Words by Jesse Serwer
Photos by Eduardo Donoso
British singer Liam Bailey first caught our attention on āSoon Come,ā his 2013 collaboration with U.K. jungle icon Shy FX. Conjuring the ghosts of Dennis Brown and Roy Shirley on the Studio One-inspired track, his arresting performance sent us digging into his discography for other gems like āWhen Will They Learn.ā We got to know Bailey better a year later, when he joined Salaam Remiās short-lived Flying Buddha label. (Bailey and Remi met through Amy Winehouse, who released Baileyās first two EPs on her Lioness label). That Spring, LargeUpās Kieran Meadows caught up with him as he teased his debut album, Definitely Now, with a handful of shows at South by Southwest.
After that, things grew a little cold. While Flying Buddha, a Sony imprint, released Definitely Now in August of 2014, the project received little promotion and the label soon dissolved. Five years went by and, while Bailey wasnāt completely quiet during this time, it wasnāt until last year that he reappeared on our radar with āChampion,ā a devastating track produced by New York-based analog wizard Leon Michels (Amy Winehouse, Aloe Blacc). On āChampion,ā Bailey ā son of a British mother and Jamaican father ā channels the gods of ā80s dancehall over a staccato Juno organ, juxtaposing bashment toasts with a haunting, understated rhythm that recalls the darker side of ā70s soul. Itās a unique and intoxicating combination.
āChampionā is the lead single from Baileyās sophomore album Ekundayo, which dropped Friday on Michelsā Big Crown Records. The wholly analog LP is full of stark, intensely personal cuts like āCold and Clearā and āDonāt Blame NY,ā pulling pieces from digi-dancehall, lovers rock, rocksteady, blues, post-punk and soul to create a mood which Bailey intriguingly terms ā in our interview, at least āĀ āWinter Reggae.ā
Reggae is only one element represented on Ekundayo, an album that dares to defy easy categorization in the age of the algorithm. So we caught up with Bailey over Zoom last month to discuss his inspirations for the project, the circumstances that led to its recording in the woods of Upstate New York; and why summer isn’t the only season that should get to claim reggae.
LargeUp: Hi, Liam. Where are you?
Liam Bailey: Iām in South London. Sorry bruv, just finished my spliff. Jeeeeezz!!! That thing there was a knockback. Iām going [to] Radio 4 later. And then Iām getting the keys to my new flat tomorrow morning. Itās exciting times. This year has been intense. In my personal life, you got people going through a lot. Days like today Iām just giving blessings, feeling thankful that Iām doing what Iām doing.
LU: Are you in an empty flat?
LB: Itās a little AirBNB situation.
LU: Itās always weird on that last day before a move. The mixed emotions of it all.Ā
LB: Crazy weird. I just want to keep it moving. When we move over the weekend, Iām going to put a little signal out to my Mrs: Letās not do that sitdown, reflection ting. Youāre right, it all gets a bit deep. You look at one thing and it can remind you.
LU: What sentiments did you hope to evoke with this album? Itās a mood.Ā
LB: Iām starting to wonder because Iām having to do these interviews. This is the first time Iām starting to get feedback, and it sounds like the subject matter is quite heavy. I might have to do the next one all lighthearted, bruv. [Laughs] I just thought I was making good music, bruv. I thought I was making sick music where Iām speaking my truth in there. I think itās deep but itās not dark. Iām hoping people like the tunes and can connect with the sentiment. Maybe it sounds good while youāre cooking your roast chicken. You know what I mean?
LU: I think the instrumentation is where you feel the weightiness. With āChampion,ā youāre toasting in an ā80s dancehall style. A kind of Shabba vibe. And then you have this Juno keyboard, which gives it a darker edge. Musically, it reminds me of Timmy Thomasā āWhy Canāt We Live Together.ā Thatās a song that just hits you with the weight of the world anytime you hear it.Ā And I think youāre keying into that mood a little with āChampion.ā
LB: It was a nice vibe coming up with them kind of lyrics and reaching that vibe. That production started with my bredrin Nick, his drumming is sick. Heās known as a bass player. We had that loop going over and then Leonās jamming along, Iām playing bass on the keys. That flow has just been in my head for a while.
LU: Had you done a track like that before?
