The music industry can be a cruel mistress. It’s very contingent on ‘what have you done for me lately?’ rather than on the years of work put in. Proof of concept only means so much if you aren’t bringing in the bona fide hits. It’s this unjust relationship that left K Camp burnt out for years. It admittedly caused him to look around and wonder if he was doing something wrong. “I never compared myself to people outside of my career, but folks in my career, we all do it, man. I’d be like, ‘My s**t way harder. Why the label ain’t turn my s**t up? These n***as sound like me!’” he recalled.
Even with a TikTok hit in “Lottery (Renegade)” and the strong Kiss 5, K Camp needed to get out. He needed to find his smile again. Now, as an independent artist partnering with Virgin Records, there’s a lot more work, but he’s in control of it. Rather than let his destiny be in the hands of music execs, he can define where he wants to take his career.
After a strong 2025 and another hit song under his belt with “Come Back Home”, Camp spoke to Noisey about the trials and tribulations of the music industry, navigating the balance between business and creativity, the state of R&B, and the rise of AI in his art form.
K Camp Navigates The Ups and Downs of The Music Industry As an Independent Artist
I remember you saying at some point, the industry was made to make you feel like you were lesser, like you weren’t that guy. How did you come to find that confidence again?
K Camp: That’s a good question. It took time and faith, bro. It’s in my blood not to give up, with anything in life. In sports, when I was younger, even when music was the dream. I finally made it in music and got a taste of it, and they tried to take it away from me. I couldn’t go out like that. Only reason for me not to go out like that was to get smarter and sharpen my sword and understand what game I was playing.
A lot of artists get in this game, and they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into for real. I came into this with “Stack of Ones,” like you said, in the studio just tryna vibe out and make the best s**t; until you get in the game and you realize that you can make the best s**t, but if your business ain’t the best, it ain’t gon’ go the way you want it to go. I took that risk and took my business serious.
To this day, I’m still learning business. It took me three years to really understand the masters side, the publishing side, the splits, every little thing with how the majors work and how the indies work. I could talk about this s**t for days. Now we’re in the AI era, but this was when the streaming era was coming out. We were entering a whole new era there, and I was figuring out how marketing and ads worked. Once I tapped into that and understood that all I needed to do was make another song go up, I got my business together, and I’m self-sufficient now.
How do you feel you’ve maintained your faith through an up-and-down music industry?
I got some game from my old managers. I don’t know if you’re familiar with Madden Bros, they were my management for years. During that time, I got with them at a time when it was kinda rocky. We was pickin’ it back up, but it was still rocky. They helped me understand and appreciate the first downs. Everyone wanna score the touchdown, everybody want the Hail Mary. As fast as you go up is as fast as you can go down.
When they installed that belief into me, it just made me think different. The first down can be any f***in’ thing, dawg. You could record a song and send it to your engineer, and the sound crispy and you know the s**t gon’ hit when you drop it—that’s a first down. Appreciating those first downs to the point where when you look up, you’ve scored about seven or eight times, and you didn’t even realize it. You already up, and then you can just take it day-by-day.
The industry emphasizes wanting a big splashy play or a big hit song. Sometimes, the base hit or the first down will be the little things that make people listen to an album on and on. It might be a record on a mixtape that you don’t even think about that somebody is sticking with.
For sure, and I got a lot of those, too. People come up to me sometimes, and while I know I like the song they’re talking about, they turn into these feelers where people are like “This the one.”
Have you ever felt like the business side of things impacted the way you went into the studio creatively? How have you been able to keep those things separate?
I ain’t gon’ lie bro, music is my passion. I’ma keep making music until I can’t no more, but it’s like figuring out that hard math problem. It’s like “Oh s**t, five times five is really…okay, cool.” I’m about to figure out that business and then go in the studio and create the solution, feel me? That’s how I work my s**t these days.
At first, it was hard to balance. I say this all the time in interviews: I’m a true artist at heart. So when I’m in the studio, I’m locked in on my passion. I don’t wanna worry about business, that s**t throw me off. I can’t be on the phone, that’s not my thing. My thing is to perform and express myself through the microphone. I knew I needed this side as much as I needed this side, and I had to carve out some time from one side to feed the other.
