Living Legends is a series that spotlights icons in music who are still going strong today. This week, GRAMMY.com spoke with Swamp Dogg, the eccentric soul and R&B titan still actively writing, recording and performing more than half a century after his debut album.

Swamp Dogg is about to play a major concert in New York City, and he has a few commitments to keep.

There will be no medleys. He won't talk down to the audience. When he hits a bad note — which he calls a "guaranteed" prospect — he'll pause, reassess and fix it.

"When they leave, they're not thinking much about the bad note, because we all talked about it in this conversation," the artist born Jerry Williams, Jr. tells GRAMMY.com. "I do have a conversation with my audience, and it's good."

That gig, at Knockdown Center in Queens on July 28, should serve as a reminder that Swamp Dogg has been in a strange, wonderful dialogue with the planet from the jump. This dates back to when he made his first recording, "HTD Blues (Hardsick Troublesome Downout Blues)," in 1954 — an awfully pessimistic dispatch from a 12-year-old.

His 1970 debut under the moniker, Total Destruction To Your Mind, is a fantastic slice of left-field psychedelic soul — filled with fried, occasionally conspiratorial, frequently profound insights that framed him as something of a modern prophet. ("Why wasn't I born with orange skin/ And green hair/ Like the rest of the people in the world?" remains an excellent question.)

In the ensuing decades, Swamp Dogg (he spelled with a double g before Snoop Dogg was born) has released numerous albums; naturally, his career has ebbed and flowed.

But at 81, he's found indie stars like Justin Vernon and Jenny Lewis in his corner, and released inspired late-period albums like 2020's Sorry You Couldn't Make It and 2022's I Need a Job… So I Can Buy More Auto-Tune.

Ahead of the Knockdown Center show, read on for an interview with Swamp Dogg about his live philosophy, upcoming music, profound relationship with John Prine, and decidedly so-so relationship with… the state of Rhode Island.

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This interview has been edited for clarity.

What can people expect from your upcoming Knockdown Center gig?

To be honest with you, I don't know, other than I always try to give the last drop of whatever I'm doing. I don't do medleys and that bulls—. They can expect to get it all, and I usually try to get in as many songs as I can without trying to get the audience out of the way.

You feed off the energy of the crowd like a consummate performer should. You're not rushing through it or phoning it in.

Right. Plus, usually, I talk to my audience. Not just to hear myself talk. I get the audience involved. Not a lot of mundane s—. I talk to them like we live together. If you had somebody else in your house, the way you would talk.

When you launched your career all those decades ago, which performers galvanized you to give your all?

It's funny: one of the artists that inspired me the most — and kind of encouraged me, without knowing me, to give everything — was Chuck Berry. Chuck didn't have to do anything but be Chuck, and, damn: that's all you wanted.

Chuck did his singular thing as long as he could possibly do it. Every performance was pure, uncut Chuck. I see that quality in you as well.

Right. If I'm doing a song and we hit a bad note — sometimes a note that's haunting, it's so f—ing bad — I'll stop my band, and talk to my band. I'll take three or four minutes and give the audience what I want.

What can you tell me about the musicians who will accompany you at Knockdown Center?

I've got some great musicians right now, for the gigs I'm doing over the next six weeks. They've been with me for a while.

My keyboard man plays loop stuff. He plays just about every instrument there is. He'll cover for me, because I will hit a bad note. I guarantee I'll hit a bad note. But I'll make up for it. And it's not going to be bad notes all night long. [Laughs]

Human error is how I look at it. But I work real hard to make sure that my audience is happy. I'll stay out on stage as long as the house itself is fine with what I'm doing.

And you have some shows after Knockdown Center on the books, too.

I know we're playing in Rhode Island and some other things coming up. I don't know anybody who ever played in Rhode Island. Nobody ever says, "Hey, let's go to Rhode Island!" It's like, f— Rhode Island.

Don't get me wrong; that doesn't mean Rhode Island is a bad place. It's just musically, you never hear of anybody going there. 

I'm looking forward to it, because how many chances do you get to go to Rhode Island? But there are more memorable states for sure. You don't hear it on quiz shows. I guess if you did, it would be [the result of] the most complicated f—ing question you ever heard.

*Swamp Dogg. Photo: Rich Fury/Getty Images*

What are you working on lately? Can we expect new music coming up?

I've got an album that's finished. It's a country album, and it's great. It's just that I've got to get the liner notes together, because it's got a lot of s— in it as far as information.

