Feature: “Music is limitless” - WA's Barefoot Bands & Connection to Community

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED: THE INDUSTRY OBSERVER, DECEMBER 2019

Busy times abound for Perth guitarist and songwriter, Drew Goddard. Balancing the ongoing process of completing a long-awaited new Karnivool record and his other creative pursuits, the musician is looking at an exciting 2020. What he is particularly excited about is the future of Barefoot Bands, the WA music mentorship initiative that has been working with musicians in remote areas since 2016.

With fellow musician and project leader Brenton Meynell, Goddard has been working with musicians out in WA’s Goldfields region, engaging in conversation and education with aspiring musicians and people living in communities who may not necessarily have the creative avenues their metro city cousins have readily available. It’s an endeavour Goddard is proud of and inspired by, and hopes will continue to thrive as a new decade beckons.

“It was such an organic start,” he says. “We fell into this. It could go anywhere and I think it’s exciting.”

In some ways, Goddard’s journey to this point has been a lifelong process. Growing up travelling through and living in remote towns, watching his father work closely with Indigenous communities first as an educator, and then as a facilitator/consultant between community and government bodies – Drew’s connection with remote Australia and the culture that has long preceded the touch of White Australia is one that has always been one of high importance.

“One of the biggest things I learned going out with my father, [was] the early stages were about building relationships.” he says. 

“Quite often in whitefulla way, we do a transaction and build a business and the relationship happens after that. [But in Indigenous culture] it’s the reverse and it’s got to be. It’s all about building a rapport and trust, listening.”

“There’s a lot of, “He’s just another whitefulla coming in trying to make himself feel good,” there’s a lot of that. And of course, that’s going to be the case a lot, but the more I go out there, the more I’m in awe of Aboriginal cultures and the ways of knowing and doing; just how little we actually know about these cultures and also how much we can learn.” 

It’s this sense of two-way learning and engagement that drives Barefoot Bands and the connections Goddard and Meynell have been establishing over the course of different workshops, songwriting sessions and live showcases. Providing a platform for musicians to explore and find their own creative identities is one thing, generating conversation surrounding self-sufficient and sustainable music and artistic cultures in these communities is a broader, long-term aim.

First meeting Meynell in Leonora – a mining town 200-odd kilometres north of Kalgoorlie – and then returning to the town numerous times since with Barefoot Bands, Goddard sees the importance and benefits in being a consistent presence as opposed to a fleeting face.

“There’s so much talent out in places like this with very little opportunity.” he admits.

“Some people come and go from these places and I quickly realised that I should focus on one place and look at being there, a face that’s recognisable and friendly. I go out there in a capacity of a mentor, but I’m probably the one who does more learning every time. I love it out there.” 

Though Barefoot Bands has been an initiative and flourishing out in WA for the last three years, Goddard lights up when talking about the concept of connecting with more communities beyond the WA border as Barefoot Bands continues to develop.

“My main area that I’ve been working in has been in Perth and out in the Goldfields region. Also in Alice Springs and the surrounds, I’ve been out to the Bush Bands Bash a couple of times; I’ve been privileged to hear what’s going on over there. There’s a really established music scene going on over there. It seems very separate from the rest of the music industry in Australia.”

“I’m meeting a lot of good people who are very knowledgeable and who are very good listeners, and very interested in learning too. I think that’s the key.” he says. 

“One of the big things my dad said that he learned from Aboriginal people was, “Do things with us, not for or to us.” I’ve been engaging with that from the get go; not assuming that I know or the music industry knows what people out in communities want.” 

“A lot of it’s just me returning to the bush. I grew up in the bush and I grew up travelling around a lot, so I’ve got itchy feet for it. I’m a bit of a homebody too, so I do feel at home when I’m out there and I put my bare feet in the red dirt and clear the head. It’s a good creative space for me personally too. I get to work with community and I’ve got some friends out there who I love spending time with. There’s a real connection out there in that way.”“There’s a lot of potential to be involved with organisations who can help some of these communities and with the help of the community, do some good things and set up sustainable models that can aid these communities in a way that is owned and run by the communities. “Self-governance” and “self-determination” are two things that need to be put in bold and italics when it comes to this work.” 

While Karnivool remains a main priority of Goddard’s (the new album is in the works, promise), finding a synergy between the two projects and how they feed one another is a longterm process.

“It’s way bigger than just me and Brenton.” he admits. “My role is connecting people, which seems to happen. I meet people in these synchronistic ways and connect people up; help in aiding communication and setting up pathways. A lot of that is me staying creative and focusing on my own stuff, which enables me to be able to do what I’ve done so far.”

“Music is a wonderful thing and I think it’s limitless, as to what can happen.”

Feature: Music In Exile - Bringing Untold Australian Stories to The Front

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED: THE BIG ISSUE, MARCH 2020

The term ‘multicultural’ is one that has been applied to the Australian landscape and social economy frequently over the years. It carries with it a positive and negative connotation (depending on which politician it is coming from), though what remains true is that within the culturally and linguistically diverse communities in this country there exists stories of strength. Stories of accomplishment through adversity. Stories of artistic creation and growth.

Melbourne based record label and initiative Music In Exile is providing a space for artists creating in these communities to thrive, and be seen on a national platform. Established by Bedroom Suck Records label head Joe Alexander, Music In Exile encourages originality, collaboration and opportunities to share the unique stories from artists from migrant and/or refugee backgrounds who now call Australian home.

Home to some of the country’s most intriguing new talent including Gordon Koang, Mindy Meng Wang and Ajak Kwai, Music In Exile builds trajectory for their artists in a way that does not intrude on their creative processes, nor do they profit. All income from Music In Exile activities go directly to their artists; at the time of writing, the initiative has generated over $80,000 for their roster.

Says Alexander of Music In Exile’s beginnings, the idea for this sort of label was born out of exploring the multitude of diverse communities in Melbourne alone. 

“I come from an independent music background and have been an active part of the Australian scene for many years, touring in bands and running Bedroom Suck Records. I wanted to know whether there were other musicians out there having trouble accessing the scene. Whether [it] was because of language barriers, prejudice, social structures, geography, finances, whatever! It turns out, there are. We came across so many incredible musicians, artists like Gordon Koang and Ajak Kwai, who have so much to offer but have been unable to access the resources and the networks that those more privileged can access.”

The success stories began to flourish quickly. South Sudanese artist Koang became an industry-praised highlight of the 2019 BIGSOUND festival in Brisbane, and has gone on to become a favourite on Melbourne’s wider touring circuit. Also hailing from South Sudan, Kwai has also become a favourite with broader audiences as her stories of home, hope and freedom are delivered so beautifully across three different languages (English, Arabic and Sudanese). 

The scope of the Music In Exile label has extended beyond Melbourne, with the introduction of hip-hop/soul artist Elsy Wameyo joining the fold from Adelaide in 2019. Twice nominated at the South Australian Music Awards in 2018 before winning at the event in 2019, Kenyan-born Wameyo’s presence and charm has already seen her perform alongside the likes of Maségo, Lady Léshur and the Hilltop Hoods..

Her music, marrying together her Christian background together with the myriad of challenges and new experiences she has gained from exploring young adulthood in contemporary Australia, has struck a chord with audiences around the country.

