Interviews
MOSS KENA - Ojerime - Kris Wu - tove styrke - azekel - kali uchis - jamz supernova
mahalia
clash magazine cover Story - Issue 112
MAHALIA: Come My Way
09 · 07 · 2019
After signing with Atlantic Records aged 13, she released her first collection in the summer of 2012. A flurry of studio releases followed, but the enervating pressures of careering through an industry at such a malleable age almost derailed her desire to continue. Now, at 21, Mahalia - an industry veteran - has a firm handle on her artistic flight path. After releasing the five-song ‘Seasons’ EP last year Mahalia is being touted as UK R&B’s next success story. Shortlisted for both the BBC Sound of 2019 and the Brits Critics’ Choice Award, the defiant songstress faces her next chapter with an assured poise, astute mindfulness, and gratitude for the journey she’s undertaken.
“I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life,” she tells Clash. “In the beginning I didn’t know what I wanted, that meant that it was easier for people to mould me and sway me. So many artists don’t come through that phase. I’m thankful I did, because I learnt to say no.”
Full story coming soon....
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miles from kinshasa
clash magazine
"I'm Not Hiding On This One" - Miles From Kinshasa Introduces 'Maybe'
03 · 04 · 2019
South-Londoner Vivien Kongolo - aka Miles from Kinshasa – is ushering in a dream of summer with new single ‘Maybe’. The track builds on the 80s-inflected sonic imprint of his most recent offerings ‘Golden’ and ‘Analogue’ - a triumvirate of songs less outwardly propulsive than his debut project ‘LIMBO’, languishing in a more refined, pop-rooted sound.
“I love a good pop song,” Kongolo says. “I’ve always wanted to explore more colours in my music. It was actually Kanye’s '808s & Heartbreak' that helped me explore something new. I owe a lot to that album, it’s the best music lesson I’ve ever had.”
Kanye’s seminal LP was predicated around artistic rebirth and reinvention and you can hear Kanye’s austere synthesis of R&B with electro-pop in ‘Maybe’. Kongolo lowers the tempo, letting the song ferment between space, solitude and melancholy. Miles from Kinshasa explains: “I think utilising space is the biggest change I’ve made and that’s been a very conscious decision on my part, rather than trying to show off all of my tricks and ideas at once. It’s been a very cathartic, humbling experience listening to my older music and picking apart what I can do better.”
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Produced by trusted collaborator Kadiata, the duo pair Miles from Kinshasa’s affinity for sun-kissed synths with programmed vocals and a crisp synthetic beat. According to Kongolo, the track was borne from a “very organic and free-flowing” session with Kadiata.
“I never have to worry about the direction: the trust is there, our intentions behind the music are the same, so whatever we create is something I know I’ll be proud of,” Kongolo affirms.
Lyrically, Miles from Kinshasa disentangles the digital disconnect in modern relationships, flitting between resigned detachment, longing and angst. Over the course of 4 minutes, a deft balancing act ensues where subterranean feelings brew, on the brink of overflow, in a song that mines tension from release.
Kongolo comments: “At its core, it’s about being out of touch with someone you care for whether that be intimate or platonic. I’m saying adulting isn’t easy. We claim to be more connected than ever, meanwhile we’re just going off assumptions about the relationships we have with people. Maybe I’m retweeting/liking these memes because it’s the only thing keeping me from going through it 24/7, and really it would be nice if someone dropped me a 'hope you’re good'.”
‘Maybe’ is the first definitive taste of his upcoming project ‘Beloved’ which Kongolo promises will be his “most idiosyncratic and honest work to date.” Full of conviction, he expands: “I feel very good about this project, I needed to make this for myself and for everyone around me. I’m not hiding on this one; I’ve said everything I need to say right now.”
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samm henshaw
clash magazine - issue 111
Take Me To Church: Clash Meets Samm Henshaw
15 · 05 · 2019
Just one day prior to our chat, gospel king Kirk Franklin mimed along to Samm Henshaw’s anthemic affirmation anthem ‘Church’ in a video posted on Instagram. Not unlike a mentor and his protégé, Franklin’s seal of approval ranks up there as career defining.
“It means everything,” Sam shares with pride. “I showed my mum and sister immediately. Kirk has probably been the most important, consistent influence on me musically. A moment I’ll never forget.”
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In an age where religion has been misaligned and exploited by propagators of the far-right movement, Samm Henshaw is reclaiming the narrative. He poeticises faith as integral to his culture and his blackness through songs that seek to uplift and restore hope. Born in South London to Nigerian parents, Henshaw imbues his music with anecdotes from his childhood as the son of a church-going family. Does he worry about becoming another ‘fringe gospel act’?
“The process will always be oversimplified,” Samm reflects. “My influences are wide-ranging and it’s a little grating when you put so much of that into your work for someone to limit what you do.”
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Endorsed by heavyweights Chance The Rapper and Pharrell, Samm is a multi-faceted musician. Utilising live instrumentation that calls to mind early Kanye, Samm’s buoyant retro-drenched odes shun the mechanised wave dominating music today. His John Legend-esque voice mines emotion from experience and he appeals just as much to the secular amongst us, to the ones seeking daily deliverance.
“Music is lacking soul and feeling at the moment,” he muses. “We need storytellers. When someone listens to my music, I want them to be able to feel what I’m feeling at that moment.”
In 2015, Henshaw signed to Columbia Records, and within a short span of time released two EPs, which he describes in hindsight as “experiments and forays”. Now, having plied his craft, embracing solitude over mass-exposure, Henshaw has a body of work he hopes to release when the time is right.
“Music is ephemeral and plans change, so I like to drop bangers when and if I feel like it. That being said, an album is in the works and it’s about growth. It will be soulful, personal, real and raw.”
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moss kena
for clash magazine
Next Wave #875: Moss Kena
07 · 11 · 2018
Hailing from West London, a self-professed Amy Winehouse monomaniac, with a God-given gift of a voice, is one Moss Kena. The everlasting influence of Camden’s own on a young Kena was enshrined when he named his debut EP ‘Found You In O6’, a sweet remembrance of the first time he held ‘Back To Black’ in his hands - the moment akin to a musical revelation.
Moss considers the effect Amy’s blue-eyed soul has on him 12 years later. “It still gives me that same feeling. Yet now I understand her poetry on a deeper level, the person behind the music,” he pauses, “it instilled in me this need to express myself in the most authentic way I can.”
He possesses a multi-octave range that melts the hardest of hearts. The gentle fragility in his voice amplifies the transparency in his words. Take the piano-driven, slow burner ‘Problems’; Moss extracts the deep-rooted ‘soul’ in his tangled inner monologue, making it a universal, spiritual experience for the listener.
Whilst his sound is a convergence of retro and contemporary soul, Kena feels untethered to the confines of genre classifiers. “There is limited variety on the radio,” he says with a measured conviction. “Music has to evolve, and I’m trying to shake it up, trying to master that tricky balancing act of being somewhat alternative, referential but still mainstream enough that I get played on the radio.”
After his stripped down re-working of Kendrick Lamar’s ‘These Walls’ went viral, Kena could have cashed in on his newfound infamy. Instead he opted for stealth tactics, letting his voice disseminate through word-of-mouth, avoiding overexposure. “It wasn’t a conscious thing. I just liked withholding and letting my music breathe,” he says.
Kena’s artistic ethos is constructed around an unmistaken desire to play the long game, to regulate his own narrative: “One consistent theme will be my voice; my experiences will change, my circumstances will change, yet my voice is the one constant,” explains Kena. “I want to be a career artist. I want a legacy.”
WHERE: West London
WHAT: Harmonic, ethereal soul
GET 3 SONGS: ‘48’, ‘Problems’, ‘Spend Some Time’
FACT: As an infant he idolised Elvis Presley.
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ojerime
for clash magazine
South London All The Way: Ojerime Is Primed And Ready
"Believe in yourself..."
05 · 09 · 2018
“The South-London in me introduces itself before I can even say I’m from there. It’s definitely an essence and the culture is instilled in me.”
Ojerime is a London gal through and through. You can hear it in her vernacular and sonic imprint, concomitant of growing up in a metropolitan melting pot. Take the garage-inflected ‘I Know Now’ - one of the best songs you’ll hear this year - home to idioms that only a Londoner could get away with.
