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British singer-songwriter Yazmin Lacey has released three wonderfully jazzy, (neo) soulful EPs since 2017. First came Black Moon, followed by When The Sun Dips 90 Degrees in 2018 and, finally, Morning Matters in 2020. Three years later, she stands on the cusp of releasing her debut album Voice Notes next month on March 3rd.
I recently had the chance to speak with Yazmin as she approaches this important milestone in her fledgling career and discovered an artist at peace with her place in the world and eager to showcase the full extent of her artistry, despite some understandable nerves.
Good morning, Yazmin! How are feeling now, just a handful of weeks before the release of the album?
A bit nervous, actually. I was talking to my mate about this—you write all these things and then it hits you that it’s actually coming out. Yeah, it’s all fun and games when you’re in the studio expressing yourselves, but now people are going to be hearing it. Nervous in a good way though, but a little bit vulnerable when you think about all your words being out there. There’s also obviously excitement that it’s finally going to be out there.
How long would you say it’s taken to write?
Maybe eighteen months to two years, but that includes down time in between sessions. But yeah, two years.
How do you feel about this aspect of the rollout? I guess that the creation is the exciting part —how do you feel about talking about it during interviews like this?
In one way, it is really good to talk about it because it’s been this little secret held by the small group of people who’ve worked on it. That feels good. I always feel flattered that people want to talk about my work, but I haven’t done any of this stuff for a while, so maybe when I’m in the thick of it, I’ll have definitely had enough! I feel pretty easy with it at the moment though.
I obviously don’t have anything that compares to a debut album, but I find it really awkward to talk about anything I’ve written. Even with those closest to me, I feel like I’ve done this thing, now go over there and look at it and feel free not to ever mention it again!
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don’t like listening to the music in front of my friends or family—I feel like I just want to melt underneath the table! It is awkward when the different versions of you collide. I generally avoid it and my friends know not to bother me about it!
So, tell me about the album. Who is involved and how does it relate to your other releases?
In terms of my other work, it’s just about exploring further and deeper. There’s development in terms of how I want to express the ideas I have and how I interact with the people I got to work with on the record. Every producer I worked with on the record, I’ve known for a long time, so it doesn’t feel like a “me” thing, necessarily.
Who are those people who have helped shape the record? Are they different people from your EPs?
I worked with Craigie Dodds on my first ever proper studio session. I came to London, did my first session with him (which I found quite overwhelming!), but we’ve stayed in contact over the years. There were some newer collaborations as well, like JD Reid—I’ve been a fan of his for a really long time, so that was fun and we worked well together.
All of the producers are quite intuitive and create a great working atmosphere. JD was the one I worked with after the sessions with Craigie and it was my first new session in a while, and we had a lot of fun. He had a great balance between letting me have my own space and time to work on ideas and pushing me to get things done in the studio at that moment.
The guy I worked with the most is Zak Elliot Kyan, whose (stage) name is Mellow Z. I used to live in Nottingham for a long time and I found him on a compilation CD I found in a shop there. We then became Soundcloud friends and we’ve said for the past five or so years that we should meet up and do something together. Then it finally came together—we spent a lot of time together talking about what we wanted to do. The thing with Zak and Dave (Okumu) who I did the majority of the work with is that they were really good at encouraging me to try stuff out and be experimental. They helped build my confidence and knowledge. So it comes back to what I said earlier—it has my name on it, but it belongs to us all.
Looking back at some interviews you did for the EPs early on, it sounds like you still didn’t feel confident in this new life and career. They read like you’d almost fallen into this—do you feel like you do belong now?
I can’t lie, I still feel like a fish out of water sometimes, but I think building a community of people around you that you can work with means I fit there. That’s my little crew and if I fit there then I guess I can fit anywhere. In terms of the confidence thing, I feel those earlier interviews represented it accurately—you know I never set out to do music. I still have those moments when it hits me that I’m actually doing this. The difference is that before I felt like I was dipping my toe in, but now I realise that this is what I always wanted to do with my life. Not necessarily that I want to be touring till I can’t get out of bed, but I feel like I really appreciate everything that music has brought to my life and for that reason I want to do it forever.
I’ve always loved music, but sitting in those rooms with those people we talked about earlier is expanding my mind and the opportunities in front of me. It’s only now doing things like this interview that I think about other people hearing it.
So, let’s go back a bit, then. You say it was never the plan, but what was it that held you back from embracing your love of music earlier? What stopped you from doing it before you did? Was it parental expectations? Did they want you to have a “proper” job, so to speak?
They probably say that more now! When I was about seven or so, I remember getting a Walkman and listening to it and doing shows for people—I genuinely wanted to be a singer, but that was the last time I really considered it as an option. I just genuinely wanted to work with young people. I did think about acting for a little while, but I found out that probably wasn’t for me! It was youth work I wanted to do. Then when singing floated by as a side thing, I enjoyed it and was so intrigued by it. It was fun—especially the jam sessions. And then it reached a tipping point where the gigs became more frequent and I couldn’t do my old job. I thought this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and it probably won’t last forever, maybe just go on this tour. I thought I could go back to my other job afterwards—it’s only six shows, right?