“Creating in Adelaide has given me room to be who I am.” Wameyo explains. “The music scene here is definitely smaller compared to cities like Melbourne and Sydney. I’m grateful for this because It left room for us as artists to shape and form how we wanted the scene to look like. It gave me the opportunity to add my flavour and colours. We’re definitely still growing and evolving. Very far from where we need to be but we’re moving in the right direction.”

“I’m really excited to bring music that says things that are not often spoken about.” she says. “I think as humans we go through a lot but get so uncomfortable and too scared to talk about it. I want to be authentic and raw, tell real stories that someone can relate to and not feel alone.”

As 2020 opens up more opportunities for the Music In Exile label to introduce themselves to more audiences Australia-wide, the roster of artists is hard at work in creating some of their best music yet. For Alexander, a new year (and new decade) poses many possibilities for Music In Exile artists and for the Australian music industry as a whole, as it moves further into a space of support for artists who buck the long-established moulds of accepted music here.

“I’ve learnt that the range of artists Music in Exile can represent is far more diverse than I initially imagined. When the label started, we expressly wanted to help artists that have recently settled in Australia, artists like Gordon Koang. I’ve since found that it can be really powerful to add a range of different voices to this conversation.” 

“There are so many different lived experiences of ‘place' and of alienation, of struggling to find your place and struggling to be accepted for who you are. I think the term ‘Music in Exile’ has really struck a chord with a range of different artists, and I’m so glad that we are able to enter into this conversation with them. I feel very lucky to be doing this work.”

Feature: A Solange Knowles experience is like no other

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED: TIME OUT SYDNEY, JANUARY 2020
IMAGE: Daniel Boud

At the final performance in Sydney Opera House's concert hall before it closes for years’ worth of renovations, one woman’s vision proved a fitting way to herald new beginnings for the iconic venue.

Solange Knowles is a different woman to the one audiences first saw on Sydney's most famous stage in 2018.

Transition and transformation of the spiritual and the emotional senses have played integral parts in the American artist’s life in the nearly two years that have passed between visits, the result of which Sydney audiences witnessed during this most recent residency at the Sydney Opera House.

I was lucky enough to have seen Solange’s debut at this venue back in 2018. Touring her highly theatrical production of A Seat at the Table, the energy conjured and harnessed throughout that performance was tangible. On Friday night, having managed to fluke front row tickets, I found myself within the immediate influence of one of contemporary music’s most intriguing artists. And while the vibrancy of her familiar energy remained, this latest show somehow felt like I was discovering Solange’s powers for the first time, all over again.

Solange Knowles, the artist that stood before us now, was a woman who was fearlessly in charge of an artistry in flux. Because of it, she is creating some of her best and most impactful work to date.

Not unlike A Seat at the Table, Witness! - the name of this new production - is more a performance art piece than straight-to-the-tee concert. Everything, from her dancers' costuming, to her band’s choreography and the newly composed suite ‘Bridges’, pointed towards Solange’s creative process shattering, then rebuilding with precision.

The music taken from A Seat At The Table and the more recent When I Get Home record offered the audience a chance to experience her material through a different lens. Heritage and strength in culture has always remained a constant within Solange’s repertoire. Nods to her Texan upbringing could be found in the details: the cowboy hats and boots worn by her dancers; the lassoing of her microphone. Her hip hop roots in the Dirty South also peeked through – well-placed twerks and slow grinds matched up perfectly with the more club-ready portions of her material.

Tinkering with arrangements gave the show a more intimate vibe. ‘Way To The Show’ became sexier with the lo-fi R&B beats given more prominence. ‘F.U.B.U’ and ‘Don’t Touch My Hair’ reminded the audience that her story was also shared with many women of colour in attendance. ‘Stay Flo’ and ‘Binz’ felt like indulgent daydreams, realised with a strong brass and bass line as their backbone.

All the strength that was demonstrated in her 2018 shows was both present and rejuvenated. Yet, in Solange’s vocals, a touching vulnerability and a genuine sense of adoration for the nuances of her craft shone through. While the uncertainty of what our collective future holds was a prominent sentiment Solange shared with the audience during the show, her delivery of the production never felt unsure. The carefree grin that broke out across her face numerous times throughout the 90-minute performance was infectious. Each time she connected with the audience in the in-the-round setting further enhanced the intimate vibe of the show – no easy task in a room as large as the Opera House's concert hall.

Witness! - a production so rooted in personal strength, femininity and black excellence - staged at a venue so synonymous with the white middle and upper classes, is just the type of show the Sydney Opera House needs to further bring it into a new decade. A catalyst for provocative thought and conversation, Solange is not just a champion for individualism in contemporary R&B. She is a leader.

Though she had been writing and performing since childhood, 2018 was a year when Solange seemed to step into a new spotlight of her own. But seeing her in 2020 was a whole new experience; her vision as a creative has entered a new era, one marked by confidence in identity and control over one’s own narrative. Just as it should be.

Feature: Dr. Dre's 2001 - a hip-hop classic that could not be made today

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED: DOUBLE J, SEPTEMBER 2019

A classic record with some questionable content.

When we think of Dr. Dre, we think of an era of hip hop rooted in decadence, delivered by artists who had lived the experiences that formed the basis of their material.

These were the stories of hustlers, young men who had come up from the struggle. Legends in the making who were thriving in a genre that provided an avenue out of the violence and impoverishment of their upbringing. A future that would be paved with money and fame in excess, and egos to match.

The release of Dre's debut LP The Chronic in 1992 firmly established him as a hip hop game changer.

From the shadows of his group N.W.A’s mammoth success emerged a double threat. Dre’s production technique and ear for g-funk and gangsta rap progressions, coupled with his staunch flow, turned heads and provided a huge breakthrough for the Death Row Records label Dre founded with Suge Knight and The D.O.C..

Seven years later, in anticipation of the new millennium, Dr. Dre delivered his second album, 2001.

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A record laden with expectation and anticipation, the album followed 1996’s Dr. Dre Presents The Aftermath - a compilation album that sold well, but failed to capture the same attention and respect as The Chronic.

Where 2001 differs is in its compositional weight, the calibre of guests representing the thriving culture of the time, and the reflection of Dre’s evolution as a rapper and the West Coast sound in general.

"I just basically do hardcore hip hop and try to add a touch of dark comedy here and there," Dr. Dre told the Irish Times in 2000.

"A lot of the times the media just takes this and tries to make it into something else when it’s all entertainment first."

It makes sense. 2001 was originally constructed as if it were a film.

Purely cinematic in its presentation, an album like 2001 set a precedent for this type of hip hop record that an artist like Kendrick Lamar would follow in producing seminal works of their own (Good Kid, m.A.A.d City).

The skits linking the 17 album tracks continue the narrative, centred on West Coast hip hop’s thematic triumvirate: weed, sex and violence.

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Comedian Eddie Griffin is a noted voice on 'Ed-Ucation', possibly the album’s lowest point: a one-and-a-half-minute rant about side-chicks who become pregnant on purpose.

Two tracks later, we hear orgasms and the voice of male porn star Jake Steed on 'Pause for a Porno', before the interlude breaks into 'Housewife'.

