Albumism’s Album-of-the-Month for March this year was Nitin Sawhney’s outstanding Immigrants—an album that examines the complexities and crises at the heart of British life and politics through a divinely beautiful set of songs and spoken word interludes.
I had the chance to talk with Sawhney to delve deeper into the ideas behind the album, the construction of its songs and the countless other facets of his stellar professional life. Burning with an ire for our morally bankrupt leaders and a passion for the many and varied paths his career has taken him, he proved to be as fascinating and artful as his music.
I’d like to talk about the timing and recording of the album, as this was the longest gap you’ve had between albums (from 2015’s Dystopian Dream to this year’s Immigrants).
I didn’t realize that, to be honest! I was thinking of doing it a while ago, but it just felt like the right time. I did this gig at the Royal Albert Hall where I performed Beyond Skin for its 20-year anniversary and that’s where I announced the album, but in some ways, it was almost spontaneous!
I did want to make an album and had been talking to Sony (who I have a 3-album deal with), so I thought it was the right time to do it. Everything felt well aligned. It was great to have it to work on during lockdown as well—it made a lot of sense to do it.
Obviously, the themes you explore on the album are themes that have been present throughout your career. But was there a specific thing that happened out there in the wider world that flipped the switch and made you think “yes, I have to do something here?”
Brexit and Trump! They were definitely the catalysts! There was a lot of anti-immigrant rhetoric that came about from both of those things. In the leadup to Brexit it came from Farage and Boris Johnson and I found it quite repugnant, and it has continued to be the case since then.
The demonization of immigrants seems to be a daily occurrence right now, particularly through Priti Patel (UK Home Secretary). People forget she is the daughter of a UKIP (United Kingdom Independence Party) candidate and seem surprised that “people of color” could enact these hostile policies, but history is full of examples where people of color implement policies that are inequitable towards other people of color—it is the oldest trick in the book. Her policies are incredibly Draconian—it just felt like the right time to do something.
As well as the Draconian nature of her policies, the thing that strikes me with Priti Patel is the sense of glee that she takes from enacting them.
I described her the other day as a spoilt brat who was happily pulling legs off a crane fly for the approbation of her school chums, while she was kicking a cat under the desk! That’s where that smile comes from.
It’s difficult to disagree with that!
You know she talks about ending freedom of movement, but she should be embarrassed or ashamed of that—ending a freedom of anything is the opposite of a triumph. It's a failure.
The irony to me is in thinking about the influx of new variants of COVID. During Brexit, the rhetoric was about controlling our borders and then when it actually comes to controlling them for the good of the nation’s health, they fail abjectly.
It has just been a catalogue of disasters and I can’t subscribe to the idea that it’s just stupidity. One particularly dark theory I have is that it is quite convenient for them to use the incoming to provoke more animosity towards immigrants. I can’t disappear down that way of thinking for too long though!
Having listened many times to the album, the overriding feeling I’m left with is a kind of disappointment—the idea that things could and indeed should have been different. The only analogy I could think of was that feeling you had when you did something wrong as a kid and instead of the rocket you were expecting from a parent you got the head-shaking quiet disappointment. Do you agree with that summation?
I think the thing is that as I’ve gotten older, I’m not so impressed by the potency of anger. Beyond Skin was an expression of identity, looking at race, religion and so on, but this album is particularly about immigrants. I didn’t want to make an album that was purely an attack on the authority of those in power. It’s also a celebration of immigrants and giving them a platform.
You know, it’s not that every single day of the year I wake up and think to myself that I’m a person of immigrant heritage and I must address that, but it’s always a backdrop to decisions I make and the way that I think. I didn’t want to make a particularly didactic album.
Some of the feelings I had came from the spoken word interludes and media snippets that are weaved in throughout the album. How do you go about sourcing those clips and were they from memory or just things you managed to root out?
Well, I dug with Nikki Bedi who had access to archive footage from the BBC because she works for them. She was able to get hold of the older stuff, so we looked through things together. I would tell her that I was looking for something like this about this idea and she would find some things and we’d discuss them.
For example, the Pathe news stuff was about the first generation of immigrants and it was interesting that there was a calypso song on there that we weren’t sure if we could use. It was a really lovely little song sung by someone who had literally just come off a boat. There were lots of things like that that were fantastic, but it was quite a complex process getting them all cleared.
You talked earlier about the fact the album kept you busy during lockdown. How was it trying to put something together during those strange times?
It was really cathartic. It was really helpful to focus on and interact with people. There were lulls when we were able to actually meet face to face. So, for example the two versions of “Movement” with Anna Phoebe and Ayanna Witter-Johnson were recorded at Wigmore Hall—we did both live and recorded them that that way. It was so nice to go in and play piano with them. I moved a lot of my studio to this room at home, but still kept the studio at Brixton and did some stuff there.
It’s crammed full with collaborators, how do you go about selecting them?