I wouldn’t say I’m 50-50, I’d say I’m 51-49 or around there. Now I know that this equals that; I know if I drop two albums in a year, I’ma gross x amount. I got ownership of my masters. So if I drop an album with a hit single that goes off on radio, I’m gon’ eat all year. I might get my check six months from now. But I know for a fact I’m gon’ see something.
I ain’t gotta do x-y-z, I don’t got to work as hard as I used to. I’m on the other side of it, and I got full control and a cult fanbase and do pretty damn well touring independently. I know what it’s gon’ equal out to. I be gettin’ into it with my agents when they ask me if I wanna do certain shows. I’m like “Nah, I’m cool,” I can make that sitting right here, I don’t got to move a pinky toe.
A lot of people get burnt out by that idea. It becomes “Oh, I got to sell this” and then they start to lose what they made the music for in the first place. It becomes “I got to hit this, this, and this in order to get the paycheck I want,” and you can tell in the music. After a while, you can tell when an artist is just going with the flow.
It’s like work.
Exactly. It’s all for this audience or for this person, and that’s something I’ve appreciated about your work: You’ve stayed true in that way.
I know what my people want. I’m not gon’ make some other s**t just for a check. If that happens, I’ll just change my lane and do some other fly s**t.
I think about when you told Bootleg Kev this independent s**t ain’t sweet a lot. Do you feel like the work you’re doing as an independent artist is more rewarding now, even with the extra work attached?
I love being an independent artist, but like I told Kev, you gotta put the money up. It’s like going to the casino: You put 100 on black and hope that s**t hit, and if it don’t, then you out 100. Either you gon’ go back up to your room or try that b***h again. It’s been trial and error for me. My first independent release…I won’t say my first independent release because I dropped “Spin The Block” with Interscope, and I dropped a couple EPs independently, but as far as this new partnership with Virgin, it’s a whole different situation. When I was first independent, I was straight out of pocket with everything.
To this day, I still do, but now I have a partner who’s willing to extend a credit line I can use to take my stuff a little further. But at the same time, when you spending money, just like anything, it’s an advance, you gotta make that money back. When I dropped Built Different, I was like “Oh, I got this access, I’ma flood it. They gave it to me, I’ma see how it works.” I recouped fast, but I didn’t like how when I dropped, I wasn’t seeing my money at first. After a while, I started seeing my money when I recouped.
When I dropped Kiss 6, I decided to go outta pocket and completely fund it myself and see how fast it come back to me. That was the trial, and now I’m working on something else I don’t wanna give away too early, but it’s gonna be a vibe. So now I’m like “How do I wanna play this one?” I talked to one of my business partners and he’s in a similar situation and he told me “Spend it! They got it? Spend it, because you gon’ get it back on the backend.” I don’t wanna be in the hole too long, but it’s all trial and error.
Did you ever feel burnt initially, where you thought something was gonna do x-y-z and you didn’t feel it at first?
Going independent?
Yeah, having put that kind of money up, and you didn’t recoup as quickly…
Nah, I don’t think I felt burnt. The way this game work, if you play it right and budget enough, you’ll be good. A lot of people just be throwin’ money out. We don’t throw money out and see what sticks. Of course, we’ve tried different companies that say do this or that, and those company may not be who they say they is; or we pay a company, and they get hella results. That’s the only time I’ve ever felt a burn, but it’s not *really* a burn, it’s a learning experience. When I roll the next project out, I know not to use x-y-z. I’ma take that $20K retainer I gave them and put it toward digital or an event space for the fans. Take them losses and create something else. I don’t see it as a burn, it’s a business thing.
And it’s part of you thinking long-term, like this didn’t work, I’ll try it this way on the next turn.
And I have the access to do it that way. A lotta folks don’t have the access to do it that way, and it took me a long time to get it.
That’s where folks really get burnt. I know plenty of independent artists where they spend all this money and don’t know what they’re doing because they’re not seeing the end results. Then they start conflating that business side with the creative.
That s**t get tricky, man. The s**t don’t run without a hit record, bro.
Right, it’s only so much a little pop on Instagram or a TikTok might do. You gotta be able to parlay that into something.