The cringe factor brought on Dre's more graphic lyrics are relegated to the lesser known songs on the album. Intentional or not, the kind of subject matter acclaimed rappers would never be able to get away with today, is ultimately shadowed by the singles: banger after banger that would drop during the album’s cycle of release.

What comes out on top is a strong and confident attitude that permeates through the entire piece.

The record is less concerned with hyping up a lifestyle and serves more as a massive 'fuck you' to anyone who questioned how Dr. Dre would stand solo, sans-N.W.A and without Death Row and Suge Knight behind him.

Establishing himself as one of the strongest players in the culture, Dr. Dre demonstrated his reach in employing an all-star list of ghostwriters (The D.O.C., Royce da 5’9”, Jay-Z), musicians (Mike Elizondo, Scott Storch, Jason Hann) and vocalists to pull his vision together.

We’re talking Xzibit, Nate Dogg, Kurupt and Snoop Dogg.

Mary J. Blige, MC Ren, Hittman.

Eminem, fresh off the back of the Dr. Dre-produced debut, The Slim Shady LP.

The young Marshall Mathers has one of the best verses and highlight moments on the record, spitting psychopathic greatness on 'Forgot About Dre'.

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A cultural moment as well as an album touchstone, 'Forgot About Dre' showed Dre at his bitter best, while Eminem’s vibe is a perfect snapshot of America’s Most Disturbed at his most venomous.

The album has spawned some of the most popular tracks of the decade, namely 'Still D.R.E' and 'The Next Episode', the latter of which has become almost a rite of passage to rap along to for anyone beginning the partying chapter of their young adulthood.

'Still D.R.E', the first single from 2001, is assertive and quick to light a fire beneath those who assumed Dre was down and out of the game following the release of ...The Aftermath.

'I stay close to the heat,' he raps. 'And even when I was close to defeat, I rose to my feet'.

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In the same vein, ‘The Next Episode’ is possibly the pinnacle of West Coast rap, delivered in its most pure form.

The track wouldn’t be what it is without Snoop Dogg’s silky-smooth cadence, Dre’s braggadocious entry and statement of intent as a King of Cali ('Compton, Long Beach, Inglewoood') and of course, Nate Dogg’s marijuana-loving outro.

Elsewhere on 2001, a listener can find some underrated cuts that still stand strong on their own now, 20 years later.

'Bang Bang' is an example of Dr. Dre’s intelligence and knack for clever lyrics, 'Let’s Get High' sees Ms. Roq shine, while 'The Message' changes the album’s speed entirely.

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Closing the album, the Mary J. Blige and Rell collaboration 'The Message' is an ode to Dr. Dre’s late brother Tyree and a song that deserved much more attention than it received.

At 22 tracks total, 2001 was perhaps embraced gluttonously when it was first unleashed. Nobody could have predicted Dr. Dre’s entrepreneurial hustles becoming such a main (and lucrative) focus over the next decade. He released another studio record (Compton) in 2015, yet the fumes of hope surrounding the almost mythical Detox album remain.

As we look to the beginning of another decade, a deep dive on an album like 2001 poses the question:

Could this sort of record be made and revered today?

Ask most hip-hop fans and they’d probably tell you no.

While the culture does still have pockets of music rooted in the same old tropes (read: strippers, liquor, misogyny), hip hop today has never been so multi-faceted. Yet, in a lot of ways, the influence of Dr. Dre has been there throughout.

As the West Coast hip hop sound became more defined – and popular – through the latter half of the 1990s, largely thanks to the emergence of Tupac Shakur and Snoop Dogg, the Dr. Dre sound remained present and continued to develop.

An innovator and sonic perfectionist, the Compton original would go on to pave the way for a whole new generation of hip hop artists valuing a fine-tuned ear for production and composition as much as they do their rhymes.

Under Occupation: BIGSOUND 2019 Keynote

PHOTO: Jess Gleeson/BIGSOUND

This year, I was invited to be part of a BIGSOUND Keynote session that offered delegates an insight into different Indigenous perspectives in a global music industry. Along with Neil Morris, Ninakaye Taane-Tinorau and Chelsey June, I spoke about the experience of being a Pacific Islander and working in the Australian music industry. It was a full on session, but one I came away from with a lot of strong, positive feelings about.

Here’s hoping this sort of programming endures at an event like BIGSOUND, as I think it is important and crucial to have more voices represented. Thank you to Alethea Beetson and Tom Larkin for reaching out!

I’ve been asked by a few people who weren’t able to attend, to read what I spoke about, so I’ve posted my speech below (amended for context).

***


Today, we’re hearing four distinct perspectives and cultural viewpoints as they have applied to the music industry and for me, the story I’m here to tell is that of a Pasifika experience in Australia. It feels particularly right to be presenting this type of talk in Brisbane, where I believe there to be one of the highest populations of Polynesians living outside of New Zealand and the islands. Australia, for many of our older generations was seen as (and still is) a place of high prosperity and opportunity.

Like our indigenous brothers and sisters here, our Maori cousins and I would imagine, our Canadian friends also here, the Pacific has had its modern society and culture formed out of the ashes of colonisation. Each island has grown into the modern age differently, yet the effects of imposed Western religion and generational trauma can still be found across the Pacific region.

But, as with any inherently creative culture, stories of struggle and achievement have formed the genesis of some incredible art across the mediums – visual art, dance, music.

In preparing for today’s keynote, I have been revisiting conversations I’ve had with a number of fellow Pacific Islanders who are in the arts and based in Australia to gain inspiration but also to isolate any defining threads within their stories that tie our community as a whole together. While casual racism belied many of those stories, there was also a lacking of confidence that many of us had felt at one point or another, instilled as a result of an industry either overlooking us for work because of the colour of our skin or judging/deeming us experts in a particular field because of our ethnicity.

I know this is sounding like we could be going down a rabbit hole of negativity – I promise it’s not all bad – but it is important to note these things as I do believe that experiencing hardships stemming from cultural misconception and ignorance has built a tough skin for all of us and an added drive to succeed.

In 2016, I wrote a two-part feature on diversity within the Australian music scene. The idea behind it was simple: working in music here, you hear the terms ‘Aussie rock’, ‘Aussie hip-hop’ – ‘Australian Music’. I thought, ‘What does that actually mean?’. For a country that claims to be one of the most multicultural, we’ve certainly seen continual whitewashing of our music industry on a public front and in the media over the years, despite some of the country’s biggest, most respected and most exciting names all representing different ethnic communities.

So with this in mind, I started reaching out to artists with the overarching question: What does the face of Australian music look like? The answer was that it didn’t have one. Certainly not now. The responses I received were great and in having conversations with musicians from across African, Asian and Pasifika diasporas, I learned so much more about the parallels in experience we have all experienced forging a career and general creative existence here.

To be a Pacific Islander in Australia, it can feel that – when it comes to a scale of success and failure – we’re either as valuable as the length of time a career in the NRL or Wallabies lasts, or we’re only good enough to be the bouncer at the club in the Valley, or a disposable tradie on a worksite. We’ve seen the Australian Government’s most recent outlying of love for Pacific Nations who are in very real danger of having our islands sink due to climate change many either flatly refuse to acknowledge or take seriously.