However far Ojerime ventures outwards, she’ll never dilute her roots. “South-London is all I know, I’m extremely proud to be a product of my environment. It’s shaped the person I am today,” she says with pride. Ojerime’s steady ascent as an underground entity is in part down to the art of self-cultivation. She’ll bypass the sheen of studio sessions, in favour of the crackle and lo-fi res of intimate bedroom recording.
“Back in 2013, I started to work with real DIY artists in their uni accommodations. At this point I began to dabble with recording in my own room as I’d grown tired of studios.” A year later she released her ‘fang2001’ project, cuts interlaced with chopped and screwed samples, luxuriating in a woozy, mixtape-esque soundscape.
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With this year’s ‘4U’ – a seven-track continuous mix of certified bangers - Ojerime took her affinity for DIY song-craft, elevating it through collaboration - primarily with fellow South Londoner Raj Forever - delivering a more refined collection of Futurist-R&B. One other collaborator was Miles From Kinshasa, together they bring the fire on the 80s smooth jazz, synth-laden ‘Civilian On Heat’.
“This song means a lot to me as Miles was one of the first artists I’d ever worked with in 2011,” she recalls. “He’d sent me beats and was unsure how I’d take to them. Within two weeks I had the skeleton ready and sent it to him. We freestyled more on a performance mic, got real creative with the beat changes. Probably one of the best studio recording sessions I’ve had to date.”
‘4U’ is a labour of love. Asked how she feels that the culmination of hard graft is finally out, she replies with one word, “Relieved.”
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"My songs are balanced..."
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“My listeners are honestly amazing and without them I wouldn’t feel as good as I do now. The response I’ve received has been out of this world, I’m truly grateful for that.”
Ojerime’s songs fill a void in the heart of true R&B lovers, who yearn for the drama, vocal acrobatics and sway of peak-MTV era music. Her husky harmonies draw from a pantheon of 90s female powerhouses, citing Coco from SWV, Brandy and Faith Evans as her vocal stimuli. “I am a strong singer and I don’t feel any project before ‘4U’ truly reflected that, so I made sure this time I paid extra attention to the vocals.”
The EP projects the heightened melodrama of a twenty-something in the city, navigating love and loss. “My songs are balanced; they definitely draw from the personal experiences of other people as well as myself. I’m very analytical and in tune with my emotions.”
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For now, Ojerime’s in a place of stasis. “Unexpectedly spending time on this project really gave me a lot to think about. Two years is enough time to go through some shit, doubt yourself, scrap ideas and see the shape form,” she muses.
On ‘4U’, Ojerime amplifies pent-up desire through furtive melancholia - after hours’ music for night time dwellers. Take the druggy drone on ‘Handle’, the snares hit hard, the silence is resounding, the harmonies veer into ethereal territory, playing out an anthem of carnal craving. ‘Greasy’, a sun- kissed, hip-hop swing number, plays out the all-too-familiar trope of hook-ups with the guy that just won’t commit.
Ojerime broaches her sexuality and femininity with a susceptibility that is both invigorating and communal. To her, it’s important the narrative epitomises the convolution of a modern-day, woke black woman.
“There is beauty in a black woman who expresses her vulnerability, sexuality and power at the same time. I do this for other black women first, we are not one-dimensional,” she avows proudly. This autonomy is something Ojerime asserts over her every aspect of her brand, her creative agency ‘Fang’ is responsible for overseeing the visual component of her music, from packaging, to videos - a show reel that emboldens the black girl magic hashtag.
“I believe black women have been seen as an afterthought for so many years. Nowadays it’s one black woman at a time, instead of celebrating all of us. The media can push this agenda/rivalry which isn’t at all necessary when a lot of us are diverse in what we produce.”
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"I do this for other black women first, we are not one-dimensional..."
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Eschewing over-exposure, and an incessant culture of over-sharing in favour of distance and controlled detachment, Ojerime’s bringing the mystery back to the listening experience. She keeps interviews to a minimum, preferring to let her songs breathe, ferment and exist on their own. It coincides nicely with her self-made, independent spirit, something she’d never relinquish.
“I’m very proud of being independent, I’ve achieved things that wouldn’t usually be set up for artists like myself.” She continues, “I’ll always encourage new artists to go down that route when making underground music as you gain a better sense of self.”
Ojerime concludes with an affirmation. “Believe in yourself, experiment and gain as much knowledge as you possibly can through mistakes,” she declares. “Most importantly, listen to yourself, only you know what’s best for you in the long run.”
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kris wu
for clash magazine - Issue 108
photography by Graham Walzer
Far East Movement: Kris Wu Interviewed
"Rap is the most expressive form of music out there..."
20 · 07 · 2018
“Fame is a double-edged sword. I miss the days when you weren’t as accessible - now everyone wants a version of you that isn’t real.” You’d be hard pressed finding a more omnipresent global export than China’s Wu Yifan, AKA Kris Wu. Fortunately, any preconceived notion that follows a star of his calibre is dispelled. He answers questions with gusto that is both infectious and refreshing - no sign of an impassive disconnect.
Kris is merely cautious of the digi-centric world we occupy. He’s convivial but battle-hardened, immune to the immediacy and the harshness of the Internet age. East Asian stars in particular exist in a vortex of vociferous fandom-mania, their religious fervour reviving a cult of personality and mass hysteria at every turn. A craze that is inconceivable to us mere mortals.
A tall, lithe pin-up and an archetype of the eastern dream, 27-year old Kris has a colossal 26 million fans on Weibo - the Chinese equivalent of Twitter - and a further six million Insta followers. The metrics don’t end there. Data from Next Big Sound, a music analytics company, shows that Korean/Chinese acts, like EXO (of which Kris is a former member), garner the most online engagement and interactivity per fan, not just in their respective countries but worldwide.
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Popularity sticks like glue. It’s meant Kris has a chameleonic reach that spans music, film and fashion. Just last year, Kris collaborated with Burberry on a 19-piece capsule collection enthused by his own personal style. Dubbed a “triple-threat” by the Chinese media, he’s completely zoned-in when discussing his multi-disciplinary approach to work. “I’ve pushed aside countless opportunities, been selective about what I take on, and what I associate with. But my music always comes first. I liken it to a relationship: in order for it work, you have to nurture it,” Kris declares.
His love of hip-hop in particular runs deep. At times, Kris reverts back to the doe-eyed, 10-year-old who moved from of Guangzhou, China, to Vancouver, Canada. Instead of caving into his unfamiliar surroundings, a displaced Kris ingratiated himself to basketball and its integrated links to rap, declaring it “the fifth element of hip-hop music.”
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"I liken it to a relationship: in order for it to work, you have to nurture it..."
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Hall of Famer Allen Iverson was Wu’s early influence, his brazen swagger an emblem of the rebellious spirit of street culture. “There just was something unapologetic and authentic about Allen. He was always himself. I started looking for that in artists I listened to, like Pharrell, Snoop, The Game and later on in my teens Kanye was the big one.” He speaks with a sincere reverence for the genesis of hip-hop, taking his role as a bicultural pioneer for the movement seriously. Kris continues: “I feel I have a responsibility to educate my people about the origins, the history, and the culture surrounding hip-hop.”
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Hip-hop culture is emancipating the youth of China, a genre that up until now existed on the fringes as something insular and localised. “Rap is the most expressive form of music out there. It can be about anything. The youth need that mode of expression,” Kris says. The rap movement in China is one fraught with trepidation about ‘outside’ influence. It’s unlike the autonomous rise of pop-leaning music in South Korea, which has been on a collision course with the West since the demise of totalitarian rule in the ’80s. Chinese rappers like Kris have to circumvent nationalistic ideology, a sub-culture that breeds individualism, at risk of falling under strict expurgation.
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"It's about giving upcoming Chinese rappers the platform to go outside their comfort zones..."
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Take the reality TV show Rap Of China; a format in the vein of The Voice, with Wu serving as a judge on the panel. The show’s impact has been irrefutable, moving hip-hop from an embryonic, underground genre to the mainstream. The show’s runaway success has guaranteed a second season, but when something transcends culture in China, what follows soon after is the party line of subservience.
