Victoria Kimani

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Afropop Queen Victoria Kimani Is Kenya's Best Kept Secret

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The "Wash It" singer tells the Recording Academy about her multinational background, growing up in L.A., Tulsa, Nigeria and Kenya and breaking out of what can sometimes be an isolating music scene
Rachel Brodsky
GRAMMYs
Aug 9, 2019 - 12:52 pm

Everyone has an origin story, and R&B/Afropop singer Victoria Kimani's is especially memorable. Born in Los Angeles to Kenyan parents, Kimani moved all over the globe—specifically to Tulsa, Okla., Nigeria and finally Kenya—during her teen years.

These days, she lives full-time in Kenya, where she is one of the nation's most recognizable performers. She makes time to return to L.A., though, where she's recording her sophomore album, which follows last year's Afropolitan EP and 2016's Safari.

For all intents and purposes, Kimani should be better known in the States. Over the course of the last decade, she's been professionally linked to everyone from DJ Whoo Kid to Jadakiss to DJ Green Lantern to Busta Rhymes to Timbaland and beyond. More recently, she joined Ghanaian rapper Sarkodie on the grooving single "Wash It," and she shows up on Afrobeat upstart Hakeem Roze's bouncing June single "Miracle." Later this year, she'll drop her long-awaited sophomore effort. 

Kimani sat down with the Recording Academy to tell us more about her multinational background, coming of age in Kenya and Nigeria and why, as an artist, she's committed to breaking boundaries and pushing beyond Kenya's local music scene.

Can you tell me a little bit about your background? You were born in the States but you moved to Kenya as an adult. How did you get your start in music?

Well, growing up was interesting. I'm first generation Kenyan-American. We listened to a lot of gospel music growing up. I was pretty sheltered, my parents are pastors, so there wasn't too much secular music invited in the home. But we listened to a lot of African music, a lot of jazz, a lot of Miriam Makeba, Brenda Fassie, lot of the legendary African artists from my parents' generation, and then listened to a lot of gospel music at the same time.

So I think I kind of just taught myself how to sing from listening to gospel artists and trying to match their runs and match their melodies. My dad is a musician and even in the '70s he was singing Elvis Presley covers in Nairobi. Kenya in the '70s with his bell-bottoms and his Afro. He's very deep with the music. As far as good music goes, that definitely came from my dad.

But growing up here was, it was interesting, I was always moving around. Yes, I was born in California, but here we ended up moving to Oklahoma so my parents could further their Bible education in Tulsa. Then we went on our first mission trip when I was 14 and the first African country that I went to was Nigeria. Although we're not Nigerians.

We lived in Nigeria, Benin City to be exact, for two years from 1999 to 2001, and that was my where I got my real introduction to world music and how there's other rhythms and other kinds of music besides what I was familiar with in America, just being around my friends at school. I'd say I got more exposed to African music for sure when I finally went back to the continent.

After we left Nigeria we entered Kenya and my parents said, "Okay, well, we're relocating here now. No more America for you. We're going to live in Kenya." And I'm like, "What!" I think I had like two weeks to say bye to my friends. So straight from Nigeria, moved to Kenya and that's when I started recording. I was 16 when I started recording my first songs in Nairobi, Kenya.

Have you been based in Kenya ever since?

There's been times between then that I moved back to the States. So from 16 to about 18 or 19, I was still in Kenya. I came back to pursue my music and then that's when I got into songwriting where I used to write for a few different artists. But I think when I actually moved back full time, that was towards the end of 2013.

What made you eventually decide to make the move permanent?

Opportunities. Opportunities to build my fan base of people that I felt like were my people.

I felt like, although I was born here, I'm still very much Kenyan. My family, my entire family; mom, dad, brothers, cousins, everyone was still in Kenya. I was approached by a record label that was based in Nigeria, as a matter of fact. And I felt comfortable to go back to Nigeria because I had already lived there as a child. So I knew what I was getting in to. At the time Nigerian music was really starting to create some hype, some waves, globally. So when I had that opportunity I jumped at it because I always just stated myself as not just a Kenyan artists because I sing in English. I don't sing in Swahili. I wanted to be [collaborative].

For me that means someone that could be from one place, but you're [traveling] around the continent, you're working in East Africa, West Africa, you're collaborating with artists in Central Africa and South Africa as well. So I sort of treated the continent how anyone would treat America. Where you could be from Virginia and move to Los Angeles. You could be from L.A. and move to New York. That's not something that's really done a lot in the continent. Most people in Africa stay in our each individual countries and we literally don't meet. So I really treated it the same way I treated America very early on with even how you move around a lot as a child with my parents. So that was very instrumental for me and I think it definitely sets me apart as an African artist, as a Kenyan artist in the continent who has collaborated so much across the continent.

But initially when I moved back, this was just an opportunity. It was an opportunity for me to reach back to my own roots and to reconnect back into my town and to find myself as an artist. And five years later it definitely accomplished that and still accomplishing more. We're still building on it.

What is the reasoning behind people in different African nations staying more or less put? Are there economic reasons behind that? 

There's so many different factors. I mean for one, like right now people are doing it a lot more. But in 2014, when I moved back, no one was doing that because I didn't know that they needed to. I think a lot of East African artists didn't realize that the door could be open to them in West Africa. I think a lot of people maybe can't afford it. Some people really don't have the means to be able to leave like that. Some people don't have passports, and a lot of artists are also very content in their space. They don't mind being like the local champion, which is great, you know? They're just comfortable. Maybe some people are afraid? Maybe they don't have the connections? There's so many different factors that can kick into that.

But I think for the most part it's just a comfort thing. Right now, a lot Nigerian artists, they don't need to leave Nigeria. In fact, the farthest that they probably would want to go is probably Ghana because they have so many resources locally. They're making enough money. They have this stick-together mentality. Whereas in Kenya we're very different, but at the same time we have a certain level of comfortability. There's only 50 million people in Kenya. There's 200 million people in Nigeria. So if you just think about that alone, some people have just become comfortable with their space, and others feel more pressured to go and leave and go find a greener pastures elsewhere.