Where the Deputy Prime Minister of this country can be so aloof and reason that we will ‘CONTINUE TO SURVIVE BECAUSE MANY OF THEIR WORKERS COME HERE AND PICK OUR FRUIT’.

in a nutshell, this is a perfect example of how it feels to have those ideas or doubts about the country you live in, validated. What Minister Michael McCormack got right was that we do have the ability to survive - go back through the documented history of the occupation and systematic oppression of the Pacific Islands, that is a recurring thread. We are a people built to adapt. For so many artists who call Australia home, but whose ancestry lies elsewhere - our heritage is not a selling point until we begin excelling in our field. Then we’re proudly claimed. Key word: Claimed. 

For myself, I count myself quite lucky to have had the career I have had so far. While I’m not ashamed to acknowledge the hard work I’ve done to get to a point where I can talk to you fine people about this sort of thing; I have been so honoured to work with people who I can see my own story - struggles and achievements - mirrored. 

The music industry in Australia is a hard graft for anyone to be in, I believe. There are less seats at the table thanks to geographic isolation and a smaller industry market. - imagine what it is like to be stuck at the kid’s end because of your perceived marketability, value and contribution to the sector. That’s what it can feel like to be a person of colour working here. 

What is promising though, and what I have loved about working with young POC artists, young Islander in particular – is that it’s becoming more and more evident that the tides are shifting. We’re seeing major movements of Pasifika representation in major media internationally (Moana, Taika Waititi’s Marvel successes, Fast & Furious: Hobbs & Shaw) and similarly, we’re seeing more and more artists from the Pasifika realm in Australia exceeding those old-fashioned expectations of what music people who look like us ‘should be’ playing or being marketed as.

There are the artists here who have long been paving the way and sharing their knowledge with a new generation. Just LOOK to this week’s program...

A main take away from this year’s BIGSOUND experience for me - and it’s been something I spoke with friends about last night - is the fact that when it comes to that question I was asking in 2016 of ‘WHAT DOES AUSTRALIAN MUSIC LOOK LIKE?’ - the answer is so vibrant and powerful.

Young people of colour are out here.

Young Pacific Islanders are out here doing their thing.

Finally, old heads are starting to turn and acknowledge them.

We have come from a long line of orators, navigators, warriors, leaders and creators. We’re used to the judgement and the struggle. However how our artists - and my three fellow keynotes will surely be able to attest to as well - move forward from that, harness that energy and create art that is beginning to form the new foundation of music coming out of this country is pretty bloody sick.

Feature: How TLC changed female representation in 90's R&B

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY DOUBLE J, JUNE 2019

A look at how the Atlanta girl group became figureheads for independent womanhood in one of R&B's most potent decades.

The 1990s saw the development of a strain of R&B that has endured in its appeal and popularity. In 2019, this style has begun to see a renaissance through a new generation of artists.

The development of TLC though, from their New Jack Swing-rooted debut, Ooooooohhh... On the TLC Tip in 1992, to the seminal CrazySexyCool two years later, saw a definite change in the R&B landscape. A change that contemporaries like Aaliyah and Destiny's Child would follow.

To better understand the impact of TLC on the wider R&B landscape, one only need to take a look at the music theirs was being released alongside.

Influential producers of the time including Babyface, Jermaine Dupri, Rico Wade, Darkchild and Teddy Riley ushered in a new era of music that blended contemporary R&B with hip hop and New Jack Swing, throwing a spotlight on artists who oozed sensuality, embraced the ballad and rode on insatiable grooves.

Still, while men in R&B were getting in touch with their sensitive, sexier sides through the decade, women often still played a tight set of roles; the scorned girlfriend, the vixen, the heartbreaker, the heartbroken.

By the end of the 1990s, pop music had the likes of Mariah Carey, Mary J. Blige, Janet Jackson, Lauryn Hill and Sade standing strong in going toe to toe with Boyz II Men, Dru Hill and a baby-faced Usher.

Pioneering a real representation of womanhood, in particular black womanhood, TLC’s longevity stems from the unabashed honesty in their lyrics and an effortless, engaging delivery.

The group’s career, though marred by internal creative conflict, eventual bankruptcy and publicised personal problems, persevered musically, leading TLC to become the best-selling American girl group of all time.

Between albums two and three, CrazySexyCool and FanMail, we got to see three women on a rollercoaster journey. Yet, creatively, their music and messaging remained unshakeable.

CrazySexyCool: The Red Light Special

The release of CrazySexyCool marked a new chapter for TLC. While they swapped the baggy jeans and condom-glasses for crop tops and smoulders, the empowering lyrical threads that wove their way through TLC’s debut album remained permanently at the core of their second.

Everything about CrazySexyCool was more mature than anything TLC had done before, but it wasn’t forced.

Between Tionne ‘T-Boz’ Watkins, Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes and Rozonda ‘Chilli’ Thomas, there existed a dynamic that flourished on each other’s strengths.

T-Boz, with her frank and raw alto style. Left Eye, with her lyrical prowess that easily put her in the same league as Tupac Shakur. Chilli, with the ethereal sense of cool that we see mirrored in the likes of FKA twigs and Teyana Taylor today.

The material on CrazySexyCool featured songs about sex, love, loss and consequence. But, more importantly, the album was a statement that women were firmly in control. In control of how they wanted to be loved, how they engaged in sex, and that ultimately, they could play the same game as their male peers.

If Silk and Ginuwine could get away with less-than-subtle serenades on ‘Freak Me’ and ‘Pony', then best believe TLC could deliver the same type of bedroom jam with ‘Red Light Special’.

One of the album’s biggest singles, ‘Creep’, gave the long-told narrative of an unfaithful relationship a different spin. Instead of wallowing over her man stepping out, the female at the centre of the song decides to do the same back.

Geared towards female empowerment, the single’s release did not sit right with Left Eye, whose original rap (which didn’t make the final edit) acts as a caution against cheating-as-revenge.

“Creepin’ may cause hysterical behaviour in the mind/Put your life in a bind/And in time make you victim to a passionate crime…”

Regardless of which version you prefer, both stand as examples where TLC flipped the script in offering different perspectives on an infidelity narrative that had been so normalised by the culture and, in many ways, would continue to be in subsequent decades.

The other notable release from the album came in the defining single ‘Waterfalls’.

Unprotected sex, HIV/AIDS and gang violence are explored against Organized Noize production and effortless harmonies. Memorable for its music video and one of Left Eye’s most popular raps, ‘Waterfalls’ is a touchstone of TLC’s catalogue.

Funky R&B that was accessible enough to cross over into the pop realm, the single brought TLC more acclaim and took CrazySexyCool into the upper echelons of those 90s records that have become essentials for any R&B fan.

FanMail: A fighting return

As the year 2000 approached, a futuristic aesthetic became the driving force behind the third TLC record, FanMail. Arriving almost five years after CrazySexyCool, the album is a thank you to TLC fans, as much as a strong return for the group, who had weathered bankruptcy and a rough recording hiatus.