Whatever the outcome, Kris believes unequivocally in his role as a next- gen rap influencer, and despite being disparaged by a contingent of hip-hop loyalists, he refuses to entertain the cynicism of others. He pauses for a moment. “No one can deny we’ve brought hip-hop to the forefront, not just in China but worldwide. It’s about giving upcoming Chinese rappers the platform to go outside their comfort zones. That can’t be a bad thing.”
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The West has been impervious to Kris’s eastern predecessors, who’ve failed to make a dent on the charts, unable to acclimate to the harsh, ephemeral shifts in pop music. The tides are shifting, however: crossover success is no longer a myth. Earlier this year, K-pop trailblazers BTS debuted at No. 1 on the Album Charts, and Kris became the first Chinese artist to debut on the Hot 100, both English-language songs ‘Deserve’ and ‘Like That’ debuting at No. 1 on the iTunes Chart. Having just signed to Universal, Kris is tapping into international demand. “I feel so much pride in being Chinese right now. It’s never been done before. I’m just happy that finally we’re making a mark worldwide.”
Wu’s music has a sanitised, Americanised feel to it. He rap-sings over hedonistic, vogue, trap-laden beats - think the woozy atmospherics of Migos, PARTYNEXTDOOR and of course Travis Scott, who features on ‘Deserve’. “Me and Travis are quite similar; we occupy the same space, have the same chemistry. It was all very organic and fluid.” ‘Deserve’ evokes the earworm hook of Jamie Foxx’s ‘Blame It’, the perfect slice of body-talk music ripe for the summer.
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"I'm just happy that finally we're making a mark worldwide..."
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Aside from the high-octane anthems, Kris promises to deliver intimate confessionals on a “narrative-driven concept album”. Kris is removing the shackles of his past under the strict despotism of the K-pop hit factory. Like most ex-boyband members, he’s reinventing his identity, wanting to exist on his own virtues. “Since I’ve gone solo, there’s a lot more freedom for me to create the stuff that I want, that I fully believe in. That just wasn’t the case before. There’s no one dictating the sound or the visuals on the upcoming record, it’s all me.”
According to Kris, his zenith hasn’t arrived yet, but it’s around the corner. “This year and the next is about making history. I hope in the future we’ll look back and see that Chinese artists made an impact on music worldwide. It’ll be part of that conversation.”
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tove styrke
for clash magazine - Issue 107
photography by LUC COIFFAT
Pop Art: The Bold Vision Of Tove Styrke
"I felt like I didn’t really know myself... I needed to reclaim my time."
13 · 06 · 2018
The age of the Reality TV artist is over. The Simon Cowell School for Manufactured Music unable to sustain the careers of their students past the promise of a number one single, longevity shirking their grips. The curse could have struck Tove Styrke (pronounced Toovah Steerkah), who at the tender age of 16, sung her way to the Swedish Idol finals, releasing her self-titled debut a year later. Tove could have easily pursued a follow-up, cashing in on the spotlight TV-infamy brings.
Her next move was unexpected. “I took a break. I went away. I started in music when I was 16, and when I got to 20, I felt like I didn’t really know myself. I needed to reclaim my time.”
Tove echoes the stone-faced invocation from Internet sensation, congresswoman Maxine Waters. It resonates far beyond its original context, the idea of reclamation specifically speaking to Tove’s present, her past but most of all her future. “I never relied on Idol. I’m not at all ashamed of it, but I knew it wouldn’t sustain me; it was always about the music and it was about being an artist, never the fame,” Tove declares.
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"I needed to reclaim my time..."
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Three months into 2018 and it’s already an epoch-making year for the now 25-year old doe-eyed Swede, who over the duration of our call, speaks with an assured sense of self. Part of a renascent Nordic wave of progressive artists coming to the fore, the likes of Sigrid, Astrid S and MØ are galvanised and empowered by a long line of compatriots that have transitioned to the international stage. “It’s about both tradition and progression. We have the balance down. We have good female role models to look up to. For me Robyn made me see what was possible.”
Like Robyn’s synesthetic brand of electronica, Tove is always in a process of renewal, shifting from fledgling ingénue to an artist that is even more attuned to pop’s best instincts. “It was important that I find a new voice. My last LP (2015’s ‘Kiddo’) was fictional, super weird and fun. This time it was personal; I wanted to reflect the inner dialogue I have with myself.”
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A nonchalant minimalism pervades the cuts from her upcoming album ‘Sway’, but it’s achieved through hours upon hours of dexterous production patchwork with her primary producer Elof Loelv. “We spend a lot of time making these sounds standout, and we use samples more than instruments. Elof is a perfectionist like me, we create and build everything together. He understands that I wanted to keep the production minimal, but it’s way harder to make something low-key actually have impact.”
You can hear it in the sedate digi-pop of ‘Say My Name’, which bubbles around a rubbery ukulele loop and the fiendishly catchy ‘On The Low’, built from unorthodox noises forming the lower end. When stripped of all its synthetic make-up, it’s still a carousel of emotion, “it’s the one song I can sing without anything, and the message would still be clear,” Tove says.
On title track ‘Sway’, Tove captures the inner-workings of metropolitan relationships, dissecting the ambivalent nature of hooking up, embracing indecision than all-knowing omnipotence. “I relate to complex people, it’s more interesting when you’re relatable. It’s not like those songs where they go, ‘This is the best thing ever!’ or, ‘I love you so much I want to die!’ It’s very rare that you actually feel that strongly about something.”
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"It's about being your own best friend, but that doesn't mean the loneliness fades..."
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In between recording sessions, Tove covered Lorde’s devastating ode to self-love, ‘Liability’. Whilst her version retains the melancholia of the original, Tove adds the bombast of music that you could dance to, whilst crying. Tove is sweeping in her praise for the song: “It’s a song that I felt had that dancing- with-yourself metaphor. It’s about being your own best friend, but that doesn’t mean the loneliness fades. That feeling is universal.”
Her version of the track comes with an accompanying live visual, infusing neon lights with intricately placed synthesizers, expressing the despondency in the words by contorting her body through lyrical dance. It’s something to behold - a signifier Tove has her finger on the pantheon of iconic visuals. In her video for ‘Mistakes’, Tove utilises the runaway-bride trope but flips it, jilting her lover and raving alongside a host of clone brides. It’s a middle finger up to deterministic patriarchy and a showcase in liberation. “I wanted to make the video for ‘Mistakes’ cinematic and tell a story of this woman who rejects convention and goes her own way. It felt powerful.”
It’s this sort of fortitude for fashioning an audio-visual experience with meaning that sets the songstress up for the long road ahead. Tove is both spirited and resolute when asked what her five-year plan entails. She pauses, then chuckles, then responds in the most deadpan, unwavering tone: “Worldwide domination.” You’d better believe it.
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azekel
for clash magazine
Next Wave #848: Azekel
28 · 05 · 2018
Azekel Adesuyi isn’t a new player in the game. Quietly honing his craft between intermittent EP releases since 2013, Azekel has procured the biggest co-sign of all time from the late Prince, racking up collaborations with Gorillaz and Massive Attack along the way. Now, he’s ready to step out from the fringes, readying the release of his first full-length. “It’s been a long time coming, it took me a while to believe I could actually do it,” Azekel tells Clash, “I'm ready now, I have a story to tell.”
‘Azekel’ an Angolan-African name, translates as “God-given” or “praise from God”, and the namesake could not be more apropos for the Nigerian-born, East Londoner, his music imbued with the soulful directness of gospel music, as if you’re listening in on an intimate confessional. Titled ‘Our Father’, the immensity of faith and its ties to heritage are woven into the narrative, “the record is very spiritual. It’s also honest and soulful, and those are 3 things I want the listener to walk away with.”
Sonically, Azekel has a broad crossover appeal, enthused by the amorphous Avant-RnB of Sampha and Kelela, but also by the pantheon of black history, his musical stimuli defined in part, by the sounds of his childhood. Azekel reminisces, “my Dad had a big sound-system in the living room, and my parents were constantly playing the likes of Fela Kuti, Whitney Houston and Marvin Gaye. My Mum really loved Marvin,” and its Gaye’s imprint on Azekel’s own vocal musicianship that is telling, possessing a striking multi-octave range, no more evident than on the scintillating, disco heat of ‘Can We Have Fun’.