LB: That singjay, toasting thing? The closest is on stage. Iām also known for some big drum and bass music in the UK. There Iāve done a little toasting. My reggae vibes has always been a Dennis Brown vibe. But Iāve always wanted to try and express that [dancehall] side of me. Thatās the way you can swag sometimes when youāre walking into those kinds of dancefloors. It feels good to get that side out there.
LU:Ā When you get into the refrain, your vocals get real bluesy. It made me think of how reggae parties in England back in the day were called āblues parties.ā And the music from that period, Lovers Rock and all that late ā70s UK reggae, has a bluesy feel to it.Ā
LB: That is the music that I listen to. Iāve been listening to BB King, Bob Marley, Pat Kelly, Marvin Gaye, John Lennon. Youāre going to hear my influences there. But also bruv, when I was doing that song my throat was in that kind of place. You can hear that old-school kind of strain. It kind of feels like Iām at that blues party, like Iāve had a few dark rums. I did the first take like that, freestyling, and then we stuck with it.
LU: You live in London, and Leon in New York. Where did you make this album?
LB: Some of it was made in Long Island City in Queens and some of it was done in Upstate NY, in the Hudson Valley. A spot up there called Rhinebeck, I think. Leonās got a studio in a big… what we would call a garage. But itās basically a house. You lot call it a yard or something.
LU: A shed?Ā
LB: You lot say some mad words for English. So, weāve got the Hudson River there, mountains, all that autumn brown and green. I was feeling like I can feel a native Indian walking past, circa 300 years ago.
LU: Thatās a powerful, and specific, image.Ā
LB: You know those guys who were up in them Northern territories in Upstate New York, fishing in the woods? You know them guys.
LU: The Iroquois.Ā
LB: Weāre making this sick music on analog tape, Iām burning zoots, smoking hella weed, burning cigars, just chilling, mate. [laughs]
LU: So the sessions were all around autumn?
LB: āChampionā was winter, actually, That was in December. I feel like I make winter reggae, you know. I think thatās a good description. Youāve got āAngel Dust,ā āCold and Clear.ā Thatās an autumn, winter vibe.
LU: I hear it.Ā
LB: Itās winter reggae, bruv. If you want your summer reggae, maybe youāre gonna play Popcaan and dem guy deh. To rahtid.
LU: Poppy got summer pon lock.Ā
LB: But maybe Iāve got you in the winter or the autumn.
LU: No one equates reggae with winter.Ā
LB: Thatās the problem. People try to pigeonhole reggae. Reggae is a riddim, itās not a box. I donāt like it when people talk about how itās āsunshine vibes.ā Reggae all year round, mate.
LU: Radio used to only add reggae songs in the summertime. Do the seasons dictate what music you listen to?
LB: Naturally you veer to certain vibes. I imagine Pat Kelly comes out a bit more during the summer.
LU: Speaking of labeling things, in the first interview you did with us, you used the term āDuppy Rockā to describe your sound. Is that still the wave, or just something you said in that interview?
LB: Was it in 2014? Around that time, I was living in New York, in Williamsburg. I was listening to CBS-FM in the morning, playing gigs at SOB’s, and the band I had at that time I was calling the Duppy Rockers. I had one bredrin with the dreads. We was all looking kinda slick, I wonāt lie. Itās nice to have that comradery when youāre making music and touring, going up and down the East and West Coast, getting up at 3 in the morning. Yeah, Duppy Rock. I donāt know if youāre a fan of The Stooges…
LU: Love The Stooges.
LB: I was listening to them today. And Iāve been listening to a lot of Van Morrison. Rah, I feel like Duppy Rock might be coming back. I feel like we might have to pull up some ah dem riddims. Iām hearing like a Raw Power meets that āAngel Dustā riddim [in my head].
LU: When you say āDuppy Rock,ā is that referencing some haunted or ghostly aspects to the sound?
LB: It just sounded cool. The use of duppy was more to highlight the fact that we were of color and from different parts of the African Diaspora. Maybe I was doing a little nod to Black guys doing rock.
LU: The title of the album is a Yoruba term.Ā
LB: It basically means āsorrow turns to joyā in Yoruba. Itās very fitting. Iāve been in a good place, Iām feeling productive. I want more.