While the chart climate had changed in the interim, with names like Backstreet and Britney blowing up, TLC remained true to their messaging and as a result of expert R&B production courtesy of Dallas Austin, Babyface, Jermaine Dupri, Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis buoying the trio’s finessed writing and vocal delivery, FanMail became another critical success.

The success of a song like 'No Scrubs' speaks largely to the space TLC was bringing the 'Girl Power' movement into, as a younger demographic of fan was entering adolescence of their own.

The central message of women knowing their own worth and refusing to lower their standards for any man formed a song that has become one of TLC's most beloved.

A message that hasn't dated, and has been covered by artists as varied from Weezer to Kacey Musgraves, the heavyweight of FanMail holds up even now, 20 years on.

Tapping into insecurities and anxieties surrounding body image on 'Unpretty' proved to be another game changer for TLC's musical output, and provided a contrast to the tougher, gritter sounds with which FanMail was synonymous.

Layered synths, strings and guitars provided a simple, though beautiful backdrop to a timeless song that perhaps has even more relevance today, in an age dominated by social media.

'Maybe get rid of you/And then I'll get back to me.'

The album was a snapshot of TLC in a different phase of their careers; hardened and with perspective. No longer R&B darlings to be moulded in the vision of a plethora of male industry, these women positioned themselves in a strong position to emerge into the new millennium more empowered than ever.

A love letter to self-appreciation, self-love and female strength, FanMail would be the last album TLC would make before Left Eye's death, which makes its poignancy even heavier. Yet as a standalone record, its importance at the end of the 90s is untouchable.

Another prime example of TLC’s creative strides out of the shadows of a tomboy-fresh adolescence and into an adulthood soundtracked by music equal parts self-aware, sexy, and independent.

Feature: A Breakdown of Little Simz' 'Grey Area'

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY LNWY, MARCH 2019

“Allow me to pick up where I left off,” Little Simz spits on ‘Offence’, the opening track of third album GREY Area. “The biggest phenomenon and I’m Picasso with the pen.”

As the title suggests, the London rapper is still bridging that gap between her grime and underground hip-hop beginnings and a burgeoning artistic profile that has garnered praise from Kendrick Lamar, tours with the likes of Ms. Lauryn Hill, and collaborations with Gorillaz.

“I left it all in the music,” the 25-year-old tells me, reflecting on another emotional creative process, following 2016’s Stillness in Wonderland, which put her on the map. “The anticipation has been crazy, which has been nerve-wracking as well, but I’m excited.”

Dealing with anger, love lost, grief and the call to greatness, Little Simz takes us through these 10 songs of intense emotion and lyrical prowess.

‘Offence’

This track not only sets a great tone for the album, but it’s a wicked call to arms. When in the process of making this album did this song come to life for you?
This was one of the first songs we made, actually. I remember [childhood friend/producer] Inflo working on the production. I didn’t even like it, to be honest. It was so different. I think it just caught me off guard. It got me out of my comfort zone. I didn’t like the beat, he didn’t like my writing, but we decided to build on it because I liked my writing and he liked the beat! There had to be an element of trust and we collectively kept building on the song.

‘Boss’

The bassline on this tune is such a good example of how groovy this record is, the rhythmic control throughout is great. Can you see ‘Boss’ as being a bit of a companion piece to ‘Offence’?
‘Boss’ is just me going off, really. It’s super raw, cutting edge. It’s just very raw. I remember when I recorded it, I recorded it on a shitty little hand-held [mic]. I recorded the rest of the album on this really nice, crispy [one]. I thought, “I need to re-record ‘Boss’ on this other really nice mic”, to make everything feel consistent. I thought I could add the distortion and the effects later. So I actually did. I recorded it and it just lost some of the magic. We decided to keep it [the original version] and it turned out perfectly.

‘Selfish’ (ft. Cleo Sol)

How did you get linked up with Cleo Sol for the first time?
I met Cleo through Flo [aka Inflo]. Cleo’s been around for years, I used to listen to her when I was in school. I think what she brought to ‘Selfish’, I don’t feel like anyone else could have brought. When I was writing this song, it was super stripped back and raw. Nothing had been added, no strings, no bass. It was literally just the piano and drums. We kept building on it and it became more and more special. I think we all knew it was going to be something really special from the beginning stages; I’m really pleased with how that one turned out.

‘Wounds’ (ft. Chronixx)

When it comes to ‘Wounds’, the way you channel pain and raw emotion is done so well. The orchestration tied in with your lyricism adds another level of emotion to it. Take me through the significance of this one to you?
‘Wounds’ was a song I wrote when my friend had just died. He was murdered. I remember getting the news in the morning. I woke up to a missed call telling me. Later on in the day, I went to the studio and just sat in the studio by myself in the dark and just cried. Nobody knew I was at the studio, no one in the building even knew I was in the studio. I just snuck in. I just looped a beat and started writing. That’s what started. Before that event had happened, we had the beat for it already. Flo had made it and I just didn’t know how I wanted to approach it. It had to sit for a bit and I knew when I came back to it, it would make sense, but I wasn’t going to force it. It’s a shame that it took that to happen for me to write that song.

‘Venom’

‘Venom’ was me releasing all this built up anger that I had over the years, brooding. I released it all on ‘Venom’.

‘101 FM’

This one reminded me of Jay Z’s ‘Big Pimpin’’ era. This track sounds like it was a lot of fun to make.

When I had made it, I instantly knew, “This was the one.” This was what I grew up on, you know? As much as it does have that ‘Big Pimpin’’ hip-hop aesthetic, it is a grime track. It’s what I grew up on, so that song – as soon as I had the beat, I connected with it so quick. I felt 15 again. It’s nuts. I felt like I was in my pocket, I knew how to sit in it. It felt very familiar. Even after we made that, we made another three grime songs. After we had our little grime phase we steered back on course for the album.

‘Pressure’ (ft. Little Dragon)

Another collaboration that works well even though it might be left field for some, with Little Dragon in the fold. How did that come about?

We had the song and we thought [Little Dragon singer] Yukimi [Nagano] would sound great on it. My manager at the time hit her team up and it just progressed from there. We connected and started talking. We chopped it up. She’s super lovely, super nice. It turned out she was a fan too, which I didn’t know. I thought it was going to be a bit of a long shot, but she was into it for sure.

‘Therapy’

Unabashed confidence and honesty is a huge drawcard here. What mindset are you in when you’re writing this sort of song?

I think it’s a universal topic, therapy and mental health. I think it’s one that a lot of people can relate to. More so at the time when I was writing the record, I’d been told that therapy would be good for me. I didn’t really want to hear it, I didn’t really understand the concept. Going and sitting there in an appointment, I didn’t get it. I didn’t feel like it was something I wanted to invest my money into at the time. I just took to what I do, which is do it myself and put it on record. I guess I wrote it imagining myself in a therapy session, lying on the sofa [with a] coffee table and someone in front of you. It’s like I’m talking to a therapist.

‘Sherbet Sunset’

What took you down this song’s direction?
Love, innit? Another universal concept; something I’m sure a lot of people can relate to. I didn’t want it to come across as a diss track, I’m not out here dissing anyone. It’s just my vibe. To be honest, everything I needed to say about that song, I’ve said it. Even just thinking about it now, I’ve said everything I’ve wanted to say on it. Especially on that one.