Another motive for me getting to go to other places is because our industry is not fully built yet. We don't even really use the good singing platform just like other artists, they're singing globally. We're very much in our own little bubble of not understanding where to place art in general. Even fashion. Politics is very much at the forefront, even in the youth in Kenya. So music is not an industry that's developed. I don't know what I would do if I wasn't able to leave Kenya and explore the continent the way that I did.

You've experienced so much success in Kenya. As someone who goes back and forth to the States, what's your interest level in terms of gaining more attention over here? Is that a priority as you ready your next album?

Definitely. I mean, ultimately I think everyone right now... I don't know if you're too familiar with African music or Afro-beats, but the message is very much Africa to the world. It's very much about sharing our culture and music with the rest of the world. When Lupita's made it globally and in America it just sends so many positive messages back to Kenya and it was like wow, if you do have this international dream or whatever it is and in your capacity or outside of it, it's possible. So, for her success, like it just meant so much to me as well. Ultimately I would like to see my music in a space that it can grow more in especially... Even now that you could just go down into a place that has structured like we still are struggling with collecting our royalties in Kenya.

We still are fighting for our rights as composers in Kenya. We still are, a lot of our music is stolen and we're not able to do anything about it back there. So here we are in this land of global opportunities, but also you have rights, you actually have rights as a creator, you know, so ultimately it would be amazing for that crossover to happen. The producers that I'm working with now they're African producers based in the States. So they also work with some top tier American artists as well. So for me, they understand the rhythm because I do want to stay very true to like my own rhythm, but they also understand the crossover. They know what's palatable more for people in America or Europe or the rest of the world. So for me it's about collaborating and creating more fusion. And so yeah, that's definitely my goal.

Could you tell me a bit about one of your recent singles, "Wash It"? It's a collaboration with Ghanaian artist Sarkodie. How did you guys connect?

Sarkodia is definitely probably the best rapper from West Africa. His flow is just super crazy and Ghanaian people have really showed so much support for anytime we have collaborated. This is actually our third collaboration. He featured me on his last album and then I featured him on my first album and then this is our new project together. Now we've just been working on the next body of work. I think it's time for another album. And so that's literally what I'm finalizing here in Los Angeles right now.

What are you hoping to portray on this album that maybe you hadn't gotten the chance to? How would you word describe the evolution between your first and this one?

Identity. My first, I was still trying to figure out who I am and how I fit in that space. I also felt a little displaced for a while when I first moved back to Kenya because I don't speak Swahili, because I was born an American. Now I'm around people who've never, ever been anywhere but Kenya. So I had to figure out my sound and my space in that capacity. And then you can hear that when you listened to the album.

Now I know exactly who I am. I know where I come from. I know how I was brought up and I know what I like. So now that really translates in the production, in the songwriting. It's very, very much Kimani, very me now. I feel like my first body of work was me trying to find me and yeah. So I feel like I've finally cultivated my own sound.

Can I ask—to what extent do you grapple with your own multinational background as an artist? Do you grapple with it at all? I only ask because I imagine it can be an interesting experience performing for more closed-off communities when you yourself like to cross borders.

That's an interesting question. There's two different ways that I can answer it. One of them is in the literal way where because I know that I'm 100% Kenyan tracing back to all my ancestors, but my mother told me that my tribe, which is Kĩkũyũ. My tribe allegedly migrated from Cameroon back in the day, which is West Africa. So if that's true, then you know, where are we really from?

You know, a lot of Kenyans are actually nomadic. Especially the Masai are known to go travel from different parts, but even now, they don't have a place they really settle. They take their cattle and they move. They just walk from country to country. So I don't know if I really trace all the way back, but at the same time, because my story is so different than a typical Kenyan, because I was born [in L.A.], I do feel like I can't ignore where I was brought up. I cannot ignore how my accent sounds.

Yeah, I can't really detect an accent. If anything, it's just a very soft lilt. 

I don't think I have an accident at all, but I definitely know I have one at home because Swahili's the first language, so I'm sounding like this. It's like, "Where are you from?" I had to remind people that there's something called Kenyan-American. It's like people don't realize that Kenyans left and there's a lot of Kenyans that have left the country and live in so many different parts of the world. I think a lot of Kenyans don't don't that. And so having to go back and explain this is the reason why I don't speak Swahili. This is the reason why I identify so much with West Africa because they are an English-speaking country. This is the reason why I was able to drive when I go to South Africa, when I go to these different places, because I'm literally speaking a common language. I had to explain these things.

I'm also very naturally rebellious. Nothing is really how it's supposed to be. And so I had to just stop apologizing for the fact that my parents didn't raise me speaking Swahili. I think really it's just about other people educating themselves about diversity in Africa and also with diversity of Africans. 

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The Futureheads

The Futureheads

Photo by Paul Alexander Knox

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The Futureheads' Barry Hyde On The Band's Reunion, 'Powers' & Facing Down Mental Health Taboos

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Back together for their sixth studio album—their first since 2012's 'Rant'—the U.K. post-punk revivalists are in fighting form
Rachel Brodsky
GRAMMYs
Aug 27, 2019 - 12:20 pm

When The Futureheads disbanded in 2013, one year after their fifth studio album, Rant, came out, they didn't make a big deal out of it. There was no announcement, no reunion tours. They, as some meme-loving folks would say, "Homer Simpson'd into the bush." 

According to singer Barry Hyde, who initiated the split, the rest of the U.K. post-punk quartet were very understanding. They had to be: Hyde had just finished his third stint in a psychiatric hospital. He physically could not contend with being in a band anymore. "I just simply couldn't do it," he tells the Recording Academy over the phone. "I wasn't capable of creating for The Futureheads, with The Futureheads, and doing the gigs and stuff like that. It became very taxing for me."

In the six years since their split, Hyde made it his first priority to get healthy and figure out what his professional life could look like outside of music. He trained as a chef, then became a music teacher. He got his MA and released a solo record called Malody. He does public speaking engagements where he talks about mental health awareness. The rest of the band, who had been playing together since they were teenagers, also found new lives outside of The Futureheads, which blew up in the early '00s with their landmark self-titled debut featuring a series of twitchy, "paranoid-rock" anthems like "Decent Days And Nights," "Meantime" and a now-classic cover of Kate Bush's "Hounds Of Love." Bassist Jaff Craig also went into teaching. Brother Dave Hyde (drums) went on to release two albums as one half of Hyde & Beast and trained as a tiler. Guitarist/vocalist Ross Millard joined the band Frankie & the Heartstrings. Now, the crew has joyfully reunited for their sixth album, Powers, which arrives on Aug. 30 via Nul Records. 

