After years of cultivating intricate and expansive compositions, Clairmont The Second has firmly established himself as a master of his craft—and he’s more than ready to claim that title. A true polymath of creativity, his work extends beyond rapping to include producing, directing music videos, and shaping his own artistic vision.
“I’m just a melting pot of everything,” he reflects, exuding the quiet confidence of someone who knows exactly where they stand in the creative world.
For Clairmont, born Clairmont II Humphrey, art is not about fitting into boxes—it’s about breaking them open.
“I also believe limitations can be strengths,” he muses. “There are things I can’t do as a musician, but those limitations have shaped me and given me an edge. I’ve learned to work with what I have, and that’s where my creativity thrives.” His sound is a direct reflection of that philosophy: a genre-defying fusion of soul, gospel, hip-hop, and electronic influences, all delivered with his signature DIY ethos.
Clairmont grew up in a household filled with music. “My brother and my dad both produced music, so I was immersed in everything from gospel to jazz to funk,” he recalls. “My dad would play artists like Pat Metheny, Fred Hammond, Kirk Franklin, and D’Angelo. I absorbed so much from those sounds, and even though rap came into my life a bit later, it blends with everything else I grew up with. My sound reflects all those different influences—whether it’s jazz, drum and bass from video game soundtracks, or the alternative side of rap from groups like The Pharcyde and Slum Village.”
Clairmont’s latest album, they said it would rain…, embodies this ethos of unpredictability. On this project, he explores themes of ambition, vulnerability, and personal strength, crafting one of his most cohesive bodies of work to date. Just as his debut Lil Mont from the Av and 2020’s It’s Not How It Sounds fused disparate ages of music into lyrical snapshots, his newest work transcends time, merging the clarity of his present self with the boldness of his early years in the music scene. The result is a body of work that feels both familiar and uncharted.
At the heart of the album is a deep emotional resonance, with tracks that address universal themes in profoundly personal ways. “ushudcry” sees Clairmont exploring love, emotional independence, and the vulnerability of giving someone space to heal. The production, as always, is anything but basic: it’s lush and layered, underscoring themes of self-worth, resilience, and the balance between strength and fragility. On “bbhur,” Clairmont takes a sensual turn, reflecting on desire and intimacy, while the closing track, “Validate,” grapples with the search for authenticity and self-validation in an increasingly superficial world.
With a string of accolades—including multiple Polaris Music Prize long-list nominations, a 2018 Juno nod, and the 2019 Prism Prize Hi-Fidelity Award—Clairmont The Second’s legacy is unfolding with every note. His ambition is clear: “Ultimately, I want to create music that redefines what a hit can be.”
They said it would rain… is such an evocative title. How does weather—both literal and metaphorical—impact the tone and atmosphere of your music?
It’s cliché to say, but I think we’re all products of our environment. In Toronto—or Canada in general—the weather is unpredictable. One day it’s sunny and warm, and the next, it’s snowing. I think that unpredictability has subconsciously influenced my music. Just like the weather, my projects are dynamic. You won’t get just one vibe from me. Growing up, I was surrounded by all kinds of music. I worked on this project for five years, and during that time, so many unexpected things happened that I had to navigate. The title represents that duality—rain can be both good and bad. It depends on your perspective. A lot of the project is about duality and balance, like love and hate, or feeling one way in a moment and completely different the next. Rain reflects those themes perfectly. Some people love it; others see it as an inconvenience.
One of the things I love most about this album is its cinematic, almost tactile quality, especially with the intricate layers of sound. If you could pair it with a film or visual experience, what story would it tell, and who would you want behind the lens?
I’ve always been inspired by movies. When I started making music, I wanted music videos, but I didn’t have the budget to hire people. So, I taught myself how to direct, shoot, and edit. The approach to my videos is cinematic—they’re like films. I started embracing this idea with my song “intres-ting”, inspired by watching Twin Peaks by David Lynch and Korean cinema, like Park Chan-wook’s work. I’ve also drawn inspiration from directors like Wes Anderson, Scorsese, Spike Lee, and Rick Famuyiwa. Lately, I’ve been exploring the Black experience in ‘90s films, which has deeply influenced my visuals. If I had to pick someone else to direct, maybe F. Gary Gray, but honestly, I’d want to create the film myself. I treat my albums like film scores—they’re dynamic and tell a story.
Do you approach your albums more as a collection of songs or as chapters in a larger narrative?
