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Hak Baker on Hakeem, the revealing documentary that was five years in the making

Hak Baker doesn’t hide much.

His music, brimming with raw honesty, has been his way of narrating life since the release of his 2017 EP Misfits. This project was a turning point for Baker, marking the first time he shared songs he’d written on the guitar—an instrument that had come into his possession after winning it in a prison raffle.

That guitar became a vessel for his evolution, helping him transition musically from a high-energy, Channel U-approved Grime MC in Bomb Squad, into the folk-inspired “G-folk” sound that Baker is now known for. His subsequent albums, Babylon (2020), Worlds End FM (2023) and more recently his latest EP Nostalgia Death (2024), have only solidified his presence as a musician who refuses to be boxed in. Each release has seen his sound become more layered, and more complex, but always anchored in storytelling—stories that only Hak can tell.

However, Baker’s most recent release with his name on isn’t music at all. It’s a film—Hakeem—an intensely personal documentary directed by James Topley and Ivo Beckett of DEADHORSES. The film was premiered at BUILDHOLLYWOOD’s event space The CarWash in the heart of Shoreditch, with an intimate screening and Q&A hosted by CassKid, during which, an emotional Hak Baker added further detail to what is already a close-up look at his life on and off stage.

21.10.24

Words by Greg Stanley

Filmed over five years, the film is an unflinchingly honest portrayal of Hak’s life. It tracks his journey from a self-described ‘turbulent’ youth growing up on the Isle of Dogs, to his rise as one of East London’s most intriguing musicians. But more than that, Hakeem confronts deeper issues that have shaped Baker’s life and career: trauma, masculinity, mental health, and the weight of class.

At the core of the film is the same candidness that characterises Baker’s music. From his time as an MC nurtured by youth clubs to his unexpected win of a prison raffle that led him to the guitar, Hakeem mirrors Baker’s own willingness to be vulnerable in public. The documentary doesn’t just highlight the highs of his career—it dives into the lows, the moments of self-doubt, and the ongoing battle between success and personal identity.

This tension between personal triumph and internal struggle is a theme Baker addresses with openness. In the film, as in his music, there’s no pretence. He shares his thoughts on British lad culture, class, race, and brotherhood—all with a sense of authenticity that’s often missing from mainstream narratives. It’s the sort of honesty that not only endears him to his audience but also challenges them to think more deeply about the experiences of working-class Black men in Britain.

One of the most profound elements of the film is its exploration of Baker’s relationships with his friends. The documentary captures his deep sense of loyalty to those who have been there through thick and thin. It’s in these moments that Baker’s music, his film, and his life intersect most powerfully. The community is everything to him, and it’s evident that his creative journey is as much theirs as it is his own.

As part of the documentary release, BUILDHOLLYWOOD has plastered Hakeem across billboards in London—an homage to the city that raised him and continues to inform his work. His music, much like his story, remains deeply connected to the streets, the same streets where he learned the life lessons that now form the backbone of his art.

In the Q&A at the Car Wash, the venue smothered with posters that show off a smiling Hakeem himself, Baker was, as always, transparent—sharing stories, answering questions with the same candor he brings to his music and the documentary. It’s this unfiltered approach that makes him not just a compelling artist but an important voice in British music.

Whether on-screen, in song, or in the following interview, Hak Baker is constantly exploring the contradictions and complexities of life, particularly his own. And, as always, he’s doing it in his own way, without compromise, hiding nothing.

Can you introduce yourself in your own words?

Hak Baker: My name is Hak Baker, from East London. I’m a writer and songwriter, and I guess you could call me “turbulent.” That’s me, mate.

Starting with your roots in East London where you grew up, you instantly cut through a lot of noise with your ode to your hometown in 2017. Why do you think ‘Conundrum’ resonated with people so much?

Hak Baker: I think it’s because people like to put everything in boxes. They draw inspiration from something, but instead of making it their own, they just copy it. People don’t want to stand out because they’re afraid of ridicule. That’s why a lot of things sound the same these days. I’ve never cared much about fitting in. I do my own thing.

And how has East London influenced you and your music?

Hak Baker: East London has a certain vibe—an allure. We’re a happy-go-lucky bunch, enjoying the community and the mix of cultures. Growing up here, a lot of it was wasteland, warehouses, not much to do. So, we made our own entertainment. That kind of upbringing taught us to find humor in dark times, to look through the bleakness and find something to laugh about. It’s a big part of why I am the way I am today.