Futureheads fans will be pleased to hear that the group has barely deviated from their trademark layered harmonies and fidgety guitar-work. Powers is a propulsive look at the personal and political. Songs like "Electric Shock" and "Headcase" plainly deal with Hyde's psychiatric history ("When I got my electric shock, it tasted bittersweet," he chants). Other tracks, like "Across The Border" and "Listen, Little Man!" consider the xenophobic rhetoric, regressive thinking and power imbalences in the U.K. 

Prior to unleashing Powers, Hyde called up the Recording Academy to discuss The Futureheads' reunion, his new role as a teacher and public speaker, the subtle cultural differences in how Americans and British cope with mental-health issues and more. 

Before we talk about the new record, I'd like to talk about the day you decided to discontinue the band. Would you say that it came as a surprise to the rest of the members? Or would you say that this was something that was kind of roiling openly for a little while?

Well, I think the fact that I was in a psychiatric hospital for the third time, having been in and out a couple of times, it wasn't so much a surprise. I think that Jaff [Craig], our bass player, was probably pleased that he didn't have to think about the band anymore. And I think it was a bit harder for Dave [Hyde] and Ross [Millard], because I think they always felt like there was a chance that the band could continue. But I just simply couldn't do it. I wasn't capable of creating for The Futureheads, with The Futureheads, and doing the gigs and stuff like that. It became very taxing for me. And it seems almost absurd that it got that way. Because, ultimately, it's just a band, at the end of the day.

After a certain point, I realized I had to clear that part of my life in order to stand a chance of not having to come back in the hospital in six months. So they were very supportive of that decision. And it was a hard decision to make. But it was an instant thing. As soon as we had this discussion, there appeared for me a space, a gap in my life which I could grow in, if you know what I'm saying. And it was a kind of unfortunate release, you might say.

Yeah, from a fan perspective it never seemed clear why The Futureheads weren’t around anymore. There was no announcement or news around the split.

Yeah, we didn't do like a farewell tour. We never announced that we'd split up or even that we're having a break. Yeah, the candle just kind of died. And we had no idea, actually, for quite a lot of that time, that six or seven years, that it was ever going to [reemerge]. It wasn't like we stopped working together for like 10 or 15, 20 years. We have made very different proposals to kind of get back together. But it did happen in an organic way. And as much as I was able to regain my creativity back, make my solo album. And then, yeah, called Malody. Which was almost like a chronicle of some of the things I'd been going through.

Because really what matters is that you want to pick up your instrument. You want to play the guitar. You actually want to enjoy the simple act of practicing your skills. And I went into the world of piano, and teaching, and orchestration, and all of that stuff in the meantime between stopping the band and getting it back together. And that was enough of an escape for me to be able to start to fondly remember this band that we created very innocently at the very beginning of the 21st century.

Given your backstory, to what extent are you comfortable talking about what you’ve gone through, mental-health-wise?

Yeah, I would say I'm comfortable enough to have spent time traveling around the United Kingdom giving talks on it. I've become somewhat of a, well, I would say minor, spokesperson for mental health and creativity. And I was able to use that experience as a way of sorting my own head out and I think, in some cases, opening up the discussion for other people as well. Because it is still a major taboo. And I think that's one of the differences, actually, between your country and my country. Is that in America, I think, people are a lot more open, perhaps, to talk about their emotions. Whereas the Britishness is kind of like get on with it. It's a cliché. But the kind of stiff upper lip. We beat the Nazis, so why do we need to talk about you? It still lingers on, especially in men. And I know there's lots of macho men who are incapable of expressing their emotions in America, as well, and all over the world I guess.

Yeah, so I'd say I was fairly unique. And also, in releasing Malody, that was the context of the album. So it'd given me the opportunity to perform in those songs. It's my opportunity to kind of relive those emotions. And I wanted to sound trite, leave them on the stage. And it's kind of like a publicly funded CBT session.

I’ve spoken to musicians for this site before about how the negative stigma around seeking mental healthcare is changing, thanks in part to the Internet and social media. To what extent have you seen positive change around this, even in Britain?

Yeah, we are kind of getting better at it. I feel like few extremely high-profile people, much higher profile than I am, for example, Prince Harry, talking about how he felt after his mother died, Princess Diana. And there was definitely a moment, or a period in time, when it became a lot more accessible to discuss these things.

But the truth is, when you're that way, you really don't want to talk about it. It's usually after the fact. And that's the hardest thing. Because you don't want to become that person who, when someone says, "How are you doing?," then you give them a massive diatribe on your inner psyche. Because, ultimately, it is inner. And sometimes, you can end up exacerbating the problem by focusing on it. So it's kind of a bit of a risk to then be seen as this person who has these problems. Because it does affect how people see you and treat you. And I certainly experienced that when I had kind of been in and out of hospital. And news got around town, because it's a small town. And certain people were very keen to try to help me. Or some people would stay well away, as if it was some kind of contagious thing. And I don't blame them. Because they, obviously, are not able to discuss their own inner world. And I respect that.

What made you want to actually go and speak publicly about your experience?

Well, I like to talk. I'm a teacher. I'm a peacock. I was a very shy child, actually. And through being a performer, I learned how to communicate on the front line in front of increasingly large crowds. And that's going to have an effect on you, and not all those effects are positive. But one of them is knowing how to get your point across. And knowing how to choose your words. So you're not just a rambler. You can be selective about what you say. And, perhaps, say the right thing at the right time. And that's a very powerful thing.

It sounds like there's a sort of a connective tissue between Barry the speaker and Barry the performer. Someone who knows how to conduct himself in front of a lot of people.