I read in another interview that you said it was the music that actually allowed you to continue to do the youth work? Why was that?
I wanted to do youth work, so I went into lots of mentor or facilitator roles as soon as I could and then as they got bigger the music was a great distraction—a place where I didn’t have to think about those things.
Given the exciting space you’re in, this might seem like a strange question, but is there anything about your old life that you miss?
Not just the kids, but I miss structure! That is hard, but also back then there was no pressure on the music. It was just a little sideline I had to keep me sane. The other job made me be creative in a different way and it made my mind tick really fast—in a good way. I felt sharp.
But to be honest, it feels like it doesn’t have to be one or the other unless I’m that busy again or if this goes crazy. Sometimes I just can’t see me doing this my whole life—I can’t imagine the next forty years of writing, recording and touring! What would that even look like?!
Everybody’s circumstances are difficult at the moment, but especially so for creative industries, so I think it’s a fairly natural thing to do, to look out for chances to diversify. Unless you’re on Adele’s level of commercial success, it must be tough to keep doing this. How many rungs below that level are artists able to function freely? It’s precarious and therefore understandable that you might make the most of the other gifts and strengths you’ve got.
I think I’d like some aspect of my life not entirely dependent on my art, you know? I don’t want to lose the love for it because it is my career as well as my creative outlet.
People use that phrase don’t they—“do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” But that’s not true, is it?
It’s not true. At all!
This thing that you love provided you with some sort of solace or outlet and then it becomes your life. That’s difficult to square away, isn’t it?
I think the realities of touring, et cetera(that I’m just waking up to) are hard and I just want to keep my skills in other areas up to scratch.
I interviewed a couple of artists during lockdown and they had to learn how to diversify now that the traditional ways of earning were shut down. You are in a situation where you only had two to three years of the business before the pandemic arrived, so maybe you have that agility to do different things already?
Maybe! Given that the music has taken over, my CV isn’t looking too good—there’s a bit of a gap! I honestly have no clue how far the music thing will go, but it was such a beautiful experience to follow, I couldn’t let it pass. But it is really unstable!
I feel awful now, like I’ve been trying to talk you out of doing this!
No! No one can talk me out of this, except myself.
I feel like I’ve done you a disservice—you absolutely should pursue a music career forever! It is quite something to be here on the cusp of releasing your debut album though—that’s the thing of dreams, isn’t it?
Yeah, and I am really excited about it even though I’ve talked about being nervous. I remember years ago when I made the first EP, my manager Amy and I were talking (she wasn’t my manager then) and she was talking about when you make your first album and so on. I just thought she was so cute talking about this major thing like that. I had the EPs in my head as a trilogy from the beginning, but didn’t imagine it going much further than that. So to have a debut album ready to go makes me really proud.
And has Amy had her “told you so” moment?
She always chips in with “I saw it!”
I am always interested in where the music comes from in terms of family and upbringing. So, what was musical life like for you growing up? You talked earlier about the Walkman—what was playing on those headphones? Is music in your family? Were your parents musical?
No, no one in my family is musical. My dad was a postie for many years and my mum was a secretary—he’s now a driving instructor and she’s retired—but there was no music in the family at all. We all love it though—Caribbean people love music. Dad raised us without wanting to watch the TV—it was lots of radio. Radio is always a significant thing for me, I take information in that way. Personal stories and anecdotes combined with music is the perfect way for me to take it all in.
We always had the radio on—pirate radio stations, local BBC stations and my dad loved reggae, lover’s rock, soca, calypso. I loved pop music (like my mum) and I’ve got lots of brothers and they are all into rap (especially American rap), and then the interest in the samples in that music sparked something too. Music was always such a treasured thing too—I could never touch my brothers’ records—they were so obsessed with it. My brothers would spend their last pennies on records and my dad would always tell me about the house parties he went to and the sound systems.
So, I think I chalked it all up and thought that when I had the chance to do it, I would. I remember when I went to University, radio became an even bigger thing for me. I went to Uni in The Midlands, but I could still get the London stations that I loved. And then when I lived on my own and did the charity thing, it was always on while I was doing things—it’s a way to occupy one side of my mind while the other side of my brain is working on something else. That means if I hear something on the radio and it sticks, then I really like it. My ears prick up!
Who would you say are the artists that have shaped you the most?
When I look at my songwriting, I hear a lot of Lover’s Rock artists because of the lyrical content —turn up, say your piece and then jump on the vibe. That’s how I write, I don’t agonise for months—I’ll just leave it and come back to it. I write a lot about heartache and love, so I share that with Lover’s Rock too. But I’m also just fascinated by amazing women telling their stories, like Aretha Franklin. I can’t compare to them, but that’s what I’m trying to create myself. Who else? Dinah Washington, Whitney Houston, Sade…
It’s Sade’s birthday—64 today.