‘Our Father’ comprises 3 segments – family, mental health and youth, each chapter delving deep into the consciousness of a young family man, lifting the veil on modern masculinity and presenting a variant of the black diaspora. “I'm drawing from the influences in my life and the experience of being a young black father is something that is near and dear to my heart, it’s all I know.” Azekel’s personal experience of parenthood may feel insular, but his meditation on ‘Don’t Wake The Babies’ is a wry, at times sombre, refreshingly relatable take on the reality of adulthood. “The whole ethos of the project is to showcase a different black experience to the one that is usually portrayed.”
Azekel is as much a visually inclined, as he is musically, “for this project, it was important that the visual and the music aligned closely,” Azekel says. The stark simplicity of The Rest-directed video for ‘Family (Chapter 1)’ - featuring a miscellaneous display of black women swathed in natural, minimalist tones - is a welcome deviation from the commonplace depiction of them as sexualised and ornamental. “I wanted to convey that black is beauty. It’s quite simple really. All shades, sizes and personalities, regardless of what is shown in the media. Having daughters inspired me to write this song and to move with this concept for the visual.”
In the ‘Mental Health’ chapter, Azekel explores the generational ripple effect between men, on a micro-level but also an institutionalised, structural level. Consciously removing the stigma attached with mental health by being audaciously open with his own admissions, Azekel is hoping more young black men open up. “I’m still figuring it all out. Making this record has been cathartic, but the balance comes and goes. What I am learning, is that living my truth and being introspective, provides me with that sense of balance.”
The feeling of unsettledness and ambiguity is best expressed on the song ‘Loading’, Azekel listing his vices and struggles in tandem with fragments of real-life conversations. “I had a hard time when I entered my 20s, I started feeling a lot of crazy emotions and had to revisit a lot of stuff that happened previously in my life. Hearing myself retell my experience with mental health feels like someone saying it's going to be OK. It heals.”
However emotionally hefty the chronicle of Azekel’s life has been, he wants to subvert the status quo, with rhythmically-inclined, effervescent odes that celebrate blackness in all its glory. “I learnt through this process that responsibility can make you feel too serious at times. I had to stop and remind myself that I'm still young. ‘Youth’ is a mind-set of curiosity, hope, and fearlessness, and as a result the music I made was brighter and funkier.”
WHERE: East London
WHAT: Off-beat, avant-RnB with a message.
GET 3 SONGS: ‘Loading’, ‘Don’t Wake The Babies’, ‘Black Is Beauty (Daughters)’
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Kali uchis
for clash magazine
In Conversation: Kali Uchis
"We have to give ourselves the space and the time to grow...."
Mere weeks ago Kali Uchis - full name Karly-Marina Loaiza - arrived for the unveiling of a mural in Los Angeles, coinciding with the release of her debut album. Clad in an arresting white outfit, leaning out the roof of a colour-coordinated limo, it was akin to a ‘Marilyn’ moment, the Colombian songstress basking in the dewy glow of newfound stardom. A perfectly staged photo-op, archived and disseminated through her socials; fans of all creeds were braced for an embrace or a Kali co-sign.
As our transatlantic chat unfurls, it’s clear that behind the stylized phantasm – a cross between icons of 60s cinema and a telenovela temptress – Uchis is warm, deeply empathetic, but also self-assured, steering her own career trajectory. It’s no wonder Kali has a legion of fans loyal to her.
Reaffirmed in her belief as an artist, Uchis shifted from her family home in Virginia to the insular circles of Los Angeles, where the likes of Snoop Dogg, Diplo and Tyler the Creator reached out. “In Virginia, my success was still localised, but in LA people were immediately susceptible to what I was putting out. I was staying at their houses, using their studios. Before I didn’t have those resources at all, and in LA those resources were now at my disposal.”
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‘Por Vida’, an EP, was released in 2015, imbuing her music with the languid Bossa nova-influence of Stan Getz and Astrud Gilberto, merging Kali’s boudoir sound with the edge of futurist soul. Such was the appeal, her songs would go on to soundtrack cult hit shows like American Horror Story and HBO’s Insecure, “I didn’t have help getting me on to these platforms, it was just happening very organically, it was all word of mouth.”
The assiduous grinding paid off. Just last month Kali released her first official full-length, ‘Isolation’ to acclaim, fortifying her early potential as an artist playing the long game. Far from something ephemeral, the record is an all-encompassing cinematic reverie that took three years of meticulous design. “Honestly, I’m just so relieved,” she pauses in thought, “I’ve crossed so many hurdles to get to this point. I’m such a perfectionist, so it feels so good to finally have the record out, because I can’t alter it anymore.”
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"I don’t want to be in competition with anyone, I always want to one-up myself..."
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On ‘Isolation’, Uchis flips the script, eschewing dependence and despondency, never foregoing her creative autonomy. “I wasn’t going to have one of those (record) deals where my creativity is compromised. When you have a strong vision as an artist, it’s important to stick with that. I am where I am because I’ve always been true to myself. If I took a backseat on my art, it just wouldn’t work.”
‘Isolation’ boasts a curated selection of big-name collaborators with distinct monikers – Damon Albarn, Bootsy Collins, frequent studio partner Tyler, and Thundercat to name a few. Collectively they redefine the fuzzy, lo-fi feel of Uchis’ prior material into an amalgam soundscape - free-flowing and at times surrealist. “I’ve been lucky enough to have these crazy talented producers and artists help bring this vision to life. There’s this competitive mentality in music that’s quite outdated. We should be able to coexist. I don’t want to be in competition with anyone, I always want to one-up myself.”
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08 · 05 · 2018
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“I write my own music, this is all my vision”, she insists. It’s true. On ‘Isolation’ Uchis never allows her identity to be masked by the sonic imprint of others, dexterously bestowing herself with every musical whim. From the reggaeton Latina heat of ‘Nuestra Planeta’, to the Kevin Parker-produced hazy psychedelia of ‘Tomorrow’, all citations converge into one streamlined listen, nary a dud on a 15-track LP.
Kali gushes in retrospect about the latter track, “Kevin is a genius! I’m so honoured he agreed to work with me. We had two days together in LA and that one song was the only one we worked on, the one song I asked him to mix himself. I’m proud of what we created, it’s different tonally from the rest.”
Much of the ability to traverse genres is because of Kali’s voice; quietly impactful, pliable, and in keeping with the leisurely, palatial dreamscape she and her producers hone so artfully. Uchis is honest when assessing her range, “I don’t have the biggest voice. Some of my vocal influences like Sade, Gwen and Kelis don’t have huge voices either. Yet they have their own distinct sound, a signature voice that could be recognised from miles away.”
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"I've always been interested in unique voices as opposed to perfect ones...
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She muses for a second, “I’ve always been interested in unique voices as opposed to perfect voices, that’s what made me the vocalist I am today, that sort of ethos. It was never about emulating someone’s voice, but about establishing a blueprint that was unique, and quirky.”
On ‘Isolation’ the trials and tribulations that have defined Kali’s life thus far, pop up like phantom threads. Kali cavorts with them but is never overawed. She penetrates the veil of falsehoods and double standards and what remains is a feminista manifesto on how to take ownership of one’s destiny. She spins the concept of remoteness into something positive and life-affirming. “Being viewed as alone is often perceived as negative. That’s such a damaging perception. We have to give ourselves the space and the time to grow. That allows you to be more intuitive,” she stresses.
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A centrepiece of the record is ‘Miami’, a polyglot workers’ anthem home to the zinger, “He said he’d want me in his video like Bound 2, But why would I be Kim? I could be Kanye. In the land of opportunity and palm trees.” It’s a lyric that has drawn the ire of a contingent of Kardashian loyalists, but against a backdrop of fevered Yeezy rhetoric, it’s a timely commentary of ideology, gender roles and free agency.
“It’s not a diss at all, the fact that it’s even being viewed that way is reductive,” Uchis pledges. “It’s a reference to the imagery in ‘Bound 2’. Originally the line comes from my ex, he’d always say you’re the Kim to my Kanye. It was part of a larger cycle of control, and manipulation. A lot of guys want that, a mannequin they can dress, and Kanye was very vocal about the fact that he dressed Kim, that he was moulding her into a vision of someone they want to be with. I’m striving to be more than a muse; I want to be the creative genius.”