I'm not using a drummer at all, but you're not going to miss it. Because if you listen back to the old, old stuff, they didn't have a set of drums. So, I left the drums; I'm trying to go back to the beginning.

On a different note, it was bittersweet to hear John Prine on Sorry You Couldn't Make It. That had to be one of his final recordings. What was it like working with him?

He was a very real person. He and I had planned to go to Ireland together, because he had a house in Ireland. We were going [to go] there for about a week and just write our asses off.

I miss him. I'd known him since sometime in the '60s. We had a lot of stuff we wanted to track lyric-wise, but I guess music-wise also. Good guy, filled with talent.

Which Prine song means the most to you?

"Sam Stone."

Yeah, I know you covered it.

I do it every show. There's a different ending every time I do it, because it's one of those songs that gives me a chance to talk to my audience about how things are, what's going on, what I feel we could do for the country, and to make people more comfortable.

Like giving away clothes. Some people forget that if you put a bunch of clothes away a few years, and moths haven't eaten the s— [out of them], you could give it to these people. And don't be ashamed of the money you can't give — just be happy about what you can give.

I see all the problems that we have, that are unnecessary. That's what makes me really get into "Sam Stone." Usually, 90 percent of the time, I am with Sam Stone.

It's like a preacher on Sunday morning. He preaches and it is basically the same s—, but delivered in a different way. So, that's what I'm doing.

What did you think when Johnny Cash covered "Sam Stone" and controversially changed the lyric "Jesus Christ died for nothing, I suppose" to "Daddy must have hurt a lot back then, I suppose"? Some say that carved out the meaning of the song.

I've never heard it. I like Johnny Cash. But there are about 10 country artists that I like better.

Living Legends: Van Morrison On New Album Moving On Skiffle, Communing With His Roots & Reconnecting With Audiences

Singer/songwriter Tommy Prine’s debut album is joyful, introspective and angry — just the emotional mix you might expect from someone who’s lost his  father and best friend, toured internationally, and released an album, all before turning 30.

Losing a parent is a profound, painful experience, doubly so when your dad is the musical inspiration John Prine. Filling those shoes would be impossible, and Prine doesn’t want to. Instead, he’s written a deeply personal, decidedly individual album, which in no uncertain terms tells the world that he is not riding his father’s coattails.

Out June 23, This Far South opens with an unapologetically fiery, soul-searching disquisition. The 27-year-old Prine encourages the listener to consider the meaning and existence of God, and to sit with the confusion and frustration inherent to processing pain. From there, Prine takes off on a personal and professional artistic journey.

He’s both sweet and thoughtful on This Far South, slowly releasing his anger as he probes rock bottom, ruminates on a panic attack and the hazy malaise of the pandemic. Mid-album, Prine takes a goofy trip with the punk-rock infused "Mirror and a Kitchen Sink," and longs for bygone mundane moments in "Boyhood" and "By the Way," his ode to his father. Prine ends the album triumphant in his independence on "Cash Carter Hill" and with a love letter to his wife, Savannah: "I Love You Always."  

Becoming an artist wasn’t a given for Prine, who didn’t consider the career path strongly until late in 2019 when he played an impromptu solo set at All the Best Fest in the Dominican Republic. During the pandemic and after losing his dad in April 2020, Prine began writing more; in November of 2020, singer/songwriter Ruston Kelly and sound engineer Gina Johnson talked Prine into cutting an album.

"It was the most excited I've ever been in my entire life," Prine told GRAMMY.com. "I think I needed that from someone outside of  my family that I loved and trusted; I needed that validation."

Growing up, like most teenagers, Prine looked for music that was different than his parents’. He listened to a variety of artists including Jason Isbell, System of a Down, ATLiens, Outkast and Gorillaz, dabbled in EDM, and fondly recalls driving to school with his big brother in the family’s ’85 Ford Bronco blasting Eminem’s The Slim Shady LP. Reflecting his varied musical tastes, This Far South samples auditory flavors from punk rock, pop, and folk and Americana.

Prine spoke with GRAMMY.com after wrapping up a tour, which included sold-out shows opening for Tyler Childers, and his first residency at The Basement in Nashville (with special guests including Amanda Shires and Katie Pruit). He detailed finding inspiration and humor in life’s seemingly insignificant moments, his struggles to process loss, how he took control of his artistic image, and why his music is different than that of his father.

I imagine music was quite present in your household growing up. What are your early memories of listening to music?

Music was just always in the household. My dad was a firm believer in A.M. radio; he'd just have that playing 24/7. And he'd be telling me about all these old country songs. 

