The James Brandon Lewis Interview | “I think instruments reflect the hearts and minds of the individuals playing them”
When James Brandon Lewis lifts the horn, something ancient stirs—history, memory, spirit—but what pours out is unmistakably now.
Raised on truth and trained in curiosity, he’s not here to replicate the old but to dance with it, to blur lines between past and future like ink in water. Whether it’s the firestorm fusion with The Messthetics or the deep, soul-stretching meditations of ‘Jesup Wagon,’ Lewis plays like every note is as urgent and alive as if he were back in Minton’s Playhouse during the golden days. His sound chases constant revelation. You can hear the ghosts of Bird, Coltrane, walking beside Mos Def and Ornette. He’s studied, sure, but he’s also free, wide open. One minute it’s beauty, next it’s chaos, then it’s something you can’t quite name but you feel in your chest. Always moving. Always listening. Always playing like it matters—because to him, it does. “I always try to play like it’s my very last time playing… and if it’s true, how do I want to be remembered?”
“I am pushing myself away from complacency”
Mr. Lewis, your album ‘Jesup Wagon’ got a lot of love. What does it feel like to be recognized for pushing jazz forward while keeping?
James Brandon Lewis: I can’t speak on whether or not I am pushing jazz forward. I know I am pushing myself away from complacency.
In your collaboration with The Messthetics, there’s this palpable urgency in the music, like jazz is truly alive and evolving. How do you see the relationship between free improv and the traditions of jazz? Do you sometimes feel like you’re balancing these two worlds?
If you go to a retrospective of a prominent visual artist of the past, their whole history is respected—from their time within form and out of form. I am interested in progression, in the entire picture, and blurring that line. Antony Pirog and I have been friends and collaborators for over ten years… My curiosity leads me to other worlds.
There’s so much history in ‘Jesup Wagon,’ but at the same time, it feels like it’s always moving forward. How do you pull from the past and still stay true to your own voice in the here and now?
It’s a dance, an understanding, a day-to-day practice of studying the past while knowing what the air smells like within my own time period. It’s knowing Charlie Parker as well as the ‘Black Star’ album by Mos Def and Talib Kweli… while also being interested in the album ‘Black Beings’ by Frank Lowe.
You’ve played with legends like William Parker and Jamaaladeen Tacuma. You’ve said there’s a certain “well-oiled machine” feeling with these musicians—can you share what that energy feels like in the heat of a performance?
I continue to feel blessed to have the opportunity to work with these two giants!! It’s humbling to share the bandstand with them. I have to remember to play lol and be myself, while not being overwhelmed by their presence—knowing they appreciate me and only expect me to be myself.
You’ve got a really distinct sound, blending modern techniques with a deep respect for jazz’s roots. Was there a particular moment when you realized you needed to find your own voice, or was there a turning point that made you decide to go in your own direction?
Well, I think my training played a role in my development. I went to Howard University in Washington DC for undergrad and the California Institute of the Arts for grad school. In that mix, you have exposures to Donald Byrd, Grady Tate, Charlie Haden, Wadada Leo Smith, etc… and countless other experiences. I think being myself is what I’ve always strived for… and I think that happens over time. I also realized I can go and purchase the same setup as my heroes—same make of horn and mouthpiece—and not sound like them, not even close. So I think the best use of my time is the slower road of self-discovery, at least my path has been. I was never a young darling. I was still developing then… I am 41 now, I think I know a little about life.
On The Messthetics and James Brandon Lewis, there’s this wild mix of punk rock and jazz that pushes boundaries. Was this fusion a conscious decision, or did it just happen in the studio? What is it about that punk edge in jazz that resonates with you?
This was a natural vibe. Having collaborated with Anthony Pirog for over 10 years, he invited me to sit in with The Messthetics at Winter Jazz Festival in NYC 2019. It felt natural, and the energy just always felt right. My mind resonates with the idea of change, and different. I get excited about the possibility of a shift in music. I don’t enjoy sitting in the same place.
“I think instruments reflect the hearts and minds of the individuals playing them”
The saxophone has always had this rebellious and soulful quality in jazz. What do you think the sax can say that words can’t? What are you hoping to communicate when you pick up your instrument?