One of the dangers of becoming a performer is that it's very easy to stop practicing the generation of self-esteem. Self-esteem is so important. That's what allows you to walk down the street confidently and know what you're doing. And when you're getting rounds of applause, you can become intoxicated by it. And you lose those functional skills of how to actually define yourself without that crowd, without those reviews, without the interviews, without the privilege. And then, if you find yourself on a downturn in the music industry, which happens to everyone. People think about the Rolling Stones. The Rolling Stones haven't made any true contribution to music since probably the early ‘70s, but they're still carrying on, doing their thing. Right? But people say, "Well, they should stop." It's like how dare anyone tell a performer that they should not perform. It becomes part of your DNA. It becomes why you exist.

So when you guys actually decided to head back into the studio and record again, had much changed in terms of the band's chemistry?

It was a case of remembering than discovery. It was remembering how to be in the creative unit with these people that you've made lots of records with.

The hardest challenge, actually, was scheduling enough time. And we realized this when we started to rehearse. It was like, okay, we've been able to rehearse once a week, and then, maybe, the next week we couldn't. So we just thought, you know what? We just best start going whenever we can get together. We should be in the studio rather than a rehearsal room. Because at least, then, we'll have some kind of artifact, hopefully, at the end of the day to build upon. So it was very drawn out. Because we're used to hiring a studio for two, three weeks and making an album. This took maybe 30 sessions over the course of about six months. So the challenge was getting together into a room and whipping up that creative spirit on the dot. Like whisking an egg. Because you don't want to waste a day in the studio.

Yeah, it sounded like you guys started the process like a year ago, almost.

We did. I spoke to Ross on the phone two winters ago. We said, we're going to get together and do some stuff. And Jaff was like, "I'll only do it if we make a new album." And then, actually, we realized we couldn't really start it for another seven months. And that gave us time to get material together. Well, the writers in the band, predominantly myself and Ross. We're able to kind of scratch away at- Well, it's rock music. So, basically, riffs. Guitar riffs. And loving that. I've got three children now. And I work as a lecturer, and do commissioned work in private tuition. It was a juggling act for all of us in different ways.

Well, we got there. I'm really proud, actually, of this album. Because I know what it took to make it in terms of commitment and beliefs. Because, you know what, your album doesn't sound very good until it's mixed. And that happens at the end. And you've got to hold onto that confidence and regenerate it every time you go in. To know, actually, you're going in some kind of correct or authentic direction.

Moving into Powers’ track list, you guys also delve into the very relevant issue of changing British politics. Which tracks do you feel best illustrate that conversation?

I can only speak to my own songs, really. When I say my own songs, I mean the songs that I've brought. Obviously, these are our songs. I was the principal writer on this song called "Listen, Little Man!," which is about the kind of imbalance of power in society whereby the general population are placated into being and doing by the pressures of the world. And, meanwhile, there are a group of people who are just watching it all and manipulating it. Without wanting to sound like a paranoid conspiracy theorist or whatever. But it's true. We have the political class who are, in my opinion, absolutely embarrassing, right now, in this country. Self-obsessed careerist people with no social wisdom at all who've, generally, come from immense privilege and wouldn't know what it's like to make toast. And never mind balance a household. Then, come with no inheritance. Then, come with no privilege. Everyone else. You're talking about a very small amount of people with that privilege. They are kind of playing the tune.

And I don't want to sound cynical, because I think our duty as people is to find meaning in our lives regardless of the political situation or regardless of when we're born into history. That's always been the same. And we find meaning, often, to making things happen despite the odds. And that's where we gain our power. The album is called Powers also because this is an example of us using all of our powers. All of our musical power. All of our powers of friendship. Powers of commitment. Powers of schedule. And carrying it through to the end. When the album's out, then, we'll be able to be truly proud.

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Angie McMahon

Photo by Paige Clark

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And She Is A Woman: Angie McMahon On 'Salt' & Arguing With Men About Gender

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Ahead of her set in L.A., McMahon sat down with the Recording Academy to talk about her debut LP, processing her experiences through writing and attempting to argue about gender with men
Rachel Brodsky
GRAMMYs
Jul 26, 2019 - 9:11 am

Folk-pop performer Angie McMahon has a remarkable voice. Yes, she sings for a living, but the Australian singer/songwriter's trill is immediately captivating, deep and husky and reminiscent of everyone from Danielle Haim to Fiona Apple to Florence Welch. It's also quite unexpected coming from someone with such a slight frame and unassuming presence.

To American audiences, the 25-year-old may appear to have come out of nowhere, but McMahon, who releases her debut LP, Salt, today via Dualtone, has been in the game for the last six years or so, playing around Melbourne with a local soul project called The Fabric. She's also no stranger to playing to massive audiences: In 2013 she won a local songwriting competition to open for Bon Jovi on the Australian leg of their Because We Can tour, and as of now, in addition to playing the festival circuit (she's heading to Newport Folk Festival this weekend), she's currently prepping to go on tour with GRAMMY nominee Hozier. Her music, meanwhile, covers tried and true topics like relationships, but also looks at major themes of the day: On recent single "And I Am A Woman," she tries to communicate the nuance of a woman's experience to the opposite sex.

Ahead of her set in L.A., McMahon sat down with the Recording Academy to talk about her debut LP, processing her experiences through writing and attempting to argue about gender with men. 

I imagine the first thing most people think when they hear you is, “Wow, what a voice!” Is that something you get a lot?

I do. Sometimes if people haven't heard me sing and they hear me speak first, because my voice is kind of nasal. I think I speak like a kid sometimes, and then my singing voice is different. But yeah, I think I just shaped that around singers that I really loved, and I didn't even really notice that I was doing it when I was younger. k.d. lang is a really big one for me, the deep vocal work that she [does], and the deep emotion that she can bring up. I think when I started listening to her, I was just like, "I want to be able to do that." 

Did you grow up singing?

Yeah, sort of. I grew up playing piano when I was quite young, and then that turned into really loving covering pop songs and singing to myself. I didn't really learn singing, [or have] singing lessons, until I was maybe 18. 

I was always singing along in the car when we were going on family drives and stuff. We'd go out into the bush for a bit and listen to CDs. I was just constantly singing along, and constantly making my mom replay [songs, saying] “It's my favorite song.” I was like, "Again!" Even driving up and singing. I was probably pretty annoying as a sibling.