And me and my brothers, we were all given the space to make our own relationship with music. There wasn't a certain type or a certain record or anything that my parents would be like, "Oh, you guys should only listen to this" or whatever. And I think that was really beneficial.

Growing up, I was listening to so much random stuff. I'd have a couple of months where I would violently switch between genres: like metal, and then classic rock, and then I listened to EDM for a couple of years. I’d say the record that that made the biggest impact on me in terms of what I'm doing now was Southeastern, Jason Isbell's record. It ripped my heart open and put it back together in an hour or so.

Tell me about starting to play music yourself.

I was a really little kid when I picked up the guitar, I think I was just kind of mimicking my father. And family friends that would come over and play music. A majority of how I took in the adult world was adults playing music. I thought that's what everyone did. So I was like well, I better start now. 

So I picked up a guitar and would hit it and make noise. And then I just instantly fell in love with it. So I've been playing guitar really my whole life. I started writing my own songs, probably at 16 or 17. But I wouldn't dare show them to anybody until 19 or 20. That's when I started making my own music.

I've read elsewhere that you didn't really write music to share with people until after you lost your dad. 

There were like a very select few of my buddies that I would play my songs for when they came over. I was pretty shy about it, as most people are. It's a pretty vulnerable thing to be writing a song and then showing somebody, let alone my parents. I would never show them really much until just the last few years.

So then what changed for you?

I don't know what it was. A majority of my life [now] is sharing my heart and my mind and putting it on display for the world. 

I think that every artist would probably say the same thing: it's almost out of necessity. It's just so much going on inside that it has to come out and I have to play it. And I have to show other people to make a connection with it or else I'll just go crazy. I think it was just bursting at the seams with all the things that I wanted to say. And I've always found it easier to tell my story through a song rather than actually talk about it.

I think that was late 2019 when I started seriously thinking about [sharing my music]. I played an impromptu set at All the Best Fest in the Dominican Republic. And I played like a 40-45 minutes set and most of it was originals. As nerve wracking as it was, I was like, wait, I really thoroughly enjoyed that. And I remember walking off the stage, and I had this weird feeling of being more comfortable in my skin than I ever had been.

It sounds as though you were understandably a little bit reluctant to choose a career as a musician. Can you talk about that hesitation and getting over the hump?

I think most people will probably look at it and be like, oh, of course he was because of who his father was and how big of a career he had. It wasn't that, it was really just the ins and outs of the day-to-day life that I knew artists went through. It's a hard job — you're traveling a lot; it's pretty taxing on your mind and your emotions, your body. And I saw what that did to my dad and…it just felt like this big, massive, insurmountable mountain that I didn't even want to start.

I kind of always just gave myself a reason to be like that's not you. The negative self talk which, surprise, surprise doesn't go away, even when you become an artist, is still thriving. But I think being able to look into the face of that version of yourself telling you that you can't do it is pretty empowering.

You don't want to be seen as John Prine Jr. obviously, but also, your dad is an inspiration to you as well. How do you hold space for both those ways of relating to him?

I've always made the distinction, even when I was a kid. There's John Prine and then there's dad. Of course, they're one in the same, but when my father would go out on the road, it was kind of like a switch. He would flip and go into his John Prine personae and go out there and play shows for the world and be who he was, an amazing songwriter, singer/songwriter and artist. And then when he was home, he'd be like, "Hey, buddy, you want pancakes?" And we'd sit down and talk about movies and stuff.

One thing that I hear a lot of artists struggle with is that there isn't ever going to be that many people in your life that can fully understand what you're going through and what you're doing. And it does kind of suck because I have a million questions that I'd like to ask him. And he would be the greatest source of information on this kind of thing. But I'm really lucky that I get to listen to his songs, watch interviews, and learn from that.

I don't know if there's really a way for me to put into words the inspiration that my father has given me. I mean, I'm 50 percent of him. I share DNA. So he's inspired more than just my songwriting and my singing and artistry, he's inspired me to be a good human and he helped raise me. 

They say people end up turning into their parents, the older you get. So I think I'm answering that question just by being alive and figuring things out about myself.

I'm curious about the very first single that you released, "Ships in the Harbor," which isn’t on the album. How did that song come to be?

Well, it was after I recorded the record, so that's why it's not on the album. I had only been on the road for just a couple of months at that point. And I was home and it was really pretty outside. So me and my wife and my dog were just kind of chillin’ in the backyard. And I just started picking around and that melody was floating around my head. It was near my birthday. And whenever it's near my birthday, I always get super pensive, introspective, thinking about time and all that fun shit.