She continues, “Who do I want my little cousins to look up to? It’s been a long time coming, women have been repressed for so long, and we’ve been made to feel that the only thing we’re good for is our bodies. I think it’s important that we reclaim our bodies, we can be sexual without feeling shame for it. If I choose to be half-naked in a photo or a video that’s because I made that decision myself.”
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"I think it's important we reclaim our bodies, we can sexual without feeling feeling shame for it..."
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“There is so much pressure on women to be perfect, and walk straight, walk carefully and have a book balance on our head. Men can be comfortable, be a genius, and it comes off as edgy when it is no such thing. I want my cousins to grow up feeling comfortable about themselves, and their sexuality but also rise above the superficial.”
The quote “Life is like sex. Sometimes you have to change your position,” appears in Uchis’s own calligraphy on a poster inserted in every physical copy of her record. It derives from a conversation she overheard on a train ride through her native Colombia - a drop-out-the-sky epiphany. On the poster Uchis is laid out across a swath of sapphire satin, strikingly contrasted by her revealing ruby attire. The quote and the aesthetic captures Kali’s aspirational appeal – otherworldly escapism into an expansive alternate reality where dreams are realised, vindication achieved.
“This is for everyone who feels trapped in their positions, and hopefully this record will help you realise this. Find the inner strength to maybe get out of a toxic relationship or find the strength to chase your dreams. Get rid of the shit that isn’t substantial to your life and don’t satisfy someone’s notion of what they want you to be. Hopefully my music will enable people to see that more.”
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jamz supernova
for clash magazine - issue 106
photography by vicky grout
Kick Out The Jamz: Clash Meets Jamz Supernova
Catching up with the vital, always on-point broadcaster and DJ...
13 · 02 · 2018
Part of a growing wave of intersectional tastemakers dismantling and redefining the parameters of black music, you can rely on Jamz Supernova to soundtrack your late nights. Embedded within the fabric of BBC Radio 1Xtra, her own ethos is tantamount to the station’s: “I’ve been working at 1Xtra since I was 19. I’ve been privy to watching, learning and celebrating with them as they champion the alternative.”
From the more sanitised endorsement of crossover American rap and R&B, to the emergence of more localised, grass-roots music, Jamz fuses pirate radio informality with deft commentary. Yet the foundation for it all is rooted deep in her youth. “I’m a true ’90s baby. Growing up, it was about the back catalogues. It was a good time to be empowered, so maybe the strength of TLC and Missy rubbed off on me.”
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A fully-fledged DJ in her own right, Jamz’s Future Bounce nights sees her veer further off-track, flexing her love for electronics - think Baltimore house and UK funky. The license is to thrill, but a trickier balancing act ensues: “It’s a risk when you’re repping underground club music; will the audience want you to play Drake all night? Are they here for the line-up? You’re educating the audience on new and old sounds. When you find that happy medium, it’s a sick experience.”
It’s meant she’s been able to cultivate a curatorial formula when cherry-picking artists. “It has to be personal. I have to love the music. I’m such an over-thinker, but it means nothing is done on a whim.” This is coupled with an unerring hunger to resist convention: “You can’t jump the gun. One great record doesn’t make them the next big thing. I want to hear growth, so I can grow with them.”
Jamz bemoans the lack of televised coverage for the R&B/soul category at the 2017 MOBOs, seemingly resonating with viewers, underscoring a desire to protect the integrity of the genre. “I respect what the MOBOs have done for music, but I was confused when it wasn’t a genre worthy of being shown. Sometimes when we think about ‘black music’ we forget to appreciate just how progressive it can be. In not showing the category, it set the illusion that the genre isn’t thriving.”
And according to Jamz it is the antithesis - her own personal forecast for 2018 emulates the forward-thinking trajectory of black music. “I laid a strong foundation in 2017, I’d like to keep building on that. Grow my radio show, more DJ gigs, more festivals, more Future Bounce parties across the UK, start my label, tour Asia and just enjoy the journey.”
jessie reyez
for clash magazine - Clash 105
photography by PAUL PHUNG
Loca Colombiana: Jessie Reyez Interviewed
"I have so much to achieve, so many goals..."
06 · 12 · 2017
Jessie Reyez is a vitrine of extremes. Soft-spoken and dewy-eyed, she juxtaposes raw candour with girl-next-door appeal, bellicose punchlines with heart-wrenching sincerity. She doesn’t tread a middle-ground, instead she embodies the haphazard seesaw effect of adolescent life, where every day feels as if you’ve been stabbed in the heart. “I am extreme,” she admits. “My highs are very high and my lows are very low, and it’s pretty close to hell. I’m a Gemini, so it’s inherent in my personality.”
With stellar performances at the BET Awards (“I was so scared I was going to hiccup, or stumble,”) and Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, and contributions on Calvin Harris’ ‘Funk Wav Bounces Vol.1’ LP (lead vocals on ‘Hard To Love’ and backing on ‘Faking It’), Jessie is riding the hype train and it’s all because of her seven-track ‘Kiddo’ EP. Released in April, the rip-roaring arsenal of diary-like meditations sees Reyez as audacious and vocally omnipresent. She flits effortlessly between acoustic cuts, like the lovelorn ‘Figures,’ and icy, industrial melodrama heard on ‘Shutter Island.’ “I like to be as cinematic as possible,” she says of her vivid writing style, “I want to elicit an image in the listener’s mind and give them that escapism.”
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"Everyone I worked with on this project was a mastermind."
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Toronto initiative The Remix Project, which encourages creative enterprise among at-risk youth, shaped Reyez’s D.I.Y approach to song craft. Under the mentorship of dvsn’s Daniel Daley she learned the importance of graft, community and selective networking. “Some people just don’t have the resources to grind the authentic way. I’ve tried every fucking avenue,” she says. “At the beginning I was aiming everywhere, sending demos to everyone, but I was able to hone everything with the right help. Everyone I worked with on this project was a mastermind. It’s a symphony; if you take out one component it would not be the same.”
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It’s Jessie’s own, deeply personal experiences that separate her from the pack. This is best reflected in ‘Gatekeeper’, an uncomfortable but indispensable retelling of the exploitation and sexism she suffered at the hands of an industry figure, who remains anonymous because she didn’t want to give them power.
The track, and accompanying short film, see Jessie reclaim her autonomy, and was released primarily as no more than a reflection of her own reality. “We never had a blueprint and we never set out to make something super impactful or heroic. Dropping something like this would be for my benefit,” she admits. “But also for the benefit of anyone who had been through it.”
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"I have to ground myself, I have so much to achieve, so many goals..."
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By dismantling any notion that exploitation in the music industry is a thing of the past, Reyez gives a voice to a faceless periphery of women who have been backed into a corner, manipulated by power players grossly misusing their industry clout. “Once we saw the reactions to the songs, and even when we were playing the songs back to industry people, especially women, you could tell that you’d hit a wound,” she says. “And there were men who were physically uncomfortable.”
The hype is vindicated because Jessie is playing the long game, her reality reflected in songs that drip with verve and vitality. “Artistic integrity always comes first,” she states, as our conversation draws to its conclusion. “As soon as you try to conform to numbers and statistics, it’s a slippery slope. At the same time, I have to ground myself, I have so much to achieve, so many goals; I’m just getting started.”
THEY.
for clash magazine - ISSUE 104
photography by ALEKSANDRA PODBURTNAJA
A Rhythmic Rebellion: CLASH meets THEY.
"We don't chase trends, because we want longevity..."
19 · 09 · 2017
An alternative to artists who follow the industry blueprint, churning out the “same old shit” on a conveyor belt, the ethos of THEY. (producer Dante Jones and vocalist Drew Love) is underscored by an unruly ambition to never sate but always challenge the status quo. “We don’t chase trends, because we want longevity,” states Dante. “We may emulate but we’ll never take the quick route.”
This stems, in part, from their own disparate experiences as teens, navigating those turbulent formative years. “I was a social outcast,” admits Drew, who grew up in Maryland, DC. “I didn’t have friends so music was my refuge, it formed my escape.”