If you know how the backend works, that muhf***a might spike one day and then go right back down. These streaming numbers ain’t what people think it is. You might think you goin’ viral, but it’s hard to really make money in the music industry. A hit record gon’ send you through there, depending on your situation. You could be signed to a major and not really see nothin’ from it, but you gon’ get some show money if you got a hit that’s in the club. You could have an R&B hit.
For example, I just went top 20 with “Come Back Home” with Jacquees on it that I put out independently. It was doing amazing, but I wasn’t getting booked in no clubs for an R&B song. I’m not tryna go to the club and be R&B’d out. I’ma see that return on my publishing and colleges and corporate events, but no club because the club is a quick bag. You can go get a $20-$30k bag and see that s**t come back in a few months. It’s different with trial-and-error.
With that work ethic of you balancing the work side and the music side, you do this every single day. It’s never a point where you stop, it seems like. When was the last time you stopped and relaxed and said “Let me enjoy the blessings?”
Man, that’s a good a** question, bro. I’m going to Japan Saturday with my family, so I’ma relax then.
Beautiful.
I’ve never been on a trip with this side of my family, and I’m the big brother and s**t, so that might be my relax time. But my agent and everybody always tell me I never sleep. I feel like I was playing catch-up because my business went to s**t back in 2017. Now, I’m supposed to be back and just chillin and enjoying the fruits of my labor. When I see Thug and the Migos go up, I think to myself, “Damn, we all came out at the same time. Now I gotta come from the left side and take it.”
It feels like if you relax or stop at all, you’re gonna get left behind. It’s hard to balance that because you need to get your mental right and take care of all this stuff. It’s hard not to compare yourself, too. How were you able to grapple with that, especially back then?
Back then, I always used to compare myself to my peers and whoever was doin’ what I was doin’. I never compared myself to people outside of my career, but folks in my career, we all do it, man. I’d be like “My s**t way harder. Why the label ain’t turn my s**t up? These n***as sound like me!” Of course, I did a lot of that back in my early days, but that’s why I don’t follow everybody, bro. Once I stopped following everybody, that s**t gave me a mental break.
It’s hard to do that and not feel like a hater too, like “This s**t wack,” while everybody else is like “Nah, this s**t lit,” and then you end up looking bitter.
Exactly, like you hatin’ and s**t. That’s why I had to get that s**t up outta here.
It’s interesting because we care about the art enough to realize when some s**t is wack.
That’s a good point, too, if you’re a real music lover. I got to the point where I understood what the game is and how these labels play it. Even if some s**t wack, the numbers might say something different. It might be a million-dollar lick that the labels will be like “This wack s**t ‘bout to go!,” and you’re sitting here as a good a** artist seething. We know what it is.
Is there a point in your career that if you reached it, you’d be good, or is this more a marathon?
I’d say it’s a marathon, bro. I got music goals: I still ain’t had a #1 on the Hot 100 yet, I still ain’t had #1s on Urban Radio, I still ain’t had a platinum album yet, I still ain’t won a Grammy yet. Some of them things, the older I get, I’m not trippin’ off it. I still want a #1, because I wanna know what it equals out to on the backend.
But as far as the Grammys and all that stuff, it’s cool, but I’m not doin’ it for the accolades no more. I’m just doin’ it for the people who wanna hear my s**t. It’s a marathon, like you said earlier, but I’m lookin’ at the Quincy Jones of it all. I’m still in my prime. Quincy ain’t find Michael Jackson until his late 30s, you know what I’m sayin’? I’m setting the tone now with my catalog and my legacy. When I really wanna sit down and turn somebody else up, they can’t question it. I know what I’m doin’. Just find another student of the game and create a superstar.
That’s something I’ve always appreciated as someone who’s focused on the music: What does a hit sound like or feel like? And people like Quincy have that ear.
Berry Gordy. I’ve been watching a lotta YouTube and seeing who’s behind the scenes lately. What’s it gonna look like to transition?
How are we gonna get Rare Sound to be like Motown?
You know what I’m sayin’? I got the formula, trust me. Just need the artists and the capital, man.
You mentioned the idea of ‘Trap&B’. It’s hard to balance [trap and R&B] out without one going over the other. Some people wind up going too hard with the trap and it sounds like another rap song; others go too mushy with the R&B. How do you feel you struck the balance between the two that feels unique to you?