Did you start playing guitar around the same time? 

Yeah, I started playing guitar. It comes back to covering pop songs, and wanting to have the option of performing, picturing myself as a performer and starting to think about talent shows and stuff, maybe like 14, and not wanting to take a keyboard everywhere.

So I started learning guitar based off of my piano skills, and YouTube and stuff. I can't remember exactly why, what it was that triggered it, but I think it was probably the music that I was listening to, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen my dad was playing in the car. It made me want to be able to do that instrument. I still listen to those records, and want to be able to play the way that they play. I want to learn harmonica so I can play, just reach that sound space. But yeah, that's where the guitar came into it. I haven't had guitar lessons ever, and I'm really not very good. I'm not saying that out of humility. I know that my skill level is at a certain level, and I really would like to excel.

How many years were you playing around Melbourne before you started touring internationally?

I was always doing solo gigs here and there, but not very seriously, just whenever they would come up. That was probably from when I was about 17, 16 or 17. I'm 25 now, so maybe there was five years before I was looking to start the band. I was also in another band [The Fabric], which was a really good way for me to build experience and to keep singing, and to learn how to interact with boys in a band, and be in a band space. That was a soul group, so there were nine of us. There were eight boys and then me singing, and that went for three years from when I was 18 to 21.

Did you go to school for music?

No, I didn't. The uni that I was at had a music school that I didn't get into. I was doing English there and literature, [but] my extra subjects were music stuff, which is kind of the best way to go about it because I got to do the fun songwriting [classes] without having to do the assessments and intensive jazz training. It basically was a jazz course, and I can't sing jazz. I'm just not adept at that technique. I mean I had really good teachers at school, really good. I had a trumpet teacher who was a really big mentor for me in high school, and I had my piano teacher who was always really patient and lovely. All the teachers that I had mentored me in such a lovely way, but I didn't have a specific music course that I completed or anything.

Do you intend for music to be a living?

Yeah. I'd never really thought of it financially, but as a pursuit, just the way that I want to spend my time. It's always been what I was thinking about. It was kind of a source of an existential crisis, because my work ethic for a lot of my life, a lot of my teen years, was just not very good. It was this thing of always picturing myself on stage, and wanting to perform for my life and write songs, but not having done enough of the work for that to materialize.                                  

When I was finishing my degree and stuff, I'd gone through my whole English degree, sitting in every lecture theater, just picturing myself doing music and writing song lyrics in my notepad and stuff. It was just this fairy land, and then I finished my degree. I was faced with nothing that I wanted to do except music. I had to give myself a pep talk, several pep talks over the years, and some from my parents as well. But basically switched into the mode where I was like, okay. I have to look at the business side of the industry, and I have to understand what I'm willing to work at, and what I want to achieve. 

I know that you're about to put out your debut, Salt. It features a lot of tracks that were on your EP, A Couple Of Songs. What was the thinking in including most of the EP songs on the LP? 

Well, we were ready to put [an LP] out, and then we met Dualtone and wanted to have a chance to release it probably in America. It's such a big country and such a big industry over here, so we really wanted to work with Dualtone. They were so great, but we had to figure out a way to promote the singles that have already been released across the world. That's where the Couple Of Songs EP came in.

It's interesting for me, because these songs on the record, they are on the album, so it's almost like, at this point, a lot of the album has been released. I guess that was for the sake of having a way to kind of push it into this market, and we just kind of came out with a couple of songs EP on the fly. I was like, "Well, why don't we do a little EP?" That's where that kind of came from, but I'm glad we did it that way, because I feel like the songs have their own individual life.

I remember there was an artist who I loved when I was younger, who put out an EP that I was just obsessed with, and I couldn't wait for his album to come out. When his album came out, it wasn't nearly as exciting to me as the songs on the EP were. I just wished that those songs had been on the record. It was just one of those things where I watched that happen as a fan, and as an artist, I just want to put out an album. I just want that to be the first collection of songs.

What's the thought behind the name Salt?

I don't have one answer for that, but I always knew that that was what I wanted to call it. I tried to come up with other names that made a bit more sense where they were from the album or something, but nothing else quite fit. I went with that word because to me, it represents a feeling of balance. Looking back on the songs, which are this collection of experiences that I had, romance and friendship and growing up, up until I was 22... To me, it looks like what is left after all of those experiences. It's the remainder of what I went through growing up.

It's similar to the way that salt is what's left over when water evaporates. Then it's like salt is in your tears. It's like salty tears, and salted wounds. It can sting, and it can bring out taste, and it can cleanse things. I think a lot about the ocean, and the way that it's terrifying and also so liberating to swim in. It's just all of these kind of metaphors that circle for me around salt as a mineral.

I'd also love to get your perspective on your most recent song, "And I Am a Woman." What was the thought behind that title?

There's no single thought for me behind this song either as well. It's such a big concept to tackle. It's just something that I'm being more and more interested in as I grow up as a songwriter, and as a person. It's maybe the moment you are content.

That was the most recent song that I wrote for the record, even though it was two years ago. The whole song came from this heated conversation about women's bodies in public spaces, and a real disagreement with this person about what we're entitled to with equality, and all that kind of stuff. I was so frustrated, and the lyric about being in my home is very much about being in my personal space, and in my body, or in my safety, or whatever. Then I guess the second half of the lyric, "and I am a woman," it almost felt like the most obvious thing.

How am I going to word this? You know when you're having an argument with someone? Arguing with men about gender, or discussing the misunderstanding of something that to you is so obvious. It's so frustrating, and you're just like, "To me this is the most obvious thing. Based on my experience and my life, you should focus on the standards," and they just don't. "And I Am A Woman" just feels like this really obvious thing to say, that carries so much weight, but is also really simple.

It's interesting. So much of the music industry and live industry, it's just male-dominated. I love the boys that I work with, but sometimes things just happen where you just need someone who shares this experience to understand why this affects me, and why it's a manifestation of how many times this has happened to me over my life. Things are just becoming louder now, and we're understanding what we are entitled to more and more, what we shouldn't lay down for. So it's the frustration at that same time is building, because the change is so small. I want to be more fluent in that discourse, and I want everyone to be more fluent in it so we can talk about it more and more.

