Hundred Round Kado

Photo by Don Filmm

When all you’ve ever known is the struggle for survival, an ordinary life is no longer an option. Born in a Miami federal prison and raised in a volatile environment that drove him to incarceration as a youth, the Boston-based rapper Hundred Round Kado grew up in a universe of obstacles. However, through making music, giving back to his community, and forming genuine connections, Kado shifted his focus to remember his blessings. He lives with the mission to ensure no one has to face the same hardships he did.

Legal battles and health complications defined Kado’s upbringing, so he never stayed in one place for more than a few years at a time. “For a while, I had nothing for real,” he says. “I had nothing at all. And then I ended up messing around in the streets and got incarcerated for the first time when I was 11. And it just became a spiral after that.” It wasn’t until Kado was arrested again at 14 that he started writing and wanting to rap, using music as a way to keep himself grounded in the chaos. “That became my vice and my escape outside of the streets. I just indulged in it. With music, that was my only outlet. That, and reading.”

When Kado was struggling to realize his sense of self, his Haitian background helped to anchor him. “We grew up speaking different languages,” Kado recalls. “My grandfather spoke Spanish, [my family] was a mix of Haitian and Dominican. I grew up with my grandparents, so I have an older mentality as far as the way I look at life.” Musically, the tribute to his roots is prevalent. He often raps in his native language, French Creole, and just this past year, he changed his moniker from Ricky Gramz to Kado, which means “gift” in Creole.

Throughout his journey, Kado has crossed paths with many recognizable artists, including Vic Mensa on their recent collaboration. “I met [Vic] through Malik Yusef, who was also one of my close friends and mentors,” Kado says. “He introduced me to Vic at the 4:44 tour, he was opening for Jay-Z. They came to Boston, I picked up Malik from the airport and met Vic that day. We got cool, but our relationship developed stronger.” While working with renowned artists can be exciting, Kado just sees it as a human connection. “Honestly, I never listened to his music before I met him,” he says. “Same thing with Wyclef [Jean]. Same thing with anybody else I meet. It’s always genuine. Everything about my career and how I meet people is organic because I’m actually who I say I am.”

Kado’s style of rapping is cinematic, with bars relayed in a spoken-word manner that cuts deep while painting a vivid picture. But he doesn’t try to emulate other artists of a similar style—it’s just the way he expresses himself. “I just talk about my life,” he says. “I have a saying that I don’t rap, I make my life rhyme. I’ve actually been working with Che Pope on the style, ’cause I wanted to introduce the world to my genre, which I call Kocaine Gospel. It’s from a perspective of, I’ve been there, done that. I don’t have to tell you to [not] do something wrong that I’ve already done, you can just listen to me and feel what I’m talking about.”

The process of recording Kado’s newest album, “Never Lost A Gun Fight (Allegedly),” was different compared to his previous mixtapes, being that it all had to be made from home. Even so, he wouldn’t change anything about it. “I’ve been in the house for the majority of the last seven months since I bailed out, so I’ve had time to think,” he says. “In a way, I’m still incarcerated to that solitude. It kind of makes it easier to focus. And I actually know what I want outside of music, within my life. I have never spent more than three years outside of jail since I was 11, so I’m just taking the pieces of the life I was able to live and forming what I actually want.”

Having spent a third of his life confined to the American prison system, Kado feels a calling within him to be a voice for those who have not been able to escape the same circumstances. “I’m definitely a vessel to carry that message. I fully indulge in that. And not just music. With Vic Mensa and the 93 Boyz, I was able to be part of the Books Through Bars program, making sure that the people who are incarcerated are getting the books they weren’t able to get [otherwise]. I have a non-profit organization making sure the community’s taken care of. I’m just trying to do my part in every way I possibly can to help people.”

Tattoos, to Kado, are similar to his music in a lot of ways—they are a tangible representation of everything he’s been through and what he holds close to him. “I have my daughter’s name on my face with her birthday,” he says, further explaining that his daughter looks just like him, so he has to switch up his own face. “[She] took my old face. [She] got to have it. So I’m gonna look like this.” Kado also has a cover-up on his face that reads “Faith.” “I think that’s one of the first times I started putting more positive affirmation words on my body. And it felt better when I did. I’ve been trying to put more of that stuff on my body as opposed to just the hardship I’ve been through.”

As someone who has been through seemingly insurmountable struggles, Kado relies on a particular outlook to help him get through each day. “I just realized that I’m still here, so I might as well make something of the day,” he says. “I think we think too far into the future. We live in the past with false pretenses of what the future could be without figuring out what now is, and without now nothing exists. All we have is now.”

Whether he’s documenting his life through rhymes or making sure everybody in his circle is doing good, trust that Kado will always strive for greatness in spite of all odds.