ICEBERG SLIMM - CEO (Official Video)

Nearly two decades is a long time in music. Scenes change, technology transforms the way records are made and consumed, and entire generations of artists can emerge in the space between releases. For Iceberg Slimm, though, stepping away was never simply about leaving music behind. It was about family, responsibility, grief and ultimately discovering a different kind of purpose.

Now, with new single “CEO”, the UK rapper is finally ready to pick up a story that was left unfinished.

Iceberg’s relationship with music stretches back long before record deals and chart success. Growing up in a West Indian household, Sundays came with chores, food cooking and a soundtrack that moved effortlessly between Beres Hammond, Alton Ellis, Motown and countless other styles. Elsewhere there was Phil Collins, The Carpenters, calypso, soca and the musical influence of two uncles who were teachers and musicians.

Then hip hop arrived.

Public Enemy, EPMD, LL Cool J, Redman, Black Moon, Kool Moe Dee, Kool G Rap and Slick Rick opened another world. Where the music he had grown up around had given him melody and soul, hip hop offered something rawer.

“Once I heard that, I was sold,” he remembers. “That was me.”

Even the Iceberg Slimm name carries history. During his teens, while staying with his grandfather, his uncle handed him a copy of Iceberg Slim’s Pimp. Around the same period, rap had become an obsession and the direction suddenly felt obvious. “That’s all I wanted to be, was a rapper. At some point in my life, I knew that’s what I was going to become.”

That journey started early. At around 14 he was part of school group Execution Squad, already learning the fundamentals of building something independently. A show at The Rocket on Holloway Road pulled in hundreds of people and, to a group of teenagers, it felt enormous.

Music would eventually take Iceberg much further. “Nursery Rhymes” broke into the UK Top 40, while collaborations, major label experience and international touring followed. Yet behind the success was a story that would eventually change the course of his life completely.

In 2009, Iceberg recorded two tracks, including “CEO”. Around the same period he worked on “I Have A Dream”, a record connected to raising awareness around the African Caribbean Leukaemia Trust. His father heard the new material and immediately recognised something different in it, describing the production as carrying the authentic weight of hip hop.

Then everything changed.

In November 2009, his father revealed that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. By March 2010, he had sadly passed away.

Before his death, Iceberg’s father asked his eldest son to be there for his younger siblings. It was a promise that fundamentally reordered his priorities.

“I kind of had to make that decision,” Iceberg explains. “I can’t be doing music as I want to, as freely as I did before, because I’ve got a responsibility to step up.”

Although he continued performing and travelling alongside longtime collaborator Raghav, his own career moved into the background. Instead, Iceberg immersed himself in education and working with young people, studying child psychology and education while supporting children affected by exclusion, gangs, care and other complex circumstances.

All the while, the footage connected to “CEO” remained tucked away in his wardrobe.

“I just wasn’t ready to deal with it,” he admits.

It would take years before that changed. Conversations with Raghav and producer Dready eventually forced Iceberg to confront the unfinished music and the possibility that leaving it unheard could become its own regret.

“I’ve grown a lot. I’ve matured,” he says. “I’ve got a lot of burden and baggage from what happened with my dad, but I’ve learned, in a sense, how to manage it.”

That perspective is central to “CEO”. This isn't an artist attempting to recreate his younger self. The swagger and wordplay remain, but the man delivering them has accumulated almost two decades of life beyond the music industry.

“I’m comfortable in my own skin again,” he says. “It’s not about trying to be a number one artist. It’s just about being creative again.”

That evolution can also be heard in the stories Iceberg now wants to tell. His years working directly with young people have given him a different understanding of the lives that can sit behind newspaper headlines. Where society might see a young person involved in violence and immediately reduce them to a label, his work has exposed him to the absent parents, domestic violence, poverty, trauma and lack of support that can exist behind those stories.

“It’s given me a lot more empathy, a lot more stories to narrate and be creative around,” he explains. “It’s definitely given me that time and space to grow and see things from a wider perspective, not just from my point of view.”