A lot of them are friends or people who I’ve worked with before or just people who I admire. It wasn’t too difficult because they’re mainly people I’m friendly with or get on with. They are part of my family of musicians or singers and I’m very lucky in that I know a lot of talented people! They also shared my views on a lot of the themes of the album.
I was going to mention that so many of them have been with you for large part of your career. How do you maintain those relationships in an industry that is notoriously fickle?
It’s great, I get on really well with them. I was talking to Anna Phoebe just now, Spek works for my publisher as well as being an old friend and rapper and Natty I have also known for a long time back when he was an engineer. I’ve been very lucky, I mean, I met Nina (Miranda) back in 1994, so I’ve known her a long time. On “Vai,” she sounds amazing, still. It’s strange, they don’t seem to age, but I do! When I saw Nina again after many, many years she just looked and sounded the same—it’s quite amazing!
Gosh, you could hate somebody like that, couldn’t you?!
Absolutely!
One of the things that fascinates me about you is how you’re able to navigate your way into so many different spheres of music. I wanted to talk about how you approach the different types of music that you compose. How does it compare, for example, doing your own album to writing a film score?
Obviously, if you’re writing for a film, it’s about realizing someone else’s vision, but at the same time you do have a say and a voice and your own identity as a musician (which is why they’ve come to you in the first place). You’re almost like an interpreter or translator for the producers and directors to find something that will underpin the psychological profile of the narrative, whether that's a documentary or fiction. When you’re doing an album, you are totally in control of it—even if you’re collaborating, it is up to you whether you keep something or not.
They are very different, but when you do work for film or TV, it’s just another side of your brain you’re working. So, for example, I was writing something the other day and it had to be in a 1920s Charleston style and that is something I would never do for my own work. Similarly, I orchestrated things for Mowgli that I would never have put on my own album, but I really enjoyed doing it.
That must stretch you in quite interesting ways though?
Totally. I’m lucky in that I’ve had a lot of training since I was younger. I was classically trained in a lot of different styles. I’ve played a lot of different styles of music growing up and I’ve been fanatical about a lot of different things too, so it helps to have had that background. It means that whatever gets thrown at me, I can be fairly confident that I can handle it. I’m very analytical about music and also try to get the emotional subtext of music too.
What started your musical journey for you? Where did music enter your life?
I remember running up to a piano when I was a kid at my mum’s friend’s house and just started banging on the keys, and I thought it was the best thing ever. The love affair started from that moment when I was 4. My parents were then donated a piano from a nearby vicarage, so we had that to play on and I grew up playing that.
It was also my mum and dad’s taste in music. My dad used to play a lot of music from Miles Davis to Cuban jazz to Flamenco and my mum would play a lot of Indian classical music. My dad also loved crooners—Sinatra and stuff like that. My brothers meanwhile liked Led Zeppelin and The Doors, so I grew up with all of that, plus Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea and John McLaughlin. I was into all of that stuff as well. But I also really loved classical music as I was playing classical piano. I learnt a lot from playing Debussy or Chopin. Then as I got older, I played with orchestras and jazz quartets and different bands.
Wow! That is some impressive set of formative years.
It got more varied as I approached my teens. I mean, from 11 I was playing sitar and tabla at the Gurdwara (Sikh temple) and I was in a rock band, then a funk band and a punk band. Each time you immerse yourself in the music and add it to your skillset.
In researching your career, it was clear that you have so many different roles and directions in music—you wear many different hats, so to speak. You must be phenomenally busy—did lockdown slow you down?
I probably ended up working more than I normally do! I am producing Jools Holland’s album, for example, and was working on three films. I was doing two TV shows as well. There were lots of things going on! I stayed busy.
That’s blown my mind, hearing that you have three film scores on the go simultaneously. How do you do that? Are they musically similar?
No, they’re very different! It's the way I think anyway. I’ll jump from reading a book on quantum theory to watching a Marvel film—like many people do. We are all magpies to some degree and its human nature. I’m blessed that music is a better filter for me to do that through than words or any other way.
We experience your work, as listeners, in a sequential way, but it is clear that it certainly doesn’t work like that for you. How do you keep those plates spinning—your energy levels must be really high!
I don’t feel it right now! I mean, narrative flow is what keeps you engaged. Even if it's a subliminal narrative or one that only you understand—it's a way of keeping things engaged. What is the creative arc I’m trying to get across? I’m always looking for the flow. I can’t always put it into words, but I know when I’ve got the flow or not.
We’ve talked about these spheres that you navigate between, do you ever feel any resistance from parts of the industry because they know you as only one thing?
I was very lucky that from the beginning I pushed to do lots of different things at the same time. My film and TV work evolved at the same rate as my album work. I remember quite a long time ago when I was doing a lot of one-off DJ sets in different countries (and being paid very well)—it was exciting. I started to do a lot more of that work internationally and then I remember I went to book a gig and my agent said those people don’t think of you as a musical artist, they think of you as a DJ. And it made me want to stop DJing because I was a musician. He told me I wouldn’t make as much money that way, but I didn't care. Ultimately the DJing was fun as was the comedy writing (for the iconic, groundbreaking BBC show Goodness Gracious Me), but they don’t get to the heart of who I am. They are nice distractions from other things, and I enjoy them, but they’re not me.