And I had this thought that we as humans have the capacity to feel all these crazy, strong emotions and loving people, and missing people, and fear. And I had a thought that the only reason that we're able to feel as deeply in those emotions is because everything that we experience is finite, including our own lives. If the things we loved, the things that we experienced in our life, were around forever, I don't think we'd be able to feel as strongly as we do about them. 

We always look at cardinals and blue jays, blue birds because it's a big thing in my family – if we see one it’s someone looking after us. And that's where the second line came from. So I just kept going. 

I was getting really emotional towards the end of the song, and I didn't understand why. And then that last verse came out, and I was like, okay, this is what I'm getting at here. So, that one was a tough one to write but I'm glad I did. 

It's a beautiful song. Why cardinals and bluejays?

My grandma on my dad's side, his mom, when she was passing away she said if I see a cardinal or a blue jay, it’s her looking after me. And she had pictures of them all over our house. So I ended up getting a big blue jay tattoo on my right arm for my dad's side of the family. And then I have one for my mom's side. It's an ogham, it's an ancient Celtic scripture. It's love in Gaelic. So I have something for my mom and for my dad.

And speaking of powerful moments, when did you perform for people first?

The first time I ever performed on stage was at a sold out Ryman Auditorium show with my dad, I think it was [with] Jason Isbell, when I was a junior or senior in high school, and I just fell in love with it. So I started doing the encores with my dad and then I would sell merch before and during the shows. I just loved it. 

It was a lot of really amazing experiences and I got to play some really cool venues with him. And now I have this thing in my head where I'm like alright, I gotta get back there and do my own songs.

I'm curious about the opening track of the album, "Elohim," which is profound and angry. And it's an interesting place to start off an album. Why start there?

I wrote it from a place when I was still really struggling with the loss of my father, and I lost my best friend to an overdose in 2017. And that obviously had a very profound impact on me, and the way that I saw the world.

I struggled for several years with my own personal faith, and why things happen. There was a long time where I thought that we were all just kind of living in this state of limbo. And I wrote that song from a very angry space — just questioning whatever is the omnipotent force that is looking over us, like, Why did I have to go through these things? It doesn't seem like I'm learning anything. It's just like I'm in pain.

And I wanted to start the record that way because the album is a story of me. It's the introduction of Tommy Prine to the world and my formative years and why I am the way I am. And it starts with "Elohim," this big, loud, angry song of me not really even interested in figuring things out. I think that that's a really powerful thing that everyone should know: that it's okay to just

 be angry and not have answers. You're doing the good work by letting yourself feel those things.The record kind of moves through from there to me talking about how I don't want to go back to the person I was when I was partying all the time and needing to grow up. And then I start talking about my anxieties and panic attacks. And then I start talking about my family and I'm kind of coming back to my roots a little bit and getting closer with them and talking to them about my life experiences. And then the album ends with a song about my wife. We got married last year, so it's my story of basically entering manhood.

"I Love You Always," the album’s final track, is pretty far from "Elohim." There's also these sweeter and lighter moments on the album, like "Boyhood." I'm particularly curious about "Mirror and a Kitchen Sink"; it’s been stuck in my head for days.

So funny enough, that was actually the first song that I wrote after my dad died. It was literally within the next 72 hours that I picked up the guitar. I was like, why am I writing this goofy sort of punk rock song? 

The song is about how I find myself  arguing with myself a lot of the time. I’ll be thinking of these people that don't exist, and then a conversation that I would have with these people and …how to win an argument that I'll never have. And then I realized I'm literally just arguing with myself. And the only thing that's in the room is me, a mirror and the kitchen sink. 

The album also covers a lot of musical territory, can you describe that variety a bit?

To me, there's three distinct vibes on the album: There's the loud rock songs, anthemic, big songs, where I'm kind of getting a lot off my chest. There's the alternative folk/Americana [songs] where I'm getting really introspective. After getting things off my chest, it's like the questions that I come up with, I kind of dive into those and work some of that out. And then there's the dedication songs — like the one for my dad, the one for my wife, "Letter to my Brother," for my friends that are going through hard times and I'm just telling them that I'm there for them.

I had such eclectic music tastes growing up that there is never one overruling genre that I would ever listen to. But to me it all made sense and was a cohesive thing. And that’s really hats off to Gena and Ruston and that they were able to take all my insane ideas and put it into something that I love. I'm happy that I did it that way with the first record. Because I feel like I can go wherever I want to go now with record two.

