Trilogies seem to be the thing in popular music these days. The Weeknd rode his After Hours–Dawn FM–Hurry Up Tomorrow series to a record-breaking tour, and Drake made Billboard 200 history with his recent Iceman-Habibti-Maid of Honour pseudo-surprise triple-drop. And, of course, the world is still waiting on Act III to wrap the history-illuminating trilogy Beyoncé launched with Renaissance and Cowboy Carter. For Jamaican singer Runkus, that whole approach is becoming quite passé.
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From 2016-2022, Runkus (born Romario Sebastian Anthony Bennett) fired off a trio of genre-blurring projects that traced life before and after the world-changing lockdowns of the COVID-19 pandemic. Featuring collaborations with the likes of contemporary reggae stars Naomi Cowan, Chronixx and Ky-Mani Marley, Runkus’ first three projects helped establish him as a burgeoning force in Caribbean music who truly understands the sanctity of roots reggae. From notes of trap dancehall to more straight-up R&B-infused fare, Runkus relentlessly expanded his sonic profile while maintaining his commitment to his Rastafari principles. After dropping OUT:SIDE in 2022 — he knew it was time for a reset.
“I think I might be addicted to making music,” he tells Billboard. “I knew I was ready to move on from that trilogy, so I took a pause from making music to focus on production and delve into art. I wanted to look at music more as an art form, rather than just [something to get on the] charts. I started scoring films and going to galleries and museum exhibitions. From there, I started scoring my music instead of making it.”
With that new approach, Runkus crafted Supernova, a rich, cinematic collection of songs that lean on juxtaposition to explore the malleability of Caribbean music. From blending an astronomy talk at Occidental College with the classic “Punany” dancehall riddim on the opening track to recontextualizing mid-performance Peter Tosh speeches on “Sheep,” Supernova is an incredibly layered tapestry of science, music and even visual art.
To bring the record to life, Runkus tapped Bahamian-born, New York–based multidisciplinary visual artist Tavares Strachan, whose Eve-inspired ‘A Map of the Crown (Fulani Red)’ sculpture appears on the album cover. Runkus is also readying his Supernova Sessions, a live performance video series filmed in “the hills of Jamaica, where a river runs through a friend’s backyard.” Featuring a three-person backing choir, acoustic renditions and Rastafari chants, the Kadiya McDonald and Carleene Samuels-produced Supernova Sessions promise a multilayered reimagining of Runkus’ newest LP.
Like real-life supernovas embody the simultaneous death of a star and birth of something new, Runkus’ new LP emerged from a recording process that produced over 170 songs and a scrapped album titled Full Circle. Now, the ascendant musician has a whole new solar system to explore.
Below, Runkus details the making of Supernova, his love for the movies and how losing his father, the late “Kette Drum” reggae singer Detemine, impacted his creative process.
This album feels particularly cinematic in the way that it’s mixed and sequenced. What’s your relationship with film?
I remember sneaking into the drive-in movie theater in Kingston with my parents and watching Matrix, Rude Boy, Shottas, all the classics — from Jamaican movies to international ones. I actually rewatched Matrix recently, and it hit me on a whole new level. I also love weird films, and horrors normally have great scores. I really like psychological thrillers like Inception, too.
Because I love film, I wanted to start looking at my music as scores. And all the greats, like Quincy Jones and Babyface, did that. Lee “Scratch” Perry might not have written the music in terms of notation, but he was also scoring. Every section was intentional.
On the opening track, you juxtapose an astronomy talk at Occidental College with the famous “Punany” riddim. How did that song come together?
I was actually at Occidental [College] for that conversation. I’m always looking for a way to make something unique out of something familiar. Everyone has heard the “Punany” riddim, but I’ve never heard it start the way I did it. There’s nothing new under the sun, but there will always be new suns. There will always be a new way to interpret an old thing because that’s what music is. The starting and ending of things are very important to me. How things start is important, because that’s what’s going to grab you, and how they end determines whether you continue listening.
You did a similar thing on “Sheep.” Why did those words from Peter Tosh resonate with you?
He’s talking about my life. But I also recontextualized his words, so they’re not necessarily about other people; it’s also about myself. Sometimes I wear wolves’ clothing, and sometimes I wear sheep’s. We each have two beasts inside of us. The whole speech resonated with me in that sense; Peter Tosh was very eloquent and intelligent in how he speaks about issues of now, which will probably still be the issues of the future.
Why was it important for you to center yourself and your experiences in your songwriting instead of preaching to your fans from a hill?
You ever heard the [phrase] “live and exemplify?” That’s the reason why.
Rastafari teaches a couple of things: self-sufficiency, self-reliance, etc. But one of the most important ones is to live and exemplify. It’s not going to be perfect, but just live and exemplify.
This was a mostly solo affair, but you have Sean Paul on “Sure as the Sun.” How did that collaboration come together?
Sean Paul is one of the greatest musicians of all time, and he’s also one of the most hardworking. That’s why Jah keeps blessing him; that’s the kind of energy that I would like to live and exemplify. We’ve been talking about making a song together for years, and when we finally linked up, it was two hours of talking and reasoning before we even made anything. He actually made a whole speech about how people always link him for gyal tunes, and then we went with a gyal tune. [Laughs.]
I was in a moment of going with the flow, so I picked up the guitar and the first thing I sang was, “Sure as the sun will rise, you’re goin’ alright.” And that was really a message to myself because it was a very hard time.
When did you cut that song?
March 2025.
So right after your dad passed.
Yes. I remember getting crazy calls during that session. Grief will bring out the worst in people. And I’m the last to fight; I don’t trouble nobody. In that sense, whenever people are fighting, I’ll be alright. What I have for them is minuscule compared to what Jah will do to them, so why fight? That tune came out of a really personal space.
How did your grieving process impact the creation of Supernova?
The music that I’ve written so far regarding the passing of my father is not on Supernova. I purposely didn’t want to make a record about that. It’s too soon. I’m not trying to turn that moment into a PR stunt. We’re living in a very performative world right now, to the point where enough people don’t know what’s real. What’s real is somebody losing their parents and choosing not to talk about it. I’m living with it. I remember getting a very nice review of this record from a renowned DJ, and I tried to send it to my dad, and in that moment his absence really hit me. It was a reflex for me. Some artists need liquor and ten girls; I just need my family and friends.
Which song demanded the most from you?
“The Boy Who Cried Wolf” was very difficult; it was a real headache because I mixed it myself, but it sounded great in the end. Everything else came out with ease. There were some issues with the sample [Soothsayers’ “Slave”] on “Sniper Rifle,” though. But my little brother came in and rebuilt the beat while keeping elements of the previous one, and it was mad.
How do you hope to continue building out the visual world of Supernova?
Sometimes when the music comes out with visuals, it’s hard to focus on just the music. We have something called Supernova Sessions coming, and we’re creating a visual work to align with anyone who is a yute and wants to exist in the world of music. Especially if they don’t want to be confined but also don’t want too much worldly influence.
What else can we expect from you in 2026?
I want to make way more music with my brother. He’s only 19 and produced six songs on Supernova: “Sniper Rifle,” the second half of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf,” the title track, “Sheep,” “3310” and “Every Ghetto Youth Is A Star.”
I want to produce for a lot of other people and do some live, immersive shows. I also want to learn keys properly, but it’s only 24 hours in the day. This is just the beginning of the Supernova campaign.
What are you listening to these days?
Bob Marley and Stephen and Ziggy, “Jah Promise” by Johnny Osbourne, the new James Blake album [Trying Times], “Oye Cómo Va” by Santana and “Fight the Power” by Public Enemy.
