Samara Joy: ‘I was not the typical New York kid’

Whenever you run into Samara Joy‘s name, the word ‘Grammy’ is bound to show up; it’s as if these two concepts – the jazz singer and the music industry award – are forever intertwined, inseparable from each other, a constant validation of each other.

Personally though, I never cared much about the Grammys. Whenever I see the words ‘Grammy-winning’ or ‘Grammy-nominated’ artist, I shrug and move on. Sure, it’s a fun game, but it’s also self-serving, and it says more about the state of the pop star system, as shaped by the execs of corporate America, than about the music.

HOWEVER, every now and then, this same system makes way for a ray of sun to shine through the clouds of over-produced bustle, and my cynicism melts.

Samara Joy is that ray of sunshine, crowned Best New Artist in 2023, armed with nothing but her natural talent, a voice that flows like honey, a repertoire championing the legacy of the Great American Songbook, a work ethic that puts many to shame, a team of great musicians who see her as their peer, and what is certainly and unmistakably an old soul. (Okay, all that is certainly not ‘nothing’.)

This is her side of the story.

We’re all very excited to have you touring Australia. Let’s start with this one: what should we expect? What are you presenting these days?

My most recent album, Portrait, came out almost a year ago. We’ve been building the book as an octet for the past year, so you can expect to hear songs from Portrait in that configuration, as well as new arrangements we’re working on.

How do you work on an album? How do you select the tunes you want to record?

It’s a straightforward process. I base it on what I’m enjoying singing at the time. When making this album, we’d already been on the road for a year, building our book, our repertoire, and our chemistry. By the time we got into the studio, I already had the songs I wanted to record and those best kept for live performance.

Right now, I’m giving myself a schedule of practice and listening. I listen to things I like every day and to new artists I might or might not know, to guide myself toward where I want to go; choosing standards, jazz compositions, or writing lyrics to melodies I love.

It can take different forms, but I pay attention to what I’m listening to and what I naturally gravitate towards.

What is one thing you’re listening to now, something you discovered or became obsessed with?

I’ve been listening to more classical music than ever. I didn’t realise how much jazz musicians were influenced by classical music. Lately, I’ve been listening to a lot of Ravel. I love listening to suites; enjoy hearing 18-minute songs with different movements that build on the same theme. I’m immersing myself in that world of composition and learning how to use so many different voices instrumentally.

Do you see yourself going into this sort of work?

I’m not sure. I’d like to combine the worlds more. My band members are orchestrators too, so giving them arrangements not only for octet but for symphony would be amazing. I’m looking forward to that as a way to combine the two worlds.

You’ve had an amazing journey so far; what does it feel like?

It feels like it’s been orchestrated, though I didn’t plan it this way. Growing up, I loved music and watched my family sing. Certain steps I took unknowingly led me to college, which then led to where I am now. For example, I recently played at Carnegie Hall. They had a program called ‘Count Me In’ that I had attended, for middle schoolers, sending teachers to schools without music programs. They taught us classical music and songs so we could apply to performing arts schools. We did a concert at the high school I ended up attending, the same place I first listened to jazz. One of the women from ‘Count Me In’ later worked at my college for jazz studies. I didn’t realise those early decisions would shape what I’m doing now.

Tell me about your upbringing. Where did you grow up?

I grew up in New York, but I wasn’t really the typical New York kid.

What’s the typical New York kid?

Independent — riding the subway, walking home from school, doing things on their own; I wasn’t like that. My parents wanted to know where we were at all times. I didn’t hang out after school unless it was for a program like computer science or musical theatre. I was always picked up and dropped off until college. I had a chill childhood; not much bullying, not much excitement.

Did you feel limited?

Not really. I wasn’t that involved on social media then, so I didn’t feel left out. I might have wished to go to the mall, but I didn’t feel like I lacked freedom. I lived with nine people — my parents, brothers, cousin, uncle, and grandma — from when I was ten until college. We all got along. Maybe because I grew up surrounded by family, I never felt alone.

Where was that?

In the Bronx.

Working class? Middle class?

A little below middle class.

Was the house big enough?

It was. I never had my own room until high school, but there was enough space for everyone to coexist peacefully.

What did you learn through that?

It was a character-building experience. I learned appreciation for family, how to coexist peacefully, respect each other’s space, and respect elders. I kept to myself, reading or playing bass. We all had our corners, which helped. I’m glad to have my own place now.

If it hadn’t been for ‘Count Me In’, would you have had the same opportunity?

I’m not sure. I had outlets in theatre and vocal class. I went to a performing arts high school with a vocal program that prepared me for college. Maybe I would have pursued this anyway, but it might not have turned out the same.

What do you remember as your first jazz experience?

My first introduction didn’t grab me. I was told to learn two songs to join the jazz band: ‘Things Ain’t What They Used to Be’ and ‘I Let a Song Go Out of My Heart’. I learned them, but I didn’t go home and listen to jazz.

What were you listening to at that age?

My dad gave me an iPod with music my uncle uploaded: Stevie Wonder, Donny Hathaway, Aretha, Motown. I was an old soul. I also listened to George Duke and gospel musicians on YouTube. My dad played electric bass, so I wanted to learn that too. I loved the Brothers Johnson and their work with Michael McDonald and Michael Jackson. I didn’t have an ear for jazz yet.

When did that change?

In college. It started as an obligation, but turned into love. My peers played a huge part. I grew up singing in church, but didn’t understand what it took to be a better musician until then. I wanted to learn how to execute the ideas in my head.

And a few years later, you experience this Grammy triumph. How is that?

Insane. It’s still wild. It wasn’t even in my dream book. It felt distant. I thought you needed to be politically involved or well-connected to be considered. I thought I hadn’t established myself enough to be in voters’ minds. That’s why I’m so grateful to the musicians and vocalists who voted for me. They made the decision and acknowledged me as a peer.

We often forget the Grammys are quite democratic.

Exactly. I’m grateful. It reminds me to keep doing what I love without trying to fit into a box. I’m doing the music I like.

How did it affect your next steps?

It made me more confident. I should pursue what I like and hope others do too. I’m not reinventing anything. I enjoy what I do. If I want to play with horns, I will. There shouldn’t be someone saying: “Do what you did before.” That’s not how music works. There’s no guarantee any formula works. Success happened because of peers and listeners, so I won’t change. I want to stay free.

When you receive your lifetime achievement award, what will that be like?

I’d love to share music with up-and-coming musicians and prepare them honestly. There’s a lot of sugar coating in this field. I’d tell them there’s no shortcut. You have to work hard. If you love it, it’s worth it. Kids ask how to be a Grammy winner; that’s the wrong question.

I admire the main contributors of this music: artists like Max Roach, Betty Carter, Carmen McRae… They shared messages of love, hope, heartbreak, each finding their own voice within the genre. That’s what I connect to — individuality, confidence, and vulnerability. I hope I encourage others to be open and honest in their own fields.

I’d love to visit schools, participate in global conversations, and see how my music can be part of the solution. I love seeing diversity at my shows. People from different backgrounds come together for the music. That connection reminds me we can find common ground elsewhere too. Maybe that will be my legacy.

When you sing, when do you start engaging with the lyrics?

Almost immediately. If I don’t connect with the lyrics, I won’t sing it. Sometimes I revisit songs years later and hear them differently. I may have matured emotionally or musically and can contribute something new.

Give me an example.

Billie Holiday’s ‘Some Other Spring’. When I first heard it, I didn’t understand it, but loved Carmen McRae’s version. I listened again recently, and now it makes sense. It means something different now.