Is record two on the horizon?

I probably have enough to make record two right now in terms of songs. I'm taking my time with it, just because the first one isn't even released and I'm trying not to get ahead of myself. I've been thinking about record two for a while, it'll happen whenever it's time.

Can you lay that out, how you would like people to understand you as an independent artist and as your dad's son?

Well, honestly, I really think that the music speaks for itself in that regard. I think that there's some pretty obvious parallels and some times where it intersects, just in my turns of phrase and the way I go about explaining things, or sometimes the in simplicity of the lyrics where people can be like, ‘oh, yeah, like, that sounds like something John Prine's kid would do.’ And I honor that and I fully take that on. I'm never not going to be his son.

But also I grew up in a very different world than he did, I have very different experiences than he did. And when you're making music and you're writing your own songs, that is also going to come through. One big difference is my father was a really amazing character writer.. And through the stories that he would form with these characters were little bits and pieces of him in it. And I think that was something that people had to figure out.

Whereas I'm just straight up talking from my perspective and I'm talking about my life and things that have happened to me and how I felt about it. I think if you come to a show or you listen to the music, you'll see that I'm just Tommy, I'm not John Prine jr. I care about the people that like the song "Elohim," and like "This Far South," because it makes them feel less alone because of my story, rather than like, oh, John Prine’s kid also makes music, this is cool.

And I had to get over that day one starting block before I even did this. I'm just me being me, and if people find similarities, cool, if they don't, good, you're listening.

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On April 7, 2020, the country world had to say goodbye to beloved icon John Prine. Two months later, his final song was posthumously released, and it was a poignant one: "I Remember Everything," a reflection on a well-lived, well-loved life.

"I remember everything/ Things I can't forget/ The way you turned and smiled on me/ On the night that we first met," Prine sings in the chorus. "And I remember every night, your ocean eyes of blue/ I miss you in the morning light like roses miss the dew."

In this episode of ReImagined, Kentucky native Nat Myers performs a cover of "I Remember Everything." Known for his nimble picking style, the Korean-American singer performs the song on just an acoustic guitar. He remains mostly faithful to Prine's original recording, but increases the tempo for a more folk-inspired sound.

Aside from covers, Myers has a blooming career writing original blues music. On June 23, he will release his newest album, Yellow Peril, via Ease Eye Sound, an independent record label and studio in Nashville, Tennessee, owned and operated by Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys.

Press play on the video above to watch Nat Myers' cover of John Prine's "I Remember Everything," and check back to GRAMMY.com for more new episodes of ReImagine.

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Unlike most condiments, salt figures heavily in the Bible. It symbolizes friendship. It means preservation. Lot's wife became a pillar of it. Jesus' salt illustration on the Mount is now an idiom. "Let your words be seasoned with salt," Paul said in Colossians, essentially meaning "Speak gracefully and perceptively." While only 17, Joey Alexander is aware of salt's religious and historical connotations—and his expressions would make the Apostle proud.

"I want my music to reflect this sentiment and have a lasting impression," the thrice-GRAMMY-nominated pianist tells GRAMMY.com about his single "SALT," which dropped in mid-March. "The blues is that thing that preserves just like salt—that has inspired us in our ups and downs. The blues give us that reassurance that everything is going to be OK. Even though we are trampled under the ugliness of the world, we can still hold on to hope. That's what I believe."

And what of his latest tune, "Under The Sun"? Isn't that title from Ecclesiastes? "Yeah!" Alexander replies, flashing a grin. "Oh, man! You know your stuff!"

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"Under The Sun" marks the second single Alexander is releasing this spring via Verve Records and premieres above exclusively via GRAMMY.com. ("Summer Rising" will conclude the trilogy on May 28.) The tune, which Alexander wrote after the murder of George Floyd ignited protests in New York City, sounds appropriately golden-hued and ascendant. Therein, he wrote about the universal human family—one bound by forces racial disharmony can't destroy.

Alexander opened up to GRAMMY.com over Zoom about the significance of salt, the spiritual intent of his music and this radiant new tune with bassist Daniel Winshall and drummer Tyson D. Jackson.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

I dig your tune "SALT." You've mentioned the title is symbolic of the blues.

It can mean different things to different people. Even what we eat. The word "salad," during Roman times, was derived from the word "salt" for salted vegetables. I guess you might have heard that before.

No, never.

Oh, really! Yeah, man. It's kind of interesting to really look at what we eat. And it's in music as well. Blues is such an essential part of jazz and in other genres of music. You find it in so many genres of music. To me, most of them lead back to the blues. And of course, there are different interpretations of playing the blues. So, I have my interpretation in my composition "SALT."