LU: What was the inspiration for the song āDonāt Blame NY.āĀ
LB: I broke up with my ex-girlfriend. I had been in New York for about six months, and it wasnāt going well. I didnāt like living in America at that time. On the plane home, I remember feeling that sentence, āDonāt blame New York,ā so I wrote it down. I had some very dark moments in New York. It stayed in my psyche. For ages, I kept trying to write it, but I just had the title. Eventually it came, and I feel like I nailed it basically. That whole feeling is in there.
LU: Is that the most literal song on the project?
LB: Thatās quite a literal song. Especially: All the things we try and leave behind followed us here, itās a deep rewind, New York City isnāt mine. [Smiles] Ayyyyy, bars. Jeeeezzzz. Sorry mate, Iām a bit gassed up. All excited. Does it sound a bit too heavy then, this record?
LU: No.Ā
LB: Itās making me feel a bit like when Morrissey gets too maudlin, too moany. Is it like that? Itās not moany, is it?
LU: I wouldnāt say that at all.
LB: Donāt give me a complex out here, bruv. Iām a narcissistic, neurotic artist, bro. Just imagine the label. Bro, youāll break me. [Laughs]
LU: People are making music for algorithms nowadays. Itās not like the ā90s when youād have odd songs that fit no real category just become hits.
LB: That is the ethos Iām coming with when Iām making music with Leon. Did you used to play in bands?
LU: I played drums in bands, yes.Ā
LB: Remember sitting around chatting with your mates, going, āWouldnāt it be cool if we did this?ā You didnāt have the Internet, and you didnāt know if things were [already] around. You had to do it yourself and find out. Me and Leon have that attitude when we make music. We definitely came at this like we want some more roots and culture, but we werenāt out here trying to make an out and out reggae record. One minute it might sound R&B, one minute hip-hop, next minute it might get a bit deep. We were working with what sounded cool. It was a refreshing way to work. Iāve previously worked in a lot of studio session scenarios. āAngel Dustā is weird. Thatās going to confuse people down at Spotify when theyāre trying to playlist that. That aināt made for algorithms, thatās made for people like us that remember that shit weāre talking about right now.
LU: A few of the rhythms have a Studio One kind of sound. Are there any samples or are the instrumentals all original recordings?Ā
LB: Thatās all me and Leon jamming, then he goes and produces that. Everything was played by ourselves.
LU: What are the differences between working with Salaam Remi, as you did on your first album, and Leon?Ā
LB: With Salaam, itās a bit more work on things separately. Salaam likes crisper, more polished vibes. I find it easier to express myself when things arenāt in that pop constraint.
LU: What happened with your last deal?
LB: The project didnāt get off the ground. It was well regarded, and I got gigs and everything like that. I moved back to London because I wasnāt feeling it in New York. Management disbanded. I kind of lost my focus. I was out here doing other things, living my life. Me and Salaam stayed in contact, weāve still worked with each other. Sometimes youāve just got to work on things you love to work on, and if it goes well, it goes well. If not, you dust off and keep going.
LU: You made āWhen Will They Learnā with Leon earlier in your career. How did you come to reconnect with him for this project.Ā
LB: Leon produced on my first album that Salaam put out as well. He did āSo Down, Coldā and āBlack Moon.ā I met Leon in 2007, before he knew Aloe Blacc. I decided to join Salaamās label, but kept working with Leon. The Salaam thing didnāt work out. In some ways it did, in some it didnāt. I did another EP before I started doing the Big Crown stuff where I reached out to different producers. If you listen to that Brand New EP, thereās great songs on there, but the production sounds more like something you might hear on those Spotify playlists. I was listening to Spotify algorithms a little more. Me and Leon were always checking in but this time it was, āWhat are you saying then? Should I get a flight over?ā Thank God it worked out. This record, I really really fuck with it. Itās a serious musical accomplishment. Thatās how I feel about it. This kind of music, youāre not just listening to for five minutes. Youāre going to revisit some of these tunes.
LU: A song like āChampionā really works as a single.
LB: Spotify put that on a jazz playlist, bruv, and it sounded hard.
LU: You bucked the system, man. You bucked the algorithm.
LB: The riddim on that is kind of jazzy anyway. Thereās a lot of white noises on there. It feels like an old factory engine, boxing. [Makes train noises]