Profile 015: Steven Othello Brown, Artist + Creative Director

If there’s one person you want on your team as a musician, it’s another creative kindred spirit whose brilliance can motivate your own. Steven Othello Brown is that dynamic team member. From launching the careers of Mickey Factz and Nipsey Hussle and building touring brands like The Smokers Club Tour, to developing creative direction for artists like DRAM and Big K.R.I.T., Steven Othello is a force. His role with artists is ever changing; as an artist himself, he understands that being there for a creative means addressing their needs that day and pivoting to continue to fill in the gaps in their team. But his self confidence hasn’t always been established enough to develop his own art. We sat with him to learn more about his story, the way vulnerability has shaped his output, and how confronting fear motivates his life.

Watch his latest release, PASSAGE, below.

Steven Othello Brown, what do you do professionally, in the fullest sense of the word?

I'm a natural creator. I've always created opportunities for myself; learned by seeing a void and adding myself in it. I'm a creative director. I'm a marketing manager. I'm an artist, manager, photographer. I'm a life coach. I'm a friend. I’m family. I'm a loved one. I’m me. 

I love that. Of those roles, how do you relate to a different role on any given day?

When I'm working with artists it just depends on what they need me for. 

Sometimes they might need me creatively, and other times they might need me to just talk through something with them, from relationships to an idea. Then sometimes they need me as a manager, and I have to figure certain things out for them. Five years ago I was a publicist, and there were times where I didn't necessarily want to be a publicist, but I had to step into that role because we didn’t have anybody in it. But then the next day, I'm working on artwork, because I’ve had to step into that role. That's me. It's stepping up to the role as needed.

How did you find the courage to jump into these roles and step up into those challenges? 

It never felt like pressure, because no one took me seriously at anything that I ever did...until it was serious. Including myself, honestly. I remember when I first started taking photos, we just needed someone to take photos. So I almost was playing [around]. And then they just happened to be good, and people just happened to like it. 

It was never pressure being a publicist because I just was sending emails out. I learned how to master the art of sending an email. And it wasn't real until I got my first premier with Fader, when I started saying, “Oh shit, I could really do this.” 

This is the first time in my life that I've been like, alright, I'm taking this shit seriously, being a creative. I'm taking it as seriously as possible. I’m not playing. It's not like, “Oh, if it happens, it happens. But there's no pressure.” No - there’s pressure to do amazing work. Because when you work in art, you leave a legacy behind. If I died today, I know that some form of me has been put out to the world for people to appreciate later when it's all said and done.

What made you come to the realization that you wanted to take it seriously? How did you know you were ready?

I don't think I knew I was ready. I think I just grew into it. I wanted to be a master collaborator. And I wanted to build with different creatives. Once I saw that I was able to communicate ideas and they worked, I realized I could do this. Because being a collaborator and taking my creative ideas seriously was helping more than just my career; it was helping me be open and vulnerable and speak up.

When you decide to collaborate with people, your ego can't be involved. I'm sitting here in the same rooms that people I respect sit in, and they listen to me, they appreciate my voice. But in the past, I hid behind the company; behind people. I never actually stepped up and said, “This is Steven Othello Brown. This is me.” So it became real when I was putting my name on it. Like, yeah, I'm here.

Is this how you envisioned your professional career? How did you learn about this role - even though it's an ever changing role - when did you decide that this is what you wanted to do? What was your journey to finding out that you could be this person and make a living from it?

I think the root of it all is that I’ve always been creative, whether it's as a creative director or graphic designer or publicist, or even pushing artists. I've always taken to the creative aspect of those roles; creating the concept and a story behind the artist. 

For me, it started when I was in college at LIU [Long Island University]. I had just got my GED and one of my best friends Kwasi, had just moved into the dorms, and we loved sneakers. And I was like, “Yo, we should start a sneaker magazine.” Because at the time, there was no way to get an internship at Complex, and I really wanted to work there. I was working at Smooth Magazine, which wasn't necessarily the dopest mag, but for one, I saw a Black woman in power, and two, it taught me lessons on how to build a magazine properly. So I took that knowledge and applied it to something that I was interested in, which was culture and sneakers. And we created a magazine based on friendships and contacts and people taking the chance on us.