Gilad Hekselman really added some fantastic color on the guitar to the track. To have a sense of completeness, I just had to have Gilad perform on the song. He's truly one of the best. His projection of the guitar is remarkable. Also, how he kind of resounds the rock element is very cool. I never had that element before, until this song came out.

Salt was also inspired by words from the Book of Matthew that we are the salt of the earth. It's a [invitation] to do good to others. I want my music to reflect this sentiment and have a lasting impression. The blues is that thing that preserves just like salt—that has inspired us in our ups and downs. The blues give us that reassurance that everything is going to be OK. Even though we are trampled under the ugliness of the world, we can still hold on to hope. That's what I believe.

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Right. I feel like songs based on blues forms are preserved. They tend to weather fads and trends.

But in this song, I wanted to create a sense of space in the way it is collective. I was trying to create room for other musicians to jump in and do their thing [chuckles], whatever that is. To share their talent and be themselves.

Also, I wanted to have really carefully written songs. "SALT" has that strong melody, which I was striving for. I was glad that Jaleel and Gilad played in unison and sounded so strong. When I heard it back, I was like "Wow." I never would have imagined that the song would sound that way; it was indescribable.

When you first listened to it, what came to your mind? I'm curious.

Something craggy and historical. Something that's been around for a long time. Like I'm looking at an old village church or a cave or something.

That's great, man. You use that as your tool—your imagination. I like that. I like to hear from other people who have their own perspectives. As much as I could share with you about what I felt writing the song, it's always great to hear other peoples' thoughts. It's really important to me.

As a composer, it's all about strengthening the melody and rhythm. When the band comes in, it's very ... not elusive, but it's very simple. The rhythm kind of sticks to you, right, when you hear it? I think Gilad also added some of the notes to the vamp, which was wonderful. He put that in place. Some songs I like to start with a vamp. Whenever I feel like it comes to my head, I play it. It happens in the moment sometimes.

Regarding the spiritual content of the song, it seems like you're pretty open about your beliefs.

Of course, I have things that I believe in. We all have things that we hold on to. Do you know what I'm saying? Whether it's music or faith. Of course, my music is all there in faith and holding on to the things that we believe.

I'm always about being thankful and always thanking God for all the things that happen in my life. That's the main point to me. To show love and empathy to people around me. My friends and I always pray before we start a performance, just to remember why we're there. To be a vessel to others. 

Even though things aren't going the way you expect them to be, there are moments where you need to hold your head up, and along the way, you find hope. That's what the song is about: finding life and togetherness. I hope people feel that. This is my message about "SALT."

It's interesting the way you came up in your early teens. Usually, jazz musicians go through the whole curriculum and when success strikes, it's a lot later in life.

Yeah. It just so happened that I started earlier than some other musicians. You might have known some musicians who start early, in their teens, too. I'm not unique, I'm sure. Some musicians started just as early as me.

True, but you had a public profile, too.

I guess many musicians haven't experienced that at a young age. Well, I can say I'm thankful for all the things that have happened to me. Even when I got my first nomination, which was totally out of the blue, I wouldn't have thought that I would have my first album be in that category. I was nominated for Best Instrumental Album, and nonetheless, Best Improvised Jazz Solo.

Do you remember who else was in the running when you were nominated?

I can remember two people who were on the list. They were some of my favorite musicians. Christian McBride and John Scofield. 

Were you able to meet some of those older masters?

No, I only met Herbie Hancock at the GRAMMYs.

Nice. What was your impression of the man?

It was great meeting Herbie. He didn't say too much, I was eight at that time. He was like, "You really want to be here?" He said something like that and I said "I'm playing 'Watermelon Man.'" He thought I could play and he said, "Keep doing it" and "Don't stop."

Right on.

Yeah, it was pretty inspiring just to have those words come from someone who's been in the music world for a long time.

What can you share about "Under the Sun"?

It has ties to the times that we live in. The pandemic really hit us badly as musicians, and then I saw people marching on the streets where I live in Union Square in New York City. A lot of things have happened during the time I wrote this piece. But I think the positive side is that people of all colors stood up. 

The title is from Ecclesiastes, yeah?

Yeah. Oh, man! You know your stuff. That is one of the inspirations. Actually, I wrote this during summer 2020 after witnessing the protests across the country. I also was inspired by Bruce Lee's interview when he was asked, "What do you think of yourself?" His only answer was, "I like to think of myself as a human being." Under the sky, we are all one family. It just happens that we are all different and we have to accept our differences. And this is how this song comes in.

