibes; therefore they can tune out of the art’s message and purely tune into the aesthetic. If Malcolm X came out today, for example, wearing the exact same shit that n**** had on back in the day, then n****s would only be a fan of Malcolm for his glasses and his drip… not his political message!
When it comes to the shit that happened [with the kids and the chess], well, in my head I was thinking: should I stop rapping right now? But I realised these guys were just switching between aesthetics and templates. I could have shouted at them, but then they would have painted me as the big villain online. Instead, I finished the song I was doing and said to them: ‘Yo, go get that meme.’
You talk on the new song ‘Bear Trap’ about praying for ‘more strength.’ Does the busy schedule of tour life make it difficult to pray? And, what would you say your relationship to God is like in 2025?
MIKE: I always just try and fit into what kind of spiritually feels best. So, like, I’ll be praying not to God… but I’ll be praying to my mom instead, because she’s my closest ancestor so far! When she was alive, she would pray for me constantly. Oh, she literally prayed for me so much that I’m sure she’s probably still praying for me somewhere right now. So I’m gonna just make sure I keep my conversation going with my mom, because that’s exactly what I used to do when she was here.
If it all stopped tomorrow, what would you like them to say about your career?
MIKE: With rap my whole goal is to show people they can achieve the same things with no money, because that’s literally how it started for me! I had no bread; just a lot of love and people believing in my sound. As long as you’re dedicated and believe in yourself more than anyone else does, you can achieve anything in this life. It’s all about backing yourself!
MIKE and Tony Seltzer’s Pinball II is out now on 10k. You can buy it here.
