photos by Kayla Marie Media

Siri Imani was 9 years old when she begged her mother, Cincinnati poetry icon Black Buddafly, to tag along on a show and perform. Black Buddafly, or (more intimately), Ms Jennie, urged her to write a haiku of positive affirmations to open for The Last Poets, and Siri, now 29, recalls taking it very seriously.

“I was in there saying ‘this is my first official booking’ with my posture up, shaking hands, introducing myself,” she says, laughing. But this would be a watershed moment for her, and the beginning of a professionalism that is now synonymous with her name. She kept writing poetry, and at 19, found herself in the booth with none other than Rock And Roll Hall of Famer, Bootsy Collins, for her first ever studio recording.

She was booked to be there for spoken word poetry; Collins suggested she try rapping. She will be the first to tell you it was a flop. He gently told her some people are great writers, but not everyone is meant to perform. This didn’t deter Imani, because she knew she could perform in a hypnotic way when she read poetry, she just had to practice the rap of it all.

From this first stumble, a tenacity emerged that would mark a lifetime of adaptability, reimaginings, and motivation that has seen her rap at music festivals, release three studio albums, and headline The Aronoff, Cincinnati’s largest theatre. This first foray in the studio is how The Black Seeds Triiibe began. This early iteration of three musicians is now known simply as Triiibe, which has grown into an expansive collective of 13 like minded artists. Core tenets are community, activism, showmanship, and talent; a home for artists across race, gender, and genre that remains beholden to one thing: make Cincinnati better for everybody.

Siri recalls being under the wing of her mother in more ways than just artistry. Ms Jennie is a stronghold in the activist community as well. This was in a time of civil unrest, and the moments leading up to and within the 2001 Over-The-Rhine race riots, where days of civil action took place after the shooting of unarmed Timothy Thomas by a Cincinnati Police officer. Siri remembers seeing street corners, small venues, and living rooms alive with the co-mingling of art and advocacy.

When I asked her about the relationship between art and activism, she simply said, “Oh, it just makes sense to me.” In 2017, Kroger closed two stores in predominantly Black and working class neighborhoods, and she was sharply confronted with how gentrification cycles.

“Those were the only places people could get produce,” she says.“So you had to go all the way to Clifton. And some people might not have it to do that, you got kids, you can’t move your body like that, you don’t have a car. They started making life difficult. They take the food first… then they offer you Section 8 down in Forest Park, you’re gonna go.”

To counteract that, she tapped in with local gardeners in Walnut Hills, then eventually larger organizations, and the Potluck For The People was born. She says they started with one pot of soup in Piatt Park, and again, it was a bit of a flop. She knew they had to grow resources to fill such a massive need. Scouring Facebook Marketplace, calling other organizations with a prepared script, gathering 10 pairs of socks at a time, these allocations added up and it became clear this was bigger than some young rappers making lunch in the park.

A non-profit was created, a storage unit rented, and the grant money started pouring in. The Triiibe Foundation is the arm of Imani’s small empire that focuses on reaching vulnerable populations, and building the growing city into a safe place for every resident. Potluck is still held in Piatt Park, the final Sunday of the month, averaging 500 attendees and dozens of volunteers. They’ve never missed a month, even during the Covid-19 pandemic.

Before Over-The-Rhine was a playground for corporate employees and suburban families, Imani watched her mother create space for community growth and artistic exploration for people Imani says, “absolutely deserve Grammys.” Every artist was an activist, and every space they occupied solidified to her the city wasn’t welcoming of that.

“Y’all were the ones rioting down here, right?” was a line used to bar talent from the good venues. Seeing a lot of them not get paid, move away, or stop focusing on creative endeavors motivated her to move into curation. Post-Covid, Imani realized people were hungry for culture, artists were hungry to create, and the environment was beginning to shift for Black artists in Cincinnati.

Imaniii Productions, the event curation arm of Triiibe, became a place for new and established artists to find their place, grow their audiences, and do so for real money. She lovingly refers to what she does as “Vegan Dangly-Earring Rap, which seemed to give her a foot into some doors, as well as her sterling reputation as an organizer.

“[venue coordinators] think we’re THAT type of Black, and they let us in,” she says, “And then we’re able to get ALL types of Black in there. I’m most proud of being able to navigate that, because it felt impossible. Especially at that time, even now, people are looking for their token non-threatening Black person who ‘makes sense’ in their establishment. And learning that I was being that, a rebellion built up. I didn’t carry myself with as much grace back then. I carried extra of myself in these spaces to deter them. I wasn’t about to be your token. But I’ll show you what you should have known about us, and I’m gonna bring 100% all of us.”

With residencies in some of Cincinnati’s most popular venues, Black and Queer artists across town have found a stage to be authentically themselves, perform that realness, and find some financial security along the way.

Siri Imani has this way of speaking about others, especially the giants upon whose shoulders she stands. A reverence permeates her tone, showing that when seeds are planted in the right soil, the fruit feeds us all. She understands that when support is received, it is freely given away. She values the legacy from which she comes and she continues, as she raises three children.

When I asked her how she avoids burnout and manages fear in such a hostile political environment, she credits the talent of those around her, pointing out, “when one person is down, eight of us are up ready to reinspire.” She also knows she has an ability to bring calm to others, and knows who can bring the same calm to her.

She says every time we bring peace to someone else, we recreate it for ourselves. In the midst of everything around us, what we can do over and over again is create a safe pocket within our control. “We choose our society every day,” a stunning lesson in staying in our collective lanes, and knowing how far the road can go. That even when Bootsy Collins tells her rapping might not be her calling, it’s always possible to learn from errors and keep trying old things in new ways. And most importantly, without music, culture and community, none of this makes any sense.