Rowdy, The King of NC

On the one-year anniversary of his passing, a collection of letters to the emcee and educator Joshua “Rowdy” Rowsey.

Rowdy, live in concert. Photo by Amanda Rudd.

Kevin Joshua “Rowdy” Rowsey II is a hip-hop recording artist, performer and teaching artist who stood at the forefront of the cypher movement and hip-hop education space in North Carolina before passing away on April 17, 2024, at 32 years old. Rowdy is also a founding member of the No9to5 Music collective, organized on the campus of UNC-Chapel Hill. These words are written in tribute to Rowdy on the one-year anniversary of his transition, and shared with love and respect for his parents, sister and extended family.

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Josh,

What’s up bro. I’ve been wanting to get these words down for a couple weeks, and this felt like the right time to start, right after finishing another week teaching the art of rhyming to middle school students. That’s right, I’m in the classroom willingly getting worn out and inspired by these kids, just like my brother Rowdy. But you probably knew that already, and get a kick out of watching it, thinking, “Yeah, these kids are a lot. A LOT. But they’re also amazing and somebody’s gotta do it, so it might as well be us.”

For the past few years, every time we talked, we’d inevitably get to a point in the conversation when you would assure me, unprovoked, that your new music would be coming soon. You’d explain how you knew that I knew that you were slacking on some imaginary deadline that had already passed, but you would be on it soon. You promised.

The first few times, I offered some encouraging words I hoped would help you make progress. But I kept watching your journey, seeing the amazing programs you spearheaded, all of the lives you transformed, seeing the presence you had established in North Carolina firsthand during my trips down south. And I stopped.

I stopped trying to push you towards releasing new music because clearly God had a calling for you harnessing the power of hip-hop as an educational tool, and evidently your spirit was guiding your mind and body to fulfill it. You loved it, and it was making a DIFFERENCE.

You were giving voice to unheard communities and unlocking confidence and purpose within countless youth, which will have ripple effects beyond our wildest dreams. Years later, Black Royalty still represented you well, and you stayed true to the craft, rocking shows and cyphers, growing as a producer, and writing and recording until you felt it was perfect the best representation of who you are.

Photo by Amanda Rudd.

So who was I to tell you, “Nah that stuff you doing over there will change the world, but you need to release these songs RIGHT NOW?” And who would you be to fight God and tell Him the same thing? In due time your spirit would gravitate towards it, and the moment to drop new music would come. Until it didn’t. And that broke my heart.

You supported me and others in ways many have seen, and in ways that only you and I know, and I was so so looking forward to the Rowdy new music campaign for all of us to return the favor, lift you up, and watch you get that light as the gifted recording artist you had become. And besides all of that sentimental shit, I heard what you were working on, and those joints were HOT. Screwface hot. Text you, “OH WORD??” with no further response needed type hot. You were still nurturing young minds, you were performing songs you produced with a full orchestra, and the new music was poised to make the splash you desired. You were putting it all together.

I feel like every time you promised me new music was coming, part of you was trying to prove something to me, and even more, to yourself. But the truth is, for years I’ve drawn from your example to help me ultimately become the best version of myself.

I admire how you dream and stay committed to the grandest version of that dream, no matter how ridiculous it sounds to others. Sometimes your head gets too far in the clouds and your plan falls short (you know what I wanna make fun of you for), but sometimes it works out and we wind up on stage in front of two thousand people, and sometimes your wild ideas lead to lifelong connections and an unforgettable movement with equally memorable t-shirts.

You can transform the energy of a room instantly and effortlessly with your presence and your words. I can bring good energy, but I haven’t ever been able to rearrange the molecules in a space the way you could from the jump. You can trigger the belief laying dormant within somebody to the point that not only do they shine, but they illuminate the next person.

Photo by Amanda Rudd.

These are the ingredients that go into the secret sauce of emceeing. Anyone can put in the hours to improve on writing hooks and verses, but those other elements can’t be put into exercises, and you had them. Add that to the fact that you put in those 10,000 hours on the things that could be practiced, and you were a problem.

You were a true artist. You are a true artist; creating songs, creating community, creating connections. Still. And I love you, like we each said in our last texts to each other, completely out of the blue. You’re my brother, and I fully expected us to have front row seats to what each of our lives would look like for the next 60-70 years. As crazy as it sounds, you passing was the first time I felt like I could believe that someone had died, but not that they were no longer living. I mean, I could accept that something happened to you, it’s just unbelievable that you’ll never again be alive, taking up space, in the way you’ve always been.

You called me “The King of New York”, not as a premonition of my future, but as a fact of the present. Even today I still call on the memory of your voice saying that as a reminder to walk with my back a little straighter, and believe in the grandest versions of my dreams. Just like my brother, The King Of NC.

As much as I write on a regular basis, I felt a responsibility to put some of those words towards honoring you on this anniversary, but it would be selfish of me to think I’m the only one who deserves to speak to you. So some of our No9to5 family has some things to say to you too.

Topiq

Bro I thought I was smooth. You left behind a whole legacy, uplifted a community, and brought hope to the hopeless just being yourself; and somehow you made sure our last conversation was about that kid asking you, "What are dreams, man?" You think you slick bro. Nah you ain't slick bro I know what you doing 🤣. But yeah, okay.

I heard you loud and clear.