‘Flowers’ (ft. Michael Kiwanuka)

As the album closer, ‘Flowers’ is very defined, very weighted. What does this song mean to you?

It’s super important. I’m really proud of this song. Paying homage to the greats, of course, people who have paved the way. Great, great musicians who have graced this earth. [‘Flowers’ namechecks artists who died at 27, including Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Robert Johnson, and Amy Winehouse.]

For me, just looking at my life, where I’m at now and where they were at when … that age is right around the corner. I’m not saying anything’s going to happen to me, touch wood, but it’s crazy how quick time flies.

When I think about how much I want to achieve and how ambitious I am, I’m thinking about how ambitious they must have been,  too. They were so young and there was so much more they could have done and offered the earth. I remember when 25 looked so far away. Now I’m here and I don’t know how I got here, I just did. I landed here. It’s another reflective song, paying homage.

GREY Area, an album by Little Simz on Spotify

Source: https://lnwy.co/read/album-walkthrough-lit...

Feature: From Arular to AIM – the politics and activism of M.I.A.

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY DOUBLE J, APRIL 2019

When it comes to the artistry of M.I.A., politics and music have never not been intertwined.

Of course, popular music has often held a mirror up to the political and social climate of its time, but over the course of five studio albums, Mathangi Arulpragasam’s voice has been a critical one, a fiery one.

A voice that has not wavered in its strength since 2005’s Arular, and one that has continued to buck the expectations of major labels as a marketable artist in a pop realm.

Pull Up The Poor

M.I.A.’s debut album Arular, laid the groundwork early. The album’s title – the political code used by her father during involvement with Tamil militant groups – set an early theme.

As with the British punk wave of the 1970s, the music M.I.A. produced reflected observations of a community the spotlight often swung away from. London’s cultural melting pot, built on stories of refuge and rebuilding, was given its stage.

Couple this with lyrical narratives surrounding murder, political warfare, the refugee experience and a struggle for independence, and M.I.A.’s debut was one that painted her early as a pop provocateur, an inciter of mischief.

Little did the naysayers realise, M.I.A was only getting started.

Flight Of The Paper Planes

A move to incorporate a more global scope in her music came soon after the success of Arular, with M.I.A.’s second record Kala in 2007.

Named after her mother and inspired both by her struggles and M.I.A.’s own issues in accessing a United States work visa, Kala was made during travels through India, Japan, Trinidad and Tobago, Jamaica, Liberia, and even Australia.

The album stands as one of M.I.A’s most important, body of work speaking. Kala brought M.I.A her first Grammy nomination for ‘Paper Planes’ (Record of the Year), while collaborations with the likes of Timbaland, Switch and Diplo on production elevated Kala to further esteem and acclaim outside the UK.

The record expanded on themes set on Arular, with the focus pointing inward on the refugee experience, often in a hostile environment. In sing-song, playground rhyming cadence, M.I.A’s satirical tone also takes flight beautifully on Kala, as she continued to expose the flaws of a global system and, in doing so, also exposed the flaws of a music industry that ironically, the album was skyrocketing her upward within.

The release of ‘Paper Planes’ marked a cataclysmic change in pace for M.I.A on a global scale. A satirical look at the American perception of immigrants and foreigners, particularly post-9/11, ‘Paper Planes’ courted criticism and acclaim in droves.

Her supposed support of the Tamil Tigers, through the success of ‘Paper Planes’, led to M.I.A’s work being banned on radio and television throughout Sri Lanka.

“I can’t justify my success otherwise.” she told The Daily Beast in 2009.

“I can’t justify getting nominated for an Oscar or a Grammy, that to me wouldn’t mean anything if I don’t actually get to speak about this.”

Though ‘Paper Planes’ wasn’t the first time M.I.A provided pointed political commentary through music, the song provided her with her biggest stage at the time.

Nine months pregnant, she performed alongside Jay-Z, T.I., Lil Wayne and Kanye West at the 2009 Grammys - a performance that further solidified her status as a bona-fide hustler, making her name.

Born Free

In 2010, she released MAYA, a record that saw information politics and the digital age act as a prominent feature for M.I.A.’s creative output.

From the glitchy, industrial elements of the Sleigh Bells-sampled ‘MEDS AND FEDS’, through to the album’s artwork, the advance of the internet – and because of it, a slew of misconception and alternative truths – played a central role in M.I.A’s third release.

Perhaps more sonically aggressive than its predecessors, MAYA’s messaging was maturing and becoming more pointed.

The release of the short film accompanying ‘BORN FREE’ was a slice of guerilla-style action; conceptualised and filmed without the knowledge of M.I.A.’s record label, the video depicted a genocide against redheads. Violent and graphic, the video highlighted the absurdity of genocide itself and in doing so, showed graphic violence against people who did not fit the usual narrative.

‘I’ll throw this in ya face when I see ya, I got somethin’ to say,’ M.I.A taunts on the track. The brashness in her delivery indicated a continued unflinching, unwavering promise that violence on this scale was indeed very real.

If we felt confronted by the music video, we weren’t ready to digest the realities at the core of its inception.

Live Fast, Die Young

The release of Matangi in 2013 and M.I.A’s most recent – and apparently final – album AIM in 2016 displays the empowerment and drive of M.I.A’s artistry in different ways.

The former, which might be considered the least abrasive of M.I.A.’s discography, nevertheless remains unrelenting.

The music is almost exhausting to listen to, which may have been the point. Experimenting heavily with hip hop and bhangra, Matangi plunges itself into ideas of Eastern spiritualism more than it does political warfare and less-travelled edgy terrain.

Alleged input from WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange ties the album to the underground, guerilla approach of previous material, yet M.I.A. provides the listener with some of her most forward-thinking ideas yet.

‘If you only live once, why do we keep doing the same shit?’ she muses at the end of ‘Y.A.L.A’. ‘Back home where I come from, we keep being born again and again’.

Themes of karma, rejuvenation and female strength resound, while the music takes on a slicker tone.

Five albums in and it could be said that music listeners and the industry still don’t have the ultimate vision of Mathangi Arulpragasam that the artist is willing to deliver.

We see this urgency in full flight on AIM opener ‘Borders’, a look at the world’s current refugee crisis.

“The world I talked about ten years ago is still the same,” M.I.A. posted on Twitter. It comes as a sombre realisation; are things as bad as they ever were or have we, as a public, simply had our eyes opened more?

Urgency, charisma and self-awareness have always been at the core of M.I.A.’s work.

‘What haters say about me don’t worry me,’ she spits on AIM’s  ‘Finally’. ‘I keep it moving forward to what’s ahead of me.’

It’s a thread of confidence that has buoyed M.I.A’s work as much as each banging bhangra beat or electronic lash. From ‘Paper Planes’ to ‘Born Free’, M.I.A. refuses to be quietened.

Whether AIM is the final M.I.A. album remains to be seen. If it is, the artist has gone out with flair. She might not necessarily be shaking the industry down with vivid imagery backed by fist-pumping beats, but she’s cleverly interwoven a global narrative with music that has traversed genre and cultural boundary.