Absolutely. It’s definitely more like the chapters. I feel like the albums kind of make themselves. I don’t think it’s ever just me deciding to put songs together randomly. My projects tend to have their own sonic identity, but that’s usually because I’m making them during a time when a specific sound or feeling is resonating with me. Even with that, there’s still a lot of range. You might hear an amped-up track on one end and then a more soulful R&B record on the other. For me, it’s less about forcing a specific direction and more about letting the project take shape on its own.
The best albums—and the best art in general—should create themselves. And even from a visual perspective, the music videos follow the same idea. I often immediately picture the visuals while I’m making the songs. Or sometimes I’ll be listening to the track and something in my environment will spark it. Like, the way the sun hits a building at the right moment while the song plays will make me go, “That’s it. That’s the video concept.” The entire process—whether it’s the music or the visuals—just unfolds naturally. My albums always feel like snapshots of a specific period in my life. They might start with a direction in mind, but they always fill themselves out in ways I couldn’t have fully planned.
It’s fascinating that you produced this entire project yourself, which gives it such a cohesive sound. When you’re both the rapper and the producer, how does that dual role influence the narrative and emotional tone of the songs you create?
Yeah, so I’ve produced my entire catalog—every single track, except for maybe three that my brother worked on. I actually started producing before I ever considered rapping. Even before I knew I’d be an artist, I knew I’d always make beats. It’s something I’ve done my whole life. In high school, when everyone started rapping, I thought, I can do this better. My understanding of music just felt deeper.
When I started putting out music, producing it myself was just natural. It didn’t make sense to get beats from anyone else because I’d been honing this craft for so long. Producing my own albums gives me full control. It allows me to create a cohesive experience—everything from the sound design to the emotional tone is intentional. I’ve noticed some albums lack that cohesion. These days, people pull beats from packs without much direction. There’s no vocal production or overarching vision, so the music feels like random loops stitched together. For me, it’s always been about crafting a complete experience—like a movie. I want listeners to lie down, hear the music, and see the story.
Is there a specific moment on this project—or any of your past work—that felt especially freeing or cathartic to create?
That’s a great question. I think the best music comes when artists create for themselves. I’ve found that when I think too much about how people will react or what they’ll think, it takes away from the authenticity of the art. The strongest work comes from creating what feels right to you, regardless of whether it’s the best commercial decision. If you’re good enough, the work will eventually connect with the people it’s meant to. This project, like my others, is just me in my rawest form. It’s everything I’ve been exposed to, everything I believe in, and everything that shaped me. I still play the games I loved growing up, and I still listen to the same music. It’s more than just making an album—it’s about reflecting my reality.
Looking back on your career since 2013, how has your creative vision and sound evolved?
My growth has been shaped by a shift in perspective. I’ve never been a fan of the traditional music industry and have always focused on staying true to myself. Starting out in 2013, I felt protected by the people around me, but over time, I realized the importance of pushing myself and taking control of my journey. I’ve learned that success depends on my efforts, even in an industry that often overlooks independent artists.
Despite challenges, I know my worth, and my faith has strengthened my confidence. Opportunities may not always unfold as expected, but I trust the process and remain focused on creating meaningful work.
Toronto is renowned for its diverse music scene. How does its energy influence your music, and do you feel pressure or freedom from its expectations?
The Toronto music scene has evolved, but it often feels misunderstood. The industry focuses on the biggest names, which overshadows the city’s diverse talent. Many artists, like myself, exist in a middle space—recognized but not fully breaking through. The scene used to feel magical, especially in the underground. However, it’s now more about connections than talent, and many artists who started with me are no longer making music. While I’ve achieved milestones like a JUNO nomination, the industry often values numbers over artistry. I stay grounded and focus on authenticity, even as the spotlight sometimes feels superficial. Toronto has incredible diversity, but the industry still needs to highlight more than just the mainstream. Recognition shouldn’t depend on fitting a mold or playing the game, but on the art itself.
If you could share this album with any artist or producer—living or dead—who would it be?
It’s hard to pick just one, but I’d choose Prince, Andre 3000, or Pharrell. Prince’s balance of innovation and staying true to his roots inspires me. His anti-establishment approach and ability to reshape the industry resonate deeply. I’d love to hear his honest feedback and learn about his creative process. Andre 3000 and Pharrell also reflect the kind of artist I aspire to be—pushing boundaries and following creative instincts. Their work has always been forward-thinking, and their influence shaped my vision of crafting a unique, recognizable sound.