Dante’s experiences coming up in Denver, Colorado, are antithetical but no less compelling: “I was the troublemaker. I got expelled three times! I floated; I hung with the artsy girls and the hood niggas. I was rambunctious, but it made me absorb these different influences around me.”
It’s unsurprising that the core demographic at their sold-out London gig is miscellaneous millennials and receptive students, finding kinship with THEY.’s rhythmic rebellion. Indeed, as soon as the siren-snare of anthem ‘U Rite’ attacks the ether, a frenzy of bodies push and shove, the duo inciting a riot at the very centre of the floor. “It’s the one track where you feel the feedback,” Dante remarks on the visceral impact. “The dopest track to interact with.”
While THEY. confess their foundations are rooted in R&B, it’s embellished with a surface accoutrement of guitar-rock and grunge, a ‘rebel without a cause’ attitude pervading their metaphorical ‘Nü Religion: Hyena’ LP. “Often our pot of gold is because of happy accidents, which is why we don’t like traditional studio sessions,” explains Dante. “We’re drawn to strange things, and when things sound a bit off.”
THEY. want to imbue their songs with a social consciousness, reflecting two young black men navigating the murky depths of an unforgiving country. Look no further than the police brutality-referencing ‘Say When’. “We’re fed up with conjecture,” Drew declares. “And we’re ready for action. We’re talking directly to the police and we’re addressing our oppressor.”
It’s invigorating to hear first-hand the sort of artists THEY. want to be going forward: multi-disciplinary and world-weary. Dante closes our interview with a life-affirming lesson: “We’re influencers, and that goes beyond music. We want to instill in our listeners the belief that different is good.”
snoh aalegra
for clash magazine
Next Wave #749: Snoh Aalegra
The Prince protégé looms large with her brand of cinematic heartbreak soul….
24 · 03 · 2017
Coinciding with a wave of Scandinavian artists crossing over onto the international music scene is one export Snoh Aalegra. Whilst compatriots Robyn and Tove Lo brought an icy soundscape of club-inflected dance to mainstream pop, Aalegra’s soundboard finds home in vintage, throwback retro-soul, Aalegra committed to transporting the listener to a bygone era of illicit love affairs and Casanova romances. It’s as if her music is the accompanying score and soundtrack to an MGM-produced film noir. “Outside my musical influences like Michael Jackson and Stevie Wonder, from a young age I was drawn to Walt Disney and Steven Spielberg movie soundtracks. The use of grand production and strings has definitely seeped into my own creations.”
Influenced by the hip-hop diaspora of LA, “almost all of the producers I collaborate with are hip-hop rooted”, Aalegra also pledges allegiance to Swedish pop pioneers and the impact they have had on her own approach to song craft. “Growing up I was the biggest fan of Max Martin and the late Denniz Pop, I still dream of working with Max Martin to this day! They serve as inspiration to me in the way they crafted melodies, and actually I think Swedish musicians have a knack for creating pop melodies.”
Look no further than Snoh’s very own ‘FEELS’ the title track off her just released eponymous mini-album. Featuring ear-worm hooks and a dose of nostalgia pop, it’s a track that has radio appeal without conforming to the overwrought, homogenous sounds that have dominated airwaves for so long. According to Aalegra, simplicity is the key reason as to why the Swedes have pervaded the industry for so long, “we like to keep things simple and to the point, that relates to design and melody, just look at ABBA and Ace of Base.”
It’s evident Aalegra owes her musical proclivities in some part to her Swedish roots. Yet it’s not all cut and dry for her, referencing her Persian heritage and the aesthetic differences as alienating. “I grew up in a small town in Sweden called Enköping and I was the only non-Swedish person in my class. I looked different to the other kids with my darker skin and darker hair and I always felt like an outsider.”
To Aalegra the notions of where home really is an endless paradox, “I’m currently living somewhere (LA) where I may not even be welcome. I’m living somewhere where the President is trying to enforce a Middle Eastern ban and that is a horrible feeling.” Tackling this theme of multicultural identity on one of her most listened to tracks, ‘Home’, Aalegra dissolves barriers of distance and individual difference into one of love and acceptance, “I’m learning that home is not about a place but the people you love and are connected to”.
Aalegra’s first foray into miasmic soul was through her her EP ‘There Will Be Sunshine’ in 2014 but it was her independently released ‘Don’t Explain’ mini-album that beautifully captured romance as a springtime blossom, the suffocating feeling when your consumed with desire, and the impending come-down when heartbreak looms. The songs exist in a vortex of wistful cinematics, yet the lyrics are all painstakingly personal. “It's all my own experiences. I've had a very dramatic rollercoaster ride where the highs have been high and the lows have been low. Thankfully I could write about it.”
What would have fallen flat with a lesser singer, soars through Aalegra’s smoky overtones, her voice multi-faceted in its sheer reach and versatility. Comparisons with late Amy Winehouse will probably crop up as her star ascends, but where Amy revelled in her own maelstrom of sorrow and despair, Aalegra is expectant of a change that may or may not come.
Owing her progression as an artist to the LA music scene and her mentor Prince, Aalegra credits both as necessities in reaching her full creative potential. “’Don't Explain’ was the first project I released independently and it was my dear late friend and hero Prince who suggested that I leave my major label and do my own thing. It was the best decision I made.” It was also Prince that instilled in Aalegra the need to be surrounded by a creative collective of producers and artists that would hone her own classic sound. “USA is the motherland of soul, jazz and blues. I needed to be here and since arriving I’ve collaborated with some of the most talented artists and producers in the world.”
Indeed. ‘Don’t Explain’ was produced by the likes of hip-hop pioneer NO I.D., James Fauntleroy and DJ Dahi. It was Aalegra’s work with the right-hand man (Boi1DA) to none other than Champagne Papi, that poetically culminated in a sampling of Aalegra’s newly released ‘Time’ on his ‘More Life’ closer ‘Do Not Disturb’. A crowning moment for an artist on the up, it ushers in a new era for Aalegra, where her brand of nebulous nostalgia meets the futurism of modern day hip-hop. “It’s refreshing to mesh together my world with theirs, and create something unique. I love big drums and significant bass lines, so that mixed with strings and pads is my ultimate combination.”
‘FEELS’ is the new offering from the songstress, the remaining two projects that was conceived as a trilogy with ‘Don’t Explain’. Flitting from the sanguine, pop overture of the title track, which Aalegra denotes as “one of the most loving and positive songs I've ever written”, to the Vince Staples-assisted ‘Nothing Burns Like The Cold’, a foreboding number brimming with horns and scratches, it’s clear ‘FEELS’ will be anything but derivative. “It’s a mix of classic meets contemporary, feminine meets street. By no means did I come here in a time machine, but it is important to invoke and recreate the eras between the 60s to the early 90s which mean the most to me.”
MOSES SUMNEY
for clash magazine
In Conversation: Moses Sumney
Los Angeles newcomer on music, politics, and working with Solange...
05 · 12 · 2016
Clash probed Los Angeles-based artist Moses Sumney for his views on the US presidential race as it drew to a conclusion, his response – a derisive “Pass.” Now, weeks later, as the world basks in the aftermath, the gulf between the privileged and the disenfranchised grows wider and wider. The muted riposte from Sumney isn’t surprising. He isn’t passive, he’s merely jaded. As if he’s been asked too often for his stance as a minority artist, on the social injustices many black Americans are facing today. Minorities subjugated by a country very much regressing in its tenet as a ‘land of the liberated’.
Recognising the importance of artists as “symbols for black people,” he bemoans the pressure put on artists as stand-ins for minority representation, believing the majority should be called to answer the difficult questions. “I think that the media should pitch questions about race to white artists (especially those that draw on inspiration from black music in their songs) so that the burden of race does not entirely fall on the shoulders of black people”. It’s a combative but necessary appraisal of the ways in which black art and black culture is commodified and broken down for mass consumption, Sumney begging the question - why should minorities be asked to fix problems they didn’t create?