What an icon!
Are there any other UK artists that have played a part in your artistry?
Soul II Soul, definitely. A massive influence. UK soul is really important to me because we put a different spin on it. It is less “slick” and I mean that in a good way. I think I saw in people like Soul II Soul, the emergence of my experience. Where Black culture met British culture and Caribbean culture. Those crossed paths are what really influence my music because it isn’t one thing for me. That’s what Voice Notes is about for me—it’s about my thoughts and feelings at those intersections. The UK just did it differently—Beverley Knight, Neneh Cherry and Sade all provided me with Black female role models to do this music thing. When I thought about the album, I didn’t want it to be just one thing. I wanted it to be UK soul in all its forms. All the sounds of the people who combine to create it.
If you can see it, you can be it.
Yeah, definitely.
You’ve mentioned an admiration for Erykah Badu previously—I think your style of singing is somewhat similar to hers. Do you agree? Or do you not make those comparisons?
Honestly, I don’t. I know when you do interviews people always really go for it, but I can’t get into that mindset. I don’t think of it like that. I have to be careful, otherwise it taints what I’m doing and spoils the enjoyment of what I’m doing. I love Erykah so much, Jill Scott and so many others and they have 100% influenced me, but I am not trying to cultivate a sound to be reminiscent of any of those people.
For me it was more about the vocal style and delivery, but people like me love labels and it helps us write about things.
Of course, and it’s a very human thing to do, to make sense of the world around us. Obviously, I’m flattered (I love Erykah) but, personally, I don’t think about things that way.
And that strikes me as a really healthy thing to do, despite my best efforts to draw you into something you didn’t really want to say! Are you back living in London now?
I am, yes.
You were based in Nottingham previously, so when did you come home to London?
I’ve been back just short of a year.
So, what prompted the return?
I always wanted to come back to London when the time felt right, but then you realise there’s never a right time. Then life happens—love, loss all that kind of rubbish and I decided to make a move. Being here for the last year has really helped with the album, although I’ve never been a big believer that you have to go to London to make it. But being around a community of people who do the same thing as me is really great. I’m grateful for that and I’m not saying there’s no community in Nottingham, but being in London has really helped. My long-term friends (who I know through other worlds) are also here and it’s nice to have a collection of people who aren’t connected to the music world as well. Being here has helped because I don’t want to feel isolated doing this—in a pocket away from everything else. I’m not saying that community has to be in London, but for me, it has really helped.
Was there the community that you needed in Nottingham?
It was—I’ve always been good at gravitating to the right people and finding my tribe, so to speak. I think maybe it was part of my creative process—wanting to come back home. But without wanting to sit on the fence too much, there are pockets in both of the places. When I came back and needed a place to stay, everyone here seemed to recognise how hard the financial and artistic landscape was and rallied around me to help. If the musicians don’t look after each other, you can’t expect the industry to do it, can you? I think when you have that thing in common (the music) then there is a sense of wanting to support each other in a tough time. I think the jazz scene especially (which was my entrance into it all) has so many musicians playing on each other’s stuff that it creates a community and I was grateful for their support.
Just a look at the liner notes for albums tell you that there is a huge cross-pollination of musicians and someone like Jordan Rakei, while not necessarily being “jazz,” is also part of that.
Yes, and I love the notion of not being boxed in too. When I first came into the music world after having done a number of jobs in other worlds, I was struck by the fact that I could do anything! There was no way I had to present at work. I could go to work and talk about my feelings [laughs]. I could express myself! It is mental! And part of my work is to make connections—it was so freeing! I have had so many jobs over the years (not all of them, loved!) and had no control, so to have that element of freedom and control and being able to fill your mind with different creative sparks was really something.
It sounds to me that you having those other jobs and careers has prepared you for accepting the excitement and joy of this one a little more.
No two days are the same, that’s for sure, and that’s nice. But there has to be a sense of accepting it because you can’t really control it. There’s no set pattern to it and I’ve accepted that, but I do have days where I can’t get my head around the lack of structure!
To finish up, we celebrate the glory of albums, so I’m going to ask the question that puts every artist on the spot…
Are you going to ask for one?!
Oh no, we’re not that cruel! I’d like to have your favourite five albums, please.
Ooo! Ok.
That’s a nicer sound than some people make, so thanks for that!
So, I’m gonna do these without any explanation. The first five that come to mind. Obviously, D’Angelo’s Voodoo! Let’s do Curtis Mayfield’s Curtis. Hiatus Kaiyote’s Talk Tomahawk. That is really significant for me. The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill. Frank by Amy Winehouse and to be cheeky and squeeze one more in, SAULT’s 5. With SAULT, it was just what we needed. We take comfort from certain types of sounds, but at the same time we don’t want to hear the same things all the time and that was definitely new and fresh.
Editor’s Note: This interview has been edited from the original transcript for length and clarity.
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