I did also want to ask you a bit about the song "Pasta." I have to admit that the name reminded me of Courtney Barnett's song about ramen.

Yeah. I love her. She's an inspiration for my songwriting, for sure. She captures this humor and kind of relaxed personality type that I really relate to. Maybe it's a Melbourne thing, or maybe it's an age thing, but basically her music is awesome. I also think the tone of her songwriting has inspired me. There's a realness to it that is so exciting.

When you're writing, are you interested in projecting a tone of honesty?

I think it's more satisfying for me to write something to complete a lyric or whatever that is really honest, and with rhymes, and says what I am feeling or going through without realizing that's what I was feeling or going through until I wrote it down, so the satisfaction that comes from that. Then if I'm able to lace in humor or a double-sided metaphor or whatever, those kinds of things, it's just so satisfying. For me, [songwriting is] very much a way that I process my own experiences. Until this point, and it might change, but all the songs basically have been autobiographical. I think that that will keep developing. I have a long way to go in my songwriting, which is exciting for me. 

What's next for you? Are you working on future recordings? 

I find it hard to [write] well touring, and it's been a lot of touring in the last year, so I haven't completed a whole bunch of new songs. I would really like to be able to take the time to do that. It's basically the next year, I guess, is going to be balancing how much touring we can do, and how much time I can take off to write, so that's just something that I'm figuring out. It's also you can't force it. Just because you take the time off doesn't mean that's when you're inspired. The rest of the year we're touring the album in Australia, and then I'm coming back here to tour with Hozier, and then that basically brings us to the end of the year. So hopefully after that I can take some months. I'm really feeling like writing again. I think it's got to do with putting out the first record. It feels like a clean slate. I'm ready for the next thing.

CHAI On Redefining "Cute," Subverting Uniformity & Tasting American Ramen

The Darkness

Photo by Simon Emmett

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The Darkness' Justin Hawkins On 'Easter Is Cancelled,' Lying All The Time & Taking Advice From Todd Rundgren

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The swaggering frontman expands on the ideas behind the U.K. rock heroes' sixth studio album, learning to take care of his voice and staying anonymous in Switzerland
Rachel Brodsky
GRAMMYs
Oct 8, 2019 - 4:59 pm

Most will remember U.K. camp-rock maestros The Darkness from their early aughts days with lead singer Justin Hawkins croon-chanting, "I believe in a thing called love: JUSTLISTENTOTHERHYTHMOFMYHEART!" Well, the quartet have been steadily producing records since their rollicking 2003 debut, Permission To Land, save for a hiatus between 2006 and 2011. 

These days, Hawkins, his brother and guitarist Dan, bassist Frankie Poullain and drummer Rufus Tiger Taylor are fresh off of releasing their sixth studio album, the impishly titled Easter Is Cancelled, which, according to Hawkins, came from his going down a rabbit hole of savior-themed "what ifs."

"Let's imagine a universe when Jesus decides on the day of the crucifixion that he's not having that after all and he's going to use his supernatural God-attributed gifts to escape," he tells the Recording Academy over the phone. "And then I suppose the thinking is, what kind of world is it after that? Is there poverty? I suppose nobody else would get crucified either. I think that that that'd probably be the last time anybody's crucified. And that's just a kickoff."

Below, Hawkins delves further into the ideas behind Easter Is Cancelled, the current state of rock and roll ("there's a real appetite for quality rock; there just isn't any quality rock") and why the Darkness, despite the viral nature of their debut single, will never be in the business of creating "content."

How does Easter Is Cancelled stand apart from your previous work?

Well, the last studio album was our first foray into writing with Rufus [Tiger Taylor] as a legit member of the band. And so a lot of the stuff on that last record is just us trying to have fun and all of us are accepting things that we don't think are necessarily world-beatingly brilliant, but they're fun to play and it is good for the relationship. And it was a good document that shows where we were at that time, but I think this one is all of us going, "Right, f**k, we're going to make something amazing and we won't stop until we've done that." And I think that comes across. We really did not compromise on anything. If one person had anything vaguely negative to say about any part of any song, it just disappeared, never to be seen again, locked in the vault to be used as a BBC Sports theme at some point in the future.

We spent eight months doing that and came up with an album that doesn't sound, to me anyway, doesn't sound self-indulgent. Or if it does, it sounds self-indulgent in the right away. It doesn't sound like we've become an elfin tribe, it still sounds like a rock record.

I read some interviews that you did while preparing to release the previous record. There was some commentary about how it sounded a little bit harder rock, more metal. And I didn't really get that impression from the sound on this album.

You know what? I think the reality is that I just say words and I don't always mean [them]. I met somebody recently who just looked at me and said, "You lie all the time, don't you?" I was like, "Yeah, thanks." I love somebody who appreciates what I really do.

It's hard in promo because I didn't know what to say about the last record, really. And also, I think your perception of it's a little bit different when you've been working on it closely. I think I was probably referring to “Japanese Prisoner Of Love.” I probably had that in my head, thinking, "Oh, yeah. This'll be heavier than we normally do, isn't it?"

Well, I do think your fan base enjoys how the Darkness leans into the campier side of rock, never appearing to take yourselves too seriously. But a lot of the themes and the ideas on Easter Is Cancelled are more serious. And in the promotional materials, you talk about how you have a responsibility to change the establishment. Do you see your role in the industry differently now than you used to?

Well, I saw a talk that Todd Rundgren did a few years ago, and I love Todd Rundgren's music and I wanted to see him and talk about music. And he said something that really stayed with me: it was that music used to be a product and then now it's a service. And I think that just sums it up, doesn't it? We've all regressed to being minstrels at the beck and whim of whoever is going to pay enough... I don't know what the currency would be, doubloons, enough doubloons to buy the puffy trousers that we want. And that's a long-term effect. You've got Coldplay with the puffy trousers because they're getting all the doubloons and then we'd probably be somewhere down the long tail eating mud. And that's the reality of that status and also the nature of the music trade. The last concern of the whole infrastructure is, "how is the musician going to make money?" Who cares?