Our first cover was Swizz Beatz. Imagine coming to Swizz Beatz like, “Yo, we got a sneaker magazine.” And this was at the time that if it didn't look real, it wasn’t. But he took a shot on us. He was 20-something years old. We had nothing to show him. We just had an idea, and he was with it. So we decided to create a MySpace page. Saint Louis, my business partner in music, had an artist that he was working with and asked him for a song for our MySpace page.

So he got him to make a song about sneakers. And at the time (‘04-’05), as crazy as it sounds, there wasn't a sneaker song. He made it, the shit was crazy. And I saw that very moment that the artist can take direction. And I was like, all I gotta do is get with artists that listen to my ideas, we could do some shit together. So I collaborated with an artist that took me seriously enough to listen to me. And I gave him my idea to work on an NERD album. I was like, “Yo, we should do a concept album where we flip all the NERD songs and make it a new album, you know, instrumentals, and then we should act like we’re on Star Trak, promote it, and act like you just got signed. And we did that  - we pushed it like it was a new album. And it worked. 

We built his buzz off that album. That artist’s name is Mickey Factz. And it worked. And he did not want to do this shit. [laughs]. We went to Tower Records to buy the albums - I was like, “Yo, we can't bootleg it. We got to support them if we're going to do this.” He was like, “Yo, bro, I don’t know, these are like $50, I don't really got $50 right now - are you sure?” I said, “Yes, trust me.” And that built the foundation of people actually trusting me and listening to me and it working.

And then when I broke him, I had a bunch of other people that started reaching out. And Johnny Shipes from Cinematic Music Group reached out because he was like, “If you can break him, you can break anybody. So here's Sean Kingston, and here’s Nipsey Hussle.” That transitioned me from being an A&R to now pushing artists digitally. Marketing and publicity in a digital world. Cause we didn't have any money to push our artists via the streets. All of our marketing came from MySpace and blogs. At the time, that just wasn't a thing. Some people were early, but most people weren’t. So Nipsey was my first, Smoke DZA was my first, Sean Kingston was my first. And that’s when I became a publicist, a digital publicist.

So you were getting onto the blogs?

Yeah, I was getting everybody on the blogs. It was like “Yo, come to GFCnewyork [my music company], they understand how to push artists in the digital space. Look what they did with Mickey Factz.” That was a prime example of the industry saying, “He shouldn't be here, and he's now on the freshmen cover of XXL. So how'd you get here? It was them.”

That was the first time that my friends and I collaborated on one concept. It was me coming up with the music, it was Saint managing the artist, it was Kwasi [Kessie] being the stylist. During that time, he was assistant styling Chris Brown and Diddy, but he had the chance to play around with Mickey. He could perfect the craft a little bit more, make mistakes, and figure things out. So we were all learning how to be in the industry with this one artist.

From there, I went South by Southwest with Mickey and it was the first time I saw EDM in real life. And it was the first time I saw Black people perform in festivals, large stages, and in bars. And people were excited for hip hop. Cool hip hop, though, like indie hip hop. And I was like, “We should do a tour.”

So I came back down to New York from Austin and met with Shipes. And I was like, “We should do a rap show at South by Southwest next year.” It was The Smokers Club Tour. And that's how I transitioned to touring. But that happened via documenting the process of SXSW, going out there as a manager, and then seeing that we need to bring that there. Then eventually I sold the tour. 

I was a manager, photographer, tour creator, and digital Marketer. Every single year, every few years, I collect a new attribute. 

What happened after you sold the tour?

I took that money and invested in building GFCnewyork. And then eventually met the LVRN fellows. And they had an artist that they wanted us to work with, his name was Raury. And, again, I'm taking all this energy that I've learned in the past few years. But now the difference is that I learned how to build a company, because I've helped build up Cinematic Music Group with Johnny Shipes. When I was there, they signed Joey Bada$$, Big K.R.I.T., Smoke DZA, Nipsey Hussle. They had so many different artists. And I was a part of everyone's career. I felt like I could do that with LVRN. Like, Here's all the shit I've learned. This is how I failed. This is how I won. These are the gems. I love this artist, and I get them. Let's do this. 