As a music fan and a fan of strong, empowered artists in an industry of steadfast gatekeepers, I love this.

Source: https://www.abc.net.au/doublej/music-reads...

Feature: Smino's Guide to St. Louis

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY LNWY, JANUARY 2019

SMINO is making damn sure people remember where he comes from.

“I make sure I do certain events, I do my Christmas event and I make sure I put my billboards in St Louis as well. I want to make it known that I’m from there. I want to inspire people.”

For many hip-hop fans who grew up with the genre as the 2000s beckoned, the St Louis area of the American midwest was pioneered by rappers like Sylk Smoov and further dictated by artists including Nelly and St. Lunatics, Chingy, Murphy Lee, and J-Kwon.

The introduction of St Louis Bounce – a melodic sing-song style of rapping over bluesy chords and beat production – in the early-2000s became the sound of the city.

To look at the city now, the diversity of the St Louis sound is notable. Smino himself is a prime example of how the current generation of Missouri-born rappers are changing up the game.

Fusing slick hip-hop with neo-soul and R&B influences, the 27-year-old put out two critically acclaimed albums in just two years: 2017’s blkswn and 2018’s NØIR.

NØIR ups the ante on his own game, deftly switching between frustrated/punchy rap energy and an almost honeyed singing voice that he became renowned for on blkswn.

BORN into a family of musicians – a keyboardist father, a vocalist mother, and a bassist grandfather who played with Muddy Waters – the young Christopher Smith Jr learned drums as part of his church’s band before he found his calling with rapping.

As Smino, he found his groove in Chicago, where early EP releases found him falling into the same league as other breakthrough young acts including Mick Jenkins, SABA, Noname, and Ravyn Lenae.

These artists shared the same hunger to make music that not only broke them out of the underground, but also brought wider attention towards young acts creating art in some of America’s roughest cities.

“I had a whole bunch of people being like, ‘Yeah man, you inspire me to actually go forward and do whatever I want to do’,” he says about connecting with young artists in St Louis. “A lot of people feel like reaching into St Louis and trying to help.”

“St Louis is a city where, we don’t have a lot, but the people make the city what it is.”

Bari

My homie Bari is the shit. The world don’t even know the half of it.

We’ve been making music together since we were 14, since we were in high school. It’s familiar, it’s comfortable; I don’t have to worry about anything. I can just sit in studio and he’ll play a beat, and not even talk about what we’re going to write about. I’ll record and he’ll record, and it all just makes sense, without even having to speak.

pinkcaravan!

Her music is so dope.

She’s just so good at cultivating. Whenever she does shows in St Louis, I always see heaps of people showing out for her, she’s does so well at controlling her crowds. You know what I’m sayin’? The fact you know about pinkcaravan! is so dope, she’s doing her own thing out here. I’m excited, man.

Matty Wood$

He’s dope. He’s a soulful dude. The music that I have heard has been really soulful and I’ve been like, ‘Oh shit!’.

I’ve been seeing a lot of artists come out who aren’t on some street shit, and I think the biggest way St Louis is changing. A lot of people from St Louis and through a lot of this new generation, there’s been this cool arts scene coming out of it. In the same spot where a lot of these motherfuckers will be on some hood shit, you have next door to it a big old art show going on. A bunch of painters and rappers and writers. It’s a little renaissance in St Louis I haven’t seen in a minute. It’s cool.

RAHLI

He’s been on some street shit, I love it. He’s hard. The energy in his voice, he just sounds like the North Side.

There’s this stigma about St Louis and this is what St Louis is: If you’re from St Louis, you’re from the hood. It don’t matter what fucking part of St Louis you’re from – if you’re from the city, You’re from the hood, no matter where you’re [actually] from. It’s everywhere. Everybody embodied that shit. We’ve still got a lot of street rappers from St Louis who still sound hard, they sound good.

It’s probably the most fun part about doing the album, putting it on stage. I just left rehearsal for my Christmas show [in 2018] that I have every year. I’m doing it in my hometown, so it’s actually the first time I’m playing my album live with my band here. It’s cool, it’s tight. There is a lot of work though that goes into the live show. I’m just looking forward to seeing how it is going to evolve live. It’s an ever-evolving thing with the music; every night you find something new to do.

Interview: Amaya Laucirica

PHOTO CREDIT: Jonathan Griggs
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY BEAT MAGAZINE, JUNE 2019


NGV International’s latest Friday Nights program is stacked once again, with a diverse lineup of engaging artists scheduled to perform in the famed gallery from now until October.

Songwriter and musician Amaya Laucirica will be making an appearance as part of the upcoming run of shows. This not only provides an opportunity for newcomers to be introduced to her kaleidoscopic sounds, but also gives Laucirica the chance to road-test some exciting new material to be featured on a forthcoming fifth studio record.

“We’re really looking forward to playing at the NGV Great Hall,” she told us recently, from a vacation spot in Malaysia. “We’ve played there before, but just solo for White Night in 2014. It’ll be exciting to play there with the full band and in the Great Hall. I mean, it’s a beautiful space.”

For Laucirica, performing in a space such as the NGV’s Great Hall matches the striking appeal of her artistry. Her music is intensely emotive, bringing together sonic twists and turns, while captivating the audience with ease. Since 2008, she has been recording and releasing music consistently, building a body of work that can now be reflected upon not only with pride, but with a sense of fulfilment in being able to look ahead to what is coming next.

The NGV Friday Nights show will be Laucirica’s first off the back of some new writing sessions, and potentially one of the last opportunities for fans to see her play before another personal project commences.

“I’m actually having a baby in August, so there’s a bit of preparation for that as well,” she laughs. “In terms of music, the focus is just to write for the next album. We’ve been starting to experiment with demos and things are starting to happen – [we are] heads down and trying to get album number five written. It’s crazy to think about that. I’m sure there are going to be new things to inspire the writing of that.

“It’s interesting going between the two worlds and artforms,” Laucirica muses, as we talk about the growing popularity of live music being hosted in art galleries.

“This is the second time we’ve played in an art gallery,” she says. “The first time was last year, we played in Brisbane – it was a similar concept, we played alongside the Patricia Piccinini show up there. It was great, it was so much fun; walking around the exhibition and then playing on the stage.”

“I think it’s really great that, in Melbourne, you can play in spaces that aren’t typical music venues,” she continues. “It’s a great opportunity for bands to also be performing to people who are seeing the exhibition as well as the music. You’re going to be playing to some people who might not know who you are. That’s a good opportunity for artists too. I like the idea of playing in those kinds of spaces.”

Inspired by art across the disciplines herself, this environment suits Laucirica to a tee. An artist’s work can be seen as a vessel for broader commentary, and for Laucirica, inspiration for her own work has come from many different places.

“It’s not just music that inspires the music that I write.” she says. “There’s landscape and I’ve been inspired by films and environment and socially, what’s going on. I think art in the visual sense, it does the exact same thing in how it comments on it and how we interact with the universe, but in a visual sense as opposed to a sonic sense.

“I think the things that inspire visual arts and music are pretty similar in how they are being projected, they’re just being done in different ways. They cross over and it’s great, the concept of having music in a space that houses art, it’s cool. It’s great that things can cross over to different platforms.”