You guys kind of came up at a time when musicians made money in arguably a more straightforward way, via album sales. But you've been around long enough now to see the economics shift and change. Have you had to change the way you monetize yourselves as musicians?

We've refused to [change]. We've gone through a few different managerial changes. We can't get our heads around the concept of "content," and we're not interested in doing that.

As vacuous and as daft and as whimsical as I seem, I am actually quite a serious person when it comes to the arts, and I feel like making albums is what I grew up wanting to do and doing YouTube videos of some people farting or whatever it is, I'm not interested in that and I'm not interested in Instagram, Twitter annoys me. I understand why in order to monetize your existence as a musician you need to have a firmer sense of ownership from your fans, but that offends me. You know?

I feel like you're supposed to be free to express stuff, not just be what your fan base wants you to be, because you should be a viable artistic entity even if it means losing your fan base. You should always run that risk and you should never be afraid of it. I feel like making an album is like painting a picture. That simple, isn't it? It's like somebody says, "People aren't buying pictures anymore. What they're buying is some Etch-A-Sketches that have been varnished." What kind of person puts down the paintbrush in that instance and then starts Etch-A-Sketching? And the answer is somebody who isn't a true artist, somebody shouldn't be f**king holding a paintbrush in the first place. They should be, I don't know, doing something else.

Doubling back for a second, can you elaborate on what actually led to the name Easter Is Cancelled? 

It came about because I was asked to do some poems and write down all of my lyrics over the years and make a book, which would be a stocking stuffer for the hardcore Darkness fan. I wasn't that interested in doing it because I like singing songs. I don't like doing books. Never done a book before, not that interested in doing it, really. So I just said, "I'm writing an album. Can we do this next year or something?" And they went, "Well, what about Easter?" And then, "You can do an Easter poem." I was like, "Okay." And I wrote, "Wishing you Easter pleasure that you cannot measure with a ruler bula bula." And I just sent it off and I got an email back from my manager saying, "Easter is cancelled."

That was how that started. And then I thought, "Well, Easter is cancelled. Let's have a think about that." And I did an internet search for "buff Jesus" and I found a Boris Vallejo piece of artwork with a buff Jesus broken down from the cross and I thought, "Well, why stop there?" Let's imagine a universe when Jesus decides on the day of the crucifixion that he's not having that after all and he's going to use his supernatural God-attributed gifts to escape. And then I suppose the thinking is what kind of world is it after that? Is there poverty? I suppose nobody else would get crucified either. I think that that that'd probably be the last time anybody's crucified. And that's just a kickoff.

Have you gotten any pushback from religious types?

[Yeah], I was disappointed when people assumed that it was intended to shock. Because I feel like if it's 2019 and then the thing that you're shocked about is a rock band misappropriating some religious iconography that's been around since f**k knows when, then you need to close your laptop and have a look around you. It's mental. It's mental to be upset about that kind of stuff, and I never considered for a second it would shock anybody. And I think most people claim not to be shocked, but only to be disappointed.

And then I just have to ask, well, what were you hoping for, then? Were you hoping for, for example, a rehash of Appetite For Destruction where there's the four faces of The Darkness on a cross? Because that's still a cross. Or were you hoping for Easter Is Cancelled written on a bin lid or wherever it was that Slippery When Wet was? Because the actual artwork is too racy or do you want a piece of something that's from the band and expresses an idea? What do you want? What do people want? I think nine times out of 10, the answer is they want the band to be expressing themselves, for better or worse. I hope that's what the people want because if what you want is water, then can I direct you to the Maroon 5/Coldplay section of the record store where you'll find all of your musical desires will be sated.

Yeah. I think whenever anyone in art decides to imagine a different idea of Jesus or decides to redirect that story, people tend to freak out.

I was thinking about ... You know when in Inglourious Basterds when they're shooting Hitler in the face? Even though that's a guy that's responsible for a whole lot of genocide... To reimagine his end, I don't understand where the difference is. Why is that not offensive and then the Jesus one is? I suppose it's been 2000 years of all that stuff.

Moving on for a moment, the press materials for Easter Is Cancelled contemplate what rock and roll even means anymore. You write that it used to mean challenging the establishment, but now it's "something that most artists seem to have given up on in favour of easy celebrity." As someone who came up during a time of rock and roll resurgence, what else have you observed about the way the genre has changed in popular music?

Yeah. I think there's a lot of stuff that's really exciting to listen to at the moment, but in a sort of nostalgic way. I don't want to name any names or shame anybody because I think new music needs to be supported. Let's just say for argument's sake this singer sounds like another singer from 30 years, 40 years ago, right?

And then you listen to it and it's impossible to not be excited by it because it reminds you of those great albums, that really iconic voice, but then you can't just do that. You need to have a second influence or you need to work with a writer like Justin Hawkins who can get the best out of you. That's what you need to do. You can't just do records slightly weaker and less syncopated version of the singer you already sound like. That's one of the problems with rock and roll: you have to go back such a long way to find an artist that's done anything challenging within that genre that it's losing to other genres. That's what's happening, isn't it?

And it will change because you've only got to look at how excited people get about something that's totally retro. There's a real appetite for quality rock. There just isn't any quality rock, but that's because it only comes around every, what, decade, 15 years something brilliant happens in rock, whether it's grunge or nu-metal. Some people thought that was brilliant. And then of course most people will deny that they thought that, but they did.

And then everyone thought we were brilliant. Every 10, 15 years, something's going to come and they'll go, "Look, rock and roll isn't teetering on the edge of the precipice. They've pulled them back." And we all live to do the devil's horns and wear a denim jacket once more, not leather though because that's not vegan.

When you guys first arrived, you became so well known for your Freddie Mercury-esque falsetto vocals. Have you been one to do vocal exercises?

I never used to in the olden days. I used to smoke a lot and drink a lot and eat a lot of really sh*tty food and didn't do any exercise or any exercises. And then I just when it went wrong, I used to get somebody to come in and try and help me make it better. But now I've paid my dues. I've done all my rock and roll stuff, so I don't do anything naughty anymore. I think singers, they're slightly different to other musicians in the way that they prepare for shows. I've been getting some vocal training from a friend of mine who helps singers at the Zurich Opera House.