Sumney has an air of reverence about him, his involvement with Solange’s ‘A Seat At The Table’ a crowning moment in a year that has become something of a perennial hype train. “It was a joy and an honour to work with her. That record is cathartic. And aside from the obvious, I was very impressed with her ability to layer and arrange vocals without going into a booth, just with a cheap stage mic in hand!” Indeed Sumney’s honeyed tones are effortlessly woven into despondent track ‘Mad’, a delicious slice of vintage-soul that cuts with a prickly honesty. His contribution on the LP is of course intentional, not only a placeholder for generational creativity but also an endorsement of his own talents by one half of the most talented sibling pair you’ll find in music today. Depicting racial identity in all its myriad complexity, he laconically labels her release as “Black Blackity Black!”
2016 has seen the release of some exposition-heavy records, does Sumney feel a conscious responsibility to imbue his art with similar rhetoric? “I do feel like it's my job to counter the stereotypical popular narrative of blackness and what black art can be. To present an alternative image.” Indeed Moses Sumney’s brand of miasmic folk is a vital component of his marque, a genre in music lacking in black representation. Sonically, Sumney falls somewhere between the confessional musings of Sufjan and the more synthetic soundboards of James Blake and Beck. His music foregoes the modern production flourishes that define R&B and pop today.
Heavily guitar-laden, devoid of sheen, Sumney finds home in simplicity. Less is more with him. So you wouldn’t blame Sumney for rubbing his chin at the erasure of his core stylings. “They use archaic visual cues instead of aural cues to categorise my music – that is to say, I must be R&B because I'm black and sing soulfully.” You can liken this categorisation to that of Eska (whom Sumney cites as his latest musical obsession), a Zimbabwean-born, London-bred artist whose blend of celestial vocals and poetic lyricism flourish under a folk, soul and electronic foundation. In an interview with the Telegraph last year, Eska corroborates Sumney’s stance on cues, “too many people listen with their eyes in this industry. I mean, look at me: I’m a round, black woman. I must be only be a soul singer, right?”
Pitchfork recently described Sumney’s sound as “soul-inflected electro-folk”, and that’s a tag Sumney can live with, “it’s totally better than what I usually get”. Suspicious of the trigger-happy desire to file artists away, Sumney is vocal about the ways it hurts black artists who don't conform to genre conventions. Still, like Eska, Sumney is focused on his music first and foremost, confounding social expectations is an important but secondary concern. He’s by no means complacent, appreciating the necessity for healthy column inches as his star ascends further, “at the end of the day it’s nice to be written about”.
Sumney is uncompromising in his ethos as an artist, self-writing and co-producing all of his work thus far. It all culminated with the release of his ‘Lamentations’ in October, the second EP after 2014’s ‘Mid-City Island’. The title alone connotes painstaking sincerity and uncharted emotional territory. Sumney wouldn’t have it any other way. “Honesty just feels right, there is no two ways about it. It’s also necessary to push art forward.” On the lullaby-like ode ‘Lonely World’, Sumney sings of an all-encompassing void, "I'm talking about depression and the desire to be alone because it's the only thing you relate to. I wrote that while alone in the mountains so it was apt." It’s no surprise when asked where he feels more comfortable residing - the light or the dark - his answer is unequivocal and absolute, “I completely don't relate to being “in the light” and I feel alienated by people who do.”
"I'm talking about depression and the desire to be alone because it's the only thing you relate to..."
He’s right. ‘Lamentations’ is borne out of the deepest introspections, revealing innermost feelings about a young man making sense of the world around him. Those moments are dark, but their lies comfort in the unknowing. Retaining some of the lo-fi feel of his debut EP, ‘Lamentations’ exudes a similar intimate, funereal vibe. Nevertheless, Sumney is all about evolution, thriving now in the intersection between live arrangements and electronics. “I've always had an obsession with live instrumentation and with things sounding like humans played them. Earlier me really shunned electronics and computers. Lately I've been getting a lot more into atypical electronic production, and I want to explore that more and work with more electronic producers – manipulators.” This is no more evident than on his fast-becoming signature song ‘Worth It’, invoking Imogen Heap-esque vocal manipulation, an artificial Sumney as self-deprecating as ever, questioning his credentials as a lover and a counterpart. It’s probably the most R&B-sounding song you’ll hear from him.
Sumney’s voice is the centrepiece of his creations, deserving of all praises. Possessing a dulcet falsetto that glides with ease, he can reach peaks that Prince and Michael would commend. His harmonies are dense and rich - attributing this to his exposure of heyday 90s R&B stars when he was younger. “I'm definitely inspired by a lot of R&B vocal production and harmonies – I've spent tons of time listening to Brandy, Destiny's Child and early Beyoncé a cappellas.” Yet, it was his choir boy days that instilled in him a deeper appreciation of vocal arrangements, explaining: “it had a huge effect on me – composers like Moses Hogan and Eric Whitacre ended up being a huge influence in the way I write and record vocal.”
His DIY approach to song craft seeps authentically into his live performances, utilising analogue equipment and pedals - it’s all about the power of improvisation. Looping harmonies using three microphones, he’s able to replicate the vocal strength of a small choir and the effect is haunting, completely in tune with the soundscapes he weaves on record. Sumney has cardinal rules for live gigs however, “for my show there are no computers on stage and every show must be different than the others.”
Performing is prayer for Sumney, but in between songs Sumney will read you indelibly, even before you realise you were momentarily clocked. His set at St Pancras Church in London is peppered with intermittent drags, calling on the audience to partake in a sing-along but shading their inability to hold a note. He has the audience at his mercy, possessing a genuine knack for conversational lark and his gravitas as a live performer burns brighter as a result. When Sumney’s in performance mode – a one-man band essentially – you see in full technicolour, an artist in command and completely devoted to the congregation he incites.
Opening with the Hebrew-sung ‘Incantation’, Sumney’s voice becomes an instrument unto itself, soaring through the venue, echoing off the stained-glass windows. It’s an audacious opener, Sumney seeking protection in the form of prayers from “the music industry.” “I primarily want the audience to feel too afraid to talk while I'm performing. Music is inherently spiritual to me, so I want the venue to open up the channels for that to flow through.” His choice of Churches for special gigs in LA and London illustrate the want for the audience to walk away feeling anointed by the whole experience. “I’m not religious but I am spiritual. I find sanctity in music. It's important for me to connect those dots – the idea that music itself transcends this earth and pulls from another realm. To me, it is innate. Finding God in music is innate.”
"Music is inherently spiritual to me..."
Sumney is all about the mastery of live performance, so it’s no surprise that James Blake has endorsed him, selecting him as a support act earlier this year for his autumn tour. Full of gratis for Blake, Sumney praises his own showcase of a genre-bending palette of songs, “I’ve seen first-hand how he can traverse multiple genres in one sitting – his show goes from pumping beats to piano ballads and back again, and it never stops being engaging.” Sumney incorporates an eclectic mix of slow burners and more defiant up-tempos in his own set, flitting from melodic, folk-inflected hymns to tracks borne out of more recent recording sessions. One such track sounds like a rhythmic rebellion - a war cry, featuring a frantic, looped percussion built from a mere tap of the mic.
It’s a snapshot of where Sumney is heading, ‘Lamentations’ a bridge between his earlier material and his future LP - a creation he credits as developmental but not elemental. “My sound is expanding and I have no interest in genre boundaries. I've written enough songs for 3 albums over this period, and every time I think I'm done, I realise I can push it a bit further.” Look no further than the melancholic epic ‘We Believe’ with The Cinematic Orchestra, a tapestry of lush arrangements augmented by Sumney’s dramatic falsetto. He isn’t resting on his laurels, it’s about growth and not repeating what’s come before. “I'm constantly changing and stretching. The new music will be even better-produced, more honest, and more diverse sounding."
kloe
for clash magazine
photography by samuel bradley
Next Wave #680 - KLOE
Warped production and nostalgic vocals...
11 · 04 · 2016
The next big thing to be churned out by Glasgow’s conveyer belt of quality music is peroxide blonde upstart KLOE. Since having moved to the capital, however, she refuses to diminish her home city’s influence. “It’s the craziness of a night out with my friends that I miss - those memories keep me going amidst all the writing and touring in London.”
Nightlife is at the root of her appeal, mixed in with the wide-eyed nostalgia of Lorde and the bleakness of pre-‘Beauty Behind The Madness’ The Weeknd. It’s the latter that has proven a lasting stimulus on her own brand of after-hours anthems. “Lorde made it cool to be uncool again but The Weeknd is instrumental in me becoming KLOE,” she admits. “He makes singing about sex and drugs sound beautiful.”