What do you have up your sleeve for when things return to semi-normal?

As of now, I have one show coming up in Cape May, which is a festival called Exit Zero Jazz Festival and one in June at Saratoga Jazz Festival. I'm always praying and looking forward to being back traveling with my friends.

For now, I'm composing music, because it's what I love. I'm filling in the days with writing new works, trying to keep active. I'm thankful that I'm here with my family in New York City enjoying the weather. "Summer Rising" is my next single and that is about continuing to grow and awakening.

Norah Jones On Her Two-Decade Evolution, Channeling Chris Cornell & Her First-Ever Live Album, ''Til We Meet Again'

Music's Biggest Night more than lived up to that tagline last night at the 63rd GRAMMY Awards, broadcast from downtown Los Angeles. An elegantly scaled-back event due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the GRAMMYs still managed to seem as big and celebratory as they've ever been.

From Harry Styles’ delightful opening performance to Cardi B's and Megan Thee Stallion’s captivating combination to South Korea's always-engaging BTS, the GRAMMYs exemplified the special power of music. For a few lively hours, it transported viewers to another plane and provided a reprieve from the pandemic.

Trevor Noah Kept Things Jovial

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The Daily Show’s Trevor Noah was a charming GRAMMYs host. Noah balanced his terrific sense of humor with his deep love of music and appreciation of artistry, keeping the show's tone upbeat and fun after a tough year. Noah said the last year has felt like a decade due to the coronavirus in his opening monologue.Acknowledging our world gone Zoom, Noah joked that the Staples Center behind him was real—not a Zoom background. 

Noah ended his short but sweet opening monologue on a hopeful note. "We're hoping that this is all about what 2021 can be, you know," he said. "Full of joy, new beginnings and coming together, never forgetting what happened in 2020, but full of hope for what is to come. So, let's do this, people."

Three Sisters, One Classic Sound

Los Angeles natives HAIM performed their GRAMMY-nominated rock song "The Steps" from their GRAMMY-nominated record Women in Music, Pt. III. Billie Eilish, FINNEAS and Harry Styles looked on and grooved along with the high-energy, lovable sisters.

With Danielle on drums, Este on bass (on her birthday, to boot!), and Alana on guitar, the sisters were effortlessly rock-cool, their voices blending seamlessly. Haim quickly demonstrated their musical versatility, switching it up on the song's second verse, where Danielle took over on guitar and Alana played drums.

Black Pumas Brought The Soul

Multiple GRAMMY-nominated Austin band Black Pumas performed their soulful song "Colors." In a short film introducing the duo, singer Eric Burton recalled moving from New Mexico to Los Angeles in 2014, where he had to take two trains and two buses to busk at the Santa Monica Pier.

Burton said he had a love-hate relationship with street performing. Yet he always performed as if he was on the GRAMMYs stage, which he dreamed about as a little kid. With backup singers, wailing guitars, and smooth vocals, the dynamic performance—replete with a screeching yowl or two—gave the night some essential groove.

Enter DaBaby

Multiple GRAMMY-nominated rapper DaBaby performed the GRAMMY-nominated "Rockstar" with multiple GRAMMY nominee Roddy Ricch and a guest appearance by Anthony Hamilton. Backed by a gospel choir of older folks dressed as judges in robes, DaBaby kicked off his performance with his back to the audience, facing the choir and waving a conducting baton.

When Ricch and Hamilton took the mic, DaBaby turned around and conducted the choir. DaBaby added lyrics to the original version of "Rockstar," rapping about his GRAMMYs performance right then and there. "My skin don't look the same, so I get singled out/ Right now, I'm performing at the GRAMMYs; I’ll probably get profiled before leaving out."

Rounding out the ensemble was violinist MAPY. DaBaby then joined GRAMMY winner Dua Lipa for the disco-infused "Levitating."

Introducing… Silk Sonic!

Anderson .Paak, who won a GRAMMY for Best Melodic Rap Performance, and Bruno Mars debuted their new R&B project Silk Sonic. The performance followed a playful campaign on Twitter during GRAMMY week. They tweeted at the Recording Academy that they are "two out of work musicians" who would love to perform, a request that was happily obliged.

Performing their '70s soul-infused first single "Leave the Door Open" from their forthcoming record An Evening with Silk Sonic in throwback suits and shades, the pair delivered a smooth, crowd-pleasing performance. 