He's showing me a lot of really cool preparations and warm downs and stuff that he assures me [Luciano] Pavarotti would have done in the olden days so that he could then go on to party after he's done his singing. I've got loads of stuff that I do. It's not really ointments and potions. In fact, with that experience I've reduced it a lot. It's not taking an hour to prepare for a show anymore. It's more like 20, 25 minutes, but it's way more effective and I don't know, I just make sure I don't have too much of a late night the night before. Actually, that's not true at all. Anyway, I do try.

Serious question: How often do people approach you on the street and attempt to sing the chorus to "I Believe In A Thing Called Love" at you? 

Say, for example, I'm in a supermarket and I'll walk past and I've been spotted, but they're not quite sure I think. I hear people singing it to each other and then laughing and then waiting for me to react, to check. I think that's what's happening there.

It never happens in Switzerland. This is one of those places where nobody gives a thought at all because I just think that they're used to it. It's part of the reason why Tina Turner and Phil Collins and all that lot have retired here. The other reason, of course, would be the tax advantages, being able to have a bank account that are held in a number as opposed to a name and all that other lovely Swiss stuff, but a big part of it is the culture here is they will not bother you if they spot you and recognize you. It just doesn't happen. Sometimes I realize that people have spotted me and I'm sort of known around the town, but nobody says anything to me directly or sings that song. 

King Bach On His Comedy Album 'Medicine,' Loving Ludacris & Trying Not To Throw Up

King Bach

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King Bach On His Comedy Album 'Medicine,' Loving Ludacris & Trying Not To Throw Up

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The YouTube and former Vine star opens up to the Recording Academy about creating his first comedy album, who he listened to growing up and why laughter has been a cure-all in his life
Rachel Brodsky
GRAMMYs
Oct 4, 2019 - 12:54 pm

Andrew Bachelor, otherwise known as rising comedy titan King Bach, is definitely on his way to achieving royalty. 

Starting out producing comedy sketches on YouTube, Bachelor eventually switched to the now-defunct short-form outpost Vine, where he'd go on to amass more than 15 million subscribers and more than five billion views. Nowadays, the funnyman is dipping his toes into the TV and music world, where he currently stars in IFC's variety sketch series "Sherman's Showcase," among other things.

Meanwhile, Medicine, which dropped in mid-August, is his debut comedy album, and is filled with 15 true-to-life tracks—with music videos—that skewer everything from his weak stomach ("Bulimic") to the lies people tell each other when they first meet ("Secrets"). 

Below, Bachelor opens up to the Recording Academy about why laughter is truly the best Medicine, who he listened to growing up and the different ways he utilizes social-media platforms to reach new audiences. 

What sparked the idea to make a comedy album?

I've always loved music, ever since I was younger. And when I started making the comedy skits, I actually thought of making a parody music video, and I just love putting together music that people just like to listen to and have fun with listening to it and having a laugh at the same time.

So I figured why not make original music that I own and, I could just share with everyone and not feel any type of way of me taking someone else's style. This is my style, my unique style. So yeah and then I figured it's a comedy album and they're saying laughter is the best medicine, so I named the album Medicine, because every track they're laughing at.

Who did you listen to growing up?

I listen to a lot of Ludacris, Ludacris is my favorite rapper since I was little. Just his style, his energy, I like songs that have a lot of energy behind them. Now music has changed though we realize, that energy has kind of tapered down a little bit. So most artists, it's a lot of mumbling going on, it's more like vibes and feeling it out as opposed to the lyrics. So I'm doing a mixture of both.

Yeah, we've been hearing a lot of "genre labels don't matter anymore" nowadays.

Yeah the whole thing is, what I realized in doing comedies, why it's so good, when you're laughing about a joke or anything, you forget all your problems. You forget about the bad day you had, you forget about your breakup, you forget about somebody who's passing. You just forget about everything and you're literally focused on that joke that that made you laugh in that moment. So that's the mood that I want people to feel like when they listen to the album, they can just forget about everything else and just enjoy the music and just stay present.

Have you personally used comedy as a coping mechanism?

Yeah, with everything, it kind of puts me in a better mood and lets me forget. The way I look at is, I'm being myself, I am being unique. Some people may find it funny but I'm being me, like these are my point of views. Every song on the album is a situation that happened in my life. So it's a situation that happened in my life and I took it and I found the comedy in it.

There's a song on there called "Bulimic." I have a very weak stomach and throughout the days I'm constantly trying to stop myself from throwing up. And it's just been something I've dealt with since I've been seven years old. So I tried to find the light of that and I made a song called "what you going to do if I throw up on you?"

Are any other themes that have come up repeatedly in your comedy that you've touched on with Medicine?

Yeah, there's a song on there called "Secrets," and it's about everyone letting out the secrets and being honest. And the way I directed in film, that music video was pretty much like a YouTube skit. The concept of the video was the speed dating situation, and everyone thinks that speed dating is going regular, but then the speed dating announcer, he announces that she puts truth serum in the guys drink. And it forces them to let out their deepest and darkest secrets. So these guys are confessing their secrets against their will. So that's how I kind of shoot my skits as well, I come up with a concept and I just shoot it around that.

You became pretty famous from using Vine, which sadly doesn’t exist any longer. Have you embraced the similar-minded Tik Tok to create the same short-form comedy? 

Yeah, listen, I'm a creator at the end of the day and I am on the social media application. So I'm on Tik Tok, I'm on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, I'm on everything. And I'll just take one video and I'll just post it everywhere. So if someone only has Tik Tok, they're getting it on Tik Tok. If they only have Facebook, they're getting on Facebook, so I use them all. You name the app, I got it.

So what's your strategy when deciding how to best utilize different apps?

I kind of see how the platform is being used and I kind of adapt to that. So Tik Tok is more music-based, so if I have an idea and it's music based and it's a fun, bubbly, energetic vibe that'll go on Tik Tok. So yeah definitely got to think about, it's like you got to know your audience.

Bob Marley's London Home Honored With English Heritage Blue Plaque