Vera “Velma” Hernandez
Audio By Carbonatix
Between sessions with RC & The Gritz and drumming for Erykah Badu, Dallas musician Frank Moka has been hard at work on his debut album that’s set to be released next year. He’s released music in the past, but Dashiki with the Kangol will be Moka’s first big statement piece.
“It’s like a mix between Young Thug and Harry Belafonte,” he says about his upcoming record. “I call it Dashiki with the Kangol because it represents two cultures. I’m Nigerian American. My mom is American, and my dad is Nigerian. So, there’s a duality there, and I kind of wanted to show both parts of myself. I drink 40s and tea, you know? I smoke blunts and incense.”
Duality is a common theme for Moka, whose moniker revolves around a similar concept.
“My artist name is Dos Negros, or double black,” he continues. “Two sides resonating. I’m a Pisces male, so two fish, and they go in opposite directions, but they’re going to the same destination. I’m showing how both my negative and positive energy can work together for one goal, and the album reflects that.”
Moka’s considerable growth as an artist in the two years since his last release can be seen by his approach to the songs on Dashiki. For context, 2022’s “Smoke Wit Me” sounded like something Spotify would’ve thrown on after Brown Sugar ran out of tracks. Everything about the drums, harmonies and vocal layering screams D’Angelo, which was exactly what Moka was going for at the time.
“Actually, yes, I was trying to sound like D’Angelo,” Moka admits. “It didn’t work. I felt miserable. I always get inspired by really talented artists, and I’m like, ‘Man, I need to make a song like that.’ Then I try to do it, and it goes horribly wrong and turns into me, which is good. It turns out special and it’s nice; it just doesn’t end up being what I thought it would be, which is good for me. I don’t want to be a copycat.”
Between that and “El Rasta,” weed culture seemed to be a common theme permeating Moka’s music. For his next release, he opts more for substance than substance use.
“I didn’t talk about so much of that part of myself on this one,” Moka says in reference to rolling up. “This one was more about preaching to myself on the album, kind of venting to myself, venting to everyone else. I didn’t really get into my lifestyle. This one, I was just fully trying to sound like the best me.”
A Lesson in Finance
Moka has been making music for a long time. Influenced by his mother, he started singing as a kid, then joined a marching band in fifth grade as a trombone player. Moka’s time as a trombonist was unexpectedly cut short.
“When I was about 12, my parents got a divorce, and that’s when I found out about financing,” he jokes. “My parents were financing my horn, and I didn’t know. The whole of it got lost in the sauce of the divorce, so I’m in school one day in seventh grade, and this lady from the horn company came. She was like, ‘Hey, we’re here to take that,’ in the middle of class.
“I’m so goofy, I didn’t even know how to feel sad about it,” Moka continued. “I said, ‘No worries. I’ll just play drums,’ and I meant that shit. I auditioned that day to become a drummer. I was pretending to read the music, but I’d really just memorized from listening to the drummers. And ever since, I’ve been messing with the drums.”
Moka, born in Arkansas, had dabbled as a percussionist, but he didn’t pick up the drum kit until he moved to Dallas. These days, he’s good enough to sit in for Badu, but he didn’t start out that hot.
“I was playing at Sandaga, and the owner Darryl Thomas was a close friend to my family,” Moka says. “So, I got shoed-in in as a house drummer. I couldn’t play at all. I sucked really bad. I was trying to learn to play jazz, and a guy, in the nicest way, told me, ‘Yo, you suck so bad at this, but you’d make a really good African drummer.’ So, he gave his address, and this is before GPS and all of that, so he wrote his address down and directions. The next day I went there, and he showed me like seven different rhythms from West Africa, and I caught the bug, man.”
“That pretty much changed my life,” he continues. “It really put a stamp on my sound. I was able to infuse all of that into the R&B side of myself and the hip-hop side of myself and add more of a drum component. I love drums.”
Moka joined RC & The Gritz after a spot opened up for a percussionist. A few years later, the drummer’s seat went up for grabs and Moka nailed the audition again without even knowing.
“Erykah came to one of my Dos Negros shows one night,” he says. “She just popped in, and she didn’t know I played the drum kit. The next day, she was like, ‘You’re on drums now.’ It felt great, bro.”
It goes without saying that a compliment like that means a lot more coming from someone with an ear like Badu. Moka was more than thrilled to work with the former Soulquarian.
“Dude, when I was a kid, I was in love with her,” Moka says, obviously more than happy to spend a second geeking out over Badu. “She was my favorite songwriter. Before I ever knew that I would be even in a vicinity of her, I just loved her. I’m a songwriter first, and just listening to her, I was like, ‘Damn, this lady is deep, yo. She’s got some serious substance.’ She sounds like a rapper when she’s singing; The lyrics come across really ‘mean what I say, say what I mean,’ but the metaphors are also transparent. It’s not too deep as far as spinning around words, but the message is deep as hell.”
Of course, there is no conversation about Badu between beatkeepers that doesn’t eventually lead to the immaculate work done on the drums.
“Man, don’t even get me started,” Moka replies when the topic is brought up. He immediately lists those involved, including Philadelphia legend Questlove and Dallas’ own Gino “LockJohnson” Iglehart, who recently opened up a bar in Addison called The Alley.
Moka’s passion for what went on behind the boards is more than palpable. He goes on to map out the hidden war that takes place between producers from Philadelphia and Dallas on Badu’s second album, Mama’s Gun.
“You had Questlove and all these guys with Philly on one half of the album, and then you get Shaun Martin, RC, Gino Iglehart and Geno Young on the other side,” Moka says. “You hear the Philly song playing first, and then you hear ‘Time’s a Wastin’.’ That’s the Dallas crew, and you’re like, ‘Oh, they’re fighting, they’re going in.’ They were competing, you could tell, but in the best way.”
Still Learning
He may have earned a bit of recognition from one of his sources of inspiration, but Moka still sees himself as a student when it comes to smacking the skins.
“The drum set is very new for me; I was 26 when I started,” the 40-year-old says without a hint of humor. “I mean, I’m an old man, but yeah, it’s new for me, which is a good and a bad thing in my mind. Most of my peers were 4 when they started, so it’s kind of like this innate muscle memory they have. I’m still learning how to hold the sticks, man. I’m still trying to figure out how to correctly strike a cymbal, you know? But because I came into it as an adult, I came into it more mature. I’m coming to learn how to get the job done, rather than how to look sweet.”
There’s no firm release date, but Moka plans to drop his debut sometime in 2025. He’s confident that the honesty in its composition will resonate with listeners on a deeper level.
“I’m just looking forward to making an impact,” Moka says. “One of my goals is to promote more positivity in music and art. Negativity is good, but we don’t have to oversaturate ourselves with negative music. Music is supposed to be beautiful. There’s a song on the album called ‘Kill Drill,’ and it’s basically what it says, I’m trying to kill that shit, man. Drill rap is cool, but I just think we can always find a reason to not talk about killing and not glorify killing. I’m not against the rappers, but I am against the culture of [the] music. It’s killing our babies.”