Long story long, that led meeting DRAM, and then that's how I became the creative director. That's kind of how I started stepping into it. I started doing a lot of stuff with Big K.R.I.T. I was also part of K.R.I.T.’s management team, but I stepped in as creative director as well. And he believes in me, and he respects me. And ever since then, I've just been carrying that energy. I've taken everything from this road and applied it to who I am now. And that's why I have the confidence to show up for myself. 

Because I'm tested. I'm kid tested, mother approved, I put in the work. [laughs]. I've been in this for 12 years, but not sitting in the same space for 12 years - I've been moving to different spaces. 

What would you say was like the biggest turning point of your career so far?

I think the biggest turning point for me is when I sold the Smokers Club Tour, because it was the first time I had a significant amount of money where I had the freedom to do what I wanted. I felt really free. It's interesting, because I've had a lot of turning points. I feel like 2020 has been a turning point for me as well, because it gave me the opportunity to focus on myself. I really had the chance to sit in my shit and not figure it out. I was like, nah, I don't have to figure it out immediately. I can kind of let it flow.

STORYTIME

A real turning point for me is when I was working at Smooth magazine, I was a freshman at LIU, and I was working at CVS on Christopher Street. So I was hustling. Dead ass. And then I was also trying to start my own magazine - this is all at 19, 20 years old. So this dude named Sean Cummings, who was the editor-in-chief of Smooth, he has some Summer Jam tickets. And my next door neighbor in the dorm room, his name's Shahendra - he’s at Columbia Records now - he started working at Ecko for Marketing. 

So Shahendra hit me one day, he was like, “Yo, you know anybody that's selling Summer Jam tickets? I was like, “I've got Summer Jam tickets.” I just randomly had Summer Jam tickets from Sean. He was like, “How much are you selling them for?” I said, “I don't want to sell them. I just want an opportunity - I want an internship.” And he was like, “Come to the office.” So then he introduced me to this dude named Jeffrey Kimathi, one of the heads of marketing at the time. And Jeffrey was like, “What’s good with the Summer Jam tickets?” I was like, “You can have them, but just give me an internship. Let me prove to you that I can work.” He was like, “I'll give you some clothes.” I was like, I don’t want any clothes, I want an internship!” [laughs].

And so he was like, “Come back on Monday.” And they introduced me to Kim Snow, who has been like a mentor to me. She was a marketing guru during that time of streetwear fashion. She was behind Mecca, she's behind Ecko’s brands, she was behind G-Unit, 40 Acres and a Mule, all types of shit. She's the GOAT, seriously. And I was working for them. And I didn't even know them. And they would have me doing mad shit. Fixing rooms up, making sure the clothes were on hangers, making sure everything was tallied correctly, sized correctly. And they gave me the worst fashion closet in our whole building, and was like, “Fix it.” And I fixed it in an hour and a half. They expected that to be my project for the week.

So I was knocking it out. I knocked the whole room out in like, an hour and a half. And they were like, “Oh shit.” But that was the first time I was around marketing. I saw Kanye come in to show his line to Marc Ecko. It was called Mascot. I saw him walk into the offices. I saw 50 Cent walk in to talk about G-Unit. I was there and I was learning from all the OGs. Everybody came from Ecko. A lot of amazing brands came out of the Ecko offices, because it was so big. It was like a big company. They had every brand. There was so much going on. And Complex as well. 

Have you had moments in your life, as a child or growing up, where you could see the start of who you are now? What has been critical, looking back at your life, in shaping you into the person you are today?

When I was coming up, I spent a lot of time alone. So I used my imagination a lot. I have an uncle, Uncle Dez, who used to work for Sony. And he worked in the warehouse, so he had a bunch of CDs. He would turn on his purple or blue lights and then play CDs, play mad music. And it would never fail - every time he’d come home I'd go sit on the couch right at the edge, and I’d just sit there quietly listening to music. Really soaking it in, hearing shit I never heard before. Hearing Sting, then Mobb Deep. I’d be taking it all in.