They even caught the eyes and ears of Halle Berry, who tweeted "Ima leave the door ooopen!"

A Touching In Memoriam

During a year in which we lost over 500,000 American lives to the pandemic, the In Memoriam tribute was even more poignant. Noah introduced the segment, explaining that because of the number of people we tragically lost in the last year, not all the names would appear, but they'd all be online after the show. 

The segment opened with footage of GRAMMY-winner Bill Withers, who died in March, performing his GRAMMY-winning song "Ain't No Sunshine." Then, Bruno Mars (on vocals) and Anderson .Paak (on drums) honored rock and roll pioneer Little Richard, who died in May, with "Good Golly Miss Molly" and "Long Tall Sally."

Lionel Richie, who wrote Kenny Rogers' hit song "Lady," performed the song in a touching tribute to the country legend and Richie's longtime friend who died last March. After his performance, an emotional Richie said, "I miss you, Kenny. I miss you, man." 

There was also footage of country legend Charley Pride, who died in December from complications of coronavirus, singing his GRAMMY-winning song "Kiss an Angel Good Morning," and multiple GRAMMY-winner Italian composer Ennio Morricone, who died last summer, conducting the score to "Cinema Paradiso."

Brandi Carlile paid tribute to her friend, the GRAMMY-winning singer/songwriter John Prine, who died in April from complications related to the coronavirus, with a stirring performance of his song "I Remember Everything." At the end of her performance, Carlile said, "We all thank you, John. For everything."

Alabama Shakes' Brittany Howard took the stage with Coldplay's Chris Martin accompanying her on the piano. They performed a powerful rendition of "You'll Never Walk Alone," originally written by Rodgers and Hammerstein and a hit song in the 1960s for Gerry and the Pacemakers, whose lead singer Gerry Marsden died in January. 

The segment ended with a tribute to Walter C. Miller, a longtime veteran director of the GRAMMY Awards, Tonys, Emmys, and CMAs who died last year.

Country's Leading Lights Shone Bright

Country artist Mickey Guyton, who Noah introduced as the first Black female solo artist ever nominated in the country category, performed her gorgeous GRAMMY-nominated song "Black Like Me," giving an especially stirring and goosebumps-inducing performance with a backing gospel choir. Vibrant GRAMMY-winner Miranda Lambert performed her catchy country GRAMMY-nominated hit "Bluebird."

GRAMMY-nominated Maren Morris performed her hit GRAMMY-nominated song "Bones" accompanied by John Mayer on guitar. With Morris wearing a red gown and diamond choker and Mayer dressed casually in a blazer, white t-shirt and jeans, the pair looked at odds with each other. Still, they had powerful chemistry and seemed to be having a good time, with Mayer smiling broadly at Morris.

Post Malone Took Us To Church

A multiple-GRAMMY nominated Post Malone performed his poignant GRAMMY-nominated song "Hollywood's Bleeding." Opening with a robed choir holding candles in the darkness, Malone emerged on stage dressed entirely in leather covered in crosses with a giant cross hanging around his neck. Kneeling over in complete darkness, which became illuminated by purple lighting, Malone gave a focused and vibrant performance surrounded by dry ice.

BTS Made A Joyful Sound

South Korea's BTS, who made their GRAMMY debut last year performing alongside Lil Nas X, Billy Ray Cyrus, Diplo, and Nas, were first-time GRAMMY nominees this year. The seven-member boy band closed out the show from Seoul, Korea, on a set resembling the GRAMMYs in downtown Los Angeles.

Looking sharp in their colorful suits, they performed their GRAMMY-nominated smash hit "Dynamite." The slick choreography took the seven members on a journey from a rose-festooned stage to a red carpet with fireworks to a rooftop with strobe lights.

Lil Baby Raised His Voice

Multiple GRAMMY-nominated rapper Lil Baby took on police brutality with his highly charged performance of his GRAMMY-nominated song "The Bigger Picture." The performance opened with pulling over actor Kendrick Sampson and removing him from his car. As a quote by writer and activist James Baldwin was piped in, the police opened fire.

Activist Tamika Mallory appeared on stage, putting a call out to President Biden, saying, "President Biden, we demand justice, equity, policy and everything else that freedom encompasses." 

Later, Killer Mike made a surprise appearance rapping a verse from RTJ4's "Walking in the Snow." Lil Baby ended his moving performance standing on a police cruiser as fireworks are set off, his face turned toward the sky as he holds one arm high above his head.

2021 GRAMMYs Awards Show: Complete Winners & Nominees List