One story clearly remains close to him. Iceberg recalls working with a young person from South London who was heavily involved in gangs and initially wanted nothing to do with him. Rather than arrive promising to change his life, Iceberg simply asked what interested him.

Eventually, the answer came: jewellery.

Iceberg encouraged him to research British jewellers, understand the businesses behind the finished products and learn about the journey required to enter the industry. That interest became a tangible goal. Months later, the young man's bedroom was covered in Post it notes containing maths equations and English quotes because he had realised those subjects were necessary to reach the college course he wanted.

For Iceberg, that is where purpose becomes more important than celebrity.

“The greatest thing is to give back to a young person that doesn’t believe in themselves.”

It also explains why this new chapter feels so different. The Iceberg Slimm who once rocked purple hair, oversized clothes and New Era caps is now more likely to appear in a fedora, blazer and spiritual stones. Even that visual evolution has purpose. When he walks into schools, he wants young men to see another possibility for what success can look like.

Musically, the same principle applies. Rather than chasing shock value, he increasingly wants his records to leave something behind.

One forthcoming song, “Yesterday”, looks at the breakdown of a relationship and the emotional aftermath for men. The inspiration came while Iceberg was researching material for his intervention work and reading about depression and suicide following relationship breakdowns. It pushed him towards a subject that he feels men are still frequently discouraged from discussing openly.

“Now it’s about me trying to be more of a storyteller and painting a picture that someone will hear and say, ‘You know what? It sounds like he’s talking to me.’”

Nas is one of the reference points he returns to when describing what he wants from music. As a youngster, Iceberg remembers hearing words in Nas records that would send him searching for a dictionary. Music could entertain while simultaneously encouraging curiosity, reflection and growth.

“How can I impact people in a positive light?” is now one of the first questions he asks himself when approaching a record.

That doesn't mean Iceberg has lost affection for the era that created him. Get him talking about old school UK club culture and the memories arrive quickly: Bagley’s, The Coliseum, Hanover Grand, Gas Club, DJs carrying boxes of records and crowds that actually came to dance.

What he misses most, however, is the physical connection surrounding music. Buying records, studying artwork, reading production credits and discovering where samples originated all encouraged listeners to dig deeper. Breaking through as an artist required a similarly physical commitment: standing outside radio stations with records, travelling around the country meeting DJs and building relationships face to face.

“You had to do it by word of mouth,” he says. “You built your process from the ground up.”

For all the opportunities created by streaming and social media, Iceberg feels something has been lost in that transition.

“Music is meant to be a community thing. It’s meant to bring people together.”

His own listening habits still reflect that curiosity. He talks enthusiastically about Children of Zeus and their organic rise, praises Miller Blue as an artist able to sing, rap and produce, and points towards Tems as a vocalist with an immediately distinctive identity. J Dilla remains a particularly important reference, while Caribbean sounds including zouk, soca and calypso have recently found their way back into heavy rotation following a trip to Montserrat, where his father’s family originates.

There is a sense throughout our conversation that Iceberg Slimm is now looking both backwards and forwards at once. He has enormous affection for the music and culture that raised him, but no interest in simply recreating it. Instead, the experiences accumulated during his absence have given him something new to say.

His priorities away from the microphone have shifted too. Family, football (Arsenal), good food and meaningful time with the people around him matter more than ever.

“Moments are key in life,” he says. “Too many times we take things for granted.”

Perhaps that is ultimately what makes “CEO” such an important return. It isn't merely an old record finally escaping the archive. It reconnects Iceberg Slimm with the person he was before losing his father while introducing the person he became afterwards.

The hunger is still there, as is the love for hip hop, but the motivation has changed. There is no desperate attempt to reclaim an old position or compete with a younger generation. After years spent putting family and young people first, Iceberg Slimm has returned because creating music once again feels right.

As he puts it simply: “It’s a full circle.”