I think instruments reflect the hearts and minds of the individuals playing them. I am trying to communicate a sense of beauty and urgency. Musicians give meaning to music—it’s imbued with lived and living experiences. You can’t play about love having never experienced it.
Your approach to rhythm is both delicate and powerful. How do you approach rhythm in your music—do you see it as a conversation with the drummer, with the whole band, or more as an internal dialogue with the music?
I love drums, rhythm, and groove. I feel each individual should have a personal relationship with rhythm, not rely on another person. If everyone’s sense of time is secure, that makes for a great collective whole—and now the real fun begins.
You’re performing at the Cheltenham Jazz Festival, which is a huge event. With all your different influences, how do you approach playing at such a prestigious festival? What can people expect from your set?
I approach every playing opportunity the same. I realize I am fortunate to play music, and I never take for granted that I’ve been invited to play and to share my thoughts musically. I always try to play like it’s my very last time playing—and if it’s true, how do I want to be remembered? What impression do I want to leave?
As someone constantly innovating in your music, how do you balance that need for newness with jazz’s deep traditions? Do you ever feel like you’ve gone too far, or is it always about digging deeper into the unknown?
Being yourself is never too far. The more you peel open the layers of who you are, the more vulnerable that process is. That comes with being an artist—there is no hiding, there is only exposing who you are musically. It will eventually rise to the surface. My playing could be wrong for a lot of people, but a certain part of me has to be okay with that wrong because I know within myself I am being honest—and not disrespectful, but courageous, taking chances. This music was built on risk, on the personal journey of someone saying, “I have this to say about music… my heart is telling me,” and I’d rather speak my truth than be haunted by what I never tried to say—musically, that is.
New York Times described you as a pathfinder in jazz. What does that mean to you, and how do you handle the responsibility of influencing the next generation of jazz musicians?
I hope my path shows respect and not neglect, a continuum and not separation. Pathfinder… well, I am a work in progress still. There is no there.
Your albums always feel like a journey. What do you hope listeners take away when they listen to your music from start to finish? Do you see it as more about an emotional arc or the improvisation in each moment?
Each album reflects what I was dealing with in life. Each album is my movie soundtrack of my existence. I can’t escape emotion or improvisation—those are always in conversation.
Jazz is often pushed to the margins in popular culture these days. What do you think about the future of jazz—do you think there’s space for it to grow, or is it more about reconnecting with its roots?
The young 20s want the full story of jazz—and that is a blessing. From Charlie Parker, Ornette Coleman… to John Zorn… to Tia Fuller.
Your music often has a spiritual quality to it. Does spirituality play a role in how you approach your art? How do you channel that feeling into the sound you create?
I try to give life to each note—to emote the experience of living. My music reflects belief, a lived experience, and a belief in the Creator.
You’ve worked with so many incredible musicians. What do you look for in a musical collaborator? Is there a specific energy or connection you seek when you’re in the studio or on stage?
Everyone I’ve ever played with—we all play like it’s our final time playing. That’s what unites us. We never take the moment for granted. It’s reflected in the music.
Jazz is all about freedom, but there’s also a lot of structure in your music. How do you balance that freedom with the discipline it takes to create something so complex? Is there a push and pull between the two, or do they work together seamlessly for you?
I think of it as a dance. Ornette showed us music can be an epigraph, and our poem we then recite can either reflect that beginning or depart. Things are pretty seamless now. I enjoy the feeling of what seems like it will collapse.
Your music explores a lot of deep emotional territory. How do you tap into your emotions when composing or performing? Is it about being in the moment, or are you always looking to express something more personal with each performance?
I can’t help being emotional with music. Maybe that’s passé for some—it’s just who I am as a person. I want what I play to be felt first and foremost.
What’s next for you and what currently occupies your life?
Currently working on my sound… and my interdisciplinary system of composition and improvisation: Molecular Systematic Music.
Tell us some of the latest records you have been playing?
Oddisee – ‘The Good Fight’
Toumani Diabate – ‘Kaira’
Thank you. Last words are yours.
Wherever you are, I hope music finds you.
Klemen Breznikar
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