Amaya Laucirica performs as part of NGV Friday Nights’ next instalment on Friday June 7. Head to the NGV website for tickets and to check out all the other amazing acts performing as part of the program.



Interview: SABA

PHOTO CREDIT: Giulia Giannini McGauran
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY LNWY, DECEMBER 2018


“TEENS in Chicago always feel silenced. They always feel the older people just want us to be something that we’re not.”

Rising hip-hop star SABA is sitting across from me in a Melbourne cafe, world’s away from Austin on Chicago’s west side where he grew up.

A city well known for its inner-city violence, Chicago hasn’t always been the most encouraging of environments for young people to chase a lifestyle that hasn’t already been marked out for them. But this was not to be SABA’s path.

An excellent student – “I went to school everyday,” he raps on ‘401K’ from his ComfortZone mixtape – SABA attended open mic nights and youth groups in Chicago’s Wicker Park neighbourhood. These proved to be a creative catalyst, giving him the ability to explore his own ideas and find his voice.

“I had been doing music for almost 10 years by the time I had even gone to an open mic,” the 24-year-old says, looking remarkably fresh for someone who had only step foot off an international flight a day before.

“I knew what I wanted to do, but the open mic [night] was a training ground.”

Like his Chicago peers Noname, Mick Jenkins and Chance The Rapper, SABA was mentored by Brother Mike, whose YouMedia Centre made a huge impact on the area’s emerging hip-hop scene.

“[He] just looked after everybody and he encouraged everybody,” he says of the poet and youth leader, who died in 2014. “The open mics were where we could go and be ourselves.

“For some people, they would become themselves there. I credit a lot of just finding my confidence – finding what I wanted my message to be and who I was as a person – to just going to those open mics and [building] some of those relationships there.”

"If your dad was a car mechanic or something and you grow up and take over the family business one day, that’s what it felt like I was doing."

This confidence and clarity in identity is a strong element of SABA’s music and performance style. The stage is where SABA is truly at home. A poet driven by beats and the vigour of a young artist with an important truth to be spoken, he thrives on the undeniable energy exchanged between himself and the crowd.

“Ridin’ through the city/I’m young, I’m black, I’m guilty,” he laments on ‘BUSY/SIRENS’, a choice cut from his 2018 album CARE FOR ME. “I know ones that want to kill me/They don’t know me, but they fear me.”

BORN Tahj Malik Chandler, SABA grew up surrounded by music and musicians including his father, R&B artist Chandlar, who appears on the outro of SABA’s ComfortZone mixtape.

While his dad lived New York – “He moved there when I was four” – his influence on SABA’s career was profound.

“My upbringing is almost 100 percent responsible for me doing music now,” he says. “A lot of my family did music and my dad still does music. If your dad was a car mechanic or something and you grow up and take over the family business one day, that’s what it felt like I was doing.”

CARE FOR ME paints a textured portrait of his upbringing, marked by humour, self-awareness and grief.

“We really wanted to treat it as if it were a masterpiece,” he says. “It wasn’t ready until it was ready. I didn’t really care if people were going to like it or not. I just wanted to like it myself. I thought that was going to be enough.”

•••

SABA’s emergence as a hip-hop identity to watch with a keen eye dates back to ‘Everybody’s Something’, his 2013 collaboration with Chance The Rapper. It was followed by another guest verse on ‘Angels’ from Chance’s 2016 mixtape Coloring Book. When the album was nominated for a Grammy it boosted his profile considerably. Chance returned the favour on ‘LOGOUT’ from CARE FOR ME, which further explores their seamless dynamic as they bounce off one another on the track.

2012 saw SABA release his debut mixtape in GETCOMFORTable, a fervent collection of music that showed early signs of his potential as one of Chicago’s premier young artists. He followed it up with 2014’s ComfortZone, another showcase of his quick wit and honesty.

SABA’s distinctive sound became part of a new musical tapestry being made in Chicago, threading together strong personal stories and a melting pot of influences beyond hip-hop such as spoken word, jazz, and soul.

Alongside Mick Jenkins, Noname, Smino and Jamila Woods, his music would become a game-changer for young people in the area.

“Back in 2011-2012, when I became close with Noname and Mick Jenkins, we had always seen ourselves as bigger than what a lot of the world had seen us. I think that’s how it has to be as an artist – even as a person in general. You have to see the success for yourself before anybody else can.”

SABA says he can see the ripples of change among the next class of Chicago artists currently making their way. But a lot has changed for him personally since those initial mixtapes and his teen years idolising hometown heroes including Kanye West and Lupe Fiasco.

“I’m not going out much, so I don’t know what the kids are into now,” he says, laughing. “I think I am a little removed back home. Now [Chicago’s] just moving like a machine. There’s always new artists coming up.”

While many areas of the city still battle crime, violence, poverty and oppression, SABA and his extended musical family of artists see themselves as examples of those who made it out and broke the mould.

“There wasn’t really a community in Chicago of artists for a long time so our class [of peers], I feel, made it out of nothing. We saw the importance of it and now, I think the teens now are looking up to us to see the importance of just being together and sticking together.

“There are more opportunities now in the city of Chicago for teens who want to do music or just want to pursue the arts in general,” he continues. “A lot has to do with our class and generation.”

•••

WHERE previous releases offered unfiltered insights into his life and upbringing, CARE FOR ME finds SABA at his candid best.

Threaded through the album are SABA’s thoughts and memories of his cousin, fellow rapper John Walt, who was murdered in 2017. The stories are equal parts bittersweet and harrowing, delivered with nuance and reflection.

“Jesus got killed for our sins/Walter got killed for a coat,” he details on ‘BUSY/SIRENS’. “I’m tryna cope, but it’s a part of me gone/And apparently I’m alone.”

Over the course of the album we learn about the tight bond between the pair; one that extends to SABA’s other family, Chicago collective Pivot Gang.

“Back in 2011-2012, when I became close with Noname and Mick Jenkins, we had always seen ourselves as bigger than what a lot of the world had seen us."

The group – comprising SABA, his brother Joseph Chilliams, childhood friend MFn Melo and fellow rappers Dam Dam, Frsh Waters, Daoud and daedaePIVOT – has been a driving force in Chicago’s independent hip-hop community since 2012.

Pivot is more than just a name, however, it’s a safe zone for SABA. His debut Australian show in Melbourne in December 2018 was a prime example of how Pivot has grown into a more global community, with sections of the audience chanting their name. That growth puts a smile on SABA’s face.

“I want [future records] to be completely different from what I did this year and the year before.” he enthuses. “I don’t want to be an artist who creates the same thing. We’re at the point now where we kind of have a ‘sound’, but I want to keep expanding on it and keep building it. Keep it different.”

Even though CARE FOR ME details heavy loss and heartbreak, SABA considers it a strong step forward for him as an artist and a cathartic one for him personally.

If anything, creating this work has given SABA the opportunity to heal, while simultaneously opening up new facets of his creative voice.

“Each album is like a chapter of my life,” he explains. “I view projects in general as an easy way to get a lot off of your chest.”



Source: https://lnwy.co/read/saba-will-not-be-sile...