You can hear it in the isolated, trap-lite production, but don’t get it twisted - KLOE’s lyrics aren’t as debauched, even if they do hint at the seedier effects of partying. “It’s not all fun and games, you know? Being young means being crazy, but there comes a point when you feel the loneliness, and it dawns on you,” she says.
KLOE is raw, and her unfiltered observations extend to the Twitterverse. “Sometimes,” she begins, “I’ll look back at what I said and wince! Yet I am wholeheartedly me, it’s not done for shock tactics, and it actually feeds my songwriting.” It’s true; KLOE’s real-time cyberspace persona feeds into her lyrics, brimming with Internet colloquialisms, very much in tune with the demographic she writes her music for. “I’ve got nothing to hide. I hate it when artists distance themselves from their fans, like it’s Jesus and his disciples. It’s important for me to be an open book and not a fraud.”
What’s clear is her five-tracked ‘Teenage Craze’ EP is only a taste of what’s in store, a transitory step towards a stronger avowal: “I’m constantly growing as a writer, my sound is bigger, I’m navigating the music industry, and I have some stories to tell.”
When asked what she would tell her younger self, her sentiment is plain as day: “Stay away from boys in bands because the industry is just like high school. Be yourself and fuck the rest!”
WHERE: London via Glasgow
WHAT: Weeknd-esque warped production and nostalgic, girl group vocals
GET 3 SONGS: ‘Touch’, ‘Grip’, ‘Teenage Craze’
FACT: She’s a dab hand with a bow and arrow, describing herself a “good archer”.
peggy sue
for clash magazine
photography by mike massarO
In Conversation: Peggy Sue
Rosa Slade on ‘Choir Of Echoes’ and the positives of pop…
17 · 02 · 2014
Brighton-based trio Peggy Sue have quietly risen through the ranks. Comprising Rosa Slade, Katy Young and Olly Joyce, the trio signed to Wichita back in 2009, and have been classed as players within the nu-folk scene. In truth, their first two albums proper – ‘Fossils And Other Phantoms’ (2010) and ‘Acrobats’ (2011) – maintained an air of versatility and edginess, far too quirky to be confined by such a limited pigeonhole.
Now with their recently released third LP ‘Choir Of Echoes’ (review), Peggy Sue are exercising some restraint, melding signature idiosyncrasies with accessible lyrical substance and depth, creating a more complete body of work – one warranting many repeat listens.
Clash talks to Rosa about why this record is their most comprehensive work yet, and the thrills and fears of pop music…
You launched ‘Choir Of Echoes’ at the intimate St Pancras Old Church, in London. An appropriate venue, do you think?
Absolutely. There’s something very special about that church. It’s a bit ramshackle, there were these lit candles everywhere, and I loved the idea of watching a band perform surrounded by potential fire hazards. The acoustics of performing in a church are crazy, and being that the record revels in this gospel vibe, it just felt right to launch the record there.
‘Choir Of Echoes’ feels like a real statement of intent. Would you say it’s your strongest material to date?
This is the most cohesive record we’ve made. Every song on the album feels like it should rightfully be there, and we don’t feel there is a dud, however conceited that sounds. If you’re happy to play every song live, then you know you’ve made a strong record.
Immediately previous to ‘Choir Of Echoes’ came your 2012 reimagining of the (1963 short film) Scorpio Rising soundtrack, which is something of an interesting choice, with its dark thematic content…
We’re very much drawn to that darkness. Katy was the one who introduced us to the film and soundtrack, as she had studied it at university. I was very much into [director] Kenneth Anger’s work, and I guess it’s one of the first pop music videos. I’m not trying to diminish what Anger did in terms of visuals, but essentially it is a really immense music video.
You’ve got some of those ‘60s influences in your sound, in your blend of pop, doo-wop and rock, all of which comes through on the Scorpio Rising soundtrack. How did you take that work, and process it into what we’re hearing on ‘Choir Of Echoes’?
The soundtrack suited our voices really well, and musically we could translate them into our own style quite easily. With ‘Choir Of Echoes’ we had a good idea of where we were going from the very beginning but we did modify a few things. For ‘Just The Night’ we changed the drumbeat mid-recording – it was a bit more standard rock, a bit surf-rock in its composition, and we changed it to a rock ‘n’ roll drumbeat, which was influenced heavily by Scorpio Rising. We wrote the vocal piece ‘(Come Back Around)’ (which opens the album) on the last night of recording actually, and that similar vocal loop is found at the end of (penultimate song) ‘Two Shots’.
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I acknowledged these vocal refrains in the review. There’s a consistent vulnerability in the bare vocal pieces – was that a conscious decision?
It’s something that we wanted to put more emphasis on, definitely. The echoes and looping made the album feel quite sparse and gospel-like at times. It’s very much about voices, metaphorically and literally. So it was important that we had that vocal piece to set things up.
But this reference to voices seems like it’s a running theme through all of your records…
It is, specifically this notion of losing your voice. I was obsessed with George Orwell’s 1984 when I was younger, and what I really liked about it was this idea of ‘reduction over vocabulary’ – taking away a word which makes something expressionless. This idea has been present in all of our lyrics, the constraints and power of words. Conversely, these lyrics have to have their own weight, and you can’t hear a lyric if you’re not singing it. Katy and I have are always been respectful of this. That was only intensified more with ‘…Echoes’.
Tell us what you were listening to during the recording of the album, and how you would characterise your sound to someone who has yet to hear your music?
For this record, we listened to a lot of Delta blues. Phil Spector and his Wall of Sound was a big influence, in addition to ‘60s girl-group sounds. We’ve always worn influences on our sleeves, and they’ve varied quite a lot for each record. For this record we have doo-wop, indie, folk, shoegaze and pop. Most bands say this, but certainly with us people have difficulty defining our sound, so they make lazy comparisons. We wanted to create a record with a more pronounced sound that various influences slot into, not the other way round.
You recorded the album at the legendary Rockfield Studios, and my impression of the record is that it’s more expansive than what came before it, but still contains these little intricacies. Did the environment seep into your work?
It definitely did. Expansive is a very apt word to use for it, because we developed this more reverby sound, there’s more layers and noise on this album. With ‘Always Going’ and ‘Two Shots’ we layered the vocals to create a choir-like sound, and ‘Figure Of Eight’ has that same dream-like quality. Those touches were directly correlative to recording at Rockfield. It’s important, because with the previous two albums they were much more frantic, but with this album we wanted for there to be some consistency, for it to have some crossover appeal.
Talking about this crossover appeal, ‘…Echoes’ has some pop sensibilities: it’s more hook-laden and structured, for example. Is that a signifier of a shift from the peripheries of music to somewhere a bit more accessible?
Structurally this record is simpler, and more straightforward in comparison to ‘Acrobats’. To try and counteract that we threw a bit more noise in there. Did we do that to make it more accessible? I’m not sure. I’d love more people to listen to our music, but I’m also happy being an independent band. That’s not to say that autonomy isn’t possible in pop music, because it is. When I was younger and more naïve, I remember feeling disappointed when credible artists would go mainstream with their second record. Now I realise they were just trying to write good pop songs, and we are too. Pop music can be the most innovative form of music, and we don’t shy away from elements of that now. We balance between the two, that’s our goal.
You’ve always had consistent critical backing for your records. Is that important to you?
Well the first reaction I read for this record was your Clash review! It was amazing seeing how you interpreted the record, and we really appreciate that kind of support. I feel utter sickness at reading reviews in general, because you’re very much thinking that the rest could be negative. When you release an album, one half of you of believes that it’s the best thing that has ever existed and the other half believes the opposite. All in all we’re content with what we’ve produced.
An avenue of exposure for artists, more so now than ever before, is for their music to feature on TV shows. What drama would be a good fit for your music?
Wow! Katy and Olly love Nashville, but I’m not the biggest fan. I suppose we’d have to go a bit more country for that. You know what, I’d love to hear our music on Sherlock.
Good choice. Sherlock is ace, but don’t they embrace dodgy dubstep?
Oh, you know what, I change my mind. I prefer old TV dramas, so I’ll go with Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Yes! I’d love to hear our music on Buffy.