I have another uncle, Uncle Duval, who listened to jazz a lot. And when he introduced me to that, it was different. It was like - I’d never heard this before. Like, “Who’s Miles Davis, John Coltrane?” I was listening to John Coltrane at nine years old, not understanding what it really meant.

I recently had a conversation with my uncle. He was like, “You know when I started respecting your musical ear? It was when you were 14 years old. You argued with me about why Tupac was more important than Biggie.” At the time, his response was, “Come on, how could you ever think Tupac is better than Biggie?” And my Uncle said that my response was, “Biggie made better music, but Tupac means more to the culture because his words live on. His words never stopped traveling. Biggie’s music never stops traveling, but that's where it stops. You don't really hear about Biggie saying certain things that connect to us right now. You hear about Tupac - you could put some type of quote from Tupac or an inspirational video of things he was talking about, and it’s valid right now. The things that he was saying about police brutality, his whole story and his parents as being Black Panthers, everything” - and I was saying that shit at 14. And my Uncle looked at me then, and he was like, “Yo, you right son.” [laughs].  

And it was the first time that I was like, “Oh, yeah, I know what I'm talking about. I get it.” Right. And then the last thing is when I was younger, I would buy CDs, play them, and figure out what the singles were. I remember DMX’s second album, and they had the joint with Sisqo. When you’re in a cocoon, it’s hard to know what’s around - it’s not like there was the internet. So you just think that the one that's I guess, and that’s valid for you. And then you hear it on the radio, and you're like, “I know what I'm talking about!” I felt valid, like, oh, I know, exactly what I'm talking about. Because it's on the radio now, and I said it was gonna be on the radio.” I was probably 13, 14 years old.

So coming out of this place where you're supported and affirmed by the people around you, like by your uncles who mean a lot to you, and coming into music you have self confidence, which is critical. Can you elaborate further on what the role of vulnerability is in your work? 

I’ve gotta connect, you know? A lot of the stories that I'm telling with these artists, - these days, I'm telling a visual story that accompanies the music - I need to be able to connect with the music and communicate the ideas. So I'm empathetic to a lot of things. When an artist is going through things, and I hear the music, I might fuck around and cry because I'm connected to it in such a close place; both knowing their story and also feeling it. It helps me create. 

I'm working with an artist who's making an album about falling out of love, and I'm thinking about all the times that I fell out of love in order to create. And in order for me to do that, I have to share with him why I'm thinking from this perspective. A lot of times when I talk to artists that I work with, I tell them, “So this is what I'm going to right now. What are you going through?” And we talk about what we’re going through. And then we meet in the art. But it starts with human connection, from a friendship standpoint or a conversation standpoint, and then we meet somewhere in the art. 

Is that when you're the most authentic and expansive in your role? 

I think so. It's like freedom. It's like freedom and conversation and figuring it out, but not for perfection.

So when did you first feel seen professionally? 

I think I just started feeling seen now. Because I've always hid behind something. One day, I realized that I’ve got to put myself out there more. Because I'm also telling a story. My story.

And I need people to know it, because I've been through a lot and I think it could be helpful to someone coming up trying to figure things out. So I think I started to feel seen when I started stepping up, and stepping into it as myself, like, “I’m Steven. This is me. I don't know what I'm doing, but I know that I'm coming as myself.”

A lot of times when you work with younger artists, they don't really give a fuck about who you worked with. So you have to come as you are. So even when I'm working with new artists and we’re having a conversation, I don't talk about what I did, I talk about who I am. I just say, I'm from Harlem. I’m 37. I've just started creating. I fuck with your music. I'm connected to it because I'm vulnerable when I'm listening to it. I see myself in it.

I feel like I'm being seen because I'm being honest. I'm really telling you everything about me, and not about what I used to do. Because it doesn't matter. And that's where we connect. It's about me and you. 

When did you first see yourself?