My environment and how I came up and people I was—and still am—around. They trap, man. Street guy, however you wanna coin it, they do that. And I love R&B music, too. My mom was bumping Aaliyah, K-Ci & Jojo, Brian McKnight, Boyz II Men, all the classic s**t. Me growing up hearing that and watching things like The Temptations movie, that’s one of my favorite movies, coming up in this environment and making music that sounds good enough for my partners to jam to it is cool. They don’t wanna hear that mushy s**t. I can still do some melody but pop that s**t that y’all wanna hear and create a blend where I do it with these two worlds. And it finally caught. Telling the ladies “I f**k with you,” but telling my partners “Don’t f**k around. It ain’t sweet like that.”
That’s where the distance has been between the 90s and 2000s R&B with the 2010s/2020s R&B, where everybody’s being too hard for a woman. What do you think is the biggest difference between the R&B you grew up on and what’s happening now?
You just said it: A lot of dudes are too hard for women, and a lot of females think they’re too hard for the dudes. The females are listening to trap s**t now, they tryna shoot somethin’ and hit a lick and do the s**t the guys talkin’ about. You got that side of it, but you got the others who still wanna be in their soft girl era and taken out to eat and yearned on and s**t. You just gotta find that middle ground. This s**t not the same at all. But what I do, I pay attention. I’m still outside, I’m still in the mix at Blue Flame and be in the hood. I hang with the nerds and I hang with the gangsters. My palette is so all over the place so I know what’s happening in each space.
It’s hard to pull that off because I think that’s where people get put in these bubbles. Like you’re the toxic type or the lover boy. It’s hard to find that middle ground.
You gotta be diverse when it comes to this music s**t. If you’re working on a project for women, every song can’t be soft as hell. That’s the type of s**t I do, I talk crazy.
You’ve been especially interested in ChatGPT. Some people treat it like Google, and some people treat it as a piece of the music, they generate stuff with it. What’s your thoughts on using AI in a creative and artistic space?
At first, every artist was nervous because it’s gon’ take your job, it’s gon’ sound like you, all type of s**t. Suno and all these apps, I use them to my advantage. For example, I produce too, and I could take an original song I got in an MP3, put it into Suno. Take the new one, and sample that. It’s a whole new composition. I feel like it’s limitless, I got some AI s**t on my album that people ain’t gon’ notice. You gon’ see.
And you don’t feel like there’s a human part missing when you create that? I’m just interested in your perspective.
Nah because I don’t use AI to write my lyrics or do none of that s**t. I use it for samples and vocals and backgrounds and s**t like that. I’m not dependent on no robot to write my songs. This s**t still got to come from the heart. If I was to record a whole song, and I put my song in Suno and say “add some background melodies to this,” that’s how I see it. The song still gon’ be original. I can’t give away all my sauce, man.
Some people are tryna pump out a whole AI avatar [as an artist].
Naaaaah. I thought about that s**t too because I know people who are doin’ that. The majors are doing that and they’re making millions behind creating AI artists, so obviously it’s an open field.
But you gotta understand, too, I got a homeboy, we was on the road and he kept playing this one song on YouTube. It was Lil Baby and Future, and I was like “I ain’t never heard this f***in’ song” and they was snappin’. I asked him what song that was, and he was like “It’s an AI song.” I wish I could sing you the song.
That right there shows you the consumer don’t care who it is. They don’t care, as long as it sound good. You could ask 90% of the average consumers who be outside listening to the radio. I’ma use my name, for example; say you ask your cousin what song they’re listening to and they just won’t know. That’s the new norm: I love the song but I don’t know who the hell it is. It could be an AI, for all I know. It’s a blurred line between that. Monetize it or stay away from it.
It’s hard for me to get with it because I go to an artist to get their human perspective. It’s only so much AI can do. It might rap technically impressive, but it don’t mean nothin’ because you never experienced nothin’.
That’s why it’s always key to write your s**t. I’d never let AI write my s**t and I put it out acting like it’s me. I don’t even take records from songwriters; over the last 10 years, I might’ve had two songs with other people’s writing on it, and that was the hook.
The post K Camp Reflects on Finding Confidence As an Indie Artist, Balancing Music and Industry Mindsets, and the Current State of R&B appeared first on VICE.