Atticus Reynolds

Dear Josh,

I’m writing to you from Portland in a hotel on an amazing tour experience. In the car with this new band, we were all showing each other our first albums and the J Rowdy and the NightShift record was my contribution. It reminded me how special that band and time in our lives was. We were really doing it just by pushing each other and without much outside pressure or support. We were driven just for the sake of being driven and it was life-affirming. It also reminded me that I really didn’t have friends in high school that were nearly as close as you and the No9to5 crew were to me. I wouldn’t be doing what I am doing now without those experiences. It goes without saying I miss you a lot but I still hear you reacting to my purest joys and simplest dumb worries. Anyways, I’ll talk to you soon, it’s impossible to imagine a world untouched by your spirit.

Your friend,
Atticus


Optimus Rhymes

Dang bruh, you just gon’ leave without getting me a job at PBS? How you gon’ present something so profound and thought-provoking and then dip before we could finally work on it together? That’s cold, man. But I guess that’s what I get. For all those times I texted you how proud I was of you or how cool I thought the things you were working on were, and then telling you to make sure to delete the messages so there was no proof of my positivity. That’s my karma, I guess. Now you’ve forced me to express my pride and positive feelings for you publicly. Ugh! Are you happy now, damn?! I’ll be expecting an email from PBS soon, since we’re Even Steven.

I love you brother, and always will. No9to5.

From left: No9to5 members Optimus Rhymes, Topiq, JSWISS, J. Rowdy.

P-Rob

When I looked up past interactions with you, the one I stumbled on was a track I sent you in 2017. This was right after the first Trump election. I was in Brooklyn and felt angry and hopeless. I remember feeling like I wished I was back in North Carolina where maybe I could make a difference. It was where I grew up and where I met you in Chapel Hill.

To me, you were a beacon of hope and strength in North Carolina. A leader, and in a time of uncertainty I reached out to you. You being down there, felt like an anchor and a way of truth down in the South. You believed in people and filled people with inspiration and encouragement. I believed in you too. Your art was both revolutionary and playful while also vulnerable and full of pain and truth.

You were never about being trendy, always about people, love and the truth. You were true Hip-Hop in a hypebeast era, an afro-futurist who celebrated the past and believed in the future. Your perspective is forever unique — rapping about being on the swim team, moving through institutions like UNC and Cary Academy, all while still staying true to your beliefs and culture. A Black nerd revolutionary with limitless energy.

There is only one Rowdy.

You never compromised. Listening to your 2019 album Black Royalty for a second I can imagine being in a cypher, or a Rowdy show, or in the music studio in the basement at UNC. There is deep meaning in your words that I missed before but I catch now. Your vision was something you spent years thinking deeply about. It is more clear now than ever.

“Who you are, is what you do offline,
And oftentimes we get the two confused,
With wack ass rappers with too many views”

“Gee I hope they don’t forget about the kid,
That taught the whole world how to get it how you live, you dig?”

Rest in Rowdy,
Pat

Chandanie

Hey Josh,

We celebrated your homegoing almost a year ago and I’ve thought about you in so many moments since you left. I’ve noticed when I would have called you — for encouragement, for sharing of good news and for giving me the belief to go for the things on my heart.

There’s an inner voice I gained that’s directly from you. It’s rowdy, confident, grounded and bold. It finds opportunities and speaks possibilities into action. Thank you for that. Thank you for your energy that continues to breathe life.

Love you,
Chandanie

From left: No9to5 members Cayso, JSWISS, J. Rowdy.

Cayso

Thanks for visiting me in my dreams this past year. Sometimes I wake up crying, sometimes I'm happy we got to hang out for a bit, and sometimes it just is what it is. It would have been fun to make some more music together, but most of all I just miss your personality.

I don't know when you decided to call me Binky, but it just goes to show how close we really were that we had inside jokes and names for each other. U know, nicknames, cute lil’ bro stuff. We were like brothers. We butted heads, had years where we were inseparable and years when we barely talked.

The hours recording your voice as you crafted mixtapes and honed your sound, sprinkled in with the hours of passing out after a Cookout tray. Summer nights with friends at the Hut; eating my mom's Christmas cookies; locked in at her house for band camp; driving to Greensboro for an interview on college radio.

I'm grateful for the years of closeness and the dream we once shared — college kids grinding to be rap stars. You carried that dream in your own way, and you built something meaningful, something lasting.

When I saw you perform at Shakori the fall before you passed, it was beautiful man. I could see how you had grown as a musician and performer, and as much as I wish the universe had allowed us to become really close and create together again, I'm thankful I saw that show. I know there were countless others who got to share those creative moments with you, and I'm grateful for that.

I'm so glad that we got to spend time together during your last hip-hop workshop at Shakori. You and I appreciated how life had taken us on separate journeys. We both shared that we still had the same love for each other that started in dorm rooms, and we were looking forward to things coming full circle as we continued to become close again.

We opened our third eyes together (sometimes with some herbal assistance) during our college days, and we were both fascinated by the spiritual realm. So bro, I can't say that the human part of me fully understands having to say bye to you so early, but I know on a spiritual level you're still here. Maybe I'll talk to you more explicitly about it one day. I'll have to start meditating more again though to ascend to that plane, ‘cause I know you UP THERE.

I love you man, and I'm so proud of you for all that you lived and accomplished. You always wanted to be a performer bro, and you BECAME ONE. You inspired so many people, and I saw it as I met all of them during your vigil and celebration. I'll look out for your family and friends and be there for them the best I can, because you're such a special person, and I know everyone is on a journey making their way since you left.

But, c’mon, we both know… you never really left. ;)

‘Til next time,
Binky

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JSWISS, Optimus Rhymes, Cayso, Chandanie, P-Rob and Atticus Reynolds are members of the No9to5 Music collective that was spearheaded by Rowdy at UNC-Chapel Hill, where the group’s many performances — and "Quit Your Day Job" t-shirts — were campus favorites.