Recently. I feel like 2020 has been a real awakening. I'm really looking in the mirror and finding who I am now. It's not about how I see myself in the past, because I didn't really see it...see me. There were times when I used to look in the mirror and be like, who is this dude? Partially it was age - you look a certain way, and then you don't. Like, damn, this is a new face. [laughs]. And then you don't really feel comfortable and confident in it. 

But recently I've been more accepting. This is me. I like how I look. I like how I feel. I like what I'm doing. I love what I’m working on. And the type of work I’ve been doing is the work that you don't see. This is just me living. The amount of work that I did, internally, is so crazy that by 2021, God willing, it’s gonna be lit. I'm super prepared, because I did a lot of unseen work. 

Health work -- working out more -- studying, figuring out what I like, and why I like it, understanding Black art and trying to get to know it better, listening to Black women and having those conversations just to understand and not to give my spin on it. All these things I've never done before. Being kind to myself, really taking it easy. I don't have to finish this tomorrow, I can finish it later. I didn't finish yet, but I started it. Appreciating the progress, the steps, the little piece of bricks that’ve been laid - the foundation. Instead of feeling like I gotta build the whole house by 2020, or I didn't do anything. It’s too much pressure.

What inspires you, and how do you stay inspired? 

Family inspires me. Being from New York City inspires me. People I see myself in. I was introduced to David Hammons by you. And David Hammons has given me the confidence to do whatever I want, and gives me the confidence to be myself, be as low [private/secluded] as I want, but still have an output in this world. How I view him is like, “Yo, you can be yourself. You can literally make your own rules. You don't have to do it the way they want you to do it.” That's what I want to be.

Gil Scott-Heron inspires me. Soul Music, R&B. Words. Color. I'm inspired by myself. It feels good to be 37 years old, and people be like, “For real?” [laughs]. Like, “Yeah, I didn’t fall off. I’m good.” It makes me feel good. 

What legacy do you want to build with the work that you're creating now?

So I have a vision of myself. I have about 13 years until I’m 50. I see myself being like this around 60: I see myself dressed like my grandfather. I always tell people, “I'll be wearing a turtleneck and a tracksuit.” And I have one this little Dad hat or whatever, I have some hair, I look crazy as hell. And people might even think I'm a little weird. Because I think I'll fully be myself at that time. And I'll be on 14th Street playing chess, telling the young folks about what it used to be like. And I’ll have my little Bengal cat, and he'll be on a leash. [laughs]. And I'll just be walking through the city, and people will be like, “Yo, who's that dude? You know, that dude that be walking with the cat.” And after leaving 14th street, after getting that energy, I'll be walking through some space that I've created - a warehouse full of creatives making things. And it’s their name. It's not under Steven Othello Brown. No, this is a space for y'all to create. Here’s materials, here’s everything you need to do it. Everybody can collaborate, everybody can work. And hopefully I'll be building things that are connected to New York. 

A big goal of mine one day is to remodel the projects I was raised in. So I want to get to a space where Douglas Projects are remodeled by Steven Othello. I want to get to that place because I think it's important to come back to where you were at and adjust things a little bit. So I see that being my legacy. Connected to things that are part of the culture. 

What has been your daily process to overcome challenging opportunities?

I stopped doing things as a to do list. I stopped putting pressure on myself to complete a mission. I started thinking about the things that I was afraid of. I started creating a fear list. And I was like, all right, I'm afraid of this. I'm afraid of this feeling. I'm gonna walk towards my fear and try to understand why I'm afraid of it. And even if I don't overcome the fear - it could be, like, jumping out of a plane - even if I don't jump, but I approached it, then I know that I'm trying to work on things I'm afraid of. Because fear is the thing that’s stopped me from growing. That's how a plant doesn't get water. You're almost in fear of over watering it, so you don't you don't water it at all. 

I'm not afraid anymore. I can do this, I can live. I have something to live for. 

There was a time where I thought I had to live for my friends. There was a time I thought I had to live for my family. But now I'm like, I gotta live for myself. I want to see what my future looks like. I want to visualize that dream of my little Bengal, Cola, and me being on 14th Street, talking to the young folks, and going to this warehouse. I want to see it. And I realized that I've gotta walk into it in order to see it. 

I'm proud of you. Any last words?

Peace.