What kind of access to music did you have growing up?

Hak Baker: I had every access, really. We mostly gained our musical knowledge from our parents and what they were listening to, and from the people around us. But a huge influence was pirate radio. That was the hub for what was new, fresh, and accessible to us. Everyone had a radio at home to tune into after school, to catch the latest tracks or hear who was killing it on the mic. Pirate radio was everything back then, it’s where you could test yourself against others and see who had the better flow. If someone got the better of you last week, you’d go away, get better, and come back stronger.

I also have to mention cable television—channels like MTV and The Box, back when pop music was really good. We’d watch those and soak up all sorts of influences. Youth centres were also crucial. They weren’t just about music but about community. It’s where we met adults who connected with us, where you could settle disputes or even have a punch-up, and come back next week with everything smoothed over. It was a place where kids from different backgrounds came together, learned from each other, and grew.

Youth clubs have been closing down all over the UK. Why do you think that’s such a problem?

Hak Baker: Youth clubs were the first places where people from different races and backgrounds came together. It was a safe space where disagreements could be settled with guidance from an older, wiser face. I saw racial barriers break down in those places. White kids who didn’t get grime at first would be into it a few weeks later, writing their own lyrics. It was a space where young people learned about each other before things could escalate on the streets.

You started out in a grime crew, which is very much tied to the culture of East London. How did that scene shape you, not just musically but in other ways?

Hak Baker: Yeah, being an MC was the thing to do back then. It wasn’t just about music; it was about character-building. You had to have the charisma, the lyrics, the guts. If you didn’t, you’d get torn apart. Youth clubs played a big role in that, too. You’d test yourself, see if you could hold your own against someone else. It was good for the mind… sets you up for life in a way.

Moving on to your transition from grime to more acoustic, folk-inspired music—were you already into folk and similar genres before you made that shift?

Hak Baker: I’ve always been intrigued by different styles of music. One of the first bands I got into was Kings of Leon, then I discovered Daughter. Later on, I started listening to artists like Gil Scott-Heron, Bob Marley and the Wailers, Tracy Chapman, and Billy Bragg. But honestly, it all came after I started playing guitar. I didn’t really have those influences before. It was more about finding my own style, taking bits and pieces from here and there, and making something that felt natural to me.

Do you think it’s important for you to bring the culture of folk music back to working-class black musicians?

Hak Baker: It’s not something I actively think about. I just do what comes naturally. I’ve always tried to keep my lyrics truthful, even when I was younger. I never wanted to glorify things that weren’t real. When I picked up the guitar, it felt natural to move away from the more derogatory stuff and focus on what I see and know, just talking matter-of-factly. It wasn’t a conscious process; it just happened.

In the charts, songwriting these days is a bit rubbish, to be honest. People just want to fit in, follow the formula that they know works. I’m not interested in that. I don’t care about fitting in; I care about staying connected to the street, to the working-class people. My goal is to communicate with them, to stay relevant to those who have less relevance in society. There’s enough out there perpetuating ignorance and vanity—I’m just not interested in that.

Performing at the prison where you first learned to play guitar. What was that experience like?

Hak Baker: Going back there was a big deal for me. Prison is where I decided to change my life, where I made the decision to do something different. There are a lot of champions in prison—they just don’t know it yet. I wanted to be something they could look at and see hope, see that change is possible.

You’ve done some huge shows recently, some of which you see in the film. You’ve had Glastonbury, Somerset House. How does it feel now that the dust has settled a bit?

Hak Baker: It’s funny. Those highs are amazing, but they come with lows too. You have to manage your expectations, be happy with what you have. It’s all about balance, being grateful for the good times while understanding that they don’t last forever.

Let’s talk about your documentary. What motivated you to let a camera crew follow you around for so long?

Hak Baker: It started out just as a small project. The guys wanted to film us, so we did it. We liked what they did, and it just kept going. We didn’t set out to make a documentary, but it turned into one over time.

I’ve never had a problem showing people who I am, warts and all. It just started happening, and I was like, “Cool, whatever.”

What was it like watching the documentary for the first time?