Is there anything you miss from those early days of your career?
Yes, I really miss being totally free from expectations. It’s different when people have heard a lot of your work. If I felt like making a death metal album, then maybe the expectations of my work might get in the way of it. But ultimately, I guess, if I really wanted to do it, I could!
To come back to the themes of the album, do you have hope? Given the world of obstacles we’ve talked about is there any flicker in there?
You know, it's a weird fucking time. I’m sick and tired of this government—it feels like a war of attrition. I don’t understand how they get away with what they’re doing and have done. We can have this government with an overtly racist Prime Minister warning people against saying racist things—the hypocrisy is unbelievable. The lies are incredible—they’re the most corrupt bunch of bastards ever.
My issue is that whatever my problems with the government are, they are endemic within society and that’s why they’re getting away with it. The fact they can get away with denying institutional racism when the MacPherson report and the Race Relations Amendment acknowledged them in the Police Force alone—I just can’t stand it. Anyone who watches Line Of Duty might want to question how Cressida Dick gets to be Head of the Metropolitan Police. Someone who was in charge of the operation that killed an innocent man (Jean-Charles De Menezes) by shooting him in the face seven times, with no warning. How does that happen? How do you make such a monumental public fuckup and still become Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police? There must have been a lot of other candidates who hadn’t done that!
Those people are in charge of running things. It’s difficult to feel hope through that, but the hope I get is from seeing things on social media. I know there’s a lot wrong with social media, but I get a lot of positivity from there. When you see people having real conversations about these things, there is a lot to be gained. I’ve learned a lot from social media and people. Although I read the newspapers still, my hope comes from other places.
I’ve reflected on this recently too. Much of my knowledge of the injustices of the world comes not from the history I was taught at school but through the music I love. Blues, soul, funk and hip-hop have all opened my eyes to the history I was never taught.
And not just that—it has been proven psychologically that it has so many benefits, for Alzheimers and dementia for example. If you look at EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing) data, it indicates that bilateral (brain) stimulation is really good for you. So, playing the piano or the guitar is really good for your mental health.
It extends into other areas too—some of the things I’ve composed have had to be very logical and mathematical. I even remember using calculus to work out a particular situation where I had to rework this whole film from the 1920s as things were all at different speeds and didn’t match. It really takes you into so many different areas and teaches you so much if you really get into music.
And that leads into the notion that Rishi Sunak (Chancellor of The Exchequer) had that those in artistic endeavors should retrain to cope with the financial difficulties of COVID.
I was told to become a boxer! What the hell was that? Such insane suggestions and how could you retrain at that time?! It was shocking the way they dealt with musicians and artists during that time. And, indeed, it still is. Oliver Dowden (Minister for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport) is being very slippery over what has happened as a result of Brexit regarding visas and travel requirements. That’s something I’ve had to get involved with as chair of the PRS foundation. With that and the problems surrounding streaming remuneration, it’s really difficult for musicians to cope at the moment. I’m very lucky that I have many ways of doing things, but for up-and-coming artists, I don’t know how they’ll survive.
I’ve spoken to a few people about it recently. What you’ve done throughout your career is what they have needed to do—they have had to diversify away from the traditional cycle of write-record-tour etc.
It's a really interesting time now. I think gigs will change now and will be more hybrid with streaming alongside a live audience in the venue. I think people want to change how their careers work. Even members of my band that I’ve played with for years, they took a pause and have been developing their own careers, so they may focus more on that than touring with me or other bands.
A lot of musicians have found ways to express their identity without having to tour as much out of necessity. For some, it’s been a success, but for others, they've had to go and get other types of jobs. It’s a tricky one, but I do think the government should have supported artists more directly. The £1.57 billion that was made available was actually steered towards venues and promoters—it wasn’t really there to go to artists themselves. There was no trickle down. I did a session recently and the people who played were so grateful for the work—they hadn’t worked for a year!
I spoke with Jordan Rakei, who’s from New Zealand, last week and he said the government had taken the step to support artists directly.
(Prime Minister Jacinda) Ardern is probably one of the best leaders in how she handled the pandemic. It’s interesting that in stark contrast to Thatcher’s legacy, a lot of the countries that were led by women were much better at dealing with the pandemic. Whereas the ones that were led by narcissistic genocidal maniacs didn’t do so well! Surprise!
Strange that, isn’t it?! Now we’ve dealt with some huge societal questions today, but this is the most pain-inducing question I’m going to ask: what are your top 5 albums of all time?
Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s Mustt and Miles Davis’ Kind Of Blue. That was the first album I ever bought as an 8-year-old!
No! Wow, that's not a bad first!
I would say Oumou Sangare’s Worotan, Joni Mitchell’s Blue and then The Paco de Lucia Sextet’s Live . . .One Summer Night. Done!
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