Hak Baker: Mate, it wasn’t easy. Watching yourself in some of those dark situations is tough. It’s like reliving moments you’d rather forget, but there they are, raw and unfiltered, staring back at you. Every time I watch it, it gets a little easier, but it’s never easy, you know? Seeing yourself vulnerable, under pressure—it’s a different kind of exposure. But at the same time, it’s a reminder of how far I’ve come. The film captures everything—the highs, the lows, the graft, the heartbreak. It’s all out there for people to see, and that’s the reality of it. It’s not about looking good; it’s about being real, even when it’s uncomfortable.

The documentary highlights the strength of your friendships and support network. How important has that community been to your journey?

Hak Baker: My friends have always been important to me. It’s still the same friends, really. We’ve been through a lot together. Just last night, one of my mates called me up, clearly going through something. He didn’t want to talk about it right then, so I was like, “Sweet, let’s talk tomorrow.” That’s where we are right now—everyone’s in their own life, things are getting tricky, but we know that if we really need each other, we’re there. It’s been that way for me and the boys for years. We really care about each other’s well-being, and we’re all just trying to navigate through life’s ups and downs. It’s turbulent, but we’ve always got each other to pull us up when we need it.

The documentary is about to be released and toured up and down the country at film festivals and the like. How does that feel compared to releasing new music?

Hak Baker: It’s a lot more intense. With music, you kind of know what to expect. But with this, you don’t really know how people are going to respond. It’s a different kind of vulnerability. Music is just audio, which can invoke visuals in people’s minds. But with this, it’s visual and audio at the same time. It’s more vivid, more immediate. It’s going to invoke more emotion, especially for people who can relate to what I’m talking about.

Do you think it’s important for artists to archive their journeys in this way?

Hak Baker: It depends on the intention behind it. If you’re doing it for glorification, to show how amazing you are, I’m not interested in that. But if it’s about telling a real story, showing how things are actually done, then yeah, it’s important. This film isn’t about making me look good; it’s about showing the real grind, the struggles, the mistakes, and the victories. I’m all for being raw and unfiltered—showing everything, not just the highlights. That’s how people can really connect with your journey, when they see that you’re human, just like them, with all the flaws and fuck-ups that come with it.

As mentioned, you’re taking the film up and down the country. Why do you think that’s important?

Hak Baker: The messages in this film are national, even international. It’s about more than just my journey—it’s about letting people know they’re not alone in their struggles. Whether you’re from the ends in East London or a small town up North, the themes are universal. We all face hurdles, we all have moments of doubt, and we all need that reminder that we’re not isolated in our experiences. That’s why we’re taking it everywhere—so more people can see it, connect with it, and feel a part of something bigger. It’s about promoting communication, helping people feel less isolated, and showing that we’re all in this together.

What do you want viewers to take away from the film?

Hak Baker: I want them to look at themselves, to work on themselves. Don’t rely on external things to make you happy because that kind of happiness is fleeting. It’s better when it comes from within, when you can look at yourself in the mirror and be proud of who you are, despite the flaws. We didn’t delete anything from the film—none of it is sugarcoated. We just got on with it, showed things as they are. No one is perfect, and that’s what we’re putting out there. I want people to see that it’s okay to be real, to make mistakes, and to keep pushing forward. That’s where true growth comes from.

Would you say that’s the approach you take with all your music?

Hak Baker: Definitely. I don’t even know what perfection is, and I’m not trying to find out. I just try to give people the best version of myself that I can at the time. If I’m not feeling great, I’ll tell them. It’s about being real, being connected to the streets, and staying true to who you are. My music is a reflection of that—raw, unfiltered, and honest. It’s not about fitting into some polished idea of what’s popular; it’s about speaking to the people who live this life every day, who face the same struggles and joys. That’s who I’m making music for.

Alongside the film, BUILDHOLLYWOOD is setting you up with some billboards around London. Are you excited about that?

Hak Baker: Yeah, I love the streets. It’s where you learn manners, where you grow. I’m all for anything that brings messages to the streets. The streets are where I came from, where I’ve learned everything I know. So being able to put my message out there, in the place that shaped me, is powerful. I’m very grateful to be able to walk around, get on a bus or a pushbike or a train, and get love wherever I go and not be bothered by people. The streets keep you grounded, they keep you real, and that